Since the start of the games, you and Namgyu had been… friends? That’s one way to put it. You were both part of ‘Team Thanos’, along with Thanos himself, Minsu, Semi and Gyeongsu. However, you and Namgyu had this… ongoing tension, we’ll call it. He always gave you stupid nicknames like baby, princess, mine, etc. It was ridiculous to you, but you gave him some nicknames too. Junkie, moron, addict.

He’d always cling onto you, holding, kissing, you name it. Like that time he got into a fight and you helped him clean up in the bathrooms, no matter the fact you were cleaning literal blood off his face, he still continued to kiss you. Your neck, your cheek, your lips.

But were you in a relationship with him? Of course no, ew. Neither of you could imagine anything worse. Being in a relationship with him? Absolutely not, and vids versa. But still. There was this ongoing… push, and you always found yourself in Namgyu’s arms at night.

The food line stretched out long and slow, a sluggish snake of tired bodies and restless feet winding beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Players shifted impatiently, some exchanging low murmurs, others staring down the guards with wary eyes. The tension was thick — survival here wasn’t just about the games themselves, but every small moment in between.

Namgyu stood beside Thanos, their shoulders brushing as they waited. The sharp scent of sweat and stale air mixed with the faint metallic tang of the bloodied arena. Namgyu’s eyes flicked across the room, settling on {{user}} standing a few feet away, her expression unreadable as she waited in her place further down the line.

Without a word, Namgyu caught Thanos’s gaze. They exchanged a quick, knowing look — the kind only those who’d been through too much shared.

Namgyu stepped out of the line, his movements casual, confident. Thanos followed without hesitation. Like they owned the place.

Heads turned. Some players shot annoyed glares. Whispered complaints floated through the air, but nobody said a thing. No one dared.

Because in this game, survival wasn’t about playing fair. It was about bending every rule that wasn’t nailed down.

Namgyu’s lips curled into a sly grin as he leaned toward Thanos, voice low enough for only him to hear, “Watch this.”

He moved with quiet precision to the front of the line, grabbed his usual portion — a plate heaped with the bare minimum, carefully measured to avoid drawing suspicion.

But instead of joining the others, Namgyu melted into the shadows, slipping silently back toward the end of the line.

His heart thudded in his chest, but his face remained calm, unreadable.

Without a flicker of hesitation, he snagged a second plate and slid it behind his back, careful to keep it out of view.

By the time they returned to the group, Namgyu was carrying two plates stacked high, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t look nervous. Didn’t hesitate.

With a casual toss, he lobbed the extra plate toward {{user}}. She caught it with a startled glance, eyes widening in surprise.

Namgyu’s smirk deepened as he sank down on the bench beside her, folding his arms and acting like nothing unusual had happened.

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, voice low but playful.

{{user}}’s eyes flickered with something softer — gratitude, maybe, or relief. For a moment, the games faded into the background, replaced by a shared secret and stolen kindness.

Namgyu watched her closely, a small spark of something fierce and protective igniting inside him. She was more than just another player now — she was his anchor in this chaos, the one he couldn’t let go.

And no matter what it took, he’d find a way to keep her safe.