Archive of Our Own ^beta

Indecision can change your life in a multitude of ways.

A few moments of delay as you mull over a thought in your head can be the deciding factor between waking up tomorrow or never seeing the light of day again. When fate stares you down, you must not falter. You cannot and should not blink, lest something bad happen to you in that split second of darkness.

Hwang In-ho hesitated. The man knows firsthand that regret doesn’t change anything, doesn’t undo what he’s done. Yet he can’t stop the dissatisfaction clawing at him in the corners of his mind, nor the uneasy feeling bubbling in his chest. If questioned upon his return by the only person he took orders from, he had a slew of alibis to choose from that the guards in pink around him knew better than to refute. But even after all he’s been through, Hwang In-ho is still human, and humans have these pesky things called emotions. If asked whether or not he would change his actions if given the chance, he didn’t have a definite answer. Not yet.

Even now, as he sits in a boat that will bring both him and his unconscious brother back to a glorified cage of an island, he cannot decide which he regrets more; his actions or his hesitancy?



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In-ho had shot his younger brother, one of the only good things about his old life. His younger brother, who relied on and looked up to him. His younger brother, whom he loved more than a brother ever should.

To say he was feeling conflicted was an understatement. He had a hunch that something was not what it seemed when he heard there was an intruder, a hunch that was confirmed when his men found the body that washed up onshore. There weren’t enough words in the world to describe how the usually stoic Front Man felt when he looked at that police ID and saw Jun-ho staring back at him. It was sort of fulfilling, in a strange way; he always knew his baby brother being a police officer would inevitably lead him to the Games – and subsequently, to In-ho – so seeing something his boss once considered paranoia coming true was somewhat gratifying. Of course, that didn’t make him feel any better about shooting Jun-ho. If anything, it made him feel worse. Budget is rarely a problem when you’re funded by the world’s richest people. Having known this was a possibility for so long, he could’ve prepared countless precautionary measures and fail-safes and have no one (except for Oh Il-nam) questioning him.
 

Yet he didn’t. And he couldn’t understand why.

Maybe In-ho hadn’t expected the officer to go alone with nothing but a phone, a gun, and the clothes on his back. Maybe he hadn’t expected Jun-ho to make choices as bold as he was while investigating the island. He sure as hell didn’t expect his moral-driven brother to get wrapped up in the whole organ harvesting operation, and Jun-ho himself most likely didn’t either. It’s just how things happened to pan out. Challenging circumstances and taking leaps of faith on an island hosting a mass death game certainly wasn’t doing him any favors, either.

Then the VIPs came.


And shit hit the fan.


Jun-ho had hit a VIP. Given the man’s earlier behavior and the fact that he was naked when the guard found him, he was expecting a sexual favor that never came. Putting two and two together (it feels a lot more like four and four these days) In-ho deduced that Jun-ho had used his gun to threaten the old creep then knocked him out. Though he was going to be on the receiving end of a heated complaint since he was the man in charge when this happened, he couldn’t help but be thankful Jun-ho had his gun. The thought of an old stranger touching his brother made In-ho’s skin crawl and his chest flare with emotion. Protectiveness, bloodlust, jealousy? Whatever it was, it filled him with white-hot rage. If you were observant enough, you could tell whenever the thought passed through his head by the way his leather gloves creaked from his fists clenching.

It was a risk, taking the place of a waiter that would be serving the VIPs. A risk Jun-ho nearly paid for with his dignity.



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Despite himself, In-ho was impressed by just how far his brother managed to swim. The young officer was well-built, he didn’t doubt that. But his determination – which was bordering on stubbornness – and adrenaline were the true reasons behind the distance Jun-ho managed to put between himself and the island. The plan must’ve stopped there, though. In-ho couldn’t imagine what his brother was going to do after he somehow managed to get enough signal to send whatever evidence he had or call for backup. Let himself get caught? Stall until reinforcements came? Try to steal the boat they used to get there? A plan based on chance or coincidence was never a safe one, and there were too many ways this could go wrong for Jun-ho.

Confronting someone who has no clear escape route is almost worse than someone who does. They’re cornered, desperate, and most of all unpredictable. A small, selfish part of In-ho had been confident that, upon seeing the face of the man he’s been looking for, Jun-ho would calm down. Be reasonable. Understand that going back with him was the best course of action.

Spoiler alert: he didn’t do any of that. Alas, the detective never ceases to amaze him. The same part of In-ho that had been confident was now as salty as the water that was dripping from Jun-ho’s clothes and pooling on the floor of the boat. Even through his leather gloves, In-ho could feel how cold the water was just by holding his brother. A sigh escaped his lips and drifted past the voice changer built into his mask as he instinctively ran his thumb across the younger man’s pale cheek. Must’ve been quite the sight for the few guards around them that dared to spare a glance: the Front Man, known to be scary and merciless, lovingly caressing an intruder’s face as his damp hair soaked the lap of their boss’ coat. It was obvious that they had some sort of history. The pink guards were obedient, not stupid. They saw the expression of recognition appear on the intruder’s face when the Front Man removed his mask. They saw (if not heard) Jun-ho breathlessly call him hyung before the trigger was pulled. In-ho thanks the heavens that he outranked the guards. He would most likely be fired if they had the power to do such a thing. On a secret island teeming with illegal activity, being fired is far more literal than you think.



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As badly as In-ho wanted to carry his brother himself, he knew his shoulder wouldn’t be able to take it. So begrudgingly, he let two guards accompany them. When the sole purpose of a specific place is to be one large death trap, having some form of clinic or medical wing doesn’t exactly end up on your list of priorities. If you get injured, you’re most likely going to be left to die, whether you were a player or a guard. In-ho was neither, however, so he had some basic first-aid knowledge and equipment in his bathroom. He had the guards carefully lower Jun-ho into his bathtub and leave shortly after, closing the door behind them upon their boss’ orders. The man in black moved to turn the lock before removing his mask, going from the Front Man to Hwang In-ho as though they were two different people (they weren’t. Not really, not anymore.) Swiftly unbuttoning his cold and damp coat to shrug it off, he stared at the younger man only a few steps away from him. Jun-ho’s face was paler than it usually was, his hair a dark wet mop on his head, his clothes disheveled and darkened from the sea and his blood.


Not wanting his brother to bleed out before he has a chance to explain his perspective, In-ho decided to treat Jun-ho’s wound before his own. Leaning over the side of the bathtub, he started to strip the unconscious man of the black waiter uniform. His hand lingered for a moment over the surgery scar on Jun-ho’s lower torso, a mirror of the one on his own. It would forever be a reminder of how close the two were, to the point that a part of him was keeping his brother alive. He removed every piece of clothing – they were brothers, it’s not like he hasn’t seen Jun-ho naked before and vice-versa – and tossed them near his coat. And if In-ho happened to glance at his little brother’s crotch every now and then, that’s nobody’s business but his own.


With a face much warmer than before, In-ho turned the faucet on. Steam began to fog up the mirror and fill the room as hot water poured into the tub. He grabbed some forceps and swiftly but skillfully dug out the bullet in his brother’s shoulder just as Jun-ho’s skin started to regain its warmth and color, much to his relief. After that was out of the way, it was just a matter of cleaning the blood and saltwater off his brother, bandaging the wound, and then dressing him in more comfortable clothes. He’ll have to insert “treating own wound” somewhere in that to-do list, but In-ho figured he’d cross that bridge when he gets there. In-ho reached for a loofah he never used, drizzled some new liquid soap onto it, and started to scrub Jun-ho down. He started at the younger one’s jaw, working his way down to his neck, collar bones, shoulders (making sure he wasn’t irritating the wounded one), unmarked chest, chiseled torso, slim hips…


In-ho shook his head. Now was not the time for his mind to wander, as tempting as it may be.


The older man took a deep breath of the vanilla-scented air, which had the opposite effect he was after. Rather than clearing his psyche, it made it fuzzier. In-ho swayed slightly, his head feeling much lighter than before. It must be the blood loss, he thought to himself. With that in mind, he started getting through the rest of his mental to-do list quickly so he could attend to his own wound. He didn’t exactly get shot often as the Front Man, despite what his skill in dressing gunshot wounds may lead you to believe. If someone were bold enough to do so, however, they better make sure it kills him. Otherwise, they’ll have hell to pay.


With some difficulty, In-ho managed to half carry, half drag his bandaged but still unconscious sibling from the bathroom to his bed. Rummaging through his closet full of clothes in varying shades of gray and black, he eventually found a pair of pajamas that were slightly smaller than his other garments. It was quite a challenge to dress a presumably comatose man with only one fully functional arm, but it most definitely wasn’t the most difficult In-ho had faced.


As he gently laid his brother down and brushed a strand of hair away from Jun-ho’s face, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia with an undertone of something sour washed over him. It reminded him of when they were younger and his little brother would come back from playing with his friends, hair a mess. When times were simpler. When the love he felt towards Jun-ho was something remotely innocent. When the world wasn’t so cruel and when lonely nights didn’t bleed together. But as Atticus once said, nostalgia is a beautiful lie dressed up in sepia. In reality, times weren’t simpler, nor was the world any less cruel than it was now. They were just blind to what lay ahead, spent their days blissfully ignorant until life decided enough was enough and slapped them across the face.


Well, slapped In-ho specifically. Despite Jun-ho’s actions that bring his morality into question (he killed two people during his “investigation,” if he wasn’t mistaken), it isn’t hard to see he still trusts mankind to some extent. Its judgment, its integrity. He was part of law enforcement, after all. But In-ho’s seen too much. He’s witnessed first-hand what desperation can drive someone to do. He knows what kind of influence you can have with enough money and power. He’s interacted with the people the system has failed to show empathy towards. He’s talked to the people that have the ability to control and manipulate said system too.


That’s what the sourness beneath the bittersweet feeling was; cold and hard understanding.


The man resumed his upright position in favor of leaning over his brother. His head was getting cloudier by the minute, and the sickeningly sweet aroma of vanilla radiating from Jun-ho wasn’t helping. Though he could’ve spent the rest of his day staring at his brother’s beautifully peaceful face, his wound would surely be the death of him if he doesn’t tend to it soon. Tearing his gaze away from his sibling, In-ho trudged back to the bathroom. His top was almost completely soaked in blood now, and he was honestly surprised the marble floor wasn’t covered in puddles of the red liquid.


As he walked into the threshold, a wave of heat and an overwhelmingly honeyed scent greeted him. The soap he used was very pungent, it seemed. Instead of lingering on that thought, In-ho wasted no time in removing his shirt, grabbing the forceps again, and starting the process of fishing for the bullet in his shoulder. After a little trial and error, he managed to find it and pull it out, dropping it into the sink. He quickly grabbed a clean towel and pressed it to his wound as he prepared the bandage and dressing he was going to use. Some finessing, fumbling, and a few breaks to catch his breath later, his shoulder is wrapped in gauze and he’s rinsing the medical instrument.


In-ho stood there for a while, his hands clutching either side of the sink bowl. His mind felt like a whirlwind at this point. Thoughts that were moving too fast to focus on swirled through his head as beads of sweat traveled down his temples. Was it just him or was the room getting hotter? And when did it start spinning?


Between his inability to form a coherent sentence in his head and his struggle to walk straight, it was safe to say In-ho was most definitely in no condition to try figuring out what was happening to him. He stumbled his way out of the bathroom, somewhat hoping it was just the leftover steam from Jun-ho’s hot bath that was the source of heat and dizziness. But the temperature was just the same and steadily getting worse.


The man gripped the doorframe like a lifeline as his knees threatened to buckle. At this point, it felt like it was. Anything that would ground him and keep his mind from wandering too far was invaluable. The heat was pooling in the pit of his stomach now, haziness no longer the only thing plaguing his mind. Keeping his head up was becoming more and more of a chore, an electric shock of oversensitivity shooting up his spine and setting his nerves ablaze with every breath he took. He didn’t really know what his goal was anymore, but he did know where he wanted to be. With all the strength he could muster, In-ho hauled himself off of the floor and made his way to his room.






If the mental fog and tremors from hypersensitivity were bad before, the sight of Jun-ho laying on his bed in his clothes made them unbearable. In-ho couldn’t suppress the groan that left his lips as blood rushed from his flushed cheeks to his cock. Obscene and downright filthy thoughts flooded his head, every single one of them involving the man so beautifully sprawled on his sheets. He licked his lips, his mouth going dry at the very thought of being inside Jun-ho, pounding into him, using him as he pleased…


In-ho let out a quiet hiss, his sensitive dick straining against his too-tight pants as he strode determinedly towards the man on his bed. His hands fumbled with his belt buckle, aggressively yanking it off the second he could. Moments later, his slacks and underwear were strewn haphazardly across the floor. In-ho’s patience was running thin, and it took everything he had to restrain himself from pouncing onto Jun-ho right then and there. Savor this, the still remotely sensible part of him whispered. Savor him , it corrected . With an impressive amount of self-control, In-ho crawled onto the bed slowly but earnestly. Hunger and lust burned behind his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. He tugged the pajama bottoms down and off Jun-ho, leaving his round and beautifully unmarked ass on display. Pre-cum beaded at the head of his dick, flushed and throbbing at the seductive sight before him.


Though it was incredibly tempting to just thrust into Jun-ho and fuck the heat away, In-ho was sober enough to somewhat consider Jun-ho’s wellbeing. Grabbing some lube he keeps nearby, he quickly squirted some onto his hand and coated his cock before lining himself up to his brother’s entrance. He groaned at how warm and tight the younger man was as he pushed in, the pleasure bubbling inside him and threatening to spill over so soon. Ragged pants floated through the room as In-ho tried not to cum right then and there, despite the overwhelming heat clawing at him from within. Gripping either side of his brother’s hips, he pulled out – leaving just the tip in – before snapping his hips forward. The delicious friction tore a loud moan from In-ho, a primal urge to go faster awakening.


Fueled by lust and need, he set a brutal pace as he fucked Jun-ho like it was his last day alive. All the years of sexual frustration and confusion came pouring out of him in the form of pure, unbridled passion. The lewd sound of skin slapping skin and moans filled the space. The older man’s already inhuman speed seemed to double as he felt that familiar coil in the pit of his stomach start to wind, bringing him closer and closer to the release he so craved. Whatever rhythm he was snapping his hips to was now long gone, his thrusts becoming more erratic and sloppy as he chased his climax. With a few last grunts of effort, In-ho let out a broken groan as his vision briefly went white, cumming inside Jun-ho with an unfamiliar fervor.


As the heat that had plagued him gradually subsided, In-ho pulled out of his younger brother who had stayed unconscious the entire time. Now that his rationality was coming back to him, In-ho could’ve easily started to thoroughly think about what happened and what it would mean for the two of them when Jun-ho woke up. But he chose not to. He was far too tired, and all he wanted to do was clean both Jun-ho and himself before falling asleep. With the towel he had used to dry his sibling earlier, he wiped away any leftover lube and the cum – his cum, his mind so helpfully reminded him – slowly running down Jun-ho’s thighs.


By the time In-ho returned to the bathroom to collect their clothes, the pungent aroma that had hung in the air was barely there anymore. He picked up all the articles of clothing and tossed them into the laundry hamper in one of the corners. Just as he was about to leave, though, In-ho stopped in his tracks and walked over to where he put all the toiletry. Picking up the soap he used to clean Jun-ho, he scanned the bottle’s fine print. Sure enough, there it was:



“Product may have aphrodisiac-like effects. Please use sparingly and with caution.”



In-ho was going to shoot whichever guard thought it would be funny to add this brand to the list of supplies they needed to order for the island.