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The Albatross - Chapter 2: Moth to a Flame

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

Content Warning: Dubious Consent, NSFW

For more information, check Masterlist

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At your ripe age of 30, life is good, especially after your dad died. Being his illegitimate child who was only accepted into the family after your mom died when you were 10, there was no way you could inherit the company, but you weren’t particularly hurt by this reality. That job was for your spoiled, sheltered, and annoyingly sophisticated brother. When the word ‘nerd’ comes to mind, his face is the one that would pop into your mind. Everything from his huge square glasses, his everyday plaid sweatshirt with a blouse underneath, and that horrid gelled, side part hairstyle made your skin break out in goosebumps. It’s no wonder he had to get an arranged marriage to even dream of feeling the touch of a woman other than his own mother.

In comparison, you were the hot sibling. Being illegitimate never stopped you from having suitors even though your partners wouldn’t inherit much wealth. Insultingly, many assumed you were stupid and naive because of your baby face. Yes, your doe eyes, button nose and perfectly-proportioned plump lips made you look like a real life doll, but you were a far cry from a trophy wife. There’s a reason why you never bothered to compete with your brother for the company, but jumped at the opportunity to host the games once that brain tumor was discovered.

Even your lifestyles were completely different. Your brother slept at 9pm sharp every night, falling asleep in bed after dozing off while reading a book. Your niece and nephew followed a similar lifestyle, with strict tutoring sessions everyday on various subjects way past their comprehension level at the ages of 7 and 9 respectively. You can’t even fathom how nerdy you have to be to teach a 7 year-old philosophy.

Alternatively, you were a wild child, going to bed at dawn and waking up at noon whenever you didn’t have responsibilities like school. Your step-mother once tried to correct your behaviour, which resulted in her Van Cleef necklace and Cartier bracelets going missing. Missing where? In your jewelry box, obviously. She couldn’t even beat you for it, because despite your dad’s neglect, you knew she would get it if she even touched a hair on your head.

Still, you studied hard and got good grades, entering university like every other rich kid with heavy expectations did. Even though you could never be the CEO, your brother probably wanted you to be the CMO or something, not that it would ever happen. The last thing you wanted out of life was to sit at a desk for 8 hours everyday, sifting through paperwork and answering dozens of mind numbing emails. You had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life, you had no need to work.

You first met Inho when you were 21, when you were first introduced to the existence of the Squid Games. Sure, his handsome face was nice eye candy, but his determination and ruthlessness was what pulled you in. He had no qualms about getting his hands dirty if it meant he could advance to the next game. This was what led him to win the 2015 Squid Games. Very fitting, for a disgraced ex-police officer.

Some found his age gap a little alarming, but you and your raging daddy issues didn’t see a problem with a slightly older man— slightly being a 19 year age gap. It’s not like you were even in love with him. Love was reserved for the dumb and overly-emotional, both of which being traits you didn’t possess. Instead, you wanted him to be your new toy. After all, there was nothing standing in your way after his wife died of liver cancer while pregnant. Very sad, but it wasn’t your problem.

Once his wife was out of the picture, all you had to do was swoop in at the right time and heal all his problems like a saint.

You convinced your dad to approach Inho a few months after his wife passed. The timing was very important. Too soon, and he would be too resentful to listen to anything you had to say. He could even turn violent, which would be disastrous for a fragile old man like your dad. Even before the tumor, it’s not like he was a bodybuilder who frequently went to the gym and remained physically strong. No, he was always a skinny, weak old man.

If you contacted Inho too late, he would’ve moved on with his life and the memory of the Squid Games would likely be forgotten. Again, the timing was very important. You had to ensnare him at the perfect time to drag him back to the Squid Games, even if he wasn’t coming back as a participant. He was an intelligent man after all, and despite your dad being willing to pass on the legacy of the games to you, you weren’t too keen on the paperwork and planning that would come with it. In short, Inho was the scapegoat that would get you out of work. If he was willing to play along as your toy, even better.

Three months after the 2015 Squid Games ended, you entered your dad’s office to pitch an idea to him: making Inho your future right-hand man. Your dad rarely listened to what you had to say, shutting you up with a hefty allowance every month to make up for the relationship you didn’t have. This time, it seemed that he was also intrigued by Inho, because he found him with swiftness once you mentioned his name.

Unfortunately, all his attempts to lure him back were failures. He tried everything, from more money, to blackmail. Inho, who was freshly widowed and still reeling from the overwhelming grief of losing his wife and unborn child, couldn’t be bribed with anything.

By the time he was rejected the fifth time, your dad gave up and told you to forget about it. What he underestimated was your greediness and determination to get what you wanted. With every rejection, your interest in Inho only grew.

“Men are so useless! Must I do everything myself?!” You groaned to yourself, laying on your bed kicking the mattress and squeezing the life out of your pillow. Your wailing ended quickly, as you grabbed the notebook on your vanity and clicked your pen, furiously scribbling your game plan to capture Inho.

It was a rainy day in Seoul, and you were in a convenience store scanning one of the aisles. Your appearance was a far cry from your usual styled, blow out hair, acrylic nails and flashy dress. Instead, your hair was put in a messy bun, and you were in a hoodie, sweats, and a puffer jacket with an umbrella in your hand. Normally, you would rather die than leave the house looking like such a mess, but this was your disguise; this made you look like a normal person.

This convenience store was near Inho’s apartment. Despite the large sum of money he received from the Squid Games six months ago, he hadn’t bothered upgrading his apartment, splurging on luxuries to treat himself, or any of the usual behaviours you saw in winners. Instead, his life spiralled as he usually laid in bed staring at the ceiling, only leaving the house to buy some instant ramen at the convenience store and immediately going back home.

You tracked his life down to the minutes. He woke up at 10am everyday, brushed his teeth at 12 after wallowing in bed for two hours, and made himself some instant ramen at around 12:30. On Saturdays, he would restock on his ramen at his nearest conveniemce store at 7pm. He was quite particular with the type of ramen he would buy too. It seemed he enjoyed spicy food, because his go-to was the spicy Buldak ramen.

And what a coincidence! Here you were, in his local convenience store at 7pm, holding the last packet of spicy Buldak ramen. It seemed this store was experiencing supply chain issues, resulting in your current situation as Inho looked you up and down, eyeing the ramen in your hand longingly and occasionally looking up to glare at you. He looked rough, with visible stubble on his face and dark circles under his eyes.

“Why are you glaring at me like that?” You asked, feigning defensiveness as you clutched the ramen closer to your chest.

“That’s my favourite ramen. You’re holding the last one,” he replied, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘last’ to make sure you really understood his situation.

“Well, I got my hands on it first. I’m not giving it to you just because it’s your favourite,” you countered, taking a step backwards, ready to make a run for it. You didn’t even like this ramen, you just wanted to irritate him.

“What do I have to do to make you hand it over?” He pressured, taking a step towards you. With each step you took backwards, he took one forwards.

You thought about it for a second. He didn’t have anything he could give you that you lacked, so you were kind of stumped. “Uh, maybe treat me to a meal? I’m only here because I’m hungry, you know,” you improvised, feeling proud of yourself for making it up on the spot.

He sighed into his hand, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache, thinking long and hard. You wouldn’t be surprised if he really did have a headache, considering how unhealthily he’d been eating for the past couple of months. “Okay, you win. Where do you want to go?”

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied as you made your way to the cash register.

“Hey, you said you would give it to me!”

“I’m bringing it to the cash register so you can pay for it and take it, duh!”

You placed the ramen on the counter and watched as the cashier scanned it. “1,000 won please.” You simply stared at Inho as he took out a bill and paid, putting his singular packet of ramen into a bag.

Just as you were about to leave, the cashier said something that made both of the blood in your bodies run cold. “You two look like a good couple,” he complimented, and both of you grimaced at lightning speed.

“She’s a stranger,” Inho replied.

“He’s a stranger to me too,” you backed up. You were glad the feeling was mutual.

The cashier looked at you two weirdly, as if questioning your behaviour. It was only then when you realized how close the two of you were standing, so close that you could feel his his chest on your back, his breath on your neck, and if you really focused, his heartbeat as well.

You could feel the blood rushing to your ears— not out of love or affection or anything of that sort, but embarrassment. It wasn’t very ladylike to be so touchy with a man you just met. Your step-mom would probably throw a fit if she saw you like this.

“Hey, you said you’re hungry, right? Let’s go. I want to go home,” Inho snapped, and you rolled your eyes as you were brought back to reality with his voice. As the automatic doors slid open, you two walked onto the street where surprisingly, it wasn’t pouring rain.

“What do you want to eat?” He asked, the impatience evident in his tone. It was a bit shocking to have anyone talk to you that way. It only happened briefly when you were first brought to your dad’s at the age of 10, but everyone was quickly fired and replaced when you brought it up.

“I don’t know,” you responded. You rarely ate anything other than fancy steak at restaurants or the meals cooked by your private chef.

“You don’t even know what you want to eat?” Inho groaned, exasperated.

“Well, I rarely eat anything that isn’t homecooked, so excuse me if I’m not familiar with what options I have!”

“You act like a foreigner even though you speak perfect Korean,” he mumbled, and you kicked him in the shin. After he was finished clutching his leg, he decided for you. “We’re getting Korean barbeque. Can’t ever go wrong with barbeque,” he noted as he grabbed your wrist, dragging you to the nearest restaurant.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was a little loud for your liking, with drunk men yelling at each other with soju in their hands, increasing the volume with each shot. There was a crying baby at the table beside you, crying ear-splitting screams that could nearly break glass. The only redeeming quality about the restaurant was the delicious scent of meat that permeated throughout the entire building.

“How often do you go to places like this?” You groaned, rubbing your temples to avoid an incoming headache. Inho had already ordered for you upon realizing you had no idea what you were doing.

“Not often. Barbeque can get expensive, especially if you have a large family,” he responded, and you were taken aback by his humble answer. Why was he so frugal with money when he’s a millionaire now?

“This better be the best meal of my life because I’m losing my mind with all this noise,” you grumbled. Your definition of a restaurant was a quiet, serene atmosphere with dim lighting and mini candles at the table to illuminate the area. The main sounds you could hear were quiet chattering and the sound of the cutlery on plates.

“No one I know has ever been upset with barbeque,” he shrugged.

Soon enough, the meat arrived, and your jaw dropped. “It’s not even cooked! What the hell is this?” You sputtered, preparing to stand up to complain at the counter.

“Sit down! This is how it’s supposed to be! Have you never had barbeque in your life?” Inho yelled, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down. Luckily, the drunk men helped drown out your little fit and no one stopped to stare at the scene you were making.

Once you sat back down, huffing and pouting at the raw meat, Inho sighed again. “You’re either the stupidest person ever or you’re a sheltered rich girl who’s never had anything other than foie gras and Dom Perignon.”

“I don’t eat foie gras, it’s unethical!” You countered.

“Well that answers my question,” he sighed again as he began to cook the meat. You watched curiously as it sizzled and juices began to leak onto the hot stove. When he flipped it, the meat had turned brown. When he was done, he poured an unfamiliar sauce into a bowl and placed it in front of you, picking up the meat with his chopsticks and moving it onto your plate.

You picked up your chopsticks and blew into the steaming meat, dipping it in the sauce and taking a bite. When you realized you couldn’t bite off a piece, you quickly covered your mouth and stuffed the rest in, ears blushing from embarrassment.

It wasn’t impressive, by all means. There’s only so much you can do with regular meat and some sauce. Even so, it wasn’t so bad, and definitely not bad enough for you to spit it out. You recall having similar meals with your mom you were younger.

“So? Do you like it?” Inho asked expectantly.

“It’s good,” you replied, giving him a thumbs up. It wasn’t necessary to go into details about how you’ve had better.

He seemed to loosen up a little with your approval, and placed a few more strips on the stove, cooking for the two of you. The two of you ate in silence for a while before Inho suddenly straightened his back and looked you concerningly. “Wait, how old are you?”

“21, why?” You answered between your munching.

He groaned, his hands flying to his face as if he’d encountered something extremely exasperating. “What are you doing hanging around with an old man like me? Do you lack common sense or have no sense of danger?”

“If you were to do something, you would’ve done it already,” you shrugged.

“That’s not how the world works! Do you know how many women marry men and then get beaten around like a ragdoll everyday?”

“Are you that type of man?”

“No, of course not!”

“Okay, then I have nothing to worry about,” you concluded, and he shook his head.

“You have to be more alert than that. Just because I’m not going to hurt you doesn’t mean other people won’t.”

“Ugh! You sound like a dad!” You groaned. The peaceful atmosphere the two of you had was thoroughly ruined now. It wasn’t a big deal though, because in between his yapping and your responses, you two had cleared every piece of meat brought to your table.

“Are you still hungry?” He asked, staring at all the empty plates.

“No.”

Inho called out for a waiter and the bill was promptly presented to him. His eyes widened a little at the price, but he paid without complaints, stuffing his arms through his jacket holes and zipping it up while the waiter grabbed his change at the register.

Before you two went your separate ways, you grabbed his arm. “Give me your number,” you demanded.

“What? You’re too young to date me, and I’m not interested in dating,” he scoffed.

“No, you idiot! I’m getting your number so you can show me around Seoul!”

“Why should I do that? I already treated you to dinner, and you gave me my ramen. Anything else is not necessary.”

“So you’re going to leave a college student who’s living in an unfamiliar city to survive on her own?” An obvious lie to guilt trip him— you were born and raised in Seoul.

“Where are you from?”

“Busan.”

“Show me your Busan accent.”

“What! You’re so mean! I have a complex over my Busan accent, you know! It’s embarrassing!” Another lie, you have no idea how to speak in a Busan accent.

Inho sighed again. You wondered if it was a habit of his or if he just wasn’t used to someone so enchantingly amazing as you. “Give me your phone.”

You watched as he typed his number in along with his name, as if you didn’t know that already, but it occurred to you that you two never introduced yourselves but already had a meal together. He passed you his phone and you did the same, but adding a little heart emoji to the end of your name, and he scowled. “Is this necessary?” He pointed to the heart.

“It’s just for fun. You’re free to delete it if you want.”

He mumbled something under his breath but kept the heart in your contact name, shoving his phone in his pocket. He offered to walk you home since it was getting dark, but you rejected his offer, spotting your driver’s car across the street. You were surprised at how gentlemanly he was.

After waving him goodbye, you crossed the street, opened the car door, and sank into the car seat, breathing a sigh of relief. You opened your phone and called your dad. “I’ve met with Inho. Give me a few months and he’s ours.”

Getting close to Inho wasn’t as hard as you thought. Underneath the cold, sometimes brutish man who was still grieving his family, was a deeply lonely person. He’d told you about his family situation, from his divorced parents, step-mom and half-brother, to his wife and unborn kid. You never pried, you just let him tell you whatever he was willing to say.

He met up with his family once a month at most, but they rarely talked to each other on the phone. He said something about brother wanting to get closer with him, but their age gap and different life experiences made it awkward and hard to connect. He also still held a bit of resentment for how his parents broke up and his dad immediately remarried.

His disappearance during his time at the Squid Games combined with his isolation due to his grief also meant he lost the majority of his friends. The only one he had lived abroad, all the way in Switzerland. In short, he was in the perfect condition to be lured back to the Squid Games.

Inho was so starved for any sort of social interaction that it only took around two weeks for regular meet-ups to be arranged, and around a month for daily conversations through text. You were essentially his unpaid sugar baby, not that you’ve gone that far yet. You still needed to find a way into his pants.

Around three months after meeting him, you messed up big time. You two were walking down the street after having dinner together, the usual. It was a quiet night, with no one around, and he had cracked a joke that made both of your laughs echo throughout the streets.

After stopping by an empty park and playing around with the slides and swings, there was a brief moment when you noticed him staring at your lips. Being the opportunist you were, you closed your eyes and leaned in, but instead of feeling his lips on yours, a warm hand firmly covered your mouth. Once he removed it, you could clearly see the shine of your lip gloss on his hand despite the dim streetlights.

“I don’t want this kind of relationship, and you’re still too young for me,” he said curtly, walking away without a word, leaving you dumbfounded.

You silently screamed to yourself once he was out of sight. It was the worst calculation error you’ve ever made in your life. You thought that since the light had come back in his eyes because of your presence that this calculated kiss would definitely work on him. You underestimated how much he loved his wife.

‘Too soon,’ you thought to yourself, wondering how you were going to come back from this mistake.

In the end, you couldn’t. The conversations dried up immediately, and all your attempts to meet up with him were met with silence. He even had the audacity to leave you on read, driving you crazy. Being left on read was one of your biggest pet peeves. Eventually, you had to give up on him just like your dad did.

A month before the the 2016 Squid Games were held, you heard whispers of VIPs who were also interested in Inho. You managed to eavesdrop by feigning ignorance, playing on your phone with noise cancelling earbuds while your dad discussed with the other businessmen. Of course, none of them had seen your face, being perfectly hidden behind a masquerade mask.

You weren’t sure what the VIPs exactly wanted with Inho, especially because he had long won the previous year’s games. If they wanted to do something to him, wouldn’t it be easier to do it when he first won, while he was still on Jeju Island and easy to kidnap? It didn’t make any sense to you.

Turns out, they wanted him at his lowest, when he believed he had nothing to live for, to completely break him. It was apparently the idea of a female VIP who found him attractive. They would take him when he had nothing left to lose, use him like a toy, and wash their hands of him as if nothing had happened. They were certainly rich enough to completely cover up his disappearance if they wanted to.

By all means, you weren’t a saint who wanted to save him from this predicament. After all, you wanted a piece of him too. You simply didn’t want him to completely break and then get tossed aside. He was too useful for you to waste his potential like that.

So when he was kidnapped and brought back to Jeju Island, you jumped at the opportunity to bring him back to your side. The VIPs were quite serious about him, judging by how they had him cleaned up while he was unconscious and left him in only a robe for their easy access. Even the bed was huge, enough for multiple people to lay on it at once. Anyone with a brain knew what would happen to him if you didn’t step in.

Every VIP knew exactly who you were. Your distinct masquerade mask stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of full, golden, head masks that each looked like a different animal. Even if you threw tantrums or acted bratty, no one had the guts to oppose you, because pissing you off meant you’d tattle to your dad and have them kicked out from being a spectator of the games. They already pay millions annually to keep up these games, they’re not willing to risk their highlight of the year over a young woman who will eventually inherit the position of Host.

With your advantage of being able to access all the security, it wasn’t difficult for you to find out where Inho was being held. Luckily, it seemed you didn’t have to try too hard to find him in the maze of VIP rooms, because he was only a hallway away. He had already awakened by the time you found him, and was trying to find a way to pick his handcuffs.

You speedwalked to his room. Running was not an option in your heels, especially because you hadn’t broke them in yet. You brought the masterkey of all the locks with you, since you were sure the VIPs had taken the handcuffs from one of the toy bins in the lounge. Even if you were wrong, you could always pick his lock.

You slowly cracked the door open and pushed slowly, wincing at the sound of the creaks. He was visibly startled by your presence, trying to appear brave but you could clearly see him trembling slightly.

“Get away from me!” He yelled as you approached him, causing you to immediately cover his mouth.

“Shhhhh!” You shushed through gritted teeth. “Do you want them to discover you before I even take your handcuffs off?”

He immediately shook his head. “That’s what I thought,” you mumbled as you freed him from his handcuffs. You noticed the red chaffing on his wrists as he rubbed them.

“Where are we?” He asked firmly, although his voice wavered.

“Jeju Island. The 2016 Squid Games are currently under production,” you answered.

“Squid Game? I already won last year! Why am I back in this dreaded place?!” He whisper-yelled, shaking you by your shoulders.

“What do you think?”

“..Am I a wanted man?” He was starting to get nervous.

“Yes, but not in the way you think. The VIPs want to host an orgy in this room.”

“So you’re saying they want to rape me,” he responded dejectedly after a moment of silence.

“Bingo. But I’m willing to save you, but not without my own conditions,” you offered.

“Great. My options are getting raped and your unknown ulterior motives,” he groaned.

“I can guarantee whatever I ask of you is leagues better than what the VIPs will do to you once they get here. With them, your asshole will never close up again, and they might even kill you and cover up your disappearance as if you’d never existed,” you reasoned.

Inho sat down on a nearby couch and buried his head in his hands. The sound of footsteps could be heard from afar, but you weren’t going to pressure him. Yet.

“What’s your offer?” He finally gave in.

“You’ll be my right-hand man. Your role will be determined later. Also, I do want to play with you every now and then,” you responded.

“You’re going to rape me too?” He whisper-yelled, his face getting red with anger.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. I’ll only do it when you agree to it, but you have to do it at some point. I won’t allow loopholes where everytime I ask you, you just reject me. Both my conditions need to be fulfilled faithfully,” you explained, “So? What’s your decision.”

Inho’s jaw was clenched as he trembled with anger, the glare in his eyes defiant. He appeared even more lively than the three months you were in contact with him. The VIPs were wrong about him having nothing to lose. Clearly, even when he had nothing but a pile of money that couldn’t buy him an ounce of happiness, he still had his pride.

As the footsteps drew closer, you observed as Inho peered at the door, contemplating the most important choice he would ever make in his life. Either way, his pride and dignity would be ripped from him, it all depended on whether or not he would be alive after it was ripped away.

Mere miliseconds before the VIPs burst through the door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his head hung with shame for what he was about to do. “I accept your offer.”

You internally cheered. “Good choice.”

As a large group of VIPs poured into the room, you turned to face them with a smile. “Wow, I didn’t know you’d gotten me a gift! You all are so sweet!” You exclaimed excitedly, trying not to giggle as they instantly froze where they stood.

“Miss, there seems to be a misunderstanding—”

“Oh,” you said dejectedly, “This isn’t for me?” You pouted, pointing to Inho.

“Miss, please. Let us explain what’s going on—”

Too late, you started your crocodile tears. All those tedious days of joining Drama club as a mandatory extracurricular and forcing yourself to stare at the mirror for hours to make yourself cry on command finally paid off. You were pretty grateful for your high school self in this moment.

The VIPs nervously glanced at each other. Some of them had come in with erections, although those were long gone due to your performance. They knew that one wrong move and they’d be thrown out of Jeju Island with swiftness.

Finally, the VIP who appeared to be the leader stepped up. It was the woman who came up with the plan. “Oh, Miss! Of course we brought him in for you! You two would look perfect together!” She came in closer, pulling you into a hug.

“If you try and pinch me, I’ll call my dad,” you whispered in her ear before she could do anything.

“You win this time, but don’t get in our way ever again,” she threatened with a whisper.

“I don’t plan on it. He’s the only one I want,” you responded in a whisper.

She pulled away after a convincing amount of time and motioned for the other VIPs to leave, leaving you alone with Inho. You could tell Inho wanted to breathe a sigh of relief as the main threat left, but he was still wary of you and your conditions.

After a bit of thinking, you shut the door the VIPs left open and took off your mask, turning to face Inho. The expression on his face was one you’d never forget. It was betrayal, shock, anger, hatred, anything and everything you can imagine.

“You— was this your idea?!” He shouted, all his wariness leaving his body, replaced with pure anger.

“Of course not. I was planning on letting you go when our conversations dried up. I wasn’t expecting the VIPs to do what they did, but what can I say? I’m an opportunist at heart! How can I not take it when they did all the work for me?” You grinned mischevously, watching as his anger slowly dissipated into resignation.

“What will happen to me if I ask you to let me go? Will you hand me back to the VIPs?” He asked, slumped on the couch.

“I don’t need to hand you back for them to immediately realize you aren’t under my protection. They have access to every player that’s ever participated in these games; they can choose to observe every moment of your life if they wish to. The only way they can’t reach you is if you’re with me,” you explained, although you couldn’t help but let a tinge of giddiness slip through.

“And who are you for you to hold so much power within these games?”

To answer this question, you walked up to him and grabbed his jaw, gripping it firmly and making eye contact with him. Now that he knew of your identity, he was less scared and you were aware he could freely break away from your grip if he wished to, but all his hope had disappeared and he surprisingly remained obedient. “I’m the daughter of the man who created these games,” you told him in a low voice, releasing his jaw.

His jaw went slack, almost as if it had broken and was no longer attached to his body. It took him a full minute for him to close it again. “Why me? Why did you have to take me out of everyone?” It was clear he still didn’t understand how he ended up in this position, despite sealing his fate the moment he decided to enter the Squid Games last year.

“You’re intelligent. You’re ruthless. You’re incredibly competent. You’re the perfect person to help manage the games, even if you don’t see your own potential yet,” you replied matter-of-factly.

“...I don’t want to be the reason hundreds of people die. I’m a police officer! I’m supposed to protect innocent civilians, regardless of their financial status!” He argued, and you almost burst out laughing.

“You’re an ex-police officer. You got fired, remember? Besides, the life I’m offering you isn’t so bad, is it? You get to sit back and relax for 9 months out of the year, only working three months prior to the annual games. You’ll never have to worry about money, being harassed or mistreated, and most importantly…” you placed your hand on his thigh, “Your desires will always be fulfilled.”

“You’re a demon,” he spat, the defiant look returning to his eyes.

“Maybe I am, but you’re the one who signed my contract and agreed to my terms, so why don’t we begin carrying out the terms now?” You snickered, motioning to the bed. “I mean, they made so many preparations just for us.”

“Fine, I’ll give you what you want. It’s the only reason you chased after me in the first place,” he snarled, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises as his lips crashed into yours, as if to assert the dominance he didn’t have.

Unsurprisingly, he was an amazing kisser, although anyone with eyes could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. You had no doubt he was a retired playboy who left a trail of broken hearts everywhere he went before he decided to settle down. He was a biter too, nipping on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp, but not enough to draw blood. As you two made out, you decided you’ll never doubt your intuition ever again.

You broke the kiss as his hands travelled to your ass, pushing him away slightly. “Why’d you stop? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He mocked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“You’re going to learn to be obedient,” you declared, motioning for him to get on the bed, which he hesitantly obliged to.

“Lean on the headboard and lift your arms above your head,” you ordered, which he questioned silently with a raised eyebrow. You had to pull out a walkie to implicitly threaten him into submission. You pulled out a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and cuffed his wrists together, making sure to attach it to the headboard so he couldn’t move very well.

“I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing,” he commented, the one of the only unmalicious things he said while in this room.

“I wasn’t the one who bought it, and I’m only using it to make sure you don’t choke me during sex or something along those lines,” you explained, gently raking your nails down his chest as you opened his robe until you reached his stomach. His body was lean, yet muscular from his time as a police officer, but it was obvious he wasn’t at his peak condition.

“Your intuition is unnecessarily strong,” he said before freezing as you placed a chaste kiss on his neck, still raking your nails through his torso.

You climbed onto his lap before you continued, although this time, you amped it up with the occasional lick. Turning up the intensity even further, you started nipping, kissing, and licking his neck until you found a particular spot that made him gasp. Grinning to yourself, you latched on and sucked, smiling into his neck as an even louder gasp escaped his lips. You knew you were getting him riled up, evident by the bulge pressing against your ass.

It made you even determined to make him scream when you pulled away, witnessing the litany of hickeys on his neck that would surely bruise in the upcoming days while he struggled to catch his breath. Perhaps you were too old for them, but you justified it using the looming threat of the VIPs.

“Stay with me, we haven’t even gotten started,” you laughed, moving down to his chest as you palmed his cock through the cloth of the robe, causing him to shudder beneath your touch. It seemed that no matter how severe his grief was, his body would always react in front of an attractive woman. You doubted he even touched himself at all after his wife passed, considering how he wallowed in bed and only got up to eat and shower.

You slowly untied the belt around his robe and pushed the cloth aside, his cock springing up in front of your face. You were actually a bit scared it would slap you in the face. After taking a good look, you realized it was the biggest cock you’ve ever had, not that you’ve had much experience with well-endowed men. You preferred men who were closer to the average 6 inches considering your petite stature, but now you were face to cock with 7 inches. Not a horse by any means, but still larger than what you were used to.

“Why are you staring at it like that?” Inho asked, a hint of a chuckle in his voice, as if amused by your internal battle.

“I usually go smaller..” you mumbled to yourself, giving his tip a cautious lick. The moment your tongue touched his tip, it twitched violently and he sucked in a deep breath, likely to avoid making any sounds.

His reaction gave you the confidence to be a little bolder. Slowly, you took him in your mouth until you felt him hit the back of your throat. Your mouth wasn’t big enough to take him all in, but it didn’t stop him from instantly throwing his head back. If you’d been any less experienced, you would’ve definitely gagged and thrown up on the spot, but your body count was between you and god. You slowly began bobbing your head up and down, swirling your tongue on the underside of his shaft.

The whole time, he’s as stiff as a statue. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s biting his lips so hard you swear you see blood.

‘He looks so pathetic,’ you think to yourself as you take your mouth off his cock, watching him buck his hips at the sudden loss of stimulation. When it looks like he’s calmed down a little, you blow air on his cock, and he groans, clearly caught off guard.

Something snaps within you, and you start stroking his cock with your dominant hand, making sure to occasionally swipe his swollen tip. By now, he’s struggling against the cuffs. It’s so obvious he wants to pin you down and just take what he needs, but that’s exactly why you have the cuffs in the first place. He needs to learn obedience and patience.

When it looks like he’s about to cum, you stop, and he sits there, shaking and gasping for breath. “Why’d you stop?” He asked between gasps.

“You’re not allowed to cum. Not yet, at least,” you grinned at him. If you had a mirror in front of you, you would surely be twins with the Grinch.

“So that’s what this is about?” He sighed, his body stiffening again as you licked his tip.

“I like how you look right now, that’s all,” you replied before taking him back in your mouth, and he instinctively thrusted. You immediately took him out again, coughing a little. “If you do that again, I’m gonna leave you like this for two hours.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please don’t do that,” he backtracked, the only thing on his mind was his overwhelming need to climax.

You gave the base of his cock a hard squeeze as a warning before opening your mouth and welcoming it back in, reveling in every twitch. Looking up at him, he was once again trying to keep his mouth shut the best he could. You hadn’t even begun sucking yet, and it seemed like he was already close to cumming in your mouth.

You repeated the process of blowing him, stroking him, and teasing him with repeated edging. You hadn’t exactly set a timer to decide when you were done toying with him, but you knew for sure you either wanted him to scream or start crying.

Usually, for this type of sex, according to your friend who was well-versed in BDSM, you needed stuff like safewords to avoid going too far, but this time you decided to gloss over it because you wanted to push Inho to his absolute limit. You could always go slower and gentler later. It didn’t seem like he was familiar with this either.

In the end, your goal of making him scream and cry were both achieved. He stopped holding back his voice around the 30 minute mark, moaning as if no one except you could hear him. He didn’t exactly burst into tears and start sobbing, but you did see a stray tear drip down his cheeks. That was your sign to stop teasing him.

You checked the clock. It was exactly one hour after you had initially started, and you decided it was more than enough. Taking your hand off his cock, you reached for your panties and slowly slipped them off your legs. You didn’t even realize how wet you’d gotten.

You figured you didn’t need any prep or foreplay because of how wet you were, so you lined your pussy at his tip and slowly put it in, feeling the pain and pleasure of him stretching you and filling you up. “Don’t move your hips, you warned him,” as you went excruciatingly slow.

When you finally bottomed out, he let out a loud gasp followed by an equally loud moan. You can tell it took everything in him to listen to your words and not start thrusting like a madman. Brushing his wet bangs out of his eyes, you leaned forward and cupped his face.

“You can cum now,” you smiled, and boy did he take you up on that offer. He came immediately after those words left your mouth, his cock twitching violently in your pussy as he spilled rope after rope. He could barely moan at this point, only loudly gasping for just enough air to enter his lungs.

You waited for him to come back down to Earth to remove yourself from his cock, undoing his handcuffs. A few blisters were forming from the extreme chafing, and you frowned a little, making a mental note to apply ointment on his wrists later.

As he sunk into the bed and laid there breathing heavily, you presented your pussy to him. “Clean up your mess, will you?” You asked sweetly, and he was too consumed with lust to argue with you.

He pulled your hips down so you were firmly sitting on his face, his strong arms preventing you from squirming. He fucked you with his tongue, slurping up all his cum without complaints, making you see stars. Once he couldn’t taste any more of his cum, he moved to your clit and sucked, scissoring you open with two fingers at a punishing pace. You could tell he was trying to make you orgasm as fast as possible, not that you cared because you were too blissed out to even feel the effects of time. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.

Your fingers gripped and tugged at his hair, impossibly trying to force him even closer. His warm, sweaty scalp was the only thing keeping you from believing you’d entered a completely different realm, and you swear you scratched it up until it bled.

You reached your orgasm with a scream, and Inho, the sneaky bastard he was, prolonged it by continuing to finger you until you were so spent you collapsed onto the bed. That was definitely his way of taking revenge on your actions of edging him for an hour.

Once both of your breaths steadied, you sat up and were about to walk to the toilet when Inho suddenly sprang up. “Wait! We didn’t use protection!” He pointed out nervously.

“It’s fine, I have an IUD,” you responded sleepily. You wanted to hurry up and put ointment on his wrists and pass out for 12 hours.

Inho calmed at your revelation, and laid back down on the bed. By the time you returned, he was nearly asleep when you woke him up again with the sting of the ointment. “Seriously? Can’t you do it tomorrow morning?”

“If you want to get an infection, sure,” you sassed, and he instantly shut up, letting you do whatever was necessary.

You climbed into bed with him, too tired to clean up or care about clean sheets. You slept on the opposite of him, as far as you could be, but you knew that you had won him over for good.

As you imagined the future glory of the Squid Games under your combined efforts, you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

‘He’s so mine.’

#Spotify #hwang in ho #player 001 #fanfic #squid game #frontman x you #frontman x reader #front man #female manipulator #dubc0n #older man younger woman #age g4p

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quanruionechancepls · 1 day ago

Text

The Albatross - Chapter 1: Lacy's Angel Dust

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

For more information, check Masterlist

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You’re rearranging your bookshelves, blowing off the dust that accumulated over the various books that sat around your room, forgotten with time, when you rediscover Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human. Inside the book, a small bookmark peeks through the pages, and you flip it open to find a hand-pressed, blue flower. There’s no name on the bookmark, yet your hands shake as you pick it up.

Opening the book to the acknowledgements page, your face hardens as you see the scribbled ink on the page in messy handwriting.

Thank you for lending this book to me - Lacy.

Day 1: Squid Game 2015

Before you were escorted off the plane by a handsome man in a suit named Gongyoo, your dad flicked his hand, and a masked person in a pink jumpsuit brought out a tray with a black masquerade mask. The edges were lined with shining diamonds, a golden feather sticking out on the right. Running your finger through the centre, it discoloured the velvet texture as it ran in the opposite direction.

“What is this?” You asked, yelping when you lifted your head to see a bejeweled mask in the shape of an animal head on Ilnam. How utterly tacky, it shined like a disco ball! The diamonds scattered the reflections of light in all directions. “What’s that ugly thing on your head?”

Ilnam scoffed at you, perhaps offended. “Put on that mask before we get out,” he replied, holding onto the handles as he slowly wobbled down the stairs.

‘Thanks a lot for answering absolutely nothing!’ You thought to yourself, rolling your eyes as you struggled to tie it to the back of your head. Perhaps those fresh acrylic nails were a bad idea.

You flinched when you felt someone’s hand graze the back of your head. “I assumed you needed some help,” Gongyoo commented, his skillful hands looping the string around and creating a perfectly symmetrical bow.

“Oh, thanks.”

The mask sat perfectly on your face, as if it’d been custom-made for you, which was odd, because you didn’t recall ever ordering anything of the sort. Could it be that your dad bought it for you? It was a ridiculous sentiment, he couldn’t even name your favourite colour if he tried. Still, you doubted your brother would ever get you something like this, instead, gifting you another book he found particularly moving.

Gongyoo held out a hand for you, and you placed your hand in his palm as you stepped down the stairs of Ilnam’s private jet with him. Even as you turned your head side-to-side, there were no distinct features of your surroundings, only concrete and an endlessly blue sky. Before you could open your mouth to ask another question, a gust of wind slapped your hair into your face, and you sputtered as you spat the hair out of your mouth. How embarrassing.

“Welcome, to my creation— the Squid Games,” Ilnam announced, arms embracing the wind, basking in his own glory.

You turned to Gongyoo. “What’s a Squid Game?”

“It’s a traditional Korean game usually played in one’s childhood,” he explained.

You facepalmed and sighed into your hand. “This is it… my dad’s lost it.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Ilnam snapped, his hands now on his hips. “You’ll be impressed soon enough.” He began walking, those bizarre people in the pink jumpsuits trailing behind him. Gongyoo nudged you gently with his elbow, motioning for you to follow your dad. Sighing, your high heels click-clacked with each step you took.

Eventually, you found yourself in a theater-like room with many other adults wearing similarly tacky masks, some lifting their masks slightly to take a puff of their cigar or take a sip of their whiskey. The majority of them spoke in an American-accented English, snobbily debating about some sort of business deal.

“Do I have to stay in this room?” You asked your dad, coughing at the cigarette smoke, your eyes burning as you wafted away the chemicals with your hand. You could feel your lifespan decreasing with each second you spent in this room.

Ilnam motioned for one of the human pink jumpsuits with a square mask to come over. “Give her a private room,” he ordered before turning to Gongyoo. “Stay with her.”

Gongyoo bowed to Ilnam as you followed the person in the pink jumpsuit. “So, why do you wear that?” You asked as you followed them down a dimly-lit hallway.

“I will answer all your questions once we arrive at your private room,” Gongyoo interrupted, and you raised a hidden eyebrow at him.

The person in the jumpsuit stopped outside a door labelled VIP 001, and Gongyoo opened the door for you. You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped inside. No unnecessary noises, like the sound of glasses clinking incessantly, or the inescapable, disgusting smell of cigarettes. The room itself was quite ordinary, appearing like a normal luxury hotel other than a large screen on one of the walls.

“What’s the screen for?” You asked, picking up the remote on the table beside the couch as Gongyoo shut the door behind you.

“The screen allows you to watch the games. They will begin in 10 minutes,” he answered vaguely, and you huffed in frustration.

“You said you would answer all my questions! What kind of half-assed answer is that?” You yelled.

“Ask away,” he retorted, his hands in the air. You wanted to mess up that pretty face of his.

“What kind of games are they?”

“The selection changes annually, but they usually consist of traditional Korean games. My job is to recruit players, and there are 456 in total. Each round, the players who lose the game will be eliminated,” he explained.

“Eliminated in what way?”

“You’ll see.” A dark grin appeared on his face, as if giddy.

“Hm, okay,” you thought out loud, trying to absorb the new influx of information. “What’s up with the pink jumpsuits?”

“Those are the staff. There are three hierarchies within these games: the Managers, the Soldiers, and the Workers. Squares, triangles, and circles, respectively.”

You nodded, and the modulated voice of a woman blasted through the speakers, with Gongyoo instantly snatching the remote out of your hand to turn on the screen. Before you could swing your arm at him and scratch him up with your acrylics, he caught your wrist. His grip was firm enough to prevent any movement, but gentle enough to not hurt you.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and he nodded, releasing your arm and motioning for you to sit on the couch. He sat beside you, pulling a walkie out of his pocket and ordering some snacks and refreshments.

Hundreds of players stepped into the arena in green tracksuits and a number, a giant doll-like figure staring them down on the other end. “This is Red Light, Green Light. It’s the only reoccurring game,” Gongyoo remarked, and you nodded.

“Is there a list of players I can look at? So I can keep track of the eliminations?” You questioned, and Gongyoo stood up and opened a drawer, pulling out an iPad and plugging in a charger.

While your eyes were on the iPad, the first gunshot rang out, and you whipped your head in the direction of the screen. A bloodcurdling scream, followed by a stampede of hurried footsteps, then banging on the door, until finally, the bodies all slumped on top of each other like a mountain.

“I see, that’s what you meant by elimination,” you commented, and Gongyoo handed you the iPad, which was now at 5%.

When you looked down, you were met with a long spreadsheet of numbers and names. Each name was highlighted blue, and when you clicked one, it opened a PDF that showed you the profile of the player. After opening a few, you realized the common theme was debt.

“Fuck, it’s going to take me forever to go through all these!” You complained, ignoring the explosive sound of gunshots echoing throughout the room.

Two hours later, long after the first game was over, you were still individually clicking through all the PDF files of the players. Right before you were about to give up and call it a day, you clicked on the profile of Player 132, a 40 year-old man at a height of 5’10, a survivor of the first round. You couldn’t help but giggle at his photo, particularly at his overgrown side-swept bangs that looked so 2000s.

Hwang Inho.

The name was familiar to you somehow, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you heard it before. Zooming in on his photo, you realized you’ve seen his face before, but when you tried jogging your memories, all you got was a pitch black void. You knew for sure that if you knew him, it wasn’t a recent encounter. Despite that unfortunate choice of a hairstyle, that handsome face of his was unforgettable.

In fact, you needed to know if he was single.

His profile didn’t mention anything about his relationship status, only his past as a police officer who was fired for taking bribes. You wondered how accurate that information was, as something about his features made him appear innocent.

Still, you weren’t going to stop your investigation there. Pulling out your phone, you opened Instagram, typing his name into the search engine as you scrolled past a dozen accounts to find him. Unfortunately, you hit your first dead end as you discovered his account was private, groaning loudly as Gongyoo glanced curiously in your direction. Exiting Instagram, you opened Facebook.

Facebook was exactly what you needed to find out everything about him. Player 132 was an avid Facebook user, posting random rants, selfies, and annual, near-identical cherry blossom photos. His recent posts were gloomy, consisting of overcast skies and emo quotes. You could’ve crumpled to your knees when you scrolled down far enough to find his wedding photo, the couple smiling brightly at the camera in a gaudily decorated venue. In another photo, a younger man around your age threw up a peace sign with Inho. At the very least, his hair was presentable for his wedding, rocking a slicked back style.

Sighing, you scrolled back up to continue your stalking, this time through his friend list. At the very top of the list was the name Hwang Junho, and upon closer inspection, you realized it was the same younger man holding up the peace sign. Judging by their last name, you assumed they were related, although they barely bore any resemblance to each other, their noses aside. Clicking on his profile, the first thing you saw was a post of him in the hospital with Inho’s wife with the caption: ‘Get well soon.’

How odd. Player 132’s profile didn’t mention anything about his sick wife. Typing Junho’s name into your notes, you went back to scouring through Player 132’s friend list. His wife’s profile wasn’t much farther down, and you discovered her illness as you scrolled. Liver cirrhosis in one post, the kind that needed an urgent transplant, and an ultrasound post following soon after. She was pregnant and had an illness that at best was chronic? She must’ve had a death wish.

Perhaps it was due to how familiar Player 132 seemed, or it was his strikingly attractive face, but he’d certainly piqued your interest. You turned to Gongyoo, who crunched on a bag of chips. “How long does it take to create a fake police badge and ID?”

Day 2: Squid Game 2015

Turns out, when you have enough money, you can just about get anything done within 24hrs, because here you were, back in Seoul. The moment the plane landed, your chauffeur handed you the ID and badge you requested, specifically for the position of a detective. You couldn’t say you were happy though, because even with negotiation, you were only able to bring the price down to 5 million won— that greedy motherfucker…

While 5 million won should be nothing to you, it still didn’t sit right that a badge and an ID barely larger than the size of your hand was so expensive. God, if you hadn’t bought it over the phone, you could’ve brought down the price to 2 million won for sure.

Your dad wasn’t very thrilled about your return, trying every spell in his book to keep you on whatever island those games were held on— you’d have to ask Gongyoo about that later. Luckily, you inherited your mom’s sharp tongue, one that deflected Ilnam’s every attempt at reasoning with you. It’s not that you didn’t like the games, and you would willingly watch the games in person, but alas, other duties called. At the very least, you could stream the edited footage on a later date, and Gongyoo could keep you up to date.

Your current priority was meeting Player 132’s wife in person. While Player 132 was fighting for his life in the games, you wanted to have a little chat with Little Miss Tragic Princess— Player 132’s beloved bird in a cage.

It wasn’t hard to force your way into having access to her room, as your dad was a huge investor of the hospital she stayed in. One glance into your files and pulling out all the times you stayed in the most luxurious ward was all it took to get a visitor pass hung around your neck. God, it felt great to be rich, even if all your riches were built on corruption. Besides, it was your dad’s corruption, not yours, so it didn’t really concern you.

A nurse personally escorted you to her room, and a few patients stared at you as you walked by, likely wondering what you did to gain such special treatment. You pulled out your least impressive outfit to blend in, your hair in a messy bun, a white blouse, and a blazer and pencil skirt, both in black. You looked like an average office worker, save for your unkempt hair.

“Please sanitize your hands before you enter. This patient is high-risk,” the nurse requested, pointing to the hand sanitizer on the counter opposite to the door.

“It appears her condition is quite severe,” you commented casually, pumping a generous amount into your hands and rubbing it in. The nurse didn’t respond, probably to avoid spilling any private information, not that it mattered. If you wanted the information, you had the means to find it on your own.

As the nurse walked away, you knocked on the door. For a moment, there was no response, and you wondered if Player 132’s wife had died the moment you arrived.

“Come in,” a soft voice called out from inside the room, so soft that if you were distracted, you would’ve never noticed it. You opened the door, entered, and shut it behind you.

Her skin was a sickly yellow, from her fingertips to her face. Even what was supposed to be the whites in her eyes were replaced with yellow.

Jaundice.

It was a common thing within people who had issues with their liver, something to do with a problem with the liver removing bilirubin from the body, a byproduct of processing old hemoglobin, causing a yellowish hue on the body. You knew a lot of random medical knowledge due to the amount of dates you had to sit through with the many, many doctors and students in pre-med that you dated.

“Who are you?” She asked, her voice firm.

You pulled out your fake badge and ID from the pocket in your blazer. “I’m a detective. In the past few days, there’s been a mass kidnapping within Seoul, though this information hasn’t been released to the public.” For the amount of money you paid, if she wasn’t convinced, then you’d definitely hunt down the guy who sold it to you and tear him apart limb from limb. “You’re the wife of Hwang Inho, correct?”

She didn’t relax, instead becoming even warier. “Why are you asking a sick patient like me? And how do you know my husband?”

“When looking through the files of the people who have gone missing, I noticed something they all had in common: they all had financial problems, enough to be in debt,” you continued.

“What are you implying? I know my family is working class, but debt?” She seemed quite offended by your words. There’s no way she wasn’t aware of how large of a financial burden her condition caused, especially her urgent need for a new liver.

“I apologize if I seemed condescending,” you replied, stepping closer and leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Your husband is on the file as well.”

She seemed quite shaken at this revelation. “That’s impossible, he visited me three days ago!” You wished you could live in as much delusion as her.

“It seems he was taken soon after he visited you.”

Before she could get more upset with you, her chest seized up and she hacked out a coughing fit, taking deep ragged breaths as you walked over to the corner of the room, took a paper cup, and filled it with warm water. She didn’t seem sick with pneumonia or anything of that sort, but it could be a lingering cough. She was quite susceptible at the moment, after all. “Can you find him?” She asked, her voice hoarse as she took a sip.

“I’m not in charge of that, so I’m not sure. I’m only able to gather information through interviews like this.” She visibly shriveled up with your purposeful vagueness. Even you could tell she was in a pitiful situation, not having much financial backing while dying in a hospital, and now you’re telling her her husband is missing. “If I’m being honest, we don’t have much support for this investigation either. It’s hard to find evidence.”

Before you knew it, she clung onto the sleeve of your blazer, her grip weak as her shaking fingers grasped at the fabric. You could easily fling her off if you wanted to, but all you did was glance at the sleeve that was surely going to wrinkle. “Please, find him! My husband is a good man— he’s been a police officer for nearly 20 years! Everyone would be losing out on another good person if he’s gone!”

Is a police officer? Does she not know that he was fired for allegedly taking bribes? You sucked in a breath, unsure about your next course of action as you pieced together the story. Starting from the top: Player 132 was a police officer who was apparently fired for taking bribes from a criminal organization. With your discovery of his sick wife, it’s safe to say he started taking bribes with the intent of using it for her treatment, and when he was fired, he was driven to join the games as a last ditch effort. Seems like a plausible story.

“...It says on our file that he was fired for taking bribes, although I’m unsure of how accurate it is. Sometimes investigators leave out important details,” you enunciated your words, trying to let your brain catch up with your mouth. Leaving out Player 132’s wife was a fatal mistake on the part of whichever man your dad put in charge of hunting down these desperate people— her role was crucial to why he entered the games in the first place.

Her expression twisted into a mixture of shock and despair. “That’s impossible…” she mumbled, and you wondered how much more denial she had left inside of her. “Why in the world would he do such a thing?”

Now you were suspecting she was purposely acting clueless. “Is your husband a devoted man?” You inquired.

“Yes, he is,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ve never needed to worry about another woman. He’s always treated me like a princess; brushing my hair, cooking my meals, helping me clean the apartment.” While it sounded like the bare minimum to you, you couldn’t deny that Player 132 was certainly better than the majority of men. It would be nice to be loved by a man like that.

“Then…”

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth as she stared into your eyes. “Does that mean he took out those bribes for me?!��

“That appears to be the case.”

“Gosh, Inho, that idiot!” She cried into her hands, leaning into the pillow behind her as she reeled from the shock.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” you blurted out, not even sure what possessed you to say such a thing. What does this have anything to do with you?

She sighed. “It’s not your fault. I’m more upset that he didn't tell me himself. How is it fair that I had to find out through a detective instead of directly from my own husband?”

“He probably didn’t want to worry you, don’t be too hard on him,” you reassured her. A part of you wanted to sit down and pat her back, but you’ve been standing for so long that it would be a bit awkward if you suddenly sat down. That, and it was probably too intimate for two strangers. “Your only worry should be about recovering your health, nothing else matters.”

She didn’t have much to say, and you couldn’t blame her. It was likely a sentiment drilled into her by her family as soon as they discovered her condition. Here she was, a grown adult woman, reduced to her increasingly worsening illness. You would’ve been furious if you were in her position, so she was handling it with a lot more grace than you would be giving to the people around you.

Removing the visitor pass from your neck, you stuffed your badge and ID back into your pocket. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I hope you don’t mind,” you announced, then cupping your mouth and leaning in slightly. “You’re the last person I came to find. Over the next few days, I don’t have much else to do, but I still need to somehow kill time.”

This elicited a giggle out of her. “Sure, I don’t mind. My mother-in-law has mobility issues, and my brother-in-law is busy at work, so I’m alone for most of the day. It gets a little lonely, staring at the wall with all these needles stuck inside of you,” she responded, lifting the arm the IV was attached to, revealing a myriad of needles.

You flashed her with the most charming smile you could muster, showing off the pearly white teeth that you paid top dollars for. “See you tomorrow.”

Right before you opened the door, you turned around. “Keep this a secret between us, okay?” You requested, holding your index finger to your lips.

Day 3: Squid Game 2015

Gongyoo informed you that Player 132 survived the second round, much to your relief. If he died so quickly, what was the point in visiting his wife? You weren’t in need of any new friends. You hadn’t had the time to keep up with the games, and with near 24hr surveillance of the players, how on earth were you supposed to watch everything? Instead, you dug up more information on Player 132’s family.

His family consisted of his young half-brother, Hwang Junho, and his stepmom, Park Malsoon. He had a 16 year age gap with Junho, not far off from your own large age gap with your brother. His parents divorced when he was a teenager, and he had an estranged relationship with his biological mother while his father died soon after Junho was born. How tragic.

As the third round began, you made your way to the hospital, monitoring the file as it updated the eliminated players in real time. You prayed that Player 132 would survive this round as well— in fact, you wanted him to win. Someone with a face that hot didn’t deserve to die.

Actually, you wondered if you could do anything about it.

You: Am I allowed to rig the games to keep a player alive?

Gongyoo: For you, it’s not explicitly forbidden, but I don’t recommend it.

Gongyoo: The VIPs could get mad.

You: And why does that matter?

Gongyoo: They’re politicians, billionaires, world leaders, etc.

Gongyoo: You don’t want to mess with them.

You: Well, fuck.

Gongyoo: What’s going on?

You: There’s this really hot player.

You: I don’t want him to die.

Gongyoo: LOL, who?

You: Player 132.

Gongyoo: The one who came straight out of an emo band?

You: Hey!

You: You need to trust the process!

You: You need to believe in his potential!

Gongyoo: I won’t believe in it no matter what you say.

Gongyoo: I’m a straight man.

Gongyoo: Only got eyes for women.

You: Okay, then don’t judge my taste in men.

You: God, I guess my next best option is thoughts and prayers.

Gongyoo: Good luck with that. (Read)

Before you knew it, you were back in the hospital room, just in time to catch Player 132’s wife eating lunch. It didn’t appear appetizing in the slightest, a plain bowl of porridge and a fruit salad consisting of grapes, watermelon, and apples. In comparison to other patients, the food she received was considered as special treatment due to how expensive the cost of fruit was. With the cost of her treatment and her stay, you could only imagine how desperate Player 132 looked when begging for financial help.

“I should’ve brought you some dim sum,” you remarked, sitting on a stool and setting down your purse as she shook her head.

“They don’t allow outside food because I’m high risk. They’re very particular on what I’m allowed to eat,” she shrugged, although you could tell she was disheartened by her slight pout.

“That’s a shame.”

You diverted your attention to the IV drip, the isotonic fluid trickling into a long, transparent tube one droplet at a time. With it attached, you doubted she could walk very far, if not, at all. The hospital room seemed grayer than the rest, the lights off with the sunlight peeking through the window. The curtains were a drabby shade of baby blue. Even her sheets allowed no room for comfort or indulgence, a rough fabric in off-white.

“What do you do during the day?” You asked curiously, as there were no visible methods of entertainment in front of you. On the rare occasion you fell sick enough to require a stay in the hospital, you always had access to a TV.

“I facetime my mother-in-law, although it gets a little exhausting. She’s quite chatty, and I sometimes find it hard to keep up. She worries a lot too,” she replied with a small smile. You wondered why she never mentioned her own parents, but that might be too invasive of a question, so you bit back your curiosity. “I like reading, but in the rush of checking in, I couldn’t bring any books.”

She certainly looked like someone who enjoyed reading as a hobby. Your brother would probably kill to have a sister like her, only to end up with a party girl like you. “What kind of books do you read?”

“Hm,” she thought aloud. “When I was younger, I read a lot of romance, but I think I’ve grown out of it now. I like philosophical things, topics that talk about what the point of life is and what it means to be human.”

What it means to be human? You were sick of that topic after all the time you spent in Psychology and Sociology classes, despite it being your majors. It always made you feel like less of a person because often times a student would share a traumatic personal experience and everyone else would quietly chatter among themselves to discuss how horrible they felt, and you were in the corner baffled and wondering why they didn’t act differently in that situation.

Even so, you had to at least try to seem interested. “Have you ever read No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai? I think you’d enjoy it.”

She shook her head. “I never had the time to read it, and it’s hard to find in person. In hindsight, I wish I pursued it harder rather than putting it off.”

“I have a copy of it at home, I can lend it to you if you’d like,” you offered. Your brother gave it to you a year ago, although you haven’t gotten around to reading it. Most of your brother’s gifts ended up collecting dust because you had no use for them.

She perked up immediately. “Really? If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to read it!”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” you replied. Suddenly, you paused. You weren’t sure if your copy was in the Korean translation, as you and your brother were both fluent in English, and could freely choose to read anything within those two languages. “Ah, it might be in the English translation…”

“English? You know how to speak English?” She asked curiously. While English was a subject taught in school, with the lack of opportunities to practice, most Koreans could only hold a basic conversation.

“Yes, I have dual citizenship,” you responded. “If the one I have isn’t in Korean, I’ll try and find a Korean copy.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” She waived, trying to seem modest. It was a common tactic— always pretend you don’t want something even if you do.

“You’re already cooped up in here all day, I should at least try and make you comfortable while you’re here!” You insisted, although you dreaded cleaning through your bookshelf, already imagining all the dust flying in your face.

She seemed to give in with your insistence, but she probably wasn’t going to put up much of a fight either way. “Can I ask you a question?” She asked you after a moment of silence, and you nodded. “What’s America like? I never had the money to travel abroad, only within Korea.”

Well, fuck. You didn’t know how to answer her question. The United States was like every other country, and it had pros and cons. You also weren’t sure how normal your experience was, as you were very sheltered while you were there. Despite how sheltered you were, you still had to pick up a new language to the point of fluency within two years or you’d fall behind in school.

You scrunched your eyebrows. “Hm… I’d say America is a good tourist destination, just avoid the subways.” The first time you took the subway, you almost got stabbed, and since then, your dad hired a driver for you. It might’ve been partially your fault though, as it was 11pm.

She laughed. “Are the subways that bad?”

“I almost got killed the last time I took it, so you tell me,” you joked, and she gasped.

“What happened?”

“A man was drunk after a night out at the bar. I looked like an easy target. I only got away because the train arrived in time and he tripped on his pants and faceplanted onto the floor,” you recounted the story. He flashed everyone inside the trolley when he tripped, and you winced as you recalled the memory. Gross.

“Oh my, that’s so scary! I’m glad you’re okay!”

“I have a lot of luck on my side,” you bragged jokingly. If you were still unlucky after that childhood of yours, you’d bring this issue up with whatever higher power was willing to turn the tides for you.

“Since you’re American, you have an English name, right?” She questioned and you nodded. “Can you tell me what it is?”

“Do you want me to give you one?” You asked after telling her your English name. She seemed quite excited at this, and you pondered what kind of name you’d give her.

You didn’t want to give her a name that was elegant, like Eleanor or Charlotte. A name that was too common was off the table too— you’ve met enough Emilys in this lifetime, the world doesn’t need another one.

Lacy.

Unconventional, odd, and can be vulgar in certain contexts, particularly concerning the description of lingerie. It was perfect. After all, you weren’t going to give her an actual name that sounded nice, and she was ignorant enough to not know any better. Within Korea, she could go around telling people her name was Lacy and no one would bat an eye— perhaps they would think it sounded cute.

“What about Lacy? A lot of feminine English names have a long e sound.”

“Oh, it sounds quite cute! Thank you.” She clapped giddily, probably the most energetic she’s been in weeks. You typed it out on your phone and showed her the spelling of her name, and she added the English keyboard to her device, copying it.

Thankfully, your alarm rang before you had to try and come up with another conversation topic, and you picked up your purse from the floor. “I have a meeting I have to attend. I’ll come back tomorrow,” you declared. There was no meeting for you to attend, just an alarm you forgot to turn off from your school semester that reminded you to study.

“Don’t forget the book!” She reminded, and you laughed.

“I’ll try my best.”

Day 4: Squid Game 2015

Player 132 survived again.

At this point, you were really starting to believe that he could be a finalist. You spent the previous night catching up on everything you missed, mainly watching the games themselves, opting out of the downtime in the dormitory. Gongyoo said that towards the end, there were special games that occured in the middle of the night. You found out what he meant when you opened the file this morning to find several more players dead.

Concerning the book, your copy was thankfully in Korean, so you didn’t have to hunt it down last minute. You didn’t mind if she kept it forever, it was only a book, after all. You could buy a million copies if you wanted to.

You also needed to get back on track since you only started talking to Lacy with the intention of somehow getting your hands on her man. Anyone with eyes knew she didn’t have long left, and her last sliver of hope was the desperate Player 132. If he died, it wasn’t just a death sentence for him, but also Lacy and their fetus.

You had the means to give her exactly what she urgently needed, but why in the world would you do that? To make your life harder? If Player 132 survived and returned to see his wife healthy, you’d have no chance of getting in between them. If he died, Lacy would become a single mother, and you’d toss her aside like a broken doll. If the odds were stacked against you, you’d might as well let all of them die together.

The visits began becoming routine. Every morning, you’d wake up at 9, check the files for any updates, and get ready for the day. By 10:30, you were in the backseat of a car, your driver silently making his way to the hospital. Today, the only difference was the book in your hand. You didn’t have any space inside that tiny purse that was only meant for stylish purposes.

You didn’t need a nurse to escort you anymore, nor did you need them to remind you to sanitize your hands, tucking the book underneath your arm as you rubbed it in. As soon as you walked in, you presented the book to Lacy as if it was a shiny diamond, and despite the discoloured bags underneath her eyes representing her fatigue, she lit up immediately.

“You remembered the book!” She cheered, lifting her arms into the air.

“I’m glad it was in Korean. I’d have to buy a new one if mine was in English,” you responded, placing it on her lap as she excitedly flipped through it.

“I’ll be sure to finish it as soon as possible.”

You shook your head. “No need, take your time. Read when you want to, rest when you need to.”

She sighed, her shoulders drooping as her smile dropped. “I can’t return it to you if I take my time. I don’t think I have long left.” She attempted to force a half-smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m worried for my husband. What if I’m gone by the time he’s found? Our baby too…”

You feigned surprise. “Baby?”

“Oh, you can’t tell because I’m still in my first trimester. We discovered the pregnancy and the illness at the same time,” she explained.

“That must be so frustrating. You can’t even celebrate such a joyous moment because it’s given to you with bad news.”

Lacy nodded. “I’ve accepted the end, although I haven’t told anyone this except you. We can’t afford the liver transplant, and after you told me that my husband’s gone into debt to pay for my hospital bills…. I don’t know, it seems like a hopeless situation.”

“How much does a liver transplant cost?” You were genuinely curious. The cost of buying an organ was already expensive, and then combining that with the price of an operation and a hospital stay easily bankrupted families. There was also the added issue of the possibility of the body of the recipient rejecting the organ, which caused more complications. Compared to Korea, such lifesaving care was even more expensive in the States.

She sighed. “Last time we checked, it’s over 200 million won. That’s 4 years of my husband’s salary without accounting for our cost of living. I used to work in a corporation, but I quit six months ago because I kept getting sick.”

200 million won was two months of your allowance, and it made you realize how different your worlds were. You could buy her a new liver a thousand times over. You really had no business sitting in her hospital room chatting with her like this.

“Gosh, I didn’t realize it was so expensive!” You gasped. “On the bright side, now you know how much your husband loves you because of how hard he’s fighting to make sure you receive the care you need.”

She giggled. “Yes, I’m very lucky.”

“How did the two of you meet?”

She glanced at the ceiling as she reminisced in her mind. “We actually met while he was at work. He was on patrol when he saw me getting harassed by a man. He saved me, and later that day, we coincidentally ran into each other at a restaurant.”

“Ooh, you’ve got your own prince charming!” You teased, and the two of you burst into laughter.

“I wish he was a prince charming! Without me, the entire apartment would be covered in ramen packets. One time, I was away for a business trip, and I returned to plastic crunching under my feet as they overflowed from the kitchen!” She recounted, her gestures large to show you how large of a mess he’d made.

“I’d be so mad if I came home to that!” You exclaimed, and she nodded in agreement.

“I was! I chewed him out until he was begging for forgiveness on his knees!”

“But you said he knows how to cook, so why does he rely on ramen when you’re not around?” You asked.

“He only cooks for me. He doesn’t take care of his health as much as he should, yet he always worried about mine even before my illness,” Lacy sighed, shaking her head. “At this rate, I’m going to die of the stress he causes before my liver gets the chance to kill me.”

It seemed Player 132 was quite hypocritical, although in a self-sacrificing way. Going into debt, entering the Squid Games, and worrying about everyone but himself. It only made him more appealing to you. Why wouldn’t you want a partner who worshipped you like the goddess you were? And he was one of the hottest men you’ve ever laid eyes on. Seriously, if you couldn’t have him, no one else could either.

Before you could respond, someone knocked on the door. Once Lacy gave them permission to enter, a nurse opened the door while another tip-toed inside, balancing Lacy's next meal on the tray. After a makeshift table was set up on her bed, they placed it in front of her and left. Lacy glanced at the steaming food, but didn’t pick up any utensils, instead turning her attention back to you.

“Are you not going to eat?” You pointed at the food. “It won’t taste good when it’s cold.”

“Ah…” she hesitated. “I’m actually not hungry. For the last few days, I’ve been forcing myself to eat for the sake of the baby, but I can’t do it anymore, I just keep feeling worse.”

You raised both your eyebrows at the same time. “You should tell a doctor about this!” You exclaimed, about to ring the bell when Lacy grabbed your hand and shook her head.

“I told you that I’m going to die soon, didn’t I? Any treatment they give me will be for naught, and it’s only going to increase the debt.” Wow, she was just as self-sacrificing as her husband.

Dropping your hand back at your side, you inhaled deeply. “How are you so casual about dying? Are you not scared?”

Lacy averted your eyes, staring down at her yellow hands and her bedsheets. “I am scared,” she admitted in a whisper. “Inho— my husband and I have always wanted a baby. When we found out I was pregnant, I hoped I’d at least be able to carry it to term so he would have a piece of me if I'm gone, but my condition worsened quicker than expected, and I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

Fuck, were you really feeling pity for a woman whose husband you wanted to steal? Worse, were you starting to care about a woman who’s one infection away from being taken by the Grim Reaper?

If you spend any more time with her, you were going to lose your mind. She trusted you so easily, telling you about her family— even her greatest fear. You doubted she could tell her husband about it, both of them wanting to protect each other from additional woes in such a difficult time.

Yet here you were, taking advantage of her, waiting for her to die.

Even with her illness, it was as if she was an angel, from her warm disposition to her dainty fingertips. She was pure as can be, not even suspecting if you had any ulterior motives, as if she believed in the good in people. She took everything you said and did at face value.

If you were the type of show-stopping beauty that landed you on magazines and runways, then Lacy was the opposite. She could roll out of bed, apply a tinted lip balm, lazily tie her hair up in a ponytail, and leave the house. She was an effortless beauty, the pretty girl next door that didn’t stick out, but was the talk of the town locally. You hated to admit it, but she fit Inho like a missing puzzle piece.

You were a rose, and she was a dandelion, often overlooked, yet one of the many joys brought to children who blew the seeds away when spring rolled around every year. With her illness, she was just as fleeting as those dandelion seeds. In fact, with the jaundice her condition caused, she quite literally looked as yellow as a dandelion— how fitting.

Even so, how could she be so beautiful when she was knocking on death’s door? You wanted to rip the skin off her face and glue it to your own.

“I think you would be a good mother,” you said after a long period of silence, your throat suddenly dry, yet you somehow still managed to swallow your own spit. She was much better suited for motherhood than you’d ever be, her love and dedication for a child that wasn’t even here yet was proof of it.

She smiled at you. “Thank you. If I could live for a bit longer, I’d hope this child has a better life than me, but I think my stubbornness will kill both of us.”

Even if she had prioritized herself and got an abortion, the baby was still going to die. Assuming she recovered and got pregnant again, the baby in her stomach wouldn’t be this baby. She needed a miracle to save both of them— one such miracle that her husband was willing to throw away his life for in the form of 45.6 billion won. Still, she needed to hang on long enough for the miracle to actually work.

You weren’t sure if your question was acceptable, but you decided it was now or never. “Would you want your husband to move on if you pass?” It seemed insensitive to use the word ‘when.’

“Of course. Why would I want him to wallow in grief for the rest of his life? I want him to be happy even when I’m gone. I’d only truly be at peace once I know someone will look out and care for him.” What an angel. She was truly better than you in every possible way.

The rest of your visit was a blur, and your feet trudged on the floor as you walked through the hallway of the hospital once your alarm rang. You were starting to dread tomorrow, as you knew you’d have to return, but it would also be cruel to leave her alone. She made it clear it was rare for family members to visit her in person, so who were you to steal this small bundle of happiness from her? Even if you weren’t genuine, it’s better to let her have this momentarily.

Day 5: Squid Game 2015

You officially ran out of conversation topics, awkwardly fiddling with your thumbs as you sat on a stool near her bed. She was so invested in reading she hadn’t noticed your presence, and you weren’t going to break her concentration. Impressively, she was already more than halfway through the book. She wasn’t kidding about trying to return it to you at the earliest date.

Your mind wandered back to the games and to Inho, who’d survived another round, like you expected. He was officially in the semifinals— the last stretch of the games. His chances of winning were now around 1 in 20, depending on how many players died with each passing minute you spent in the hospital.

When she turned her head slightly to reach for a cup of water on the counter, she noticed you in her peripheral vision, and yelped. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there. Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked as she placed a bookmark inside and closed the book.

“You were so focused, I didn’t want to break your concentration,” you replied.

“We only chat for a few hours at most, and I have the rest of the day to read. My time with you is more precious than this book,” she pointed out, and your heart tingled. How odd.

“I didn��t prepare any conversation topics today.”

She burst out laughing, wheezing as she attempted to catch her breath, and the corners of your lips twitched upwards. “You prepare conversation topics?

“Sometimes. It’s a good guideline when you’re getting to know someone,” you shrugged. No shame in your game, you had to do what you had to do to avoid awkwardness.

“Well, I’ve spent the last few days talking a lot about me, but I don’t actually know much about you other than you being American, so, today we’re talking about you,” she declared, rather determined.

You chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

“Hm, let me think,” Lacy pondered. “Were you born in America?”

You shook your head. “I’m a naturalized citizen. I was born in Seoul.”

“Oh? Then how did you immigrate to America?”

“I was there for school. I came back to Seoul for school as well,” you answered. Other than being obnoxiously rich, you were still a pretty normal person.

“Which school?”

“Seoul National University.”

She gasped. “Wow, that’s a really good school!” She clapped for you, and your ears blushed from embarrassment.

“It’s nothing, really. My brother went to Harvard,” you replied. If you really wanted to go to Harvard, all you had to do was get your dad to donate a large amount to the institution, but you opted to return to Korea because, well, the Korean food in America could never compare to the real thing.

Lacy gasped even louder. “What the… is your family full of geniuses?”

“My dad has high expectations, so we’re expected to perform.” You could imagine the disappointment on his face if you hadn’t even gotten into Seoul National University.

“Gosh, isn’t that a bit cruel? I would never put that much pressure on my child, life is already stressful enough.” Her mentality was quite similar to your mother’s, although your mom still wanted you to enter a school of a decent standing even if you weren't reaching for the stars.

You shrugged again. “Every parent wants their child to succeed. School is the easiest way to climb the social ladder.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to talk about such a bleak subject,” she declared. “Anyways, what do you study? You look quite young, so I assume you’re still in school.”

Right, Lacy was probably in her thirties. You doubted Inho would date someone more than 10 years younger than him. “Psychology and Sociology. I don’t like Math.”

She giggled. “Me neither. Math was my worst subject in school.” You held your hand up to high-five her in solidarity, and she returned it without hesitation. Math victims have to stick together.

“Hm, what else can I ask you?” She thought aloud, before an imaginary lightbulb lit up beside her head. “What are your hobbies?”

Shit, she got you there. What were you supposed to say— go shopping? It would either expose your financial status or your lack of impulse control, and you weren’t going to tell her about your shopping addiction.

“I really like anything to do with beauty. Makeup, skincare, anything else you can name. I also like doing other people’s makeup,” you responded. It was basically a roundabout way of saying you had a shopping addiction without explicitly stating it.

“Ooh, I noticed that! Your makeup always looks flawless, although you already look like a doll, but it enhances your features so much more!” She praised, and you blushed harder. Receiving compliments from a pretty woman always felt nice.

“Thank you,” you mumbled shyly. You received compliments quite often, so you weren’t sure why you were so flustered when getting complimented by someone who looked like they were going to eat a banana and aid Gru in stealing the moon. As you averted your gaze, you noticed a half-used perfume bottle on the counter. That wasn’t there before! “Is that Chance Eau Tendre by Chanel?”

Lacy whipped her head towards the bottle, then back to you. “How did you know? The writing was on the opposite side!” She looked quite amazed.

“One of my friends uses it regularly. She likes perfume, and she drags me with her, so I know a lot about perfume too.”

“She probably goes shopping quite often, considering how fast you recognized that bottle.” She picked it up and held out a hand for you, which you glanced at confusingly, your eyebrows slightly scrunched. “Can you open your hand for me?”

You obliged to her request, still confused. She placed it in your hand, and you could’ve broken your neck with how fast you lifted your head to make eye contact with her. “What are you doing?”

“Keep it,” she replied, as if her actions were the most normal thing anyone’s ever done. She covered your hand with her own, the perfume bottle sandwiched in between, her icy fingertips brushing against your wrist. “I can’t finish it anyways.”

Normally, you’d be offended that someone was giving you their leftover perfume, regardless of whether or not it was free, but you couldn’t find it in you to get upset. Lacy was nearing the end of her life, and her family was struggling to keep themselves afloat while juggling her medical bills. This perfume was one of the last small luxuries she had, likely a gift she received during a holiday or a birthday.

Without realizing, your eyes prickled, and you fought back tears as you met her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she reassured you with a smile on her face. She seemed at peace with her decision.

Thats when you knew she was going to die tomorrow.

Day 6: Squid Game 2015

God, you hated being right sometimes.

You were in the middle of a call with the CEO of the hospital, discussing the best match for the organ you were going to purchase for Lacy, when you heard the sound of hurried footsteps and heavy breathing from the other end. Lacy had died right before you were going to finalize your purchase, mere minutes before the liver she desperately needed would be delivered to the hospital and she would enter a lifesaving surgery. Fuck, sometimes it was better to be wrong.

You bit back tears as you watched Inho on the screen, now having no reason for all the suffering and psychological torture he went through.

The book was personally returned to you by the CEO, and you stared at it as if it was a foreign object— as if Lacy wasn't holding it mere moments ago. You didn't think you'd ever be able to pick up and read this book, not now, and not in the future.

The funeral was held a week later, along with a burial. Of course, you weren’t invited, but with your connections, you found out where it was held. You were dressed in a basic black dress with a matching hat, hoping to shield your eyes enough for your identity to be unclear— and so no one could see your tears. No one was aware of your existence except for Lacy herself, and as a result, you were a ghost who had no right to mourn.

It seemed even the heavens were mourning the loss of Lacy, the sky crying for her in the form of a heavy downpour. Inho was equally as crushed, his body trembling as it wracked in sobs, in the fetal position as if he was a little kid. Junho, biting his lip and staring up at the sky to prevent his tears from falling, comforted his brother by rubbing his back. Malsoon dabbed her tears with a tissue, blowing her nose before more tears fell, and she repeated the cycle.

You observed all this while standing in front of a gravestone a few rows away, which is why you brought two bouquets of flowers. How disrespectful would you be if you pretended to mourn for a random stranger without even bringing them an offering? In one hand, you had a bouquet of roses, and the other of white carnations.

You patiently waited for her family to leave, and Junho had to physically drag Inho away from the gravestone. “Inho, you’re going to get sick if you stay here for any longer! We can visit her again tomorrow!” You heard him yell.

“How the fuck can I leave her now?! I left her alone for a week, only to come back and find her dead! I can’t ever leave her again!” Inho screamed back, his anguish coating every word that left his mouth.

“Please, she wouldn’t want the two of you to fight!” Malsoon attempted to reason with them in between her own tears, and the two brothers quieted down with her interference.

As Inho hesitantly stood up and trudged away, mud soaking much of his clothing, Malsoon took his hand and guided him away. As Junho’s hand left his brother’s back, he glanced in your direction, and you quickly looked away, placing the roses on the gravestone in front of you. You prayed he wouldn’t find you suspicious. Did he realize you were watching them the whole time?

When they were finally out of sight, you walked over to Lacy’s gravestone, the mud beneath your feet coating the soles and sides of your boots. Inhaling deeply, you stared at the engraved letters for a moment, your eyes skimming through a few photo frames. In one, she held a bouquet while she smiled brightly at the camera, and in another, she sat on a small staircase with Inho as he grinned. She looked even more beautiful when she was healthy.

“I hate you,” you blurted out, placing the carnations on her gravestone.

No one mourns the wicked, but the wicked don’t mourn for the good either.

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