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justarithinnngs · 3 days ago

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Spaces (Squid Game x Player!Reader)

Chapter 2 - Tell me when you hear my heart stop.

The phone felt heavy in her hand. Her mother’s voice still lingered in her ears, but all (Y/N) could hear now was the pounding of her heart, the frantic thoughts racing in her mind.

She let the phone slip from her hand, landing softly on the couch, and then she buried her face in her hands. A choked sob tore through her chest, each breath coming in jagged gasps, as though the air had been stolen from her.

Her apartment—her safe place—felt unfamiliar now. The walls, once a comforting embrace, now closed in on her. The laughter from earlier in the night felt distant, like something she could never quite return to. It was as if she had stepped through some invisible threshold, and the world on the other side was darker, colder.

Her father was dying. It wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t some cruel joke. It was real. Brain cancer. The words repeated in her mind like a broken record, over and over, louder with each iteration, until they drowned out everything else; and all she wanted to do was scream.

She’d spent so many years looking after others—her friends, her family, even strangers who needed a kind word or a smile. She had always been the bright one, the energetic one, the one who brought light into any room she entered. But now, it felt like the world was stealing that light from her, wondering what she could have possibly done for her and her family to feel this type of pain. She felt hollow, empty, as if all her joy had been sucked out by something too big to comprehend.

She could feel the raw grief swelling in her chest, but beneath it, there was something else: fear. Fear of losing her father. Fear of what would happen to her family if she couldn’t fix this. Fear of the unknown, of a future she had no control over.

(Y/N)’s phone buzzed again, this time vibrating against the fabric of the couch. She glanced at the screen. Jiwoo’s name flashed in bold letters, but she didn’t have the strength to answer. She knew what they’d say, what they always said—Call me if you need anything. But the truth was, nothing they said could fix this. Nothing anyone said could bring her father back, could reverse the diagnosis, could stop the inevitable.

She pulled her knees to her chest, curling up into herself as the tears fell freely now, soaking her shirt. The weight of it all crushed her, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t know how to be the person everyone needed her to be.

How could she fix this? How could she make it better? She couldn’t. She was powerless. And in that realization, she felt the last shred of hope slip away.

Time passed without her noticing—minutes, hours, she wasn’t sure—but eventually, she managed to gather herself enough to sit up. The tears didn’t stop, but the worst of the sobbing had subsided. Her body trembled, and her head ached, but at least the nausea had lessened.

She stood, moving like a zombie toward the kitchen, her mind still clouded, her limbs heavy. Her phone buzzed again, and this time she couldn’t ignore it. She had to answer.

With shaky hands, she picked it up.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Jiwoo’s voice came through, warm and concerned. “We were all getting worried about you. You haven’t replied to any of our texts, and—”

She couldn’t hold it back. The lump in her throat was too much, and before she knew it, her breath caught, and she burst into tears again. Jiwoo’s voice cut through her sobs, frantic. “(Y/N), what’s wrong? What happened?”

“I—Jiwoo…” Her words faltered, choking on the emotions she couldn’t contain. “It’s Dad. He’s sick, Jiwoo. Really sick. He… he has brain cancer.”

The words didn’t feel real, but as soon as they left her mouth, a sob wracked her body. Her vision blurred with tears, and she stumbled to the couch, sitting down heavily, like her legs couldn’t hold her anymore.

There was a long silence, and for a moment, (Y/N) feared Jiwoo would hang up, unsure of how to respond. But when Jiwoo spoke again, her voice was soft, comforting, yet raw with emotion.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

The words hit her like a wave, crashing over her chest. “I don’t know what to do, Jiwoo. I don’t know how to fix this. I’ve always been the one to help everyone else, and now…” She trailed off, her breath hitching. “Now, I can’t fix this. I can’t fix him.”

“You don’t have to fix it,” Jiwoo said, her voice steady but soft. “You just need to be there for him. For your family. And for yourself. You can’t do it all alone, it's not healthy."

(Y/N) closed her eyes, the ache inside her deepening, making it hard to breathe. She could feel her mother’s words echoing in her mind again—We’ll fight for him. You’re not alone. But no matter how much they fought, it wouldn’t change what was coming.

“Jiwoo,” (Y/N) said after a long moment, her voice thick. “I don’t know how to be strong right now. I feel… empty. Like everything that made me me is gone.”

“You’re still you, (Y/N).” Jiwoo’s words were quiet, but they carried weight. “You’re just… hurting right now. And that’s okay. You don’t have to pretend to be okay.”

The relief that washed over her was so overwhelming, she almost collapsed from it. She let her phone drop onto the couch beside her, curling into herself again. Jiwoo was right. She didn’t have to pretend. She didn’t have to be the person everyone expected her to be, not tonight. Not when everything felt so broken.

But still, there was that gnawing question in the back of her mind—What now? What was she supposed to do with this grief, with this helplessness? What was she supposed to do when the people she loved most were slipping through her fingers?

That night, (Y/N) didn’t sleep. She didn’t even try. She sat on her couch, staring at the empty space in front of her, listening to the distant hum of the city outside her window. Her phone buzzed again, this time from her mom, but (Y/N) didn’t pick up. She couldn’t.

Her mind was filled with nothing but the weight of the future—the future that no longer felt certain, that no longer felt like something she had control over. Every moment seemed fragile, slipping away as quickly as it came.

The next morning, her mom called again, her voice quieter than before, but firm. “(Y/N), I know this is a lot to take in, but your father needs you. We have an appointment at the hospital today. They’re going to discuss treatment options, but we need you here with us. Can you come?”

It was the last thing (Y/N) wanted to do. She wanted to scream, to shut herself off from everything, to pretend that her father wasn’t dying. But instead, she took a deep breath, holding back the tears that threatened to rise again.

“I’ll be there,” she said, her voice trembling.

As she hung up the phone, she felt the smallest spark of resolve flicker inside her, but it was quickly extinguished by the overwhelming weight of what was to come.

She pulled on a jacket, her hands still trembling, and left her apartment. The world outside felt unchanged, but for her, everything had shifted. Every step she took toward her car felt like a step further from who she had been just a day ago.

The fight had just begun. And it was a fight she didn’t know if she was strong enough to win.

But for her dad, she would try. She had to try.

(Y/N) stumbled into the cold morning, the sharp air biting at her skin, but she barely felt it. Every step felt like it took more effort than the last, her limbs heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion that seemed to seep into her bones. But still, she kept moving. Even if it felt like she was walking through molasses, even if she couldn’t see past the pain clouding her mind—she had to keep moving.

The streets outside her apartment were already bustling with the noise of the city—cars honking, people shouting to one another, the distant hum of the world spinning forward. It all felt so wrong. Like the world was continuing on, business as usual, while her entire world was slowly crumbling.

(Y/N) reached her car, but before she could open the door, her phone buzzed again.

It was Jiwoo.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

The question sat in her chest like a weight. She didn’t want to burden Jiwoo with this, with the crushing weight of the reality she had to face. But at the same time, she was so tired—tired of being strong, tired of trying to carry everything on her own. Maybe, just maybe, she could lean on someone who loved her.

She stared at the screen for a long moment, her finger hovering over the keyboard. She could hear Jiwoo’s voice in her mind—soft, gentle, like she was already there, offering comfort even through the phone.

She didn’t want to burden anyone. But… she couldn’t face today alone.

(Y/N) typed back, “Yeah. Please.”

Within moments, Jiwoo replied, “I’m on my way.”

It felt like a small victory, that one decision—choosing to let someone in, to accept help. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

When Jiwoo arrived, (Y/N) was already sitting in her car, staring blankly at the steering wheel. Her body felt like a lead weight, and her mind was lost in a fog of worry and fear. Jiwoo slid into the passenger seat without a word, her presence a quiet comfort, and for a few moments, the only sound was the low hum of the engine.

They drove in silence, and the roads blurred beneath them. The appointment at the hospital was looming ahead, but (Y/N) couldn’t bring herself to think about it. She couldn’t bring herself to think about what the doctors would say, what the treatment options would look like, or how much longer her father could hold on. It all felt too much.

But Jiwoo was there, her presence like a tether, keeping (Y/N) grounded. Even when her mind was spiraling, even when she felt like she was about to break under the weight of it all, Jiwoo was there.

The drive was long, but it didn’t matter. When they finally reached the hospital, (Y/N) felt like she was stepping into another world. The sterile smell of antiseptic, the constant buzz of machinery—it was all too familiar now. And yet, it still felt like she was walking into a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

“Ready?” Jiwoo asked, her voice soft.

(Y/N) nodded, but the action felt robotic. She wasn’t sure she was ready. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready. But her dad needed her. She had to be strong. Even if she didn’t know how.

Inside, they were led to the small consultation room where her parents were waiting. Her mother sat there, her eyes dark with exhaustion, her face drawn tight with worry. When she saw (Y/N), she stood up, her arms reaching out, but (Y/N) couldn’t move. She couldn’t bring herself to let her mother hold her. Not when she felt so far gone.

“(Y/N), sweetheart,” her mom said, her voice cracking as she walked over, her hands trembling. “We’re just waiting for the doctors. They said he'll be here soon.”

(Y/N) forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She felt numb. Cold.

She sat down in the chair beside her mother, and Jiwoo took a step back, giving them some space. She didn’t say anything, but her presence was still there, steady and unwavering.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. Every passing second felt like a reminder of how much was slipping away.

Finally, the door opened, and a doctor entered—tall, in his mid-forties, with a practiced, neutral expression. He looked like he had delivered this kind of news a thousand times. (Y/N) could already tell he wasn’t here to offer hope.

Her mother’s hand squeezed hers, but she didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

The doctor sat down at the table, opening a folder in front of him. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses before looking up at them.

“Mrs. (Y/L/N).. (Y/N),” he began, looking between both her mother and herself. "I’m afraid there’s not much more we can do.”

(Y/N) felt her heart drop into her stomach, as she squeezed her eyes shut in hopes that this was just a bad dream she can wake up from as the weight of his words hitting her like a punch to the chest. She couldn’t breathe.

Her father, who had fought so hard, who had always been the one to protect her, the one who had always been the pillar she leaned on—he was slipping away. And there was nothing anyone could do.

“We can offer palliative care,” the doctor continued, his voice even but sympathetic. “It will help manage his symptoms, but…” He trailed off, as if not needing to say the rest.

Her mother nodded slowly, her eyes already glassy. “We understand,” she whispered, voice shaky as she held back tears.

But (Y/N)? She couldn’t understand. She didn’t know how to understand. All she felt was the sharp pain of a life she couldn’t stop, a future that felt too dark and too cold to face.

“Thank you,” her mother said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/N) didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Words were stuck in her throat, too heavy to escape.

The doctor stood up to leave, but before he did, he looked at them one last time. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “We’ll give you some time. Take care of each other.”

And with that, he was gone.

The room felt empty, even with her mother beside her. The weight of the diagnosis hung in the air, suffocating, like it was pressing down on her chest.

Her mother was holding it together, just barely, but (Y/N) couldn't keep pretending she was okay when everything in her was breaking. "I don't know how to do this, Mom," (Y/N) whispered, her voice thick with tears. "I don't know how to do this without him."

Her mother wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “We’ll find a way. Together, we’ll find a way.”

But (Y/N) wasn’t so sure anymore. She wasn’t sure there was a way. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going, how much longer she could pretend to be strong for everyone else when the world around her was falling apart.

For the first time, she didn’t know if she could fight.

And yet, the fight had only just begun.

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