We Hear Gi-hun Talk Nonstop About How 'smart And Cool' Sang-woo Is In Season One, And I Feel Like Jun-ho

The winner takes it all

The loser's standing small

JUMPSCARE

dynamic goes crazy.

Someone on Twitter asked for domestic InHun 🧡🫶

I love AUs so much where they're just domestic and happy under normal non life threatening game circumstances HAHAHWGDJSB🧡

“Coming Out? No, Just Coming Over” (post-Games 457, Inho returns home, ft. one very emotionally intelligent stepmother)

After the Games collapse and the dust settles, Junho (bless his stubborn heart) basically drags Inho back into reality. He knows their mom hasn’t stopped setting out an extra bowl at dinner. Knows she still prays for the son who walked out the door and never came back. So he tells Inho it’s time. It’s long past time.

And Inho? He’s terrified. Like pacing-anxiously-wringing-his-hands-nearly-backing-out kind of terrified. He doesn’t believe he deserves forgiveness. Doesn’t believe she’ll even want to see him.

Junho’s patient with him. Too patient, really. But he knows his brother, knows how shame can build walls thicker than steel. So he waits. Coaxes. Tells him over and over: She never stopped waiting for you.

Eventually, Inho cracks. Quietly. One afternoon, he says, “Maybe I could visit. Just once.”

That’s when Gihun steps in. Gentle voice. Soft hand on the shoulder. “You don’t have to do it alone.” And Inho—without even thinking—asks him to come.

So it’s the three of them standing outside her apartment door, Junho knocking once, twice. And when she opens it and sees her eldest, the step-son she thought she’d lost, it’s like everything stills.

No yelling. No slamming doors. Just her pulling him in, sobbing into his chest. Her tiny frame wrapped around him like she’s trying to make up for years in a single hug. Inho doesn’t cry, but his eyes are glassy. Junho turns away, giving them space. Gihun just gently rests a hand on Inho’s back. No words. Just here.

Dinner is…awkward at first. But his mom, bless her, keeps the conversation moving. Gently asking questions, slowly reminding Inho what it means to belong somewhere. She asks Gihun where he’s from, what he does—never once hinting at anything beyond friendship. Just polite, motherly curiosity, doting in the way mothers do when they’re trying to say thank you without making anyone uncomfortable.

Gihun answers easily. Inho mostly picks at his food and listens, shoulders slowly lowering with every minute. At one point, she turns to Inho with a soft smile.

“So… how did you and Gihun meet?”

And he freezes. He feels Gihun glance at him, but doesn’t look back. The truth is a minefield, too fragile and too brutal to speak aloud.

So he lies. “Junho introduced us. A while back.”

There’s a tiny pause. Gihun doesn’t say anything. Neither does Junho. His mother smiles like she believes him. Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. But she doesn’t press. She just nods, and keeps talking, filling the space for him.

(She also calls Gihun “handsome” at one point. Inho definitely chokes on his rice.)

Later, when she offers to let them stay the night, Inho starts to decline—but she insists. “It’s just one night. It’s late. You’ll be more comfortable here.” Inho starts to protest, voice strained—but Gihun nudges him gently with a look that says it’s okay. So Inho nods.

She disappears down the hall to set something up. They sit in the dim room, Gihun’s knee brushing his, Junho already half-asleep on the floor like it’s ten years ago and nothing ever changed. When she returns, she just says, “There you go,” nods toward the spare room, and excuses herself to bed. No fanfare.

She disappears before they can thank her.

Inho hesitates before standing. There’s that gnawing in his chest again. He’s already preparing himself for two bedrolls. For separation. For unspoken lines drawn in thin blankets.

But when they walk in—

There’s only one bedroll on the floor. Blankets, pillows, neat and shared like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Inho stares. Gihun stares. Neither of them moves.

No assumptions. No jokes. Just this quiet, deliberate gesture wrapped in soft flannel. A thousand words unsaid—but understood.

Inho crouches down slowly, brushing his hand over the blanket. “She knew,” he says, barely above a whisper. “She didn’t say anything, but… she knew.”

Gihun kneels beside him. “Yeah.”

And Inho finally lets his head drop, shoulders caving, some deep ache inside him spilling out in a quiet, trembling breath.

They lie side by side that night in silence, facing the ceiling, fingers brushing.

Home isn’t loud. It’s not a welcome parade.

It’s one bedroll on a wooden floor, and a mother who sees everything.

I have this one-shot planned too.

gihun with some suspiciously boyfriend-shaped cats hmmm

people trying to tell 457 shippers that “no, in-ho isn’t in love with gi-hun, that man loves watching gi-hun suffer, this is not the look of love!!!!” will never not make me laugh because babe, that’s the main reason most of us ship them.

no, we don’t want fluff or rainbow or unicorn or sunshine or healthy relationships. that’s boring. we want blood and gore and tears and pain and betrayal and violence. that’s why we fucking ship them

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