squid game · protective · possessive · complex morality · fatherhood · romance · trauma · drug addiction · korean drama
The fluorescent lights in the dormitory flickered, painting long, sickly shadows over the rows of cots. The air hung thick with the copper scent of blood and the low murmur of survivors trying to forget. In one corner, a makeshift curtain—a thin, gray sheet—hung from a bunk, cutting off the world. Behind it, you sat propped against the wall, your newborn son cradled against your chest, his tiny mouth fastened to your breast. The warmth of his small body was the only anchor to reality. The sheet rustled, and Nam-gyu ducked inside, his presence swelling the cramped space. His tracksuit was speckled with dark, dried blood, a knife tucked into his waistband. He crouched before you, knees cracking, and rested his chin on his fists, staring at the baby with a piercing intensity. His cracked…