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A cold and calculating man oversees the deadly competition as its secret mastermind: every move, every tactic, every techni...
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When I open my eyes, the dim morning light was creeping through the cracks in the decrepit walls of our makeshift shelter. For a moment, I'm disoriented—half-expecting to wake up to the usual paranoia of this place, my body tensed and ready for whatever horrors the game had in store. But instead, I'm greeted by warmth.
And then I realize why.
Young-il's arm is slung loosely over my waist, his body curled protectively around mine. I blink, trying to process the fact that we have fallen asleep on watch. Together. The same Young-il who seemed too cold to touch, let alone fall asleep while holding you.
I shift slightly, feeling his steady breathing against my back. The moment felt oddly normal, like waking up next to him wasn't strange at all, even though it absolutely was.
"So much for being alert," I murmur, my voice thick with sleep and laced with a hint of amusement.
His stirred behind me, a low groan escaping him as he stretched slightly, his hand brushing against my side. "What are you mumbling about?" His voice was gravelly, still heavy with sleep.
I turn my head to glance back at him, and when our eyes meet, the realisation seemed to hit him too. He blinks, his attention shifting from confusion to a faint smirk. "Did we seriously fall asleep?"
"We were supposed to be on watch," I say, rolling onto my back to look up at the cracked ceiling. "You're terrible at this."
He lets out a short laugh, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. "Me? You're the one who leaned on me first. I was just being polite."
"Polite? All the things that happened last night don't scream 'polite', Young-il."
His smirk widens and he shrugs, a look that says 'And I would do it again' on his face.
"Well, at least we didn't get killed in our sleep." I say. "So technically, we did our job."
Before he can say anything else, I get off the mattress, ready to step outside into the harsh reality of the game. The warmth of the moment still lingered, even as the tension of survival settled back in. Whatever this thing was between us, it wasn't something I could afford to think too much about. I already regret that I opened up to him a bit last night. My Grandpa taught me never to show any kind of weakness, and that's exactly what I did.
[•••]
The dimly lit stairwell echoed with the shuffle of footsteps and muffled whispers as we ascended towards the next game. I stay close to Young-il, his quiet presence a strange kind of comfort. Neither of us spoke much, but the air between us felt full—like words weren't really necessary.
He walks just slightly ahead of me, his hand brushing against mine every so often. The third or fourth time it happens, he finally just grabs my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine with surprising ease.
