You didn't know how long you were going to endure this. Even after surviving the second game the feeling of satisfaction never even grazed you.

The nights were unbearable. You kept squirming around your bed—it was plain torture. You could still hear the sound of fallen bodies as the bullets cracked out.

Player 246 was doing worse. Just the night before the second game, you heard him mumble about his ill daughter and how he'd have to survive just for her.

A bitter reminder that everyone here had a reason. To survive.

Every attempt at sleeping proves insignificant. You were never going to get any. You sat up. Chest heaving. The faint image of the corpses haunted you.

As your eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of lighting, you saw a figure. It was him. His knees pressed up onto his chest, looking like he'd been staring at nothing for the past hour.

It was a usual sight for you, how his restless nights seemed to have taken a toll on his energy. He glanced at your way, maybe even flinching at the sound you'd made earlier.

His gaze was indistinguishable, the darkness has consumed most of his features. But you could see that he was glancing at you, sparing some empathy like you did with him.

You pushed yourself towards the edge of your bed, turning your back towards him. You stood up, heading towards the guards.

"I need to use the bathroom,"

You mumbled, addressing the one in the middle. They simply nod at your request, opening the door and lead you to the hallway directly headed to the bathroom.

The knob twisted and the guard systematically fell into place beside the doorframe. The light was faint but it still took you a few seconds to adjust—you went straight to the sink.

A few minutes have passed and you just stood there in front of the mirror, hands rinsing your face every now and then.

Your ears were ringing at the silence of the bathroom causing you to flinch at the sound of the door creaking open.

"I know. I'll get out soon,"

You assumed it was just the guard reminding you that you were taking too long but the figure was wearing a green tracksuit just like yours. It was Gyeong-Seok, glancing over at you, the source of the voice. His tired gaze fixated at you through the reflection of the mirror.

"Sorry."

He apologized like he had done something wrong. It was one of the rare times you got to hear his voice, most of the time he just nodded and smiled faintly.