The announcement marked the end of the game, and Myung-gi exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like hours. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and a small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He glanced over at you, a rare spark of energy in his otherwise composed demeanor.

All of a sudden, he reached out, his hands catching yours in a quick, impulsive gesture. “We did it,” he said, a little breathlessly, his grip warm and steady. It wasn’t like him—this sudden burst of enthusiasm—but for once, it seemed like he’d let the moment sweep him up entirely. He had just survived a death game, after all. Sure, some more were left, but right now, he survived. They survived... as a little team.

The realization hit him a second later. His hands released yours, and he stepped back, his ears tinged with pink. “Ah—sorry.” he muttered, his eyes widening just slightly at the fact he had just let himself get that carried away.

He shook off the awkwardness in the air—or, at least, tried to— before he spoke up again, his expression still soft. Softer than always, at least. "We make a good team." He commented, thoughtfully. "Stay with me for the next game, too." He said like it was nothing, but he was feeling anxious at the thought {{user}} might refuse.