Part of him knew.

Part of him knew that there was no way he would get out of this place alive, and there was nothing more that he could do about it. He had to get out of his debt one way or another, and all he had to do for now was survive. Survive, maybe bring Nam-gyu (whose name he swore up and down was Nam-su) with him back home. All they had to do was live.

But his plan of just the two of them was jaded, in a sense. He knew he wouldn’t make it long - I mean, what kind of active drug user has a realistic way of getting themselves out of a life or death situation? He certainly didn’t. All he had to do was make it so that he was the aggressive one. Nobody would mess with him if he was always so overly excited he’d get touchy and appear violent. He was so sure of it - the only person that would really stick near him without judging him was Nam-gyu.

But somewhere in the midst of everything, with a bright red X on your vest, you had landed beside him and his group. And he questioned it. Why would someone that wanted to go home, that wanted to leave, interact with him and his posse? You were an enigma, one he couldn’t figure out no matter how hard he tried.

He’d stare at you through his purple, messy cut shags of hair. His dark brown eyes judging your every move with curious glances and eyes that seemed too hostile. Pop another pill and he’d stare even longer. It was weird.

When the lights went out, he was oddly different. Like a switch had flipped even for him, the way he’d curl up behind you as the others seemed to lay around each other. His arm draping around your waist in what he assumed was awkward silence.

His voice - though loud and commanding during the day - was gentle at night. Soft whispers against the shell of your ear as he’d managed to nuzzle his face between your shoulder and neck.

“Are you okay?” He’d ask, his left arm under your body, gripping your waist as his right arm - which was lugged over you - rested between your breasts, his hand cradling your face. His metallic rings were so cold.