Archive of Our Own

Gi-hun didn't pay much attention to it at first.

The... weird marks on his stuff, his furniture, the couch, the tops of his pens. He'd assumed they were merely dents caused by time and lack of proper care. Had barely even looked at them.

Not until they started happening more and more. Gi-hun ran his fingers along the edge of his armchair, its backrest, and furrowed his brows in both confusion and intrigue. The marks, the dents, on the old leather didn't look like it was done by the sole existence of time. Not when all the marks were present at this particular spot, in a consistent pattern, and not the rest.

He'd considered putting the blame on termites, small bugs, or other insects of the likes, but — no, Gi-hun calculated, he'd grown up in a house full of termites and other unpleasant pests, he knew an evidence of their presence when he saw one, and this was not it. This was...

Human's teeth. Bite marks. Not of a child (there were no children in the motel), but a grown adult, considering the size.

What? His frown deepened then. For a few seconds, Gi-hun considered the possibility that maybe they had always been there, most of the stuff at the motel were thrifted and secondhand of unknown origins. But —

No. No, these were new. And it was not just this particular armchair, either. The marks. Gi-hun figured the chances of almost all of his things having been bitten by their previous adult owners were rather slim, that, and he would have noticed them long ago, way before...

Way before Kim, Jun-ho and In-ho moved in.

It'd been more than a year, since the mask. The game. Gi-hun had returned to the island with the hope to take down the ones pulling the strings, those people — who betted on humans — the VIPs, and their dogs.

He'd walked out of that murder pit with two new friends and a lover instead. Not what he'd expected when he got on the limo that night. That he'd be dating the Front Man.

Well, In-ho wasn't the Front Man anymore. The game was not Gi-hun's problem anymore. Not your battle anymore, In-ho had said precisely that, you could try chasing after them again, but you'll only die trying, and I don't think I could afford going through another loss.

Life was... funny. That way. Sometimes Gi-hun still had an urge to laugh when he thought about it, how he went back to the game with the goals of saving people — at least one person. And in the end he managed to save exactly one person, the Front Man. In-ho. In the end he did save In-ho from the mask, the game, and here he was, with In-ho and Jun-ho and Kim. With a new problem that, while not as concerning as Gi-hun's previous one (the game), might just be as persistent;

There was a grown man in his motel who had been gnawing at his stuff like a canine.

Huh.

It must be Jun-ho.

Gi-hun inspected the teeth marks on his pillow one day with sharp eyes. His pillow. In his room. On his bed. It'd been a week since he realized someone was biting things in his motel. He would have said everybody was a suspect, but Kim was too stoic, too mature for this shit, and In-ho... In-ho could be a menace, sure, but Gi-hun was having a difficult time imagining that someone who ran the death game — someone who wielded the mask — with preciseness and coldness would resort to acting like a dog. He did call In-ho a dog, yes — the VIPs' dog, specifically. But not because In-ho was ever actually acting like a literal dog, behavior-wise. Surely, not because In-ho ever actually barked when he saw a cat, or chased a squirrel when Gi-hun took him out for a walk, or...

Why the fuck would In-ho be biting things?

No, it couldn't be In-ho. Or Kim. Which left Jun-ho as the only suspect left. That kid was a menace, a bigger menace than his hyung. Why Jun-ho would decide to start biting shit... fuck if Gi-hun knew. But he knew he wasn't biting stuff, and if Kim and In-ho didn't do it either, then...

It must be Jun-ho.

When Gi-hun approached Jun-ho, he didn't do so like a stern parent would a misbehaved child. He wasn't even mad, really. He was just... confused, he supposed.

And he didn't discuss this with Kim or In-ho beforehand. It's silly, Gi-hun thought. Jun-ho wasn't in trouble. Gi-hun just wanted to have a chat, ask if this was a prank, some act of rebellion, if Jun-ho was going through a phase of sorts. How old is the kid, anyway? Jun-ho wasn't a teenager anymore, that was for sure. But he was the youngest out of the four of them, and it'd always been clear that both of the Hwang brothers had their own respective issues. Maybe Jun-ho bites when he's upset about something.

"Wasn't me," Jun-ho said, flatly. When Gi-hun showed him the chewed up pen, and pointed at the little teeth marks on the couch.

Gi-hun didn't even ask if he happened to have been chewing and nibbling on objects not meant for human's teeth, or any living being's teeth, in general. Although Gi-hun must say Jun-ho did look surprised. Like he didn't notice them, the marks, until Gi-hun pointed them out. Granted, for a detective, Jun-ho sure could be a dumbass sometimes. (How long did it take for him to realize Captain Park worked for his brother? In-ho told him about that one night when he was open and relaxed, usually after getting that good fuck — Gi-hun's cock always worked its magic — how he had Park spy and keep Jun-ho away from the island and Jun-ho never suspected or noticed anything suspicious; the kid still beat himself up about that, even though he harbored no real hatred for In-ho, Gi-hun could tell that much.)

Jun-ho looked, for a few seconds before his expression somehow morphed into a facade of nonchalance, caught off guard and weird. Not exactly defensive. Just... well, there too was a glimpse of recognition in Jun-ho's eyes that lasted very briefly before he hid it behind the cool and collected posture. Weird. But not an act of guilt or confession.

"I haven't even —"

"It wasn't me," Jun-ho repeated, in the same emotionless manner, cutting Gi-hun off before Gi-hun could say he hadn't even said anything.

"Well, someone is biting the furniture. And my pens. And — and my pillow, too!" Gi-hun blurted out, suddenly feeling like he was going insane.

Jun-ho kept looking at him. Face blank. Then, before he walked away, repeated in the same stoic voice, "Wasn't me."

Gi-hun was losing his damn mind.

He'd kept a close eye on Jun-ho. Turned out the kid never once bit anything he wasn't supposed to bite.

Maybe Jun-ho was just being careful. Maybe Gi-hun just never caught him red handed. Or maybe he was telling the truth about his innocence. If he was telling the truth...

Fuck. The marks kept happening. If it wasn't Jun-ho, then... an intruder, perhaps. Someone from the game. But why would they be biting his stuff like an untrained dog? None of this was making any sense. Gi-hun had considered discussing it with In-ho. He never ended up doing so — he figured it was stupid, such a nonissue for him to be worked up about. He wasn't actually worked up or worried. He guessed. Well, he wouldn't know. But it was weird and sometimes it was the smallest, most trivial thing that drove you insane the most.

Maybe he needed to start installing security cameras inside the motel, too. Maybe —

Click. Click. Click.

He froze. Every muscle in his body locked up and tensed, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

A noise. A nibbling, faint clicking sound. Right by his side.

Gi-hun — very carefully, very slowly and wordlessly — turned his head towards his right, In-ho was on the couch with him — and while Gi-hun was sitting, upright and fully alert, In-ho lay on his side, half asleep. And In-ho was nibbling on the leather of the couch.

Right where the previous marks were.

In-ho. Fucking In-ho.

Gi-hun watched. Stared. Trying to... process what he was looking at. Trying to make sense of it all, see if he was hallucinating. In-ho was nibbling on his couch like an infant. A dog. And more importantly, it seemed that In-ho, already being half asleep, wasn't aware of what he was doing at all.

Actually, Gi-hun blinked with his mouth agape, In-ho looked... at ease. Content and comfortable. Fully oblivious to Gi-hun's gaze, completely unaware of what his own mouth and teeth were doing.

But it did solve the mystery, didn't it? Gi-hun just — the Front Man? Fuck. Despite how shockingly cute and childlike In-ho turned out to be, evidently proven by their shared intimacy and time together as lovers, Gi-hun just never really entertained the thoughts of the former Front Man, someone who wore that mask and orchestrated the murder game for years, being a biter.

He's really full of surprises, isn't he?

Gi-hun wasn't sure for how long he was in his too-stunned-to-do-anything state, before he snapped out of it and brought himself back to reality — in which In-ho was nibbling on his couch, like it was the most normal thing for a grown man to do. He considered calling In-ho's name, or tapping his shoulder. Gi-hun reached out a hand, and stopped before he could make contact, with his mouth now pressed into a thin line before any word could get past his lips.

In-ho looked peaceful. Like this. He looked young. Like a child, in the sense that there was no hint of trauma, of lingering guilt or shame haunting and looming over his head. There always was a hint of those lurking in In-ho's shadow, even when In-ho was smiling. But this...

In-ho was in his own little trance, but he was calm and at peace. Gi-hun would be disturbing that, yanking In-ho back to the world where he was the Front Man with too much blood on his hands — and he knew, of course, Gi-hun knew it was only temporary, this little safe place In-ho had apparently disappeared into. But it was something. It was helping. A means to heal. One more step towards recovery, and Gi-hun would not rob In-ho of that.

He licked his lips and retreated his hand. Before he reached for In-ho. Not to jolt him into awareness but to gently guide his head forward until In-ho was using his lap as a makeshift pillow.

In-ho was still in his own little world. Still nibbling on what his mouth could reach, which was the fabric of Gi-hun's pants. Currently. Gi-hun watched. Both in awe and in love, the latter of which was still a foreign concept to him. He'd been in love before, sure, with Eun-ji. But he hadn't really felt anything in a long while. Certainly not after his divorce. Definitely not during his time drowning in grief and his own obsession with taking down the game. He'd long given up on love until In-ho came into his life. Not the Front Man. In-ho. And here he was. Here they were.

Gi-hun traced In-ho's jaw with careful fingers, the touch so light he wouldn't be snapping In-ho out of his little safe space. Then, he didn't know why, but just... Gi-hun inserted his index finger in In-ho's mouth. Not too sudden a move. Only a slow and cautious ease where In-ho's lips were already apart; the inside of In-ho's mouth was warm. Too soft for a man who oversaw the deaths of thousands of people in total (one would have expected nothing short of sharp teeth ready to attack, but that simply wasn't In-ho; In-ho was soft and warm inside, harmless and vulnerable, not a rabid dog who knew only violence and suffering but a curious little puppy who was yet to learn the grotesque of the world, it turned out). But that wasn't really the surprising part, Gi-hun had felt the inside of In-ho's mouth before, his tongue, the way In-ho wrapped and tried his best to pleasure him when they made love. That was another story, of course. What was... what was surprising, the new-found sense Gi-hun had never experienced before, not the way In-ho sucked or the way In-ho worked his tongue, but the way his teeth grazed Gi-hun's finger — ever so gently, like a fawn. So innocent and trusting.

In-ho started nibbling on his finger the second it was inside his mouth. And Gi-hun doubted In-ho even knew what he was biting — no, not biting, nibbling, harmless and adorable. Just... anything his teeth could reach, apparently.

As innocent and trusting as a fawn.

Gi-hun frowned slightly in surprise and wonder (this was new, this... side of In-ho, his... oral fixation), but regardless the corners of lips curved upward into a tender smile.

When Gi-hun next saw Jun-ho the next hour — after In-ho was back to his normal self and seemingly having no idea of his gnawing at Gi-hun's finger until he fell asleep on Gi-hun's lap — he greeted the kid with a firm grip around his arm and an unyielding pull towards a quieter corner. Not that there were that many people living in the motel (four, in total), but it got the message across.

Shoot. He wasn't mad that Jun-ho kept him in the dark about In-ho's... little habit. The nibbling. But he would have appreciated the heads up, just to spare him the surprise. And surely, Jun-ho knew what was going on, who the biter was, the moment Gi-hun approached him that day, with his damn chewed up pen. Gi-hun remembered the glimpse of surprise and recognition in Jun-ho's eyes, he only brushed it off as nothing. Ha. Jun-ho just decided to keep Gi-hun in the dark. Again. The way he decided to keep the Front Man's real identity and who his brother was a secret from Gi-hun, back when they were still searching for the island and the man behind it all.

"You could have told me," Gi-hun said, with his hand still around Jun-ho's arm.

"I could've told you what?"

Gi-hun's chuckle, while dry, was without any real anger or bitterness, just a slight annoyance. "In-ho. I know it was him who's been — biting my stuff."

"Oh," Jun-ho blinked, but was otherwise too calm. Too quiet. The little shit was a cop, after all. He was used to being put under pressure and undergoing a round of interrogation, wasn't he? That he was on the other end of the imaginary table this time didn't mean he wasn't used to an intense round of interrogation, what emotion to display and what to keep concealed away.

"Listen, I know that you know. He's your brother, come on, you have to have known. I just — you could have told me. I felt like I was losing my mind and you just watched me spiral," he let go of Jun-ho's arm and with his finger jabbed lightly at Jun-ho's chest.

Jun-ho opened his mouth, then closed it with a sigh. That was when emotion, an indication of surrender, finally began to bleed in on his face. "I didn't want to say anything because I was trying to protect In-ho."

"Wha—" Gi-hun momentarily forgot how to close his mouth, "you were protecting your brother when you refused to tell me who the Front Man was, who your brother was. What? You thought I was going to kill him now, because he bit my couches and my pens?"

"No, it's... not like that," Jun-ho rolled his eyes. Like Gi-hun was the one at fault here. "I didn't say anything at first, because I didn't want to... embarrass him."

"Oh," Gi-hun's voice softened. Now that Jun-ho put it this way. Personally, he didn't believe there was anything for In-ho to be embarrassed about. Gi-hun was, as the youth liked to call it, down bad, as much as he wasn't exactly a fan of acknowledging or admitting that out loud. He simply couldn't help being down bad for In-ho. Fuck, he was incapable of seeing anything In-ho did as embarrassing. If anything, In-ho was driving him insane, in the sense that anything and everything In-ho did was irresistible. But, fair enough, he supposed he got where Jun-ho was coming from, why In-ho might see his own behavior as something to be embarrassed about. Especially when self-love had never been In-ho's strong suit.

"Are you mad at In-ho?" Jun-ho asked.

"What? No," Gi-hun said, "of course not. I just... want to know if this is normal... for him."

Jun-ho sighed again, but this time it was more of a defeated sigh than it was an evidence of annoyance. "It's normal. He's fine."

"Okay..." Gi-hun trailed off, a silent 'do elaborate' clear in the way he was wordlessly urging Jun-ho to continue.

Jun-ho mouthed a silent fine, and then, as quickly as he could possibly say it, "He's teething."

"What?"

Jun-ho looked at him for a few seconds, sighed again, then repeated with a slightly clearer and louder tone, "In-ho, he's teething."

Gi-hun blinked. A part of him thought he misheard that, another part was waiting for a punchline. Jun-ho resorted to a silent stare, that was probably when Gi-hun realized two things — one, he didn't mishear anything. Two, there was no punchline. Jun-ho wasn't joking.

"He's a middle-aged man."

"It's just — something he does," Jun-ho said, "when he was younger, when we were younger, In-ho would... teethe whenever he was nervous about something, or whenever he was content and happy. It comforted him. And he liked doing it, this — biting stuff thing. I thought he stopped when he got married and moved out. We never got to live together or even see each other that much after his marriage, because then things hadn't been kind to him, his wife's illness, her death, the game. I guess I just assumed he must've stopped. Until you showed me your pen, and your couch. The bite marks. That's when I know, apparently In-ho keeps his old habit, all this time."

Gi-hun nodded. Slowly. Trying to process all that. "So this is..."

"Self-soothe," Jun-ho said, "he does that, Mister Seong. Not necessarily always because he's not happy, but because he is. I know he's happy with you. This life. And I also know he teethes when he's happy and relaxed, too."

"He does," Gi-hun murmured, more to himself than a direct response to Jun-ho.

"You talked to him about it?" Jun-ho asked then.

"No. I don't know. I guess I just..."

"Didn't want to embarrass him?" Well, now that Jun-ho said it. Maybe that was what Gi-hun was subconsciously doing by not mentioning anything about the biting when In-ho was back to his usual self. That Gi-hun didn't believe there was anything for In-ho to be embarrassed about didn't mean he was unaware of In-ho's own struggles, how In-ho tended to belittle and look down on himself, much to Gi-hun's dismay.

"I don't think there's anything embarrassing about it," Gi-hun said. Like he was speaking to In-ho and not his brother.

"I know. But we both know how In-ho is, how he tends to react to this sort of thing," Jun-ho said.

"I suppose you're right."

"He's lucky to have you, Mister Seong," Jun-ho smiled, it was warm and contagious.

Gi-hun opted not to say anything about In-ho's habit to In-ho. Merely because he didn't want In-ho to feel awkward.

He doubted In-ho remembered what happened the other day, when Gi-hun had his head on his lap and his finger in In-ho's mouth. In-ho was half asleep, after all.

And In-ho never seemed to, quote Jun-ho's word, teethe when he was awake and alert. Or when Gi-hun (or Kim) was around. He wasn't sure if In-ho teethed around Jun-ho. But he took a mental note — In-ho would only teethe when he was absentminded, half asleep, or when he was alone.

Gi-hun learned soon enough that he, in fact, missed one, a condition under which In-ho would start nibbling on things; In-ho teethed in his sleep, too.

He didn't even know what it was at first, or if he was still dreaming, the noise that woke him up in the middle of the night. Only when he rubbed his eyes and tried to adjust his vision in the dark did Gi-hun come to a conclusion that he, in fact, was not dreaming. And the noise was coming from his side — In-ho's side of their shared bed, to be precise. That faint clicking noise that Gi-hun had more or less grown accustomed to in the past several days.

It took several more seconds for Gi-hun's brain to catch up and register, and for him to reach for the nightstand lamp.

What followed was the closest Gi-hun came to having a cardiac arrest when he looked at a sleeping In-ho and saw what In-ho, in his sleep, was chewing on.

It was, Gi-hun supposed, a blessing that he snapped out of his freeze state soon enough, the shock coursing through his bloodstream and paralyzing him for a moment — though he wasn't aware of himself snatching the plugged-in power cord and yanking it off In-ho's mouth. The movement was sudden enough, harsh enough that it woke In-ho up (he would have been gentler, hadn't he acted in sheer panic, if it wasn't for the fact In-ho was putting himself at risk of electrocution).

In-ho blinked, seemingly confused. And Gi-hun was, despite having acted fast enough, still too shocked to utter a word. Both awake and alert. Gi-hun sitting upright with the cord in his hands, and In-ho lying on his side still, with nothing in his mouth.

And — fuck. There was no ignoring the elephant in the room, no dancing around the subject, Gi-hun realized. He watched more and more of realization and consciousness slowly spread across In-ho's face, how In-ho's gaze shifted from Gi-hun's face to the cord he was holding, what he'd very recently, just a few seconds ago, confiscated from In-ho's mouth.

For a moment In-ho didn't say anything, but Gi-hun could tell, from the way his face rapidly turned red, In-ho was embarrassed. Ashamed. And Gi-hun never wanted — this. For In-ho to feel like he'd done something wrong, something shameful. Gi-hun only ever was terrified, because In-ho risked harming himself (what would happen if Gi-hun didn't wake up when he did?) Not because of the teething. Never because of the teething.

"Gi-hun," In-ho was the first to break the silence. Gi-hun noticed how he then averted his eyes. Like a child who was afraid of being yelled at by his parent for having done something bad. "I — I didn't know what I was doing."

Well, that, Gi-hun knew, was not a lie. In-ho was teething in his sleep. But he knew In-ho now, he knew what this was; In-ho was trying to water it down, he was trying to convince Gi-hun that it was a one-time thing he did in his sleep. Except that Gi-hun knew it wasn't the case. This. In-ho's habit. The way In-ho soothed himself. How In-ho soothed himself. Didn't matter if he was awake and lucid or not.

"Jun-ho told me," Gi-hun heard himself say, before he could cage back the words in time. Before he could shut his mouth. Ssibal. He certainly didn't mean to say that, throw Jun-ho under the bus. He was still pretty much overwhelmed from how close In-ho came to frying his own mouth or worse.

"What?"

He couldn't take it back. Fuck. Gi-hun wished he could, but —

"Jun-ho... told you?" In-ho's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. While there was no anger on his face, he adorned that kicked-puppy look in his eyes, and it made him look so painfully young, so criminally vulnerable in a way that should never be tolerated or possible for the Front Man. In-ho's not that anymore.

"He didn't — I mean, he did. But not — not unprompted," Gi-hun mentally cursed, all his frustration was directed towards no one but himself. He wasn't making any sense, he knew that. He paused, tried to summon the right words, then added, "I noticed, you know... those... marks. On the couches and other stuff. And you were..." another pause, "you were nibbling on the couch the other day, jagiya. I saw you, so I... talked to Jun-ho about it. He didn't even want to say anything at first."

"Oh," In-ho said, a faint whisper. He averted his eyes and seemed to have shrunk in the span of five seconds. "I'm sorry."

"No, hey —" Gi-hun tossed the cord to the side. He would have to put it back on the floor (and he'd have to unplug it, too), but for now In-ho needed him. He reached for him, "It's okay," Gi-hun said, "I'm not mad."

In-ho was so small. Fuck. A small little thing in his arms. Gi-hun held him close, planting several kisses on the top of his head, where his mouth could reach.

"I didn't mean to... your stuff," In-ho murmured, face pressed against Gi-hun's chest.

Gi-hun kissed the top of his head again. "I'm not mad, jagiya. It's okay. It soothes you. I don't want you to stop doing what comforts you, alright?"

In-ho sniffed once, and shifted in his hold, but otherwise didn't try to pull away. And Gi-hun kept holding him until he gradually drifted off again. A precious little thing.

The sleeve of Gi-hun's pajama shirt rested at In-ho's mouth. And in his sleep, In-ho started nibbling at it.

He'd have to have a talk with Kim and Jun-ho.

Not about how to stop In-ho from teething but how to keep In-ho safe. Since In-ho apparently teethed in his sleep and put in his mouth things that could harm him.

In-ho was with them during the conversation. Only that In-ho was asleep on Gi-hun's lap and nibbling comfortably on Gi-hun's finger.

Jun-ho seemed to have gotten used to this, his brother's little habit, and — besides the concerns on his face when Gi-hun told him about the incident with the power cord last night — seemed otherwise uninterested in In-ho's nibbling and sucking on the finger in his mouth, while Kim kept trying to subtly glance at the sleeping In-ho every other second.

"So what should we do?" Kim asked. Kim was just as worried when it came to In-ho's safety. He may appear stoic and stern at first glance, but once you got to know Kim, you couldn't help but realize what a big softie he was, always looking out for people he loved — and Kim loved and cared for In-ho. Despite In-ho's crimes. Maybe it was because of Jun-ho, how unconditional Kim's love for Jun-ho was that Jun-ho's loved one became Kim's loved one. Maybe it had something to do with how In-ho made it impossible for either Kim or Gi-hun to stay angry at him. In-ho, without the mask, was a precious little thing. Loving and being protective of In-ho only came ever so naturally. Maybe it was a mixture of both. The bottom line, In-ho was theirs, theirs to cherish and shelter. And if In-ho's wellbeing was at risk, they would not stand by and do nothing.

"I suggest we In-ho proof the place," Gi-hun said, absentmindedly stroking In-ho's hair with his free hand, while In-ho kept nibbling and sucking on his finger.

"The whole motel," Jun-ho chimed in.

Gi-hun nodded. And Kim hummed in agreement. It would be a lot of work, but it was necessary.

To keep In-ho safe.

Something told Gi-hun In-ho knew precisely what they were doing.

For the sake of In-ho's pride, Gi-hun, Jun-ho and Kim agreed to only tell In-ho they were doing a big cleaning day, also just for the overall safety of the four of them. But In-ho was smart. Gi-hun knew he knew this was about that incident. He could tell In-ho knew precisely what they were doing when they began the process of covering all the electrical cords in wire hiders and putting away things In-ho could choke on, small objects that could find their way inside In-ho's mouth, in case he sleepwalked.

(In-ho did sleepwalk, besides chewing on things in his sleep, his sleepwalking habit had prompted Gi-hun to always keep their door locked at night. To be extra cautious.)

But, Gi-hun supposed, it was a good thing, a relief that In-ho didn't make a fuss about it. He stood and watched the four of them work with his arms over his chest and a little pout on his face, but he wasn't making a fuss. He was being good.

He knows you're doing this to keep him safe, said the voices in Gi-hun's head.

Gi-hun walked over to In-ho, gave him a forehead kiss. And that helped shift the pout on In-ho's face into a childlike smile.

They were being careful. All three of them; Gi-hun, Jun-ho and Kim. To make sure In-ho was safe.

Gi-hun realized they weren't careful enough when he walked into his room one day to In-ho huddling on the edge of the bed with his back facing him. Maybe it was instinct, Gi-hun wouldn't know, but he immediately knew something was off. Something in the air, the way In-ho's muscles seemed locked and tense, the way his body trembled, no matter how slightly. And that little muffled whimper.

He wouldn't turn around when Gi-hun called his name.

Something's wrong. Gi-hun held his breath and slowly approached from behind. "Are you okay?" he asked, still unable to see In-ho's face from this angle.

In-ho murmured something. Gi-hun couldn't make out what he was saying, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was something along the lines of I'm fine. In-ho used to be good at lying, back when he still ran the game. When he was Oh Young-il. But when Gi-hun really got to know him, intimately so, In-ho really was, in a way, a child. Scared and in need of both love and shelter.

Gi-hun knew In-ho the way he knew his own body, the way a parent knew their own baby, perhaps. Especially when taken into account the way he always got that urges to protect and keep In-ho safe, shelter him from all the harm in the world.

All those times he watched In-ho sleep and thought to himself, you're my baby.

Gi-hun rounded the corner of the bed and his blood ran cold.

"In-ho!"

In-ho was covering his mouth, but his hands couldn't keep the blood from dripping down his chin, hands and arms. On the bed next to him was a pair of scissors — its blades covered in the same red soaking In-ho's front.

"I —" In-ho's voice cracked. He paused and swallowed what couldn't be anything else other than blood and saliva. Something gripped around Gi-hun's chest, tugging painfully at his heart — he never liked seeing In-ho in pain. Screw it if the man he was a couple years ago wanted the one running the game to face a proper comeuppance of his actions (if he'd fantasized about wrapping his hands around the game's dog and making him pay for what he'd done), Gi-hun stopped being that man the second he kissed In-ho for the first time.

He rushed forward and knelt on the floor, in front of In-ho, before his mind could catch up with what his body was doing, arms and legs acting on their own just to get to In-ho — his baby — as fast as he possibly could.

"I didn't — I didn't mean to," In-ho was saying. His eyes were wide, clear with panic and fear. "I was sleeping. And I felt pain, and —"

You were teething in your sleep, Gi-hun didn't say that out loud. But, having put two and two together, In-ho fell asleep, and in his sleep he grabbed the scissors, put it in his mouth and — he didn't want to imagine the rest. Didn't have to. It was, Gi-hun knew, his own fault. Not In-ho's. Never In-ho's. Never his baby's. Gi-hun realized he forgot to put it away, the scissors, and In-ho got his hands on it. You were supposed to keep him safe.

"Can I look?" Gi-hun touched his hand to In-ho's, all the while making sure he was gentle and careful. In-ho whined and shifted, but didn't protest when Gi-hun slowly eased his hands from his mouth. The cut on In-ho's mouth was bleeding and gaping — Gi-hun felt another wave of guilt knocking the air off his lungs. Sure, he'd seen worse. Had witnessed gore and deaths and violence. But he could never get used to seeing someone he loved — his own baby — in pain. He opted to stay strong. For In-ho. Displaying his concerns now would only make In-ho panic more.

At least he doesn't need stitches, Gi-hun thought, taking a small comfort in knowing that In-ho's cut was not too deep.

He guided In-ho up on his feet and to the bathroom. In-ho needed to wash the blood off before Gi-hun could bandage the cut. He was fine, shaken up, but he would be fine. (Alerting Jun-ho and Kim now would only make In-ho think it was bad, so... Gi-hun figured he'd have to stay cool and calm. And he'd have to be more careful about leaving sharp objects lying around.)

Jun-ho and Kim refused to leave In-ho's side since the previous incident.

Gi-hun didn't blame them. It turned out Gi-hun wasn't the only person who was protective of In-ho. His wound was healing well enough, but eating became a struggle when any food, anything that went in In-ho's mouth resulted in In-ho shutting off and trying to leave the table.

Kim made something soft, something easy for his mouth, his cut. But In-ho — poor thing. Maybe the Front Man had high pain tolerance, maybe Front Man had dug a bullet out of his own flesh with nobody's help. But it was rather clear that In-ho was far from the man he used to be. Maybe he'd simply operated on survival instinct back then, any hint of weakness and vulnerability meant brutal death. But In-ho wasn't operating on sheer survival instinct anymore — all the trauma had rendered him childlike. And he knew he could be vulnerable and childlike for once. When he had people who took care of him and kept him safe. And a part of Gi-hun was glad that In-ho allowed himself to be vulnerable around him, around Jun-ho and Kim.

He managed to coax In-ho into accepting another spoonful of Kim's broth. In-ho shut his eyes tight when the soup went in his mouth, where the cut was. Kim gently stroked his hair and whispered reassuring words in his ear, while Jun-ho sat and watched, ready to pull his brother into a tight embrace in case he broke down or made another fuss.

Gi-hun realized he just had to remind himself this was good, as much as he hated seeing his baby in pain, this meant In-ho trusted them all enough to allow himself to be scared and vulnerable around them. This meant In-ho felt safe around them.

And Jun-ho's and Kim's presence here, their endless patience, meant In-ho was so, so very loved.

The wound healed nicely in the end.

Still one thing remained wrong; In-ho seemed to have stopped his habit.

He still teethed in his sleep. When he was in no control of what his mouth was doing. But when he was awake and alert...

Jun-ho had said teething soothed him. And while In-ho, for obvious reasons, never actually said anything, Gi-hun knew what was going on; In-ho was scared. Afraid he'd end up hurting himself again.

Gi-hun didn't want In-ho to stop doing what brought him comfort. His baby and better half.

In-ho looked understandably taken aback when Gi-hun held a finger in front of his mouth one night. "What are you doing?"

"Bite it," Gi-hun said. Like it was the most normal thing to say.

"What?"

"Come on, take a bite."

In-ho looked at him, blinked, and said, "You're unbelievable."

"But you've stopped," Gi-hun protested, retracting the finger. "You don't — teethe anymore."

"Are you mocking me?"

"What? Of course, not. I —" he paused, trying to search for the right words to say, how to best express his own mind. "I told you I didn't want you to stop because it comforted you."

"It's childish," In-ho said.

"It calms your mind."

"It is childish, Gi-hun. I'm not a child anymore," the last part In-ho murmured to himself in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

Gi-hun looked at him and sighed, "You're scared of getting hurt again."

"What?"

"You still teethe in your sleep. But you don't do it awake anymore because you're still —"

"I am not traumatized," In-ho said, the way a child argued through lies and defensiveness. "You always treat me like a chil—" In-ho flinched back and yelped in surprise when Gi-hun, with no warning, shoved a finger in his mouth.

But he, despite the shock in his eyes, didn't pull away. Neither did Gi-hun.

"It's okay," Gi-hun said, "you don't have to be scared of doing what comforts you. The incident was my fault. I left the scissors out. But I won't make that mistake again, and I don't want you to let your fear stop you from doing something that soothes you. I got you."

In-ho looked at him. His eyes, as bright and innocent as a child's. His mouth stayed unmoving for another two, three seconds before he slowly, very slowly and cautiously, began nibbling gently on Gi-hun's finger.

Gi-hun smiled, a small there you are leaving his mouth in a soft breath. In-ho was slightly blushing, but he shifted his gaze from Gi-hun's face and directed it downward, until it landed on Gi-hun's finger, the finger in his mouth. It was almost tickling, the way In-ho nibbled and sucked on his finger, like a puppy who'd just grown his teeth.

In-ho leaned in until he was resting his head against Gi-hun's chest, closing his eyes and continuing to teethe.

And Gi-hun, with his free hand stroking In-ho's hair, made sure the finger never slipped out of In-ho's mouth.