Touchy boy
Warnings: Nothing! Just fluff!
You had entered the games in an attempt to get out of the debt you were drowning in.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had promised yourself since red light, green light, you wouldn’t get attached—that you’d keep your head down, play smart, and survive.
And then there was Nam-Gyu.
From the moment you met, he’d been unbelievably touchy. At first, you chalked it up to nerves—maybe he was just the type who needed physical reassurance to stay calm. But then it became routine.
The way his arm would sling over your shoulder when you went to collect your food from the guards.
The way he’d always find some excuse to sit close, knees touching when you guys sat on the steps to the bunks.
The way, after a particularly brutal game (Mingle), he had found you sitting against the wall, shaking, and wordlessly pulled you into his chest—his chin resting against the top of your head, his arms wrapped tight around you like he could shield you from everything.
“Just breathe,” he had murmured. “We’re still alive.”
And you let him. Because, somehow, his touch made everything feel a little less terrifying.
Now, as the next game looms closer, you sit together in the dimly lit dormitory, the hum of tension thick in the air. The beds around you are mostly empty, scattered players keeping to themselves, whispering anxiously about what horrors tomorrow might bring.
Nam-Gyu is lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over your stomach, his fingers tracing random patterns against your shirt. It should feel too close, too intimate for a place like this, but it doesn’t. It feels… grounding.
“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter than usual.
You exhale. “Not really.”
He shifts, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you. His brows knit together, concern flickering across his face.
“You have that look again.”
You blink. “What look?”
“The one that says you’re planning to do something stupidly self-sacrificial tomorrow,” he mutters.
You scoff. “I don’t—”
“You do,” he cuts in, eyes narrowing. “And I get it. You want to play smart, keep your team safe, but you can’t just throw yourself into danger every time. Not when—”
He stops himself.
Not when what?
The unspoken words hang between you, thick as the tension in the room.
And then—softly, like he’s testing the waters—he reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he murmurs.
Your throat tightens.
Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being just about survival. Somewhere along the way, he became the only reason you still had something to fight for.
A sudden noise—a shout from across the dorm—breaks the moment. Players on both sides, arguing and yelling obscenities at each other.
Nam-Gyu sighs, rolling onto his back but keeping his fingers laced with yours. “I hate this place,” he mutters.
You squeeze his hand. “Me too.”
Silence settles again, heavier now. You should sleep—both of you should—but neither of you move.
“Hey,” Nam-Gyu mumbles after a beat. “If we get out of here…”
You turn your head to look at him.
“…What?”
His grip on your hand tightens. “Let’s go somewhere far. Somewhere warm. Somewhere we don’t have to look over our shoulders every second.”
Your chest aches. “You really think we’re gonna get out of this?”
He shifts again, eyes locking onto yours—serious, determined. “Yea, that’s why we’re voting X tomorrrow.”
And for the first time since you got here, you let yourself believe him.
A/n: Hi my lil monsters! How we likey? Felt like writing a fluffy ass Nam-Gyu fic since everyone thinks my baby is a asshole 😔
Love ya, Twilight
Taglist:
@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun
Squid game taglist:
@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz
