Chapter Text
It happens in an instant.
It’s crazy how a life can be defined in a single second, how a life can pivot by one split-second decision.
How everything can change.
A sound and a flash of light can draw that final period - the punctuation denoting the conclusion, ultimate completion. For Kim Hongjoong, that dot is made of lead, and it comes racing in his direction after letting out its cry of damnation.
“Bang!” The loud noise echoed across the hangar’s uppermost catwalk, ringing in Hongjoong’s ears. He registered the PO’s eyes going wide - surprise? Shock? Ecstasy? He can’t tell, his eyes squeezed shut of their own volition microseconds after.
Though it only lasts a moment, that almost microscopic tick of time stretches on and on. It protracts itself, evolving from life-ending moment to life-defining, life-remembering. Time itself loiters as if it, too, desires to draw out the moment. For what? Hongjoong wonders. Is this abstraction of time meant to be taken for remembrance? Appreciation and love?
Or ought he give in to the countless regrets that so greatly strive to drag him down to hell prematurely?
Heat.
There is heat.
Hongjoong feels it.
He’s surprised, for it’s all he feels. He’d expected to feel piercing, the rending of flesh and spurting of blood, his life’s essence pouring out of him and raining on those down below. But it’s just a snap of warmth racing into his body. He registers the sensation of warm liquid running down his cheeks. Those are tears, though. That he knows, even in his half-life state.
His last tears.
What a thing to think about.
He shakes. He shakes violently, petrified to let go of that railing but moreso of his life. A shot square between his eyes - that’s what he’d been promised, and that’s what he’d been delivered. There is no escaping that; no tricky outmaneuvering to be done nor smoothtalking is going to influence the will of the angels, the gods, or whatever otherwordly powers that may be.
Hongjoong is tired.
So, so tired.
And perhaps now he can rest.
Yes, he thinks.
Now is time to rest.
Rest…
Rest…
Any second now.
He’ll rest.
That coldness he always read about in storybooks or saw on TV will set in, and his grip will give, sending his lifeless body to the ground.
Right?
Right?
…
Right?
Hongjoong timidly blinks his eyes open. Tears blur and distort his vision. He still feels pain. Is this what it’s like being braindead? Being present yet simultaneously unaware?
Except, that doesn’t explain how he can take account of every one of his faculties. His fingers remain firmly gripped around the metal railing - albeit sweaty and slippery. He still feels the pull of artificial gravity tugging his body down, down toward the hangar floor. All the dull aches and sharp pains knock at all the right places.
Wait a minute.
Pain.
Pain.
Dead people don’t feel pain.
People who got shot do feel pain, but not if the bullet goes straight through their eyes, they don’t. So…
Where did that bullet go?
Did the other miss again?
Is it truly possible that he - the formidable, assured petty officer - actually missed his final shot on the unmoving target?
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
Elation bubbles up inside Hongjoong, and he gasps. He smiles uncontrollably and opens his mouth, ready to gloat. When he looks to Seonghwa, he waits for an excuse or a snarky comment, a curse or a threat. Hongjoong’s face falls into a look of bafflement when he’s met with the sight of devastated shock.
Missing a final, almost unmissable shot on an enemy would likely ruffle anyone. However, what puzzles Hongjoong is the fact that Seonghwa isn’t looking at him at all. He’s not looking at the captain, and he’s not even looking at his gun, blaming it for a faulty discharge or anything. His eyes are trained in Hongjoong’s direction, yes, but they are beyond him.
Seonghwa stands petrified in place, jaw dropped and flapping as if he’s dismayedly attempting to find words. Words for what? To explain what ? That he had missed a shot? Would he really look so damn devastated, though? Joong notices the hand holding the gun is quaking. Tears gloss over the PO’s cerulean eyes, and shit, he looks so… So pathetic, almost. Pitiful. Sad.
Hongjoong follows the other’s gaze, and his mouth falls open.
What?
What?
What?
What?
Seonghwa’s shot didn’t miss.
He’d deliverd it, as promised - right between the eyes.
Right between the eyes of a Galactic Coalition officer who’d - in the midst of the distraction - snuck up behind Hongjoong. The blackcoat lays there cold and defunct. Hongjoong studies the body on the platform behind him and, in one hand, he sees a laser with a barrel dangerously close to his nape. The shooter glows purple.
That color’s indicative of one particular setting: fatal.
No matter what Seonghwa did, that shot would’ve finished Hongjoong. Period. End of story.
Wait, but-
No.
That can’t be right.
It must be a mistake.
Right?
Of course it’s a mistake.
Right?
Is Seonghwa so damn up his own ass that he’d burn his last bullet just so he can be the one to end Hongjoong? Maybe that’s it. Except, then, wouldn’t he still be trying to kill Hongjoong? Wouldn’t he want to finish the job?
“You saved my life,” Hongjoong utters dumbly. “Why did you- Why did you save my life?”
“I- I-” Seonghwa shakes his head. “I- Iunno- I- Iunno- I- I mean- I didn’t I- I don’t kn-know- I don’t know why I- I-”
“Up here! There’s more of them!” Voices bark from behind them.
Shit. Their little one on one match is no longer fair in numbers. Blackcoats block each side of the central catwalk. Fuck.
“Zzzzt! Zzzt!” “Stand down.” “Put the gun down!” “Zzzt-!”
“ Shit ,” Hongjoong flinches at just the sound of laser shooters. He’s in a precarious enough position as it is without getting shot at. A fresh set of tears threaten to fall from his eyes. His hands feel clammy, and he’s weak, drained from hours of exertion.
“Down here-!” “Let’s converge.” “Stand down!” “Officer three-zero-two is down, I repeat-”
“Brrrrrr-rrrrr-rrrRRRRRRR!”
Hongjoong nearly jumps off of the railing when the thunderous noise booms beneath him. It’s so damn loud, his ears ache, but it quickly dawns on him that it’s a familiar loud. Wrenching his eyes open, Hongjoong looks down and gasps.
“Get the fuck on!” Jongho yells from the loading ramp. It’s impressive he can even yell over the deafening jet propulsors. “Now! Captain, just let go! We’ve got you!”
“They’ve got a ship!” “Zzzzt!” “Is that the stolen rattlesnake-” “We’re gonna need more cruiser units-”
ATEEZ floats up steadily, and Hongjoong’s tippy toes just barely touch the ramp. He doesn’t need any further prompting to hop down, onto the loading ramp.
“Get them off the ship!” “The loading ramp-” “He’s the one who shot three-zero-two-” “Open shoot- open shoot!” “ZZzzzt! Zzzt-”
What follows is a whirlwind of impulse.
Lasers shoot left and right, all going for the center. There’s only one person they can possibly hit at this point, given that ATEEZ’s ramp is floating off to the side. Without rhyme, reason, logic or ration, Hongjoong reaches out. He just. Reaches out. He leaps forward and yanks the black collar as hard as he fucking can. The ship jerks downward in tandem with his grab, letting gravity do the work the captain can’t.
Two bodies tumble in, collecting a rainbow of bruises as they do so. There’s a lot of loud noises. Shouts over the intercom, yelled curses, questions. There’s a warning: they’re going into warp the second they clear the air field. The ship jerks and jostles as GC cruisers and the Stray Boyz stronghold alike fire at them. Thankfully, with replenished fuel, ATEEZ’s shields are juiced up enough to tank them. They pay no mind to the utter ruin they’d left in their wake.
Warp happens.
There’s a flash of light, and the loose bodies in the loading bay fly.
God, now that hurts. Shit. Hongjoong’s body gets slammed against everything. The stairs, the walls, Yeosang’s work tables, empty hovercarts. He’s battered and bruised when they get out of jump, and the first words he can finally properly make out are:
“Jumped damn near as far as we fucking could,” It’s Yunho’s relieved voice and, shit. Fuck. “I- I think we’re out. I mean- Nobody’s tracing us. Warped us to the middle of nowhere, so, odds of us running into friends are basically nonexistent. Gonna put us on low econ cruise and set security to alert us should anything come up.”
Fuck .
Hongjoong feels so fucking relieved to hear Yunho’s voice, he could cry. He might, actually.
They did it.
They did it.
They got out.
They got the fuck out.
Holy fucking shit .
Hongjoong laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs. His sides split, and tears roll down his cheeks as he just lays on his back, splayed out on the ground and laughs.
The other laughs, too.
The entire cargo bay just echoes with maniacal laughter. It fills the bay to the brim, pure, unadulterated verbally delivered bliss. It hurts, god it fucking hurts to laugh. The captain can feel his lungs straining against his ribcage. Every single little ache and sore spot screams out beneath his skin and, fuck, how amazing is that?
Because pain means you’re alive.
He’s alive .
They’re all still alive. It was a triumph. They’re alive and it hurts , and never has it ever felt so glorious to hurt.
The captain’s a mess, but he doesn’t give a shit. He can’t be assed to care about much, really. He’s running on the fumes of adrenaline that’d been surging through his veins hours prior. When he finally tires of laughing, Hongjoong heaves an ecstatic sigh.
“Captain- Captain, are you alright?!” “Captain!” “What the fuck-”
“Hm?” Hongjoong sits up and, oh, okay so maybe pain isn’t that great. He winces and glances over his shoulder. Yeosang and Mingi stampede down the stairs alongside Jongho.
“Shit,” Yeo huffs. “Shit are you alright?”
“Captain, when San’s finished resting, you need to go to the infirmary, okay?” Mingi fusses over the captain.
It’s Jongho who finally bursts the bubble, “What the fuck is he doing here?”
Oh.
Yeah.
Him.
Right.
“P-Put him in the cell,” Hongjoong blurts out. What else is he supposed to do? The guy stabbed him in the back and almost ran off with the Coalition.
The youngest’s brows knit in bafflement,“But- But why did you-?”
“Just put him in the cell!” Joong bristles. For some ill-founded reason, his gaze finds the petty officer’s. Those blue eyes are a far departure from the set Joong’s used to. They’re lost, confused.
I’m sorry, Hongjoong almost wants to say:
I’m lost, too.
“R-Right, yes captain,” The youngest responds obediently.
Hongjoong mumbles as heat prickles his face - why is he flushing? “Yeosang if you can look at him, um, medically. Wh-When you get a chance.”
“Yes, captain,” The cyborg nods.
“Good, good, um- thank you, I just-” Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose. All of the fatigue hits him like a freight ship, “Why don’t you all get some rest. Take whatever meds you need and just sleep a bit. Then we can gather over a meal.”
“Captain, please, get some rest,” Yeosang suggests softly.
“No, no I’m the captain I need to-”
“Sleep,” The cyborg asserts. “You look like you’re about to pass out as it is. You’re not gonna be a very good captain if you’re too tired to function.”
“I just wanna make sure everyone gets- gets to bed alright and stuff.”
Yeosang pouts a bit but finally relents, “Fine. Make sure everyone’s all tucked in, then you go to bed, too.”
“I will,” Hongjoong nods.
As exhausted as he is, the captain has a feeling that sleep won’t come easily. His mind is overfull, spilling with thoughts, ideas, theories, and questions. No doubt they’ll plague him when he lays his head to rest. He just hopes that when body overcomes brain, the myriad worries don’t follow him to his dreams.
Hongjoong bundles himself more tightly in the blanket he’d taken off his bed. The pilot’s chair in the bridge isn’t exactly comfortable. The squeaky leather does nothing for his aching. Even after an indiscriminate amount of sleep, his body’s still bogged down with exhaustion. Restless thoughts ultimately roused him from his spot on the bed. He figured that if he stayed much longer, he’d meld into the mattress anyway. So, the captain walked his sore body up to the bridge.
He’s been there ever since. Just alone in the quiet, staring at the stars. They look so peaceful, and it feels like the Stray Boyz warship is lightyears away. Even so, part of him remains slightly anxious.
Memories bubble up of the escape. The ghost of gunshots and vague yells persistently ring in his ears. It’s like the place left a stain on him. He’s not sure how long it’ll take for that mark to fade.
Whenever the noise becomes too much, Joong makes a point to set his eyes onto the stars. Their serenity is contagious. It’s easy to let the mind drift out through the bridge into the vacuum of space. The stars speck the horizon, glimmering peacefully, as if they don’t have a care in the universe.
The matters of man are but a passing trifle to the stars. They outlive sentient humans by centuries, millenia. Hongjoong can’t imagine existing for so long. It’s mind-boggling to think that they’ve lived through so much as silent bystanders of man’s follies. Even more fantastic is knowing that due to the advancement of technology, he has the privilege to soar among them.
Of course, the past day- Has it really only been a day? Perhaps two have passed since the whole ordeal began. Regardless, his experiences have made him understand more than before how much of a privilege it is to be in space. To be free.
Joong spins the chair around to gaze at the Compass; strange and mysterious, yet almost homey. There’s a familiarity to it. Is it because he’s stared at it so goddamn much? Or is it the countless hours spent fantasizing about Maddox’s Treasure that makes it feel so familiar? Maybe it’s just the unplaceable warmth the device emits. Sometimes, Joong thinks he’s just imagining it, but being in the presence of the arcane Compass makes him feel… Weird. Not bad weird, though. Just. Different. It’s not exactly easy to describe. “Comfort” isn’t quite apt. The thing thoroughly confounds him to the point of frustration. But he can’t deny the sort of security he feels around it. Maybe it’s the physical assurance that he’s not insane, that this isn’t some fever dream or illusion.
“Shiff.”
The door to the bridge slides open, and two tall, smiley figures skip into the bridge hand in hand. It immediately breaks the contemplative silence Hongjoong had enveloped himself in, but he doesn’t mind it. Actually, he’s glad people came in. He’d probably stare at the Compass for another three hours without interruption.
“-ed to just check. I don’t think anyone else is-” Yunho’s giddy grin falls upon seeing the captain, and even though he’d been there first, Hongjoong feels like he’d interrupted something. “Oh. Captain, you’re- you’re up.”
“You don’t seem happy to hear that,” Hongjoong teases with a smirk.
“Wh- No, No I- Uh-” The canis stutters, gaze darting between his Venusian partner in crime and his best friend. “Just surprised,” He finally chokes out.
“Good to see you’re up and about already,” Mingi adds sheepishly. “Honestly I thought you’d be out for awhile, too. You took a hell of a beating.”
Hongjoong shrugs, “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Wh-” “No, no we’re not- not disappointed-” “Seriously it’s a relief-” “It’s impressive-” “Just a surprise, um-”
“Oh my god,” Hongjoong laughs, “Calm down. I’m just playing.” The two lovable idiots visibly relax, heaving a sigh of relief between them.
“Well, uh, we were just checking on- on things,” Yunho says.
Mingi adds,“I’m, uh- I still have a lot to learn about interstellar travel. It’s fascinating, and Yunho is, uh, kind of an expert.”
“Right. I’ll leave you to it,” Hongjoong doesn’t even bother holding back his huge grin. Waggling his eyebrows shamelessly at the humecanis as he passes by, donning his blanket like a majestic mantle. He figures he ought to give them their space. No doubt if he’d stayed much longer the air would’ve gotten real thick and uncomfortable real fast. It’s inevitable that those two will throw themselves at one another, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be around for it.
Honestly, the wake up call was much needed. Hongjoong’s head feels infinitely clearer as he descends the steps. Yunho’s half-lie gets him thinking: maybe he ought to check on some things, too. Without really intending to, Hongjoong finds himself in front of someone’s bedroom door.
He raps on it a few times after remembering who it belongs to,“Jongho?”
No answer.
“Knock-knock-knock.”
“Jongho?” He tries again. Nothing. Hongjoong glances at the keypad by the door dubiously. Odds are, the guy doesn’t lock it. It’s just them, and who on earth would just barge in on a peacefully sleeping Choi Jongho? That would be a gross invasion of privacy and, quite frankly, imprudent.
“Shiff.”
“Jongho?” Hongjoong calls for the youngest softly as the door opens. It’s dark, and light from the hall floods in through the doorway. In the inky obscurity, Joong can just make out the hazy silhouette of Jongho in bed, chest rising and falling steadily. He’s still asleep.
The captain treads forward quietly, just to get a better look. Jongho’s out like a light. He looks so young when he’s asleep. Like any normal young person dreaming about their crush or scoring an internship. Something like that. (Hongjoong himself doesn’t know what “normal” types dream about, really. Probably not a fictitious Compass like he always did.) No person in their right mind would look at Jongho and believe that he possesses fear-inspiring might.
Hongjoong wonders: what does he dream about?
He’s come to know Choi Jongho as he is now, in the present. But what of the path that took him there? The path that led him to prison and, eventually, to ATEEZ? Aggravated assault. That’s all Hongjoong knows. But given that the report is according to the Coalition, who knows how accurate that is. It can be a complete fabrication, the result of being in the wrong place, wrong time. Knowing this all too well, Hongjoong chooses to believe it as the truth. However, his rational side refuses to ignore the sliver of possibility that their baby Jongho has the ability to perhaps lash out violently. Many people act out when they’re angry, provoked, or feel cornered. The problem is, many people don’t have the strength that Choi Jongho does.
Occasionally, when Hongjoong really zones out, he just mulls over his crew: their mental states, their physical health, how they’re feeling and how to read between the lines because god forbid people actually communicate properly. Jongho is the least visibly vulnerable which, in turn, concerns the captain the most. Of course, he wouldn’t dare say that. It’s not his wish to just force feelings out of a person. If and when Jongho wants to come to him with anything, he’ll be there. Until then, he’s left doing what he’s been doing ever since watching him kick down that cell door. He wonders.
Satisfied with Jongho’s snoozing state, Hongjoong moves on. He opts not to disturb anyone else’s sleep cycle and instead addresses the growling in his stomach.
Fuck. Food. That’s a thing he needs to live - and a thing he wants right now. Delicious food. Well, okay, it’s ship food - flash frozen and compressed for convenient unpackaging, rehydrating and occasional “cooking”. Calling it delicious is a stretch, but, hell, it’s sustenance and, for what it is, it’s not that bad. Even though he feels like he could eat half the kitchen, Joong keeps it modest with a bowl of instant noodles.
The unmistakable fragrance of peppery spices floats up from his bowl as hot water from the dispenser mixes with powdered broth. Bright red liquid fills the bowl, seeping into the alkanized noodles curling around. Vegetables sop up liquid and unfurl, coming to life in the broth; cabbage, bean sprouts, chives, chilis and a soft-boiled egg swirl around. Hongjoong’s mouth waters at the sight.
He licks his lips, eager to chow down, but suddenly an unwelcome thought strikes him. A sinking pain knocks inside his chest - pain not originating from all the physical toil he’d endured, but something . He frowns. Though his stomach still tosses and turns in wait for a meal, the way his heart dips disinclines him from digging in.
Even though he swipes it away the second it comes up, the impression left is unshakable. The damage is done, and Hongjoong’s guts start knotting up as he prepares a second bowl.
Carefully, Joong carries a bowl in each hand as he descends the stairs to the bottom level.
“Captain, you’re up,” Yeosang swivels in his seat, brows raised with surprise.
Hongjoong’s heart stops, and he practically throws the bowls of noodles across the damn loading bay due to the abrupt shock. His mouth flaps open and closed dumbly until he remembers what he was trying to do.
“Y-Yeosang. You’re up,” He starts, straightening himself so as to look not entirely flabbergasted. “Have you… Have you gotten any rest at all?”
The cyborg shakes his head, “Can’t. Not until this-” He gestures to himself, “-is all situated.”
It takes the captain a shamefully long time to understand exactly what “this” entails. Then he remembers that Yeosang had been pulled apart. Hongjoong’s heart dips even further when he imagines it. God. It must’ve been horrifying. To just get taken apart, dissected and studied like a- well, like a machine.
“H-How is everything?” The captain asks, crossing over to the cyborg’s workstation.
Yeosang huffs, brows knitting discontentedly, “I- I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Joong carefully sets the two steaming bowls of ramyun onto a bare workbench.
“I… I mean I don’t know,” Yeo frowns. He looks down at himself, turning his hands over and flexing his fingers. Everything is attached and at least visibly functioning, that’s a plus. But if he still thinks something is wrong, that can’t be a good sign.
“Are you hurting?” Hongjoong asks. “Like- Where does it hurt? Are you feeling bad? Okay- What did those fuckers do to you, because I- I swear we can somehow find them again and-”
“No!” Yeo’s voice bounces off the walls of the loading bay. He clears his throat, repeating more calmly, “No. Nothing is- nothing is wrong. That’s the problem.” The cyborg wrings a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. “Nothing is wrong. I can’t find a single thing.”
“What’s wrong is… That nothing is wrong?” Hongjoong repeats the other’s words just to be sure he’d heard it right. How can nothing being wrong be… Wrong? He supposes that perhaps had he better capacity for, well, thinking in general in his condition, maybe he’d understand.
“He did something I just- I just know he did,” Yeosang says.
“Who did something? The- the scientist dude who took you apart?”
“Yes!”
“Well, what did he do?”
“I don’t know ! I’ve done every fucking test and scan imagineable and nothing is showing up,” Stress palpably oozes from the cyborg, and Joong can’t blame him. An undetectable threat is far more disconcerting than some big, loud wound. Knowing something is wrong but not knowing what is torture. Yeosang lets out a ragged breath as he rambles, “I- I just- I just know he did-”
Hongjoong gives the other a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder,“Okay, okay calm down. You, uh- did he say anything? Like maybe there’s a hint-?”
“I’ve replayed our every meaningful interaction including peripheral vision plus extra senses and- and nothing.”
“Uh- Come again?”
Yeosang lets out a big, long sigh as if he’s being tasked with giving a two year old an in-depth explanation of black holes, “My- My backed up memories. I watched them closely, amped up the sound as much as possible to listen for any indication as to his plans. But- but nothing. Nothing on the scans, nothing on the footage. I’ve scanned my entire body like- like thirty times. Different tissues, auric, thermal, brain wave signatures. Done x-rays, subdermal scans, a thorough physical cavity search-”
“Okay, okay point taken!” Hongjoong cuts the other off before he gets too far into detail regarding the cavities he searched. Jesus. He’s never seen Yeo so frazzled - not even during the BH patrols. “W-Well, I mean- Do you- do you feel anything? Like- like physically off? Is there anything that’s just not working?”
Yeo huffs, “Not besides my sanity. I mean- I- I don’t know it’s just a- well, I guess it’s just a hunch, but- but there is no way he just didn’t do anything.”
“Yeo…” Hongjoong pulls the other into a hug. He’s not sure exactly what else to do. He sure as hell has no technical prowess to offer. The cyborg heaves a sigh, melting into the gesture a bit. “If you need anything- like, anything, just tell me, okay? If you wanna find those fuckers again and beat the shit out of that guy, I’ll do it.”
Yeosang shakes his head, “Honestly, if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”
“Why don’t you get some sleep before you run any more tests?” The captain advises. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged at this rate.”
“I really don’t know if I can sleep.”
“Can you please try? Please?” Hongjoong asks as nicely and softly as he possibly can.
Yeo worries at his lower lip for a minute before finally conceding, “Okay… Okay, I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” Joong grins, giving the cyborg one last squeeze before relinquishing his loving vice.
Yeosang stands up and stretches languidly, and a yawn wracks through his entire body. Just like Joong thought: Yeo’s way more tired than he wanted to admit.
“Hey, what’d you come down here for, by the way?” Yeo asks. Hongjoong’s ears burn, and his eyes shoot to the pair of bowls.
“All that ramyun for one?” The cyborg prods further, quirking a brow. It’s like he wants Hongjoong to cough it up, knowing damn well who the second bowl is for.
“He needs to eat, too,” The captain grumbles.
For a reason entirely beyond Hongjoong, Yeosang’s lips upturn just ever so slightly, “He’s not that bad, is he?”
Hongjoong narrows his eyes at the other, “What do you mean by that?”
Yeosang shrugs as he starts ascending the stairs, “What I said. You pulled him back here for a reason.”
The smolder of irritation burns in Joong’s guts like a low simmer, just barely there. He decides to ignore it in favor of addressing what he’d come down to do in the first place.
“Yeo, you’ve got those, uh, hovering tray things here, right?”
The cyborg looks bemused, but thankfully, he just answers the damn question instead of asking more of his own, “Stacked on the bench to the far right.”
“Thank you, Yeosang,” Hongjoong says. “Good night- or morning.”
“G’night, captain,” Yeosang lilts, disappearing up the stairs.
Upon the other’s departure, Joong lets out a breath that had somehow pent up in his chest. Unfortunately, the tension that had built up doesn’t quite dissipate with it. He eyes the bowls sitting by the console.
“Just… Get it over with,” The captain murmurs to himself as he activates one of Yeo’s hovering tray things. Hongjoong wants to do the damn thing, he swears he intended to go straight to the brig, but then a noise rings out from behind the stairs.
Hongjoong distractedly wanders toward the noise, eyeing the hall behind the staircase. A block of light stretches out from the single door obscured by the loading bay stairs.
The infirmary. Is San still in there? After recovering from jump, Hongjoong went straight to bed, swearing up and down that he’d get checked later. He never did; he figured San would get better use out of theh place. Like always, the siren put all of himself and more into the fight. He still hasn’t had time to fully recover from his ankle injury, not to mention the immense mental strain he’s under.
Joong slowly pads toward the infirmary, ready to reach out and shut off the lights. His blood freezes the instant he sees two bodies in there. Though he doesn’t want to hear - really, he doesn’t - he happens to catch a hushed conversation between San and Wooyoung. Well, more properly: between Wooyoung and himself. San spends most the time staring daggers at Woo. Hongjoong never got the full story on why San’s pissed at him, but, sadly, it doesn’t surprise him. It’s not like the captain wants to paint things in the light of “right” or “wrong”, but it’s obvious to him there’s a sort of misalignment of expectations between the two.
“-said I’m alright,” San insists. He won’t even look Wooyoung in the face. The human pushed a rolling seat up to the exam table and leans over the siren.
“Let me help you to bed,” Woo’s soft voice echoes out into the bay.
The captain feels like these two totally have a handle on things. Wooyoung seems to be tending nicely to the injured siren, and San hasn’t killed the human yet. That’s fine, right? So, he ought to go. That’s what he’s doing. Going. He tells himself that, and he tells his body to obey the order: just go.
But his feet, eyes, and ears - his whole body, really - have decided they’re rebelling and turn him into some sort of a perverse eavesdropper. Which he totally isn’t. Sure, he’s very, very concerned with the relations of his crew and their wellbeing, but even so, he would never actually listen in on their conversations or, say, watch them through the corner of a glass door. Never. His proximity and line of sight into the infirmary is pure coincidence - a fluke, really. And he definitely isn’t straining his hearing to listen in as the others continue.
“I’m fine,” San replies.
Wooyoung starts,“You’re hurt-”
“Why are you here?” The siren cuts him off venomously. Ouch. That stings. Or at least, that’s what Hongjoong would think if he was watching. Which he’s not.
The human falters, clenching his fists in his lap,“San, I wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. So leave me.”
“Wh- San- I’m just trying to- trying to-”
“Trying to have some consensual, adult fun?” The words are delivered with such acerbity that even Hongjoong shudders hearing them. (By coincidence. It was a coincidence that all. He’s not watching with rapt attention or anything like that.) “Why not just take me now and get it over with? Then you can end this farce. It must be exhausting to pretend you care for so long.”
Wooyoung is rightfully dumbstruck by that. Hongjoong can see the younger wrestle with his emotions, reigning in impulsive reactions. He bursts out of the chair and storms out.
“I think you need to get more rest,” He growls over his shoulder before exiting the infirmary.
Hongjoong takes that as his cue to back up. The captain scrambles back panickedly, suddenly very eager to get back on task. He silently wills Wooyoung to turn the opposite way, but luck has other plans. Woo’s eyes blow wide open when he’s face to face with his captain.
Shit. Busted.
“C-Captain, I- I didn’t expect you to be up,” Wooyoung mumbles. His voice is thick and his eyes glossy, wet.
“I was just- just, um doing things-” Good one, Joong thinks to himself. “-checking on Seong-San. San. Wanted to check on San. But, uh, it looks like you, uh, you had it covered. Is he doing alright?”
Woo’s eyes fall to the ground, “Yeah. Yeah he’s fuckin’ swell.” He starts walking away without another word, but Hongjoong yanks him back by the collar.
“And what about you?” Hongjoong presses, searching for the other’s gaze. “Wooyoung, are you okay?”
“Just a few bruises and scrapes like everybody else,” Woo tries to step out of Joong’s grip, but the captain remains firm. “Wh- What?”
“Come on, Wooyoung. I’m serious. Are you okay? Like- Not just your body.”
Wooyoung takes a deep, shaky breath. He blinks rapidly to keep his tears at bay. There are words just waiting to leap from his lips, Hongjoong can tell. But for whatever reason, Woo doesn’t dare elaborate.
“San needs some sleep is all,” Wooyoung chokes out. “He just- he’s hurt. Hurt people say things sometimes.”
“Did he- did he say something?” Hongjoong tries to sound as surprised as possible.
“I mean, I wouldn’t be nice, either, if I’d gotten continuously injured after getting banished from my home,” Wooyoung shrugs himself out of Hongjoong’s grip and resumes his trip back toward the steps. “I don’t hold it against him.”
“W-well, okay then,” The captain responds. “Um, whatever it is I’m- I’m sure he’ll come around. You two care a lot about one another, I can tell. In spite of everything, I think you’re good together.”
Wooyoung pauses halfway up the stairs; he turns to glare at the captain over his shoulder, “Don’t say that.”
Hongjoong’s affable smile of reassurance immediately falls, “What?”
“Don’t say that shit . That we’re ‘good together’ or ‘care a lot’ or whatever-”
“Wh- Wooyoung-”
The younger turns around and barks,“We are not together!” The shout ricochets off of the loading bay walls. Wooyoung roughly wrings a hand through his hair and lowers his tone, “We’re not. Together. We have never been together. I-” He hisses through his teeth, “I never slept with him. Nor will we ever be together in any way other than- than as shipmates, so please just- just stop.”
“Wooyoung, I-” Don’t know what to say - at least, those are the words on Hongjoong’s mind. His mouth is just agape and his mind blank, at a total loss.
“I’m going to bed,” Wooyoung wraps up the conversation, stomping up the stairs before Hongjoong can think of anything to say.
That’s.
A lot.
Hongjoong makes a note of the incident. It’ll definitely need addressing in the future, but hell, maybe he’s right. Maybe some rest is all it they need and things will sort themselves out. God, Hongjoong hopes so. He really doesn’t want to step between those two, and his brain’s overloaded as is. Most pressing, however, is what brought him down to the bottom level in the first place. There’s a reason he came down here, and it wasn’t to tell Yeosang to sleep or to watch Woo and San fight.
Heaving a sigh, Hongjoong attempts to clear all of those distractions from his head. Anxiety needles his insides anew at the inevitability of moving forward. There’s no more distractions, no more excuses. Just two bowls of noodles getting cold and about a million unanswered questions. At least one of those things needs to get addressed.
Eight silver points, grimy from how many times his fingers have passed over them. Dust has settled in the nooks of the octogram - the eight pointed star - and the oils from his fingers have muddled the once gleaming surface. Embedded onto black leather and accented with engraving: “UT ET IUSTITIA OMNIBUS, UNITUM ESSE STELLAS”.
Order and justice for all, united are the stars.
The core values of the Galactic Coalition, distilled into short phrasing in a dead language for the adornment of badges, buildings, and occasionally even Coalition issued apparel.
Those words used to read so profoundly to the petty officer. Now they look like nothing but a puzzling jumble of letters. He knows what they mean. He’d memorized the phrase in the academy, burned it into his brain, recited it to himself and even referred to it for guidance. But now, looking upon them gleans nothing. No joy. No reassurance or thought provocation.
Just nothing.
Seonghwa used to shine his badge meticulously. He’d do it every time he noticed a speck of dust or fingerprint - even when he got bored at his desk. Hell, he even used it as a crutch when he first got thrown into the god forsaken brig. Now, it’s fallen into a sad state of disrepair, not unlike its owner.
Even so, Seonghwa keeps tracing the dulled edges of that eight pointed star like it’ll save his sorry ass. It’s too late for that, though. Nothing can save him from himself.
It’s been coming in waves, the emotion. At first, there was complete bafflement. He felt… Adrift. For the briefest of instances, a sort of mind-melting elation in lieu of the escape. When the noise dulled, he realized just where he’d ended up, and the entire weight of his actions collapsed atop his shoulders.
After it truly dawned on him that he’d ended up back behind bars, he sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. At some point during that abyssal low, he reached for his worn badge and clung to it. He eventually calmed down for a little. He had tired of crying, and the toll of everything eventually pulled him into a restless sleep.
Unfortunately, upon waking, there came no respite. Just as fervently as they dogged him before, his dark thoughts haunted him once more. It was one, though, that rang loud above the rest. It played ceaselessly through his mind in a tormentous loop:
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
I had the shot.
Why didn’t I take the shot?
I had the shot.
Over and over and over again the words tortured him. They’re branded into his mind at this point. A constant reminder of what may perhaps amount to his most momentous failure. No matter how many times the question posited itself, he could never quite reconcile the true core of the why. Why didn’t he take the shot? Why ?
Now he’s just exhausted. Despair, self-loathing, contempt, anger - it’s all so tiring. At this point, all of those emotions feel muffled. He sort of registers that they’re there, but his body and mind are too spent to really give him the full effect.
Instead, he gets an impression of what he’s feeling. Like a prompter informing him that he’s feeling depressive now, or he’s questioning the future. He nods and agrees without truly understanding or fully experiencing the sensation.
“Shiff.”
Seonghwa jumps at the sound of the door.
Oh god.
They’re here.
What fate is to befall him? No doubt a miserable one. Torture for the attempted murder of their captain? Death for setting the Coalition on them? Or perhaps he’s to be served one final sentence: the rest of his life is to be lived here. In this cell. He’ll never set eyes on the sun or the stars again. His parents, his brother…
Seonghwa scoots to the back of his cell - as far as he possibly can be from the bars - and fortifies himself. No matter what his fate is to be, he sure as hell isn’t going to show weakness to any of them.
Especially him .
Hongjoong steps in front of the cell, a steely, stern expression fixed on his face. He steps forward, and Seonghwa shrinks back. His back hits the wall with a soft thud.
“Shiiiff.”
Seonghwa’s mouth gapes and his eyes widen upon seeing his cell door open. His mind screams at him: “Go. Go. This is your chance. Go!” It screeches loudly, imploring him to move. To do something, something . This is it. His chance. Probably the last one he has left.
But his body refuses to cooperate. He can’t will it to move. Seonghwa’s throat constricts, and he prays that, at the very least, he doesn’t appear as thoroughly wrecked as he feels.
Something slides into his cell, and he flinches. A weapon? Some pain-inflicting torture device?
“Shiiff.”
The door closes, and nothing happens.
Seonghwa blinks rapidly to clear the wet from his vision. When his sight focuses, he makes out a- a floating rectangle. Hwa wipes his eyes and tries again. It’s… A hover tray. There’s something on top of it.
“I figured you’d be hungry,” The captain breaks the silence.
Seonghwa stands up hesitantly and glances at the tray. There’s a bowl of ramyun on top of it. Is it poisoned?
“It’s not poisoned,” The captain says as if reading Hwa’s mind. “Look, see-” He lifts a bowl of his own to his lips and slurps the broth.
Hwa eyes the bowl on his tray dubiously.
“What- Do you want switch bowls? Will you eat then?” The captain asks.
Seonghwa considers it, but the thought of swapping spit with that guy irks him. He figures if he’s going to die like this, he might as well face it head on. Wordlessly, the PO takes a seat on his bed and pulls the tray toward him. He timidly tips the bowl to his lips and sips the warm broth.
God.
Poison or not, it’s absolutely delicious. Hwa acknowledges that the hours of deprivation are what’s warping his mind right now. They always say that hunger is the best seasoning of all. He doesn’t give a damn right now, though. Contemplation, reflection and consideration all take a backseat to consumption. He never stopped to acknowledge his hunger. So many things occupied the forefront of his mind that he neglected one of his most basic needs: food.
And something about the comforting familiarity of ramyun warms him body and soul. It’s so salty and spicy yet mild. There’s a sort of poetic shittiness to the oversalted, processes food that makes it even more glorious. For a second the thought actually passes: he doesn’t care if this is how he dies; this is amazing . Appreciative “mmm”s slip out of his throat between frenzied bites as he shovels more and more into his mouth. The egg is so soft and chewy while the scallions provide a little tangy kick.
It’s not until he’s most of the way through the bowl does he wakes up from the spell. He sets down the chopsticks on the tray. The captain certainly didn’t come down just to give him a tray of ramyun. As a matter of fact - why did he give him a tray at all?
Seonghwa wipes the broth off his chin and asks precisely that, “What- what is this?”
Hongjoong quirks an eyebrow, “Uh- It’s dinner. Or breakfast- maybe.” His tone is clipped. Awkward. So Seonghwa isn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable. That’s both reassuring and disconcerting at the same time. Seonghwa assumed that the captain had come down with some sort of concrete plan, but now, he wonders.
“Why not send it through the slot, like usual?”
Hongjoong purses his lips, and his pupils dart away, “Well, you- you always eat on the floor, and…” He presses his lips together. “And I figured it’d be more comfortable for you to eat sitting up.”
More comfortable?
“Since when do you give a shit?” Seongwha breathes out. Now that he’s got food in his belly, he’s starting to feel drowsy again. He stubbornly tries to stay awake, though. He needs to know the real reason the captain paid him a visit.
“Since you saved my life,” Hongjoong answers, unwavering.
A pang of- of something hits Seonghwa. He doesn’t know what it is. Pain? Anger? Despair? Regret? He’s so desensitized at this point, he can’t even properly distinguish emotions anymore. All Seonghwa knows is that he can’t meet the other’s gaze. There’s too much fire burning behind those eyes, and this time, Seonghwa doesn’t have it in him to keep the flames at bay.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. The use of his name cons Hwa into meeting the other’s eyes. Hell. They’re dark, unlike his, a coffee color so deep they’re almost black. It always makes him hard to read which infuriates Seonghwa to no end. Reading people is part of his job, and he used to be so damn confident. But not with this man. He’s unpredictable and cunning; one second a bastard the next playing nice. At this point, Seonghwa doesn’t know what to make of him. He used to think of the captain as nothing but pure garbage, but now…
He can’t think straight.
Hongjoong holds Seonghwa’s attention captive as he continues, “You saved my life, and I want to know: why?”
God. That question again. How the fuck is he supposed to answer Hongjoong when he can’t even answer his damn self?
“You could’ve left me for dead,” Seonghwa counters nervously. God, he prays his appearance doesn’t betray his anxiety. How humiliating it would be to show vulnerability. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because-” Hongjoong seems to almost choke on something. What? What is it? Seonghwa wishes he could read minds right about them. Some insight - any insight, even the most vague or mundane - would do his sanity wonders. “Because you saved mine first.”
“It- It was a misfire,” Seonghwa tries. How he wishes it was true.
“No.”
“A malfunction.”
The captain argues,“We both know that’s a lie. There’s no way in hell you could’ve missed that shot. So I need to know why you didn’t kill me when you had ample chance?”
“Well…” Seonghwa searches for something to say. “If-if you must know… My birthday’s coming up.”
“What?”
Hwa crosses his arms defiantly, “My birthday is coming up, and I decided that I’d like shooting you to be a special present to myself.”
“Wh- I-” The captain blinks rapidly for a few seconds, and the edges of his lips twitch. “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
Neither can I, Seonghwa nearly wants to reply. But he wouldn’t dare. Because they’re not friends. This isn’t amicable banter between two comrades. This is a prisoner and his jailor.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just cracked a joke,” Hongjoong lets out an airy almost-laugh.
“Well it’s a good thing you know better, then,” Seonghwa responds coldly.
They are not friends. They do not joke. They do not laugh together. He stamps this truth into his brain, hoping to overwrite all the peculiar, tense moments and memories from before:
Kim Hongjoong doesn’t care about you. Kim Hongjoong doesn’t care about you. Kim Hongjoong doesn’t care about you.
The captain’s expression darkens, “Right.” He frowns. “So you’re really not going to say it, are you?”
“Say what?”
“Say the real reason that you didn’t kill me.”
“I- I already told you it was a mistake, a fluke-”
Hongjoong shakes his head,“I don’t think it was. I think you meant it, but now you’re too chickenshit to- to live up to it. And I don’t know why-”
“Maybe you shouldn’t think too hard, then. I- I will be the first to admit that mistakes were made-”
“Bullshit, you didn’t make a mistake. You kept me alive-”
“For as long as I needed you.”
“Then why did you stall?”
“My resources were finite. I had to assure I could finish you.”
“Oh my god- that’s such shit.”
“Well if you’re so sure you have the answer, then why come and badger me with your questions?”
“Because I need to hear it from you!”
“Hear what?”
“The truth.”
Seonghwa scoffs,“What truth? I told you the truth-”
“All I’ve heard are lies.”
“Oh, really? Lies? Then pray tell what is the truth?”
“You wanna know what I think?”
“Oh, I’m eager to hear your take on it.”
Hongjoong sets his bowl down and walks up to the bars, so close his face almost sticks through, “You wanna know what I think happened back there?”
“I could use a laugh,” Seonghwa spits back.
“I think- I think you followed your heart.”
“I- Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I didn’t think you had one either, but- but I think you do,” Hongjoong says, strained, agonized. He almost seems emotional, on the brink of tears. “I dunno what you do to- to turn that part of yourself off, but I really think it’s in there. And- and for once , you followed it instead of Coalition protocol.”
Seonghwa refuses to dignify that with a response. He can’t relive that moment again. As much as he wishes he didn’t remember it, that it was a genuine fluke, just as the captain said: that’s not true. No matter how many times he tries to fend of the invasive memory of the shot, it adamantly comes back. It was a mistake but one with conscious thought behind it - an impulse that ultimately overrode all logic and ration.
“What’re you going to do with me?” Seonghwa asks.
“What?”
Seonghwa repeats himself, “I said: what are you going to do with me?”
“So that’s all you have to say for yourself?” Hongjoong huffs.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“The truth or your version of the truth?”
“Well if I’ve embellished so much then why don’t you tell me what happened back there?” The captain asks determinedly. God, why is he so damn adamant?
“You wanna know the truth? The truth is: I made a mistake .”
“Oh for fuck’s sake-”
“What do you want me to say?!” Seonghwa snaps. “That I like you? That I didn’t shoot you because I want to be your friend ? I have a heart, but make no mistake - you are the last person in the universe that I would ever open it up to.”
The captain lets out a long breath. Pique radiates off of him like noxious fumes, filling the space beyond the bars. He swoops down and grabs his bowl off the ground. He looks at the petty officer one more time with disdain before striding back toward the door.
Seonghwa’s anxiety spikes, and he leaps to the bars, “Wh-Where are you going?”
“Enjoy the rest of your meal, officer,” The captain snarls, not even turning around.
“Wh-What are you going to do with me?”
“I dunno.”
“What?! N-No- You can’t- you can’t do this,” Hwa sticks his face as far out the bars as he can, just barely able to catch the sight of the captain by the door. His heart sinks,“What about your word? Th-The deal?”
“That possibility went out the window when you fucked off and called the dogs on us,” Hongjoong growls.
“You can’t keep me locked up forever!” Seonghwa shouts desperately, pride completely shunted to the wayside.
Hongjoong actually turns around to look Seonghwa in the eye; his voice gets low, menacing, and he growls,“Watch me.”
With that, the captain turns on his heel and punches the door’s keypad. He mutters something in a voice so low that Hwa’s certain he wasn’t supposed to hear it:
“Shame. We actually make a pretty good team…” He disappears through the door without another word.
Team.
A dry sob seizes Seonghwa’s body. God, it hurts. The cry rasps his insides as it forcefully drags itself through his lungs, chest, and throat. His entire body folds from the agony.
“We make a pretty good team.”
That’s the problem. That is precisely what unravelled Seonghwa in the end. The ease with which they adjusted to one another was disturbing, to say the least. Because they worked so well together, Seonghwa ultimately lost sight of his goal. Hell, it’d be no exaggeration to say he’d lost part of himself at some point in time.
The scene plays again in his head. As if he hadn’t replayed that trauma enough, he’s there again, on the catwalk. Hongjoong is cornered, clinging pitifully to the railing of the compromised section. There’s noise everywhere, lasers and bullets flying. But he’s focused. In that moment, there’s only two people in the universe: Park Seonghwa and Kim Hongjoong.
Seonghwa remembers it so vividly. How he levels the gun and takes a deep breath. He’s ready. He’s so ready. All he has to do is squeeze the trigger. That’s it.
Then things go awry.
A hazy silhouette comes into the light. They withdraw their shooter lightning quick, and Seonghwa catches it - a flash of purple. Fatal. The figure lunges forward and levels the shooter at Hongjoong’s nape.
That’s when it happens - the impulse, the mistake that ruined everything. The betrayal.
Seonghwa could blame dozens of factors for distracting or misdirecting him. But, at the end of the day, one thing stopped him from shooting Hongjoong:
Himself.
Though he denied it, he knows exactly what happened in that moment. A single thought ran through his head in the millisecond it took to seal his fate.
“He’s going to get Hongjoong, I have to stop him.”
For some ill-founded reason, the other’s manipulations seeded deep into Seonghwa’s mind. In the second it mattered the most, Seonghwa’s protective instinct kicked in. It betrayed him and sealed his fate. His gut, the one thing he trusted more than anything, led him astray. It chased a person he has no business following.
The emotion associated with that impulse wasn’t anger or even possession. It wasn’t that he thought Hongjoong was his to kill nor a concern for himself. It was pure panic, a fear that he would lose his literal partner in crime.
And now he’s here. Possibly forever. Possibly until his presence bores the captain and he’s sentenced to death. He doesn’t know. Apparently, neither does the captain.
All Seonghwa knows is that he has to live with the consequences of his actions.
Sleep.
That’s what he needs.
Sleep.
It’s his only escape from all of this, and luckily fatigue is one thing he has in excess. Another twinge of pain hits him when he sees the hovertray floating by his bed. What did he mean by that? “Comfort” - like he gives a fuck. He doesn’t care about Seonghwa at all.
God.
Him. Him. Him. Him. It’s all about Hongjoong. Kim fucking Hongjoong. It always just goes back to him.
The hope of one day handing Hongjoong a life sentence used to keep Seonghwa going, but it feels so far away now. Even so, it’s all he got. Seonghwa grabs his badge off the ground and collapses into bed. He begs for sleep to take him soon as he runs his fingers around the edges of the eight-pointed star.
The points feel so dull anymore.
Two-hundred and fifty-three hurt.
Of those, a hundred and twenty-one injured.
Twelve of them are in critical condition.
Three missing.
Forty-three confirmed dead.
Bang Chan solemnly looks out at the wreckage in their south hangar from the second-tier catwalk. They got out on top - barely. Their victory is relative. The Stray Boyz made out with their ship, overwhelmed the Coalition units to the point that they got warp allowance. Jumping in a warship is no joke - it takes energy and time to ramp up. It’s risky when things aren’t secured.
They made it out, but at a great cost.
Chan watches as his people work diligently below, carrying in felled brothers and sisters. Everything is quieter now. Much, much quieter. Nobody dares speak in tones louder than a whisper, and Chan had even instructed the lights in the hangar be dimmed. Workers down below delicately lay the deceased to rest and set up candles.
This is so, so far from anything Chan had ever prepared himself for in his life. He knows each of the deceased had their own lives, their own beliefs and traditions for burial and mourning. Chan knows nothing of those things. He just does what he thinks is right.
“Boss,” A whisper rouses Chan from his lamentations. It’s Changbin, one of his highest ranking officers. He’s sporting a few nasty bruises himself. “Just got word petrification sealant’s finished.”
“Is everyone in?” Chan asks, eyeing those lined up below. His heart aches. Both he and Seungyeon lost good people today. They lost family. Though the two gangs have had issues reconciling cultural differences, they’re united in mourning.
“Yes, sir,” Changbin replies. “Just a few more. They’ll signal you down before, then we need to clear out and seal it up.”
“Right,” Chan sighs heavily. “How long will it last? The sealant?”
“Technically as long as we want if we keep reapplying it, but it’ll keep them preserved three days. Maybe four if we keep this place cool enough.”
Three days.
It makes Chan’s heart splinter to hear. That’s all they have. Three days to say goodbye to those they’ve served with and lived beside. Thinking about it stokes the fire in his gut. Much as he wants to give in, he can’t. Not now, anyways. Not yet.
A hand signal down below alerts Chan to vacate the hangar. It’s time. They’ll mist the preservative through the sprinklers, turning the once functional hangar into a makeshift morgue.
It’s not the first time Chan has seen death, and it won’t be the last. But it’s the first time he’s seen it at this scale - just laid out plainly.
“Let’s go,” Changbin suggests softly.
Chan frowns, following the other out, “We’ll have to be out of there for awhile, yeah?”
“Yes, sir. At least an hour for the sealant to set, another two or three to assure the fumes are dissolved.”
“Good. We got time for a meeting, then,” The leader strides down the corridor, already set on his destinatino.
“Wh- A meeting?” Changbin scurries to Chan’s side. “For what? It’s- it’s sort of all hands on deck- which you know. I mean- what is there left to discuss aside from the sendoff?”
“This ain’t about that,” Chan replies gruffly. He lifts his wrist and speaks into the embedded comm, “Open communication in channel eight-two.”
“What’s this about?”
The boss ignores his officer and continues making his case in the high clearance channel, “This is Chan speaking. I know you lot in the third-ring can hear me. I’m calling a meeting in the south wing war room stat. If you’re not directly working on bereavements at the moment, you best be there. More to come later. Out.”
“Boss, what are you doing?” Changbin asks dubiously.
“We have to make plans,” Chan grunts. The festering fury in his guts roils.
“Plans for what?”
“They’re gonna pay for what they done.”
“What?! You can’t seriously think-”
“We let those fuckers get off clean, that’s like telling the whole galaxy that we’ve gone soft.”
“Boss, with all due respect, that’s insane.”
“No!” Chan pivots on his heel and shouts. His voice echoes loudly down the corridor. “What’s insane is the incompetence that led to this happening in the first place!” He slams a fist on the wall.
Changbin’s eyes go wide, and he swallows nervously, “Chan, I know you’re upset, but this is not a healthy way to cope with-”
“I’m not coping with shit,” Chan insists, resuming his hurried pace. “We can’t let the death of our beloved brothers and sisters be in naught. And we definitely can’t let those bastards get away with what they did.”
Changbin scurries after Chan,“Okay, I- I get it, I do. I’m upset, too, but squaring up against the Coalition-?”
“What?” Chan halts, raising his brows incredulously at the others. “The Coalition?”
“W-Well, yeah. I mean, they’re the ones who set their lasers to fatal and-”
“I’m talking about ATEEZ!” Chan throws his hands up. God. He really is surrounded by morons. “Those fuckers are the ones who brought the GC to our damn doors.”
“I- I understand you want to point fingers to blame, but I think we ought to look forward and-”
“Thud!!”
Chan grabs Changbin by the collar and shoves him into the wall. He watches the other wince in pain. Good, he thinks. Changbin’s a brother to him, and he’d never really want to hurt him. Not too much, anyways. But right now, Changbin’s liable to be on his hit list.
“You think with your willy, and that’s part of why we’ve ended up here.”
Changbin sighs in defeat, “Boss, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I- didn’t think-”
“No, no you didn’t,” Chan snarls, releasing his grip. He wrings a hand through his hair, head reeling with ideas and thoughts all steeped in anger.
He takes a deep breath. Then another one. He does a few to calm himself down before proceeding. Chan has a bad tendency to work himself up into having fits. He’s learned over time how to deal with it, and as much as he’d love to chase ATEEZ guns blazing, he understands logically that’s not what needs to happen right now.
“None of us thought this would happen when we pulled them in,” Chan says, defeated. “But they- That- that blond fucker- got out and ruined everything. Maybe if they’d stolen some shit or given us a few bruises, that’d be one thing, but… Bin these are our lives. Our people.” It nearly pulls tears from Chan’s eyes, but the leader stubbornly reigns himself in. He has to be strong for them.
“I understand, Chan,” Changbin says. He gives his boss a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “I get it, but right now we don’t need our leader to- to chase some fugitives around the universe. We need you to be there and- and to lead us. To help us say goodbye.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Chan nods, sniffling. “I ought to call off the meeting, huh?”
“Well, we needed to iron out our sendoff anyways,” Changbin shrugs. “I mean- You’re the boss, so, if you’re really impassioned about pursuing them, we’ll support you no matter what.
“That… That’ll be fine,” Chan responds. “You’re right. I need to be here for everyone right now, but… Soon. When this has passed and we’ve paid our respects properly, I’m looking for him.”
Molten rage boils in Chan’s gut as he envisions the fucker’s face. The name is tattooed in the back of his mind: Petty Officer Park Seonghwa. The fucking liar insisted up and down that he wasn’t “with” the fugitives. But the security footage doesn’t lie. He’s out there - escaped on ATEEZ, pulled in last second by the captain himself. Chan’s watched it dozens of times already in hopes of pinning down ATEEZ’s location.
One day, that pretty, blond head will decorate the captain’s office, he’s decided.
Petty Officer Park Seonghwa better watch his back.