Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Year 2, Month 6, Day 4 -- [Zhong Chenle]

Jisung ends up getting a makeshift hand while the team is away; Yangyang builds one for him, a little hook that Jisung is still uncomfortable with, but kind of makes him look like a pirate, and they both think it’s very cool. They spend their newfound free time practicing how to use it, and Jisung doesn’t talk much about it, but Chenle can tell he’s overjoyed to be able to move things around with both hands again. 

They’re sprawled on an indentation in the cliff wall with Yangyang, working on their respective projects and discussing what else the engineer can make for Jisung, so he can use as many things as possible (“Yeah, I’m definitely planning something so you can use weapons, but I still think a spatula would be cool, too, you know? Like fwoop, you can flip eggs with your hand now. When we have eggs.”). 

When the alarm sounds, Chenle almost flings himself down to run straight to the entrance, getting there second, because Taeyong somehow always makes it there first. 

He flings himself into Renjun’s arms first, pushing past a bloody Jaehyun and breathing in the sweat and metal. Before he can find Jeno, too, the boys are swarmed, and Taeyong quickly re-establishes order and pushes everyone off of them and into Kun and Donghyuck’s trusty hands.

It clicks, then, that something is deeply, terribly wrong.  

He spots Jeno’s unconscious form first, just as he finally properly realizes how kuch blood there is. It’s their gazes, though, that fill his throat with bile. Tired, void, scared. He knows what Jaehyun is going to say before he even opens his mouth. 

“We’re under attack.”

No. 

No. No, no-

They’ve been through this. Chenle’s body recognizes it before his mind can. He can’t breathe, so he runs away. His legs move of their own accord, carry him somewhere far. He runs, because running has saved him every time. He runs until he can’t hold himself up, then runs more, past whoever tries to stop him, past the hands and rock walls, runs and crawls through the caves until he has no idea where he is, but he is alone. 

He was alone after the explosion. He’s always been alone- 

But Jisung was with him. Jisung saved him. They saved each other, even when everything burned, even when they had to run from burning home after burning home.

This one will burn, too. 

Images rush to his mind before he can stop them. Arin smiling, Gahyeon offering them old protein bars, Seunghee coughing, and he shakes his head, Seongmin wailing, holding his charred arm, the blood, the vomit, the dark spots, oh Heavens , the dark spots every morning. Every morning, the endless roulette to find out who got to live and who they had to bury. He slams his head against the wall, revels in the burst of pain, but it doesn’t stop anything- puddles of blood and undigested food, rotten bodies that had still breathed and they could only kill for mercy, Naeun running away and stealing their supplies. Everything they’d struggled to salvage, Wonyoung’s beautiful face distorted by grief. He slams his head against the wall again, and again, and again- 

He coughs up blood. 

He’s dying. 

Oh, oh gods , he’s dying. All of them will die-

“Chenle!” 

Big, firm hands grasp at his shoulders, pulling him back from the wall. He wants to kick and scream, but he can’t. He’s dead anyway. He’s dead, like all the others- 

“Chenle. Look at me, come on.” 

He does, somehow, lifts his eyes and watches until he can see the face in front of him. 

Johnny. 

He’s still alive.

Yeah. Yeah, they’re still alive. Chenle hates his brain. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Johnny offers when his breathing returns to something more akin to normal. 

About it -?

The moment the truth comes back, his chest starts giving in again, the air too weak and too strong, his lungs useless, and his breath picks up-

“We can not talk, if you want,” the disembodied voice reassures, floating around him. “Want me to get Taeyong? Kun? Jisung?” 

Jisung. He wants Jisung so bad right now. With Jisung, he has lived through everything. If they run away right now they can live through this, too, the two of them. 

It’s doable. They can just hunt together, scavenge like they used to after the colony.  Jisung carried him out of a burning city into the nearest safe place they could find. Chenle found him when no one else could. If they have each other, everything will be fine. 

But Chenle can’t disturb him. Not when Jisung must be suffering, too. He throws a glance at Johnny and shakes his head minutely, burying his head in the older man’s chest. It’s warm, feels safe. Even though it’s not, it feels like it, and it’s good enough for now, until he calms down so he can go help Jisung, if Jisung will allow him. 

Johnny doesn’t do much except pat his back every now and then, and breathe slow and comforting so Chenle can follow along. After a few minutes, Chenle realizes he’s calmer. Not quite back to himself, but much closer. 

“Wanna talk about it, now?” Johnny offers when Chenle moves away and wipes his damp, disgustingly swollen eyes dry. 

Chenle thinks about it, then shakes his head. Still, there’s a weight pushing him to say something , just to get the weight off his chest.

“There was another colony,” he croaks out, realizing just how raspy his voice is from abuse. He can feel most of it now, chest still weak and face tingly from the panic attack, head aching from the crying and the hits he took. Johnny nods, lets him speak without asking anything - for that, he is grateful. 

“It wasn’t that big. Maybe fifteen of us total, all kids, at least mostly. We just found each other in the outskirts of Seoul after it went up in flames and we survived together, found some bits of food, tried to put water on wounds, make some shelter. It wasn’t much, but it kept us together and living. Mostly. The water was… a bad idea,” he winces. They were supposed to know better, but medical knowledge wasn’t at the forefront of anyone’s mind. “Most died early. Bomb's effects. Just when we thought it was over and the rest of us would be alright, this one girl ran away with all our supplies and then when we gathered more and our leader got hurt scavenging- the raiders came in. Took our stuff and cut up some of the kids who tried to stop them.” He remembers Gahyeon bleeding out her last breath. He can’t not remember it. “We had no more bandages or medicine left. It was taking days for most of them to die. We killed them, cause they asked. And then there were three of us, so Jisung and I went our own way. It happened so quick.”

Johnny waits a few seconds for him to continue, then takes a deep breath when he realizes Chenle is done talking, runs a hand through his hair. “And you found the rest of the group,” he assumes. Chenle nods. 

“You think the same will happen to us?” 

“I mean-- I-”

That’s bad, if he says it. 

“It might?” he tries, in the end. Johnny nods, which isn’t what he’d been expecting. 

“You’re not an idiot, we both know that. You can make a run for it right now with Jisung. Take the rest of the boys, too, if you think it’s what you should do. We’ve survived by ourselves until now. But I will say this if you do decide to stay.” He offers a weak smile, ruffles Chenle’s hair. “We know who’s going to attack us. We know them fairly well, too. Ask Renjun. And if you think for a moment the rest of us aren’t fighters- Well, don’t look at the girls. They’re friends, we go way back. But when it comes to really fighting, we’re decent. You know your team better than anyone, and you know the Chinese crew can hold their own. The rest of us aren’t that easy to break, either.”

Chenle blinks again, because right now that’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

“Take some time to think about it. Maybe give us a hand before you leave, if you do leave,” Johnny snorts. “We could use some tiny fingers to clean out gun barrels.”

Year 2, Month 6, Day 4 -- [Jung Yoonoh]

Jaehyun sits in front of Taeyong feeling like a kicked dog. 

His injuries burn, still sore, but Jaehyun can’t complain. Taeyong did leave the medical team ample time to take care of them, and Jeno had taken the worst of it along with Yukhei. Jaehyun got lucky. There are other kinds of wounds he’ll have to lick in the privacy of Dongyoung’s laboratory at night - right now, though, he needs to be the mission supervisor Taeyong has trusted him to be. 

If the kids were here, it would be easier. He can pretend to be fine for them, but Taeyong insisted on only meeting Jaehyun, and Kun and Mark as the other leaders of the colony. Nobody else. 

“Status report?” Taeyong asks, fingers strumming on the arm of the chair he’s sitting on. Jaehyun is sat on the ground, technically by his own choice, but there were three chairs, and he had no intentions of taking Kun or Mark’s place. He briefly wonders if this is some sort of sick mental game that he’s too tired to play, this and the useless questions.

“Completely FUBAR. We didn’t bring back anything. Obviously.” 

Taeyong scoffs, incredulous. “Obviously. What happened?”

“The zone was under occupation by the Chinese crew’s former group. They hid when we came in. We were captured.” Taeyong motions to continue. Jaehyun would much rather not.

“They were gonna kill us and be done with it, but then they recognized the boys, so they wanted to know where the rest were. We didn’t talk.” 

He doesn’t mention how some of the kids cried. All in all, they’re justified. He’ll carry that image to his grave - Dejun wheezing blood because no one appreciated his attempts at bravery, Kunhang sniffling when they got tired of kicking him, Jeno whimpering with a gun against his chin, biting down on his lip to stop himself from crying. Jaehyun will carry a great deal of things to his grave.

“Did you give them the location?” 

“Do you think they would’ve come back?” Kun interjects, irritated. Jaehyun can’t blame him. Kun shouldn’t even be here, not now anyway, when his team needs him the most. 

“No,” he confirms, “But I’m sure they have it anyway. They let us go too easily. They definitely followed us. Renjun tried to lose them on the way, but I don’t think he was fast enough. They’ll find our tracks, probably sooner rather than later. I’m sorry, boss. It’s my fault.” 

He knows it is. Taeyong looks at him, from above, glacial like he only gets in life or death situations. For a moment, Jaehyun thinks of the very beginning, and remembers all over again why Taeyong is their leader. It’s something innate that terrifies Jaehyun - and them all - into respect and obedience, when he needs to be respected and obeyed. 

He knows that Taeyong won’t harm him, because he never has, but Jaehyun craves it, in some way. It would be than whatever silent disapproval their leader is reserving him right now. 

“Okay, so uh… what’s the action plan?” 

Mark’s voice interrupts the spell, loud and awkward. Jaehyun can recognize when he’s been saved, especially because Mark is a horrible actor, and his squirming fools no one at all, but he still appreciates it. 

“I, uh… I mean. It’s done now. And I don’t think it’s their fault. At least, since I still get my say over my team, Jeno and Renjun are not at fault, so I’d say the others aren’t either but- I just…” he hesitates for a moment, but everyone keeps the silence. He’s being heeded. “It’s done, now, so how do we go forward from here?” 

Oh, this kid. Jaehyun could kiss this kid.

“I agree.” Kun interjects immediately. “Let me take care of the wounded today, call a council this evening. If they found the tracks, they’ll go back for reinforcements. We have time. We'll discuss a proper battle plan once everybody is there, sound good?"

There's a beat of silence in which Jaehyun fully expects Taeyong to refuse. To kick everyone out, yell that Jaehyun is a failure and has jeopardized then and everything that Jaehyun already knows, like he only does when they're all at risk.

But Taeyong only sighs in defeat and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Kun. You stay here. Donghyuck can care for the wounded, I need a detailed account of everything you have on them. You too, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun nods, shifting so he can pull himself up and take Mark’s seat. 

They’re in for a long night. 

Year 2, Month 6, Day 4 -- [Kim Jungwoo]

The others are already discussing, loud voices stacking onto each other, a cacophony of chaos and worry. Jungwoo shifts in his seat, silent since the beginning of the meeting, fidgeting instead with the hands in his lap. 

He misses the times they used to call strategy meetings just to justify hanging out in the war room, like their own little secret. He's always felt out of place, here, but Taeyong, most of all, and the others too, always insist he should join them, and Jungwoo is never able to decline. 

Everyone is here for a reason; Taeyong is the leader, he makes the final decisions. Nothing happens without his approval, and that’s obvious to everyone. Sicheng is their best soldier - Taeyong wanted to summon everyone with insider experience, but Sicheng begged him not to force any of them to relive things before strictly necessary. He is enough, anyway. Jaehyun, of course, has to be here, to spare the others, and Yuta has been part of war councils since day one. Doyoung is, of course, their chief technician. No plans can be made without his direct supervision. 

They invited no one else. Not Taeil, who uses his role as the eldest to talk sense and caution into them, not Johnny, who is always thinking of how to protect everyone and has been part of this since the beginning. Not even Kun, or Mark, who are just as much leaders as Taeyong is. Jungwoo doesn't deserve to be here, not even remotely, and no amount of Jaehyun insisting he's the best strategist in the entire colony can convince him. 

Jaehyun is right, of course, but only he and Jungwoo see it, and when Jungwoo's plan fails, because no plan can really be perfect, they'll all know him for the fraud he is. 

So he sits back while everyone fights. Fidgeting with his fingers. Staring at the map. 

The plans are wrong. He just needs to come up with a better one. He has one, but it’s missing something, and until then he can’t allow himself to speak. 

"We are not leaving the kids unprotected!" Doyoung shouts at Yuta, slamming his hands on the table hard enough to shake the pieces on the map. 

"The kids can fight better than you can,” Yuta shouts back, unfazed. “Stop treating them like children, half of them could gut us all alive-"

"Yangyang can't even move without help!"

"He can blow all of us up if he wants to, and so can Chenle." 

That’s it. 

That’s it, that’s the key-

“I have it,” Jungwoo whispers, so soft he’s sure no one will hear him. The whole room falls silent; somehow, they did.

He ignores the trembling in his fingers as he moves the pieces around on the map, brimming with faked confidence. If any of them can see through it, they don't point it out, and for that, he is grateful, because he might be nervous, but he is willing to fight for this.  

"We have to play it safe. We're not good fighters, not all of us. They're a war gang. So we wait here," he mumbles, moving all their tokens back to the colony. The colony is safe. 

"Who scouts?" 

"Yangyang's droids." 

"They don't have cameras yet," Doyoung interrupts. Jungwoo has no time for this. 

"He can build them. If we send off the weakest to scout, we lose the ones we have to protect. If we send the strongest, they can be picked off. We’ll be defenseless. Unless we decide to accept defeat, we’re fighting with all our numbers." 

Maybe the affirmative mode isn't the right one to use, he should be suggesting, but he knows he's right. He's right. Taeyong has to see it. 

Jungwoo looks at their leader. He's silent, staring intently at the map in front of them. He's listening, and Jungwoo has this one chance to convince them to not fuck this up. Yuta is listening, Sicheng is listening, even Doyoung is actually considering his words. He has this one chance-

"We wait." He breathes in, shakily, to steady himself. "And when they’re coming, we get out, somewhere they won't be seeing us. So if they come from up north, climb east. The main entrance is off limits, if they have a map they know of it and will set up an ambush. So we face them in open field first-"

"What?" 

"They might have numbers on their side. First we reduce the numbers. Then I- I think we need the kids on this."  

"Which kids?" Taeyong interrupts, carefully considering the displaced tokens. He's already guessed, and Jungwoo doesn't like the plan more than he does, but it's the only way. 

"Whoever Chenle and Yangyang need with them," he sighs. 

"What about hiding in the caves? We know them best. Hell, even we get lost in them, they certainly will get lost-"

"No." Jungwoo interrupts. Jaehyun seems taken aback, but he's not irritated. "If the caves get destroyed or collapse in the scuffle, we risk losing the very reason we settled here, if not everyone. If the greenhouse or even one of the storage rooms gets found and burned-" he doesn't need to finish that. Everyone knows how it ends. "That's a fallback plan, at most, but the goal is to keep them away from the caves." 

"We could lure them inside the canyon valley," Yuta points out, moving the enemy tokens to illustrate his point. "If we ambush them from up the cliff-"

"There's no way they won't see that coming. We'll be ambushed ourselves." Everyone's eyes fly to Sicheng's hands, splayed over the map. They're not trembling, and honestly Jungwoo really admires him right now, because he's so anxious he might as well be vibrating out of the room.

"Jungwoo is right,” Sicheng admits, turning tired eyes to Taeyong. “It’s not foolproof, but I see no other solution. Boss, you should listen to him."

Jungwoo can taste blood from where he is worrying at his lip so much. The room falls quiet, but the sound of his own heartbeat in his eardrums is strong enough to feel deafening. 

In the end, Taeyong takes a last, defeated sigh, and falls back into his chair. Like this, he looks too old to possibly be his actual age. "I trust Sicheng," he declares. “And we all trust Jungwoo.” 

Jaehyun clasps his hands together, wide smile on his lips. It’s very obviously fake, but no one can be bothered to care. “Well. That’s it, then. Dinner time?”

“Oh, Taeil will be pissed if we don’t hurry,” Yuta laughs, and just like that, the tension is gone. Even Jungwoo can’t contain a genuine smile as he gets up and brushes the dirt off of his trousers. 

“Dinnertime!”

Year 2, Month 6, Day 6 -- [Dong Sicheng]

Renjun is still as quick as ever. He ducks under blows and dodges attacks with all the grace he had years ago.

The problem is, it is no longer years ago . 

Sicheng watches from the sidelines, hands clasped behind his back, as he spars with Kunhang. Kunhang has never been their strongest to begin with, which is possibly the only reason Renjun is not on the ground yet; his moves are sharper than Kunhang's, and he knows exactly where to hit. Sicheng has insisted throughout the years on training most of those who left with him, but has never touched Kunhang; it was the boy himself that had come to him, two days ago, signing that he wanted to be taught how to fight. 

Sicheng is a good soldier. He can train him. He can train all the kids, if it will mean the slightest improved chance at survival. 

With a deaf thud and a groan, Kunhang ends up on the ground, only a soft whimper of pain escaping his lips. Sicheng huffs to himself, but opts not to scold him this once, because they’re short on time; it’s almost sundown, and Doyoung and Taeil don’t let them train at night. 

“Next! Jisung, come out.” Sicheng holds back a wince as the lanky teenager makes his way to the ring, hunched over and fidgeting. 

This is going to be a disaster. 

“Start.”

Jisung waits for Renjun to attack first, hands posed defensively in front of himself. It’s fairly similar to what Sicheng demonstrated - his footing is completely off, but he will take it. Renjun lunges forward with a small battle cry, grabbing the taller boy’s good wrist and using the hook attached to the other arm to flip him onto his back, staying his hand at the very last second so he doesn’t hit the ground full-force. 

Okay, this is definitely not working. 

“Next!” Sicheng barks, making a mental note to talk to Jisung later. Jaemin practically throws himself on the ring with a smug grin. He wasn’t even paying attention earlier, Sicheng suspects. 

“Start.” 

It’s Jaemin who lunges forward first, this time, stance wide open and footing precarious. Sicheng rubs the bridge of his nose, wants to scream in frustration when Renjun easily grabs his wrist and flings him back onto the ground with one single well-placed kick to his stomach. 

But Jaemin doesn’t fall; he uses his free hand to push himself up and the leverage to spin around and try to punch Renjun in the face. It doesn’t work - Renjun won’t be taken down by this kind of trick - but he has been paying attention. Sicheng wants to die just a fraction less. 

The match goes on for a few minutes, with Jaemin’s struggling but unexpected survival. Sicheng watches quietly, perched onto his favorite rock, fingers poised on his lips. The boy’s clumsy, but he can defend himself, and by the heavens, can he feign. 

Finally, Renjun manages to grab Jaemin's head and pull it down to his knee. Jaemin howls in pain and stumbles away, holding his bleeding nose with a betrayed gaze. 

"You really don’t know where to draw the line, do you?" he accuses, and the rest is a matter of seconds. Worry and regret flash in Renjun's face, and smug contentment in Jaemin's, a split-second later. Renjun lowers his arms, opening his mouth to apologize. Jaemin lunges forward, aims a hook at the older's shoulder. Renjun catches it. Jaemin uses the feint to place a single, hard kick straight to Renjun's groin. Renjun falls to the ground, groaning in pain after four rounds of winning streak. 

Everyone around the ring freezes: the kids, Sicheng, even Taeyong, who’s watching them from the sidelines. 

"Eyy, you really lowered your guard in front of a standing opponent?" Jaemin teases, offering a wide-eyed Renjun a hand to get up. 

Sicheng's head is about to burst with seven different emotions at once. All he knows is, he hates Na Jaemin a lot right now. 

"Both of you, here," he growls, and the boys run, like they should. 

"You." Renjun raises his head when addressed, ever proud. Sicheng isn't much about respect, but the defying gesture is still irritating. "You stop to help someone in battle, we have two casualties instead of one. Maybe more. And you ," he growls. Jaemin seems surprised at Sicheng's irritation. He really is that stupid. "This is training. Tricks that only work on your little boyfriend aren't useful to anyone. Your stance is open. Your feints are a tease. Until you're capable of taking him down confidently without making an effort, you're going to make an effort."

Jaemin's eyes briefly flash in hurt, then understanding, as he nods and lowers his eyes. Sicheng nods back, once, because the kid is definitely listening more than he lets on, and deserves the curt approval, at the least. 

"Good. Dismissed. Everyone else, you're dismissed as well. Jisung, not you. Come here." 

Their youngest seems caught by surprise. He approaches with a slight tremble in his shoulders, making an effort to keep his head high. Sicheng waits until everyone except for Taeyong has cleared the area, before he takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair, revelling in the physical relief it brings. He's probably more tense than any of the boys, right now. 

"I'm sorry," he starts, and he can tell that wasn't what Jisung expected at all, but he carries on. "I didn't account for your hand when I demonstrated techniques. If you stay with me right now, I can try to adapt them to you as much as I can."

Jisung's jaw hangs open. Sicheng waits for him to answer, but not even he can remain serious when a fly goes in and Jisung closes his mouth in surprise, trapping it inside. 

Sicheng dissolves in laughter, along with Taeyong and, after he lets the fly out, a mortified Jisung. 

"Okay, we're doing that after dinner. Taeil will kill me if I keep you," Sicheng decides, ignoring his impulse to reach out and ruffle Jisung's hair. "Go eat, boy." 

Jisung nods once in a half-salute and leaves, running off steps to join Chenle, who Sicheng just notices has been waiting at a safe distance until now. 

"They're gonna get hurt," he whispers the moment they’re out of earshot. He doesn't need to meet Taeyong's eyes for the leader to know he's speaking to him, used to Sicheng's mannerisms by now. 

"You're a good teacher. We can't do more." is the only answer Sicheng receives. A glance at the elder's face is enough to confirm what he already suspects - they are going to get hurt, and Taeyong has already accounted for that. 

"Don't underestimate them, though. They were doing well even without us. Should we go get dinner, too?" 

"Yeah." Sicheng nods, heading off first towards the rest of the group preparing for dinner. 

He's not underestimating the kids. He knows they're doing their best, and heavens know some of them could one day overpower him without an issue. 

He only hopes most of them will make it out alive. 

Year 2, Month 6, Day 8 -- [Lee Jeno]

The weapons storage is the best place to do this, truly.

No one will come here unless they have a good reason to. It’s ample. Spacious. Lots of places to sit on, lots of places to lie down, too. Ground level, so everyone could reach it. 

Well, that’s what Jeno likes to think, because really, the whole thing hadn’t been planned much until the last minute, and right now logic isn’t really at the forefront of any of their minds. 

Somewhere to his right, he can hear Renjun’s soft gasps, and a little laugh that he thinks belongs to Yangyang, exchanged whispers and giggles in a language he doesn’t understand. Donghyuck’s bright red hair makes its appearance at the edges of his field of vision every now and then, stark against the bleak cavern wall. All of that, though, is of secondary importance, because he’s holding Jaemin in his lap - they started out standing, but Jaemin soon climbed there, because Jaemin thinks there isn’t a better kissing spot than Jeno’s lap.

And Jeno loves this so much. He’s having so much fun, loves this experiment the five of them came up with, likes Yangyang’s bites and Donghyuck’s infuriatingly teasing eyes and lips, likes it a lot; but maybe he likes this a little better, because he can’t breathe properly and he doesn’t know whether it’s because they’ve been kissing for so long or Jaemin really is that breathtaking. 

“Hey, exchange with me,” Donghyuck whines, pulling on his sleeve. Jeno ignores him for as long as he thinks he can afford to - he’ll say it was to get him worked up, later on, but right now he’s just lost in Jaemin, Jaemin’s warmth, Jaemin’s hair, Jaemin’s lips on his neck- 

“I said exchange ,” Donghyuck whines again, louder this time, and Jeno reluctantly pushes Jaemin off with a groan. He’s sweeped up by Donghyuck almost immediately, shoved against the wall unceremoniously, like Donghyuck does everything, and Jeno wants to get up for a moment, make sure he’s okay, but Jaemin laughs and throws his arms around Donghyuck, so that has to be fine. 

“Over here,” Renjun calls, a split-second warning before he drops Yangyang on Jeno’s lap, and loops his arms around both of them from behind. That fixes the concerning lack of warmth in Jeno’s lap, and Yangyang wastes no time in latching onto his shoulders and pressing a soft kiss onto Jeno’s cheek. Jeno kisses him back, fingers carding through Yangyang’s hair, and again, he thinks this was a great idea, and they should definitely do this more often, and-

“What the fuck?!” 

Jeno parts with a gasp, and both Renjun and Yangyang roll off to the side, all three staring, through various degrees of blushing, at Yukhei and Mark, standing in the entrance of the room. 

“Dude! Just warn us!” Mark squeals, grabbing the first LMG he sees and running out of the room just as fast as he came in, a giggling Yukhei on his tracks. 

Okay, so they didn’t account for evening shooting practice.  

"...I told you something would happen," Renjun growls, as soon as they're gone.

"Well, that ruined the mood," Jaemin grumbles. Yangyang sighs melodramatically and climbs off of Jeno’s lap, flopping on the ground like a starfish. 

"I'm sleeping here, anyway. That was tiring." 

"And very nice." Jaemin brings his head back to Donghyuck's neck to pepper little kisses, blowing raspberries in between until the other laughs. It works like a charm, and Jeno feels a little seed of jealousy burn in his chest. Renjun picks up on it, and elbows him playfully, mouthing something Jeno can't understand, because he's really bad at lip reading and even worse when his boyfriend is busy kissing Lee Donghyuck or whatever, but he pretends to anyway. It's probably something annoying, if it's Renjun. 

"Well, I propose you stay there then, uh, with Donghyuck if you want and all," Renjun eventually announces to Yangyang, stretching his sore arms above his head. “I'll be taking my poor jealous boyfriend to cuddle in our room. Jaemin, you joining us or are you gonna poly this night out?" 

Jaemin honest to fuck pouts. 

"That’s unfair, why are you doing this to me?" he whines, but still unwraps himself from Donghyuck and presses a single quick peck to his lips and Yangyang's, too, before he comes to stand over the sitting duo. 

"So? Let's go."

Jeno feels mildly guilty. Just a little; Jaemin was having a lot of fun, and he wants Jaemin to be happy, but at the same time, if he says that in front of Donghyuck, the bastard will definitely take the chance to convince Jaemin to spend the night with them, and Jeno actually wants to cuddle both his boyfriends to sleep after experimenting around. 

Only once they're out of the complex and inside the van, blanket draped over their entangled bodies - a new one Taeil has given them, because Jisung and Chenle have claimed the original blanket as theirs and it’s not like they have to share anymore - does the guilt increase. 

"You could've gone. I want you to have fun," he murmurs into Renjun’s neck, almost hoping his voice is too muffled to be heard. 

Of course, luck isn't on his side. "Shut the fuck up already, will you?" Renjun growls, but Jeno can tell he doesn't mean it. Jaemin snorts through his nose, a failed attempt at a laughter that draws up so much mucus he almost chokes, and Jeno dissolves into a fit of giggles inside, but is way too tired to physically do that. 

"Listen, I'm the most poly fucker you'll ever meet in your miserable life, Lee Jeno. You know that. Of course I'd appreciate the biggest cuddlepile ever between the five of us, that would be ideal. Possibly after having had more of whatever that led to. It was fun. But Jeno- listen to me, dumbass," he orders, reaching over Renjun, who's lying in the middle, to direct Jeno's face so he’s forced to meet his eyes. “I love you. I love you, you hear me? If you decide you want us to leave this whole colony because you want me all to yourself and this other loser, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. So I guess tonight I’ll make the incredible sacrifice of only having two boys to cuddle with.”

Jeno swats at his mouth, whining something along the lines of “You talk too much, Nana,” for appearance’s sake, and Jaemin laughs and apologizes, but a weight is lifted off his chest. He has no idea why he is so taught and sappy, right, now, but he is, so he manhandles Renjun into his other side, and lies down in the center, draping his arms over the both of them. 

“Maybe tomorrow we can-” 

“Na Jaemin if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I will serve you your own tongue for dinner,” Renjun groans. By miracle, it works, and Jeno stifles a warm laugh from the depths of his stomach, opting to hide his face away in Jaemin’s hair as a meager form of consolation, instead. 

Renjun is slightly smaller than Jaemin, but he tends to hug more strongly. Jeno loves it all, both of them in all their difference, and their incredible ability to be so annoying Jeno at times questions how and when he started loving them so strongly. He cards his fingers through Jaemin’s hair, lost in the rhythmic part of the strands, from dark roots to long-faded pink, and almost misses Renjun throwing both eyes open in panic. 

“We forgot your wound.” 

Yeah. Shit. That.  

“Sure,” Jeno sighs, hoping more than anything his embarrassment isn’t showing in his voice, too. Jaemin shifts back to consciousness with the sudden noise, annoyed pout on his lips. Jeno would much rather kiss him back to sleep, or hide away, but now that they’re both awake he can’t avoid it. Renjun already blames himself for not confessing when Jeno was being threatened. 

Besides, he does want to keep walking. And Kun will kill him if he neglects his wound, if Jaemin and Renjun even let him survive their wrath first. 

“Come on, love.” Renjun nudges his leg, and Jeno reluctantly flips onto his stomach, a small smile tugging at his lips. Renjun is allergic to nicknames unless he needs something, and it wouldn’t really work if Jeno didn’t know he has to get it over with anyway, but it’s cute. Jaemin smiles too, even though neither of them point anything out. 

His leg burns as Renjun unwraps his bandages and treats his wound. Jeno bites his tongue and clenches his muscles to keep himself from screaming, but a few pathetic whimpers still escape from his lips, and he is really glad he’s facing away right now because he’s fucking crying. 

Jaemin’s hands run over his thigh as he catches his breath, soothing. He’s whispering something , but Jeno can’t focus; he quietly sobs through the process, can taste the tang of blood on his tongue as Renjun pours disinfectant, and he still can’t keep himself from screaming, muffled though it is. 

“There’s a lot less pus this time! That’s really good,” Jaemin encourages, rubbing the small of his back as Renjun finishes redressing the wound. 

“Yeah, I only wanted to throw up once,” Renjun snarks with a firm pat to his ass, and for some reason that’s what makes Jeno break into open tears.

It’s a flood stronger than he can control, so he just lies on the ground and allows it to shake his body with uncontained sobs, lets tears and snot and drool dribble onto the ground to add to the disgusting mess he’s already made with blood and pus. Renjun and Jaemin both seem taken aback, but he’s too weak to fight it now, so he lets it happen, and lets them hold his hands, caress his cheek, plop a soft kiss on the crown of his head. 

“Hey, you big baby, I was joking,” Renjun laughs, almost in unison with Jaemin’s muted whispers of “Oh, love, it’s alright, it’s over now.”. Jeno can’t explain it right now, can do nothing but let the emotions he’s tried so hard to ignore flood him all at once, and even if he could talk, he couldn’t ever say it.

They love him. They love him way too much, more than he could possibly deserve. Jeno would die for both of them, just like he would for most of the colony, but they love him so much more than he could. They’ve seen him sick, tired, they’ve pulled blood and all sorts of infections out of him without batting an eyelash, and after this they’ll go back to hugging him to sleep and kissing him, trusting him to watch over them even when he’s useless and needs to be hauled around. 

The tears dry up quickly enough, and his breathing slowly subsides; Jeno doesn’t cry much, not unless he’s angry, and whenever he does, it doesn’t last. They’re there, both of them, throughout all of it, and oh, he doesn't deserve them. He never will. When his breathing finally staggers down to a somewhat trembling regularity, he hides his face in Renjun's lap, hoping no one will ever pull him out of the soft darkness. Of course, Jaemin does, annoying, petulant Jaemin, who pulls him up by his shoulders and holds his face with tenderness Jeno doesn’t deserve. 

"Everything alright?" 

Somehow, Jeno finds it in him to nod. Neither of them seem to believe him, but he's being as honest as he can; he's not good with words, can't explain why he's so overwhelmed with gratitude and embarrassment and how he loves them so much. Even if he were any good with words, he could never explain that. 

"We should sleep," he eventually manages to croak out, surprised at how wrecked his voice is. He's really cried that much today, huh. 

Jaemin squeals, a little noise of contentment, and immediately lies down, pulling Jeno down with him so he can rest his head on Jeno's chest. The younger's readiness to pretend he's happy and unconcerned just for the sake of their peace of mind almost makes him burst into tears again, but he somehow contains himself, and instead just drapes an arm around him, pulling him closer, revelling in the warmth of skin and flesh and life near his own. 

He has to shoot a little pleading gaze at Renjun before he sighs and lies down, not bothering to spare him from a frown. 

"Just so you know, I hope you don't cry about it tomorrow, too," he grumbles, shifting until he, too, is resting on Jeno's chest, next to Jaemin. 

And again, they're so different, when they speak and breath. Their edges and softness, their strength and comfort-

Jeno closes his eyes and goes to sleep, because if he keeps that train of thought, he's going to cry again, and his tears are dry for the day.

Somehow, all he feels during the night is safety, and warmth. And if he were anyone else, someone more apt to talk of his emotions out loud, he could call it love.  

Year 2, Month 6, Day 10 -- [Qian Kun]

“Hmm…”

Jisung winces as Kun feels his arm.

"Yeah, try not to wear anything. It's just swollen again because your prosthesis doesn't fit as it should."

"Yeah, I figured," Jisung murmurs. "Do you think the hand will hurt this much when he finishes it?"

"If he does manage to insert the lever mechanisms to make it move, it will hurt more. It'll be heavy. But until then, definitely get some rest. I know you'd appreciate the extra hand, but you'll be fine without help." He winks with the joke, even though he realizes it's entirely unamusing. Jisung laughs, half-hearted, and nods with an insincere smile.

Kun isn't trained nearly enough for this.

“Come on, up next,” he declares, patting Jisung's good arm to usher the boy away.

There's barely a moment for him to breathe before the next person makes his appearance, knocking on the wall.

“Uh, you said I could see you today?”

Ah. He’d forgotten about this one.

“Come on, then,” he sighs, massaging the tension away from the bridge of his nose while he motions for Mark to come sit with him. The younger boy is awkward - he’s barely, if ever, been to Kun’s official center of operations, even though it’s really not that difficult to find, being immediately adjacent to the bathing room so he always has access to hot water. So far, Mark has only seen Kun once, for a first general health check-up, back when they’d first barged into their territory and Kun still thought his name was Minhyung.

“Do you want to see ah, that?”

That. Huh.

“Yes, if you please,” he hums. Mark shrugs off his jacket, and looks at him for a second before pulling his shirt over his head.

Kun’s attention immediately zones into his left shoulder, not bothering to ask for permission before he pulls the boy closer and starts prodding.

Ooh. Oh. Yeah, that’s- something.

“It’s not better, is it?” Mark laughs, trying to stave off some of the tension. If Kun were any decent a doctor, he would join him in that effort and try to lighten the atmosphere. Take care of his patients both mentally and physically, all that shit he used to once care about. Right now, he has no patience, and no means to be a good doctor, so he just grunts.

“Well, it’s certainly not going anywhere anytime soon,” he concedes. This is, admittedly, not the ideal situation for his peace of mind, or pride in his professionality.

“Am I going to uh. You know.”

“Die? Fuck if I know. Unless you can get me to an actual hospital with something akin to proper machines, I’m going in completely blind.”

“So you… can’t take it off or anything?”

“Open up your shoulder? I can try. I can open you up right now if you want, just let me get my instruments. But I have no idea whether what you have is even dangerous, or dangerous enough to remove. Now if it were, I wouldn't know how big it is; I could try to remove it by hand, and a piece could still remain inside. I could cut off your entire arm and then some more to overkill, if you want.” Mark winces. Ironic. As if he hadn’t raised an amputee himself. “-but there’s no guarantee I won't fuck up. It’s not like I went to study oncology, kid. I was given two scalpels and some old bandages and had to make do. Anyway, maybe this is all useless and whatever radiation you got, you were lucky enough to only manifest as a benign tumor.”

Mark is biting his lips hard enough that Kun might have to treat him for that, instead. “How… how likely is that?”

Kun shrugs. “Fuck if I know,” he repeats. “I’m not a real doctor. So what do you say, do I get my things right now?”

Mark bites his lip, eyes flittering about. He’s really considering it, and for a moment Kun almost resigns himself to an impromptu open surgery because he decided to be sarcastic, but in the end, he shakes his head.

“Uh, I’ve had kind of a sore throat recently, I guess,” he trails off, trying to change the subject. Kun can accept that; he murmurs something about eating some honey and maneuvers Mark around to listen to his breathing with one of the fancy stethoscopes the kids have brought him.

"Were you an army doctor?" Mark blurts. Kun is trying to listen to his breathing, but he kind of understands why he can’t stand the awkward silence. Still annoying, but he understands, so he snorts and shakes his head.

"If only. Nah, I was in the weapons factories, like you. At least army doctors have tents to sleep in. I guess I got lucky that I didn't work too close to the actual radioactive material. You got lucky that you left before the places got blown up and you got something way worse than your little buddy. You're all good, by the way. Eat some honey or something. Or just wait it out." Kun declares, throwing the stethoscope to the side. “You survived the shitty forced labor. Donghyuck told me you left for a vacation just in time to survive the end of it, too. Destiny wants you alive, kid. It would be a low blow if you gave up now. Even a fake doctor like me can tell that."

He's done, but Mark stays in his seat, tormenting his lower lip between his teeth. "I'd rather you not lie to me, you know," he whispers after a few seconds of silent consideration. "I've seen the others die. It wasn't really a fun way to leave, so I'd rather be prepared if that's going to happen. Just so I can, you know... go die somewhere the others won't see."

"I'd love to let you, but I'm afraid that would be unprofessional on my part. Plus, Donghyuck would have my head."

Mark laughs. They both know that might not be an exaggeration at all. “Would you know if I’m about to die?”

“I mean, maybe if you start coughing up blood, come to me.”

“Oh. Okay.” is all Mark says. "I’ll, uh, I'll tell you if I ever start coughing up blood. Am I good until then? I don’t wanna be recovering from anything if we’re gonna fight. Jeno has a festering leg infection, we already have a man down.”

"So... you want to do it after the battle?"

"Yeah. If we live, I think I do. I don't care what, I trust you. Just need to do something about it, I guess."

Kun doesn't say anything. He can't risk scaring Mark off for decisions he needs to make for himself.

“I’m gonna go oversee the kids, then," the boy eventually sighs, pushing himself up with a groan. "They said they’d be training with knives today, I don’t want Donghyuck and Renjun going at each other for too long."

“Send Jaemin my way. He said himself he wanted some medical training, he shouldn't need me to remind him to come.”

“Roger that,” Mark laughs, snapping a playful salute. The moment he's out of sight, Kun sighs again, slamming his head into the rock behind him.

“Kun?”

“What?” he groans. He refuses to open his eyes, but the silence grows too long for the shreds of patience he has left, so he gives up and meets Mark’s gaze from where he’s peeking over the corner.

“You’re a real doctor. I mean, I think you are. A good one.”

Kun smiles.

“Piss off. Call me Nana. Next!”

Year 2, Month 6, Day 12 -- [Moon Taeil]

It's the ringing of the alarm horn, the good one, that announces their salvation. 

Taeil isn't even sleeping yet - he's too nervous, fidgeting instead with the clothes that need mending because the kids have grown out of them again. When the horn rings, and everyone runs outside in panic, because they were asleep probably didn't even recognize the difference, Taeil follows them, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. They’re saved. 

The bat misses him by a few centimeters, and he only bothers to duck out of courtesy. 

"Oppa! Are you for real?" Sooyoung whines, pulling the bat close to herself again. "Please don't tell me we have to fight you, too, now."

"Ah, no... I'm sorry." Taeil sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. In retrospect, it could have looked like that. "Could you please tell Irene I need to negotiate something with you? I'll make us all tea?" 

Sooyoung would normally refuse him, he knows. It's not the first time he's invited Irene and the girls for tea (although, frankly, most of the time it's Taeyong that refuses to allow them), and by now he's used to them laughing and taking another warning shot at him, before going about their business and taking what they need. 

But Sooyoung is considering it, bright girl that she is.

"This is serious, huh," she eventually muses, pulling out her walkie-talkie to murmur something Taeil isn't allowed to hear onto it. "Well, if your scary boss man agrees, we'll get to try that tea, won't we?" she smiles, a smile which Taeil follows with a shaky one of his own. 

"Thank you, Sooyoung."

"Joy! I told you it’s Joy!" 

"Ah, that's right. Miss Joy, then."

It's mere seconds before Joy's radio beeps again, although it feels like ages. At some point, Renjun appears behind one of the rock walls, knives poised to fly, but he's waiting for a sign of distress. Taeil prays to whatever gods he can think of that it'll work - they need this, they really need this, if only Taeyong would listen to him this once-

"They say to meet in the... war room?" 

The sigh of relief that he lets out adds another ten years to his life. 

"I'll lead you there. Injunnie, go back to sleep," he calls, and if the younger boy is surprised, he doesn't let it show. 

The tea boils slowly, but he has all the time in the world. Taeyong's foot is tapping rhythmically, as is Seulgi's, so Taeil hums a soft melody on top to accompany the waiting. 

"Your child better not mess with my bike again," Wendy comments at one point, earning only a scowl from their leader. Taeil sighs. Chenle really wasn't supposed to mess with their guests, he just wishes Taeyong could admit that. 

"You pretty much broke his nose, I'd say you got your retaliation."

The tea starts boiling. Taeil turns off the gas and takes the pot away from the heated top. 

"Oh, it's jasmine tea, I can't use boiling water," he explains when he feels everyone's eyes on him. "I need to wait for it to get a bit colder. Talk ahead!"

No one does, of course. But that’s okay; Taeil has all the time in the world, or at least until this water does get colder. 

“You took less than usual last time,” Taeyong eventually says, slumping forward to better tap the ground with his foot. 

“It's custody.” 

“It’s… what?!” Taeil asks at the same time Taeyong does, because he, too, is taken aback by that. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your children to actually starve. I’d take them off of you, but your place isn’t that bad, and I don’t have any bikes to spare. So consider it custody, because the children need some mother figures in their life.”

“Those are my resources.”

“They were mine for a moment, you just didn’t notice,” Irene scoffs. Taeil is suddenly very happy they’re having this conversation. 

“So miss Irene-”

“Just call me noona.”

“Noona, then.” He throws her a small smile before he puts the leaves in the infuser. The water is pleasantly warm by now. “If you care about the children, would you help protect them?” 

Her brow furrows in internal debate. She can’t know what’s going on, because no one has explained it yet, so Taeil does expect to be refused, and maybe for Taeyong to scold him for stepping out of place. 

“I can take them away from you,” she eventually offers, leaning back onto the chair. Taeil hides his own frown as best as he can. This isn’t what they need. 

“Tea is ready,” he announces. “Discussions happen with good tea, yes?” 

“This better be good,” Yerim grins, uncrossing her legs to listen more carefully. 

There are ten of them in the room. Taeyong insisted on it, just so they’d be equal, because Taeil was fully intent on facing this discussion with only himself and Taeyong to negotiate. The leader was at least gracious enough to allow Taeil to choose who came with them. Johnny and Jaehyun, he trusts to be calm, know the girls, and be able to defend their interests without being offensive, because they have the most charm. Kun lacks the latter, but he’s exactly what Taeil wishes he could have been as a leader, back then: level-headed, strong, informed, and ready to make sacrifices to defend his boys. 

It’s not the time to worry about the past, though; Taeil kneels in front of the small table he’s dragged here for this explicit purpose and starts pouring tea into the cups as Taeyong explains the situation. 

By the time he’s done, the cups are halfway empty, except for those that have been left to grow cold. Something deep in him cries a little at the waste of effort and good tea, but this isn’t really the moment to complain. 

“...Are you sure it’s not safer to evacuate and come back at a later date? They cannot settle in this territory forever, if they’re established that far away.”

“No.” Kun shakes his head, fingers tapping at the cup in his hands. “I know them enough. If their leadership hasn’t changed, they’ll settle right here, expand their territory. Or just blow it up, if they really have no use for it.”

Irene’s pretty features are furrowed in concern and planning. She’s considering it. Taeil’s heart makes a little jump of anticipation he immediately pushes down. 

“You’re asking me to risk my girls to help you in a plan you’re not sure will work, for warfare we’re not involved in.” 

“You could be involved if they settle here. Your own territory is close by,” Jaehyun points out, taking a sip. 

“We’re nomads. We can just move.”

“I know you can,” Taeil interjects. All eyes are on him again, those of his friends not looking upon him very kindly. 

"You have nothing to gain from this. We know you can take pretty much anything you want and leave-"

"You could hold us hostage until we help," Yerim points out. "Let's face it, we're no longer similar in numbers." It's true - once they really couldn't put up a fight. Now things are different, and Taeil knows they could try to force them. He also doesn't need to be Jungwoo to know that's a bad strategic decision. 

"If you hold any reservations or regrets, please know the others in this room have no fault in this meeting," he tries, measuring his next words as carefully as possible. This is his last chance, and the girls don't work like they do. He needs to convince them all, not just Irene. He can't be weak enough to lose respect, but pride won't help him. He's just thankful Taeyong is allowing him to do the negotiations. They has this one chance; he can't miss it. 

"This was my idea. I can't ask you for a favor in the name of old rivalry, and I could never attempt to blackmail you. Holding you by physical force isn’t an option, miss Yerim. I have nothing to offer you, really."

"You have resources."

"Ones you can get from elsewhere" Kun points out. Taeil nods. 

"I have no cards to play here, really. Only myself and some tea. If you care about the children, that, too. I can’t promise the plan will work, or that none of you will be hurt, or even that your help will make the difference, but right now, it’s something. Please. We need all the help we can get."

His hair falls in front of his face as he bows forward from where's he's sat, until his forehead almost touches the ground. He can't see their reactions; his hands tremble on his knees, and he knows they can probably all see it, and he must've lost whatever respect he managed to recuperate these years with the others, but he can't really care. He needs them to agree. Needs them to. 

"You should learn some lessons in leadership, Taeyong." Wendy finally speaks. Taeil kicks aside the surge of confused pride that floods him, to consider later. 

"Oppa. Please, raise your head, I can't really look at you like that," Seulgi laughs, as awkward as Taeil is feeling right now. He does as she asks; he doesn't have the courage to look at Johnny and Jaehyun, not a shred of the courage he would need to look at Taeyong, so he steals a glance at Kun, instead, breathing what feels like the first lungful of air in his life when he sees him slowly nod in acknowledgement. 

It's not Kun's approval that he needs, though. 

Seulgi smiles at him, awkwardly fidgeting in place. Yerim and Wendy are trying to be indecipherable, but he's learned to read their visual cues over the years. Even Joy, who doesn't like this idea anymore than Taeil does, seems to have agreed already. 

Irene shifts, taking another sip of tea. 

"This is good tea. I almost regret not agreeing to a tea party under better circumstances,” she says, a slight frown pulling at the center of her forehead. “Wendy's right," she finally sighs. "You should learn some lessons, Taeyong. So? When will this attack happen?" 

This time, Taeil doesn't ignore the jumps his heart pulls. It feels as if someone has taken the heaviest weight off his chest, one he's carried for much longer than the past few days. 

It's not the right moment to think about his past failures, yet, but the small redemption still makes tears well and burn behind his eyes. He pushes them back; he's old enough to deal with his own problems when there aren't bigger things at stake. 

He lets them speak about the rest; it's not his place, anymore. They discuss the strategy, and Taeil collects the empty cups to put them aside for washing later. 

Later, when he's relieved from the duty of presence, and Taeyong orders them all to go get some sleep while he finishes up the negotiations, Taeil curls up in his sleeping bag and smiles. 

There will be a lot to unpack if he survives the upcoming days. Somehow, he thinks it won’t be too unpleasant.

Year 2, Month 6, Day 15 -- [Nakamoto Yuta]

Yuta lives by the rhythm of lookout turns and preparation for battle. It’s something the others have tried their hardest to knock out of him in the past years, but no one is really faulting him for now.

He’s good at not making it too obvious, usually. He can joke around, help plan things, get into playfights, and only let this serious spirit take over at night, in a mission, or when helping Dongyoung with his projects. Now, with the threat of destruction heavy in the air, he forgets to pretend too often. 

He only vaguely processes the others’ worry, stealing glances at him as he eats mechanically, an eye always out for incoming threats, and sleeps in the morning with a hand over his gun. He can’t really help it, though. Yuta has been a soldier for far longer than he’s known this new family, and it’s deeply ingrained into him to protect , at the cost of turning to a lifeless husk until the threat is gone. 

He helps Sicheng with training, taking turns to teach whatever they can. He trudges through the daily routine, serving dinner, folding clothes, waiting for something to move.

He’s sharpening the knife arsenal with Ten a late afternoon, for the third time in two day, when the drones fly above their head, all of them together like a swarm. Yangyang’s voice blares from somewhere, loud and clear.

“Up east!”

Yuta’s on his feet, running towards his postation before his mind can catch up with his body. It’s a second to gather his weapons, six to assemble them. A handful more to run outside and start climbing his way up the rope ladders. 

He pulls himself up as soon as his fingers are grasping the edge of the cliff, rolling in red dust. The others gather, too slowly for his taste, but still fast enough. No sign of the enemy yet. 

“You got at least a minute before they’re close enough,” Yangyang’s voice crackles through the walkie-talkie. “Chenle, Irene, your one o’clock.”

The bike roars, flying past them; Yuta can barely see Chenle, surrounded by his equipment as he is, but he can picture him, fingers digging into the fabric of Irene’s jacket, face drained of blood. Someone throws a bulletproof vest in Yuta’s general direction and he grabs it mid-air, sliding it over his shirt.

The barrel of the rifle is cold in his grip. Blood pulses in his veins. In his eardrums. It’s all the drum rhythm he needs. 

“Taeyong, Jungwoo, everything alright?” Dongyoung asks through the communication system. He’s holed up back in the caverns, with Yangyang, despite his insistence that he wanted to fight. Jungwoo vetoed it before Taeyong could even speak. 

“We’re desperate for numbers, it’s true, but the two of you are better off hiding. Brains are not something we can afford to lose.”

“It’s okay,” Jungwoo decrees. “Girls, ready?” 

“Flanking Alpha ready.”

“Flanking Beta has a problem- okay, okay, no we’re ready. Sorry. Sorry.” 

“Chenle here, we’re coming back- oh shit, incoming.” 

The radio crackles off. Yuta counts his breaths, observing the horizon. 

The revving of the engines can be heard from behind the horizon line before the enemies come into sight. Everyone stills; Yuta is set, poised on one knee, rifle already pointed at the horizon.

They're coming.

The first car shoots up into sight with a loud rev, the others following suit, one by one. Twelve of them total.

Oh, they're absolutely underestimating them.

The screams are loud, wild, right out of a bad movie, the sounds of automatic weapons firing into the air already accompanying them. Yuta smells the gunpowder and metal in the air, and holds his breath. Three.

"Hyung, I think they're falling for it."

Two.

The cars move forward.

"Home ground, they're going down."

One.

The explosives are set off with a loud bang! and a flash of fire and light, Chenle's maniacal laughter ringing in his ears. Yuta waits for the smoke to dissipate, heartbeat drumming in his ears and head ringing from the impact.

The moment the first shadow moves, Yuta pulls the trigger and watches it go down.

It has begun. 

Year 2, Month 6, Day 15 -- [Lee Donghyuck]

Donghyuck has spent most of his life avoiding battles with all his might. Hiding in the countryside, taking the van to every remote location possible, always choosing the less beaten path, he’s lived by running from danger. 

Now, he can’t run. Now, everything around him is explosions - of rock, of dust, of shrapnel flying around. A piece of it is definitely stuck in Donghyuck’s foot, he can feel it very, very vividly.

He is the happiest he’s ever been. Donghyuck is living.  

Somewhere near him, Chenle screams with glee, right before an explosive goes off in the distance. Fucking brilliant. Donghyuck's cheeks hurt from how much he's grinning. His muscles burn from the strain. The knife in his left hand is covered with blood and bits of skin, the gun in his right is warm, the scent of gunpowder heavy in his head, the wound in his leg pulsing and burning under the makeshift bandage Kun has wrapped around it when he ducked under the first rock he could find to ask for medical attention. Everything moves, screams, beats.

Donghyuck is living. 

"Down!" 

Donghyuck drops to the ground without a question, a split second before the whirring missile flies over his head and crashes into the ground a few hundred meters away.

"What the fuck-" Yukhei begins to ask beside him, but Yangyang’s cackling from the radio is enough to know. Made them. Of course. Donghyuck could kiss the boy again. 

Whoosh. 

A bullet flies by his ear - almost nicks his piercing. Donghyuck's blood pumps with excitement and adrenaline. He remembers where he’s standing, the fact that they're in battle and there's no time to lose if he cares to live and see the next morning. He grabs his gun, aims at a black scarf, and shoots. Shoots again, higher. The bullet hits right before a knife flies into the enemy's left eye. 

The body drops down the cliff, splattering blood on the floor and onto Dejun. 

"That was mine!" he calls to Renjun, who simply grins and throws the next knife. 

"Believe it!"

A second explosion goes off, thunder deafening. A few enemies fly off, and so do some of their own men. Donghyuck's blood shouts in his eardrums, in his neck, in the fingers itching to pull the trigger again and kill. 

Jungwoo’s voice comes faint from the other side of the battle. “Retreat, now,” he shouts, kicking an enemy in the chest and shooting them for good measure before he turns around and runs towards the main entrance. 

“Get the boys and retreat!” Taeyong repeats. 

Somewhere in the corner of his eye, Sicheng crumbles to the ground. Donghyuck can barely take a step out of his cover before Jaehyun and Kun are already on him, the first covering as the second drags him to safety.

One more. Donghyuck shoots his last round and ducks. Cartridge out. Bullets in. 

The target falls clutching his leg, just in time for Yuta to take the killing shot. 

"Fuck yeah!" Donghyuck shouts, turning to sprint back to base. He runs with the rhythm of his heartbeat, laughing into the wind, the pain in his leg a dull, forgotten throb.

He runs down the cliffside, skids, falls, rolls. Jagged ends dig into his face. His entire weight is pulled up by someone that Donghyuck vaguely thinks might be Mark just because of the general shape, because he's already running off towards the entrance of the colony as fast as he can. 

Donghyuck runs, too, feet carrying him forward, ducking to the side of the Dream Machine where it’s blocking the entrance. He crashes into the wall, breath knocked out of him, blood bruising on his cheek. 

“They’re coming,” Yangyang announces from the radio. Donghyuck lets the hands tugging at his vest pull him into the van and check him for wounds. “Hold on… Now!”

The sound of a roaring engine announces their victory. Donghyuck howls in joy. 

“Yes! Fuck yes!” he laughs, rolling around on the cool floor of the van with a grin that pulls at his cheekbones as the motorbikes fly past him. 

Jaemin pulls him up to his feet, holding him still while he peeks outside the van. Donghyuck listens to the gunshots, the revving, the sounds of knives slashing and punches hitting tender muscle. 

Oh, how he loves this. How he loves this. 

“Incoming!” Jaemin announces. He doesn’t have time to say anything else before a figure clad in black tries to run past the van. Jaemin swings the spiked bat he’s holding, the one the girls made for him, and the man falls to the ground. A bullet lodges itself into his forehead, dead center, and Donghyuck looks up to see Renjun still hiding on the edge of the cliff, ready to pick off the ones who make it past their defense. 

“My side,” Donghyuck declares, zoning into the rapidly approaching footsteps. He leans out and throws his arm to the left, laughing when the knife meets flesh and bone and the target goes limp on it, shot twice in rapid succession. 

When the horn is sounded, after what feels like a small eternity of a battle, Donghyuck shoots his gun into the air, uncaring of how dangerous that is, and leans his full weight into Jaemin’s side to scream as loudly as his lungs will permit. 

They did it.

Donghyuck is living. 

Year 2, Month 6, Day 15 -- [Na Jaemin]

It isn’t really over when the battle ends, not for Jaemin. The alarm signals the real fight, the one where Jaemin has to drop his weapons and run outside to tend to the wounded, following Kun’s orders and making decisions whenever he has to. Once the emergency cases are tended to, and whoever needs urgent treatment is brought to the infirmary, Jaemin is left with Donghyuck on the field to see to the rest. The adrenaline pumping in his blood wanes with time, until he’s sore and unpleasantly warm, his muscles relaxed after the strain of the fight.  

They lived, but somehow his brain hasn't processed that quite yet, so the crash will probably come for him in the evening. Jaemin is not looking forward to that. The only good side to it is that he can use the extra time to fuss about the boys' lighter wounds while Kun deals with the more serious ones. 

"I'm fine, stop fussing over me," Jeno grumbles. 

Jaemin’s brain decides to self preserve from the inevitable stress breakdown that is to come by doing its usual thing of having no shame whatsoever. Half naked, with a few light burns, sweaty all over, Jeno is hot as fuck. Almost as hot as Renjun bullseyeing half of his shots during the battle. That one perfect center on an explosive barrel... fuck, people exploding shouldn't be attractive, but Renjun blew those up to defend them, so that's kind of a knight in shining armor situation. Except it's more Renjun in a vest and those hideous straps full of bullets. And facepaint Jaemin doesn't know the reason for, but appreciates the aesthetics of. 

"You'll be fine when I say so,” he quips, running more disinfectant through the scrapes. 

"Let him live," Yangyang giggles, too, from where he's sat on top of the rock Jeno's leaning against. 

"Why? Was he cool enough to live?"

“I guess he was.” 

Yangyang's smile is stupidly pretty, and that, too, Jaemin's brain also insists on processing now that his adrenaline levels aren't in panic mode. It’s big, bright, it shows his gums. It’s lovely.

“Well, he’s all done,” Jaemin declares, to cut off that train of thought before he gets too distracted and makes stupid decisions when he’s not quite in himself. He slaps Jeno’s chest, instead, to stave off the unwanted attention, right above a freshly bandaged wound to watch him hiss in pain again. “The nurse will free you, now.”

“Thank fuck,” Renjun snarks. Jaemin sticks out his tongue. His chest is doing weird things - he could feel it, that these people would live, but he still can’t get quite used to how much he hurts thinking about them, and how they fill him with pride. How he wouldn’t have been the same if anything in their plan had gone wrong and anyone had died. 

He glances around, so his eyes won’t tear up. It’s a mistake. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers. 

“Hm?”

Ew. Ew. Ew. 

“There!” he whines, pointing at the culprit. Mark sits on a low rock, legs dangling, back hunched without the slightest bit of finesse - locking lips with Yerim.

“Oh, straight guy’s getting laid,” Renjun snickers, getting his fingers ready to throw a wolf whistle, which Jeno blocks him from doing. 

“I can’t believe it!” Jaemin insists, trying to make them see the exact situation. “Is he really making me witness that with my own two eyes?”

Jeno shrugs. “I mean, they kind of caught us fu-”

“Nope!” Renjun throws a hand in front of his mouth. 

Yangyang leans forward so hurriedly he almost falls over. “Wait, really?” 

“Of course,” Jaemin explains, almost at the same time Renjun gives a sigh of defeat. “It’s one van and seven people sharing.”

“Well, it’s nice he found a girl, I guess,” Yangyang shrugs. 

Jaemin frowns. “Love isn’t the be-all, end-all.”

“Oh? Then we can all sleep in our own be-”

“Huang Renjun, you dare finish that sentence and I swear I’m dumping you.”

“Me too,” Jeno says unexpectedly. “I want a cuddlepile.”

“Am I,” Yangyang clears his throat, uncomfortable, “Will I be invited sometime again?” 

Jaemin’s heart does its little acrobatics routine, and he speaks before he can think. “Both you and Donghyuck are invited, if you want.” 

To hell with not making irresponsible decisions. 

“I’d like that!” Donghyuck shouts, coming up from behind to drape an arm across Renjun’s shoulders. Renjun shrugs it off, but Donghyuck just grabs his arm instead to link elbows, and this time Renjun accepts it with a roll of his eyes. “You saw Mark, right?”

“Disgusting,” Jaemin scrunches his nose. “Next thing they’ll start dating and shove their heterosexuality in our face.”

Jeno sighs. “Leave them be. It’s nice that they like each other.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess it’s a happy ending alright.”

Renjun snorts. “I thought you said love wasn't the be-all, end-all.”

"It's not!" Jaemin pouts, resolving to cuddle Jeno at least five minutes more than Renjun in retaliation. "Cuddling my boyfriends is. Why else did we win?" 

Year 2, Month 6, Day 15 -- [Lee Taeyong]

Taeyong is tired. 

The dinner tastes amazing, even though it’s just another can of baked beans he’s digged out of the supply room; no one is going to cook today. It didn’t take him much to understand that food always tastes the best after a battle, when he was still young and new to this, but now Taeyong is tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being amazed at the food. Tired of needles and stitches in his skin like he’s a ragdoll to sew back together again after every fight. 

“Hey.”

Johnny sits besides him without asking for permission, so Taeyong can’t deny it. He just throws an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders and looks straight ahead, finding the pattern of indentations in the wall particularly fascinating. For that, at least, Taeyong is grateful. 

“We lived again.”

“I’m tired,” the leader confesses. He bends down to put his unfinished dinner on the floor, careful that it doesn’t spill over; the moment he straightens back up, Johnny’s arm is back around his shoulders, friendly and grounding. He has always known how to help, whether Taeyong himself knew what he needed or not. “I know we’ll do this again, but I’m tired.” 

“Yeah. Me too. I was already tired after the very first battle.” 

“Pyongyang?” 

“Oh, you got tired after the end of the whole war? Damn, man, you’re resilient. I meant Shanghai. I was already done with the whole war thing back then.”

Taeyong snorts. “I was fucked up on drugs the whole time. I’d tell you how I survived so long but I’m pretty sure I was clinging to some rubble and hallucinating throughout the whole fight.”

Johnny snorts, amused. “You still never told Jungwoo that’s why we didn’t want you as leader at first. Although I confess Jaehyun was wrong.”

“Jaehyun.”

“Mhm. Maybe both of us were wrong. You did manage to bring us all the way here while hooked up. And now look at you.”

Look at him, indeed. Sober. Tired. Somehow still alive and kicking. 

“He’s a good kid,” he says, instead of addressing any of that. “He doesn’t meddle, unlike some of you.”

“Pray to fuck he never learns to listen in, then,” a voice remarks from behind them.

“He was specifically talking about you, you know,” Johnny chuckles, moving to the side so Ten can have more space to sit with them. Taeyong should probably feel awkward, with the three of them together, but it’s strangely warm. He blames it on the adrenaline drain.  

“I could sleep for like, a year. That last blast made me skin my knee, motherfuckers. I also had a piece of shrapnel embedded in my arm and Kun said he’s surprised I only have a mild concussion from how that shockwave threw me around, but the knee hurts more.”

“Hurts your pride?” Taeyong guesses, rewarded by a finger snap.

“Bingo. Your face looks like hell, by the way. Just in case you don’t know.”

“He knows,” Johnny rolls his eyes.

“I only know I’m tired.”

“Me too, boss, me too,” Johnny sighs, slumping. “We’ll feel even more fucked up tomorrow, then we’re free.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m fine.”

“You just almost had your entire family die at the hands of your psychotic old apocalypse gang leader. Not even you can suppress that.”

“Yeah? Watch me. You should stop underestimating the lot of us. We’re not weaklings just because we created this whole situation.” 

Johnny winces, running a hand through his hair. “There is literally so much wrong with what you just said that I don’t even know how to begin with that.”

Taeyong chuckles, but it’s not funny. He’s exhausted. 

“Yeah, we can unwrap your unhealthy guilt coping habits another time-”

“I feel like this is somehow about me using you to get back at Johnny.”

“Neither of us ever mentioned that,” Taeyong points out, tone flat. “I believe Dongyoung calls that a Freudian slip.”

“Can’t convince either of us it’s in the past if you’re the one who keeps bringing it up, bro,” Johnny shrugs. Ten growls, low in his throat, and picks up the can of abandoned beans to start eating, eyes challenging Taeyong and Johnny at once. 

“Ahem,” Taeyong clears his voice. “In any case. I would rather you not think all of us risked our lives, the children’s included, for outsiders.”

“It’s literally our fault if they came here, ‘Yong. Boss. If we hadn’t made a run for it and hid here, they would have left you in peace. Kun will probably want to apologize properly later, but I can’t wait for someone else to do it. We endangered all of you. I’m sorry.”

Taeyong shakes his head. He’s so tired. 

He’s so tired. He just can’t rest yet, it seems. 

“You know they would’ve come anyway. You worked with them. And I don’t like you implying that there is a stranger in this colony, Ten. Family and all that, right? We fight together. Tomorrow we’ll… try to do something nicer together. Tell Kun that if he dares apologize I’ll put him on lookout duty instead of Sicheng.”

“You say ‘family’ an awful lot.”

“He’ll say it again. Don’t try him. He gets sappy post-battle.”

“I get tired.” 

“Nah, Johnny’s right. You get sappy. I appreciate it, though. I’ll threaten Kun with lookout duty. And, uh… I know it’s a bad moment, but yeah. Sorry about the whole using you thing. And the whole trying make you jealous thing. I guess the possibility of death made me realize I should solve things.”

Taeyong nods. “It’s in the past.”

“And it won’t be in the future,” Johnny adds. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I was just wondering if we could stop doing the whole awkward thing and be friends again. I miss it.” 

Taeyong feels a smile pull at the corners of his lips for what feels like the first time in too long to remember. “Of course. We’re-”

“ Family, I get it. We’re family.”

There’s a reason Taeyong is tired. He’s okay with it, if it means they can be like this, and things will turn out fine. 

“Now let’s go make you some proper dinner and put you to bed, big boss,” Johnny declares. “I’ll see to the others. You can take the rest of the night off.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ten smiles, throwing the can of beans behind his shoulder. “Yangyang salvaged one of those Nintendo Switch things. I got animals on an island to make you play until you fall asleep.” 

Year 2, Month 6, Day 15 -- [Wong Kunhang]

Kunhang’s world stops the moment Dejun falls. 

It’s battle, they’re fighting. He can’t stop, but he does, until Dejun is dragged away. He fights, then, like a machine on autopilot, until it’s over. He doesn’t quite register what happens, or how they win; he doesn’t even know who’s left. He will mourn those they lost later, but his feet follow Kun first to the infirmary, as close as their leader will allow him. He watches him run about, watches him tire out, watches the injured ones leaving, one by one, as Kun dismisses them. He doesn’t dismiss Dejun, nor does he tell Kunhang to move. He merely takes a long, tired look at him, and shakes his head.  

Kunhang watches over Dejun all night, perched on a wobbly plastic chair that his legs don’t fit in. His lips keep forming the words, but the sound is stuck in his throat. It’s so fucking hard to speak, physically hurts after all this time. He hates this more than anything. He doesn’t want his last regret to be something so... cliché, out of everything it could be. 

Being normal and functioning like others do wouldn’t make things better, because they’re not bad. Because Dejun, too, isn’t normal. Dejun breaks down screaming when he sees things that remind him of a worse time. Dejun is his brother for a reason, they understand each other.   

But now Dejun can’t look at him, can’t see the signs he helped Kunhang create, and Kunhang can’t lose him like this. Words swell in his throat for hours as he swallows around them, until the knot blocking them loosens to let out soft sobs, because those are convulsions, he can’t control them, he doesn’t have to push them out or be articulate. They just leave on their own, rack through his frame, that is so much bigger than Dejun’s, who looks even smaller like this. Kunhang accepts it, like he accepts most things that come to him, now, and lets his head fall on Dejun’s chest for any shred of consolation. 

His heartbeat is rhythmic, and it does nothing to calm Kunhang’s nerves. He can only think of how close it is to stopping forever. 

“You should leave him some space to breathe,” Kun reprimands, a hand on Kunhang’s shoulder that surprises him enough to make him jump and let out a little scream. 

Meeting his eyes, Kunhang nods, head low. His hair is growing so long. He needs to cut it. Maybe Yukhei wants to do it for him. 

“He’ll live, you know that?”

Kunhang nods again, because it’s the only thing he thinks he can do. It feels like a lie, but if he were to say no, and Dejun didn’t, it would come back to haunt him. 

“If you can’t get any sleep, at least help me sort out the medical supplies. We’ll need a hell of a supply run after this.”

Kunhang nods a third time, the motion automatic, extending his arms to accept the supplies offered to him without much of a comment. Some remote part of his mind picks up Kun's frown, but he can't be bothered to analyze it right now. 

Cleaning the blood and gore from the scalpels proves to be a surprisingly calming task. It helps Kunhang bring things to order. It's not the first time he's helped Kun in his routine; it's a pleasant habit by now, one their leader has used countless times to get Kunhang out of duty since their very first days together. When everything is clean and disinfected, he sorts them out into the proper boxes; then, makes lists of everything they have, and everything that's lacking. Halfway through it, Kun leaves him to work alone. Kunhang appreciates that. Dejun's presence in his mind grows smaller, but it never quite leaves; his gestures move to the rhythm Dejun’s irregular breathing sets. 

By the time the sun comes up, the lists are long done, and all the tools double checked and wiped down again. Kun is back to check on his patient, and steal glances at Kunhang every now and then. 

"Don't make me waste good anaesthetic on you. Go to bed, you won't manage to be awake by the time he wakes up if you don't rest." 

Kunhang's eyes hurt. His head, too. All it takes is a glance at Dejun's sleeping form, and he shakes his head again. 

"Just an hour," he signs. Kun sighs. 

"One hour."

Dejun's eyes flutter open halfway into it. Kunhang's heart skips a beat. In his hurry to warn Kun, he falls off his chair, and the eldest comes to check on him, running to Dejun as soon as he sees him. Kunhang sits by, trying to breathe regularly and not give Dejun any reason to be upset at all. The moment Kun sets down his light and pats Dejun with a smile, Kunhang's lungs lose their air on their own, and the moment it rushes back, he's sobbing. 

“'Hang?” comes Dejun's tentative call, raspy and tired. Kunhang holds the hand that's weakly offered to him, willing the tears to stop. 

He's alive. He's alive. 

“So- S-”

“Shut up,” Dejun laughs, shoving a limp hand in Kunhang’s face to interrupt his pathetic attempt at speaking. “You're loud. Don't make noise.”

“Sorry,” Kunhang signs, with a weak laugh of his own that relieves so much of the weight crushing his chest. “Sleep.”

“Yeah... sleep. That sounds good,” Dejun whimpers, weakly pulling Kunhang's arm towards him. 

“No, no, no, you're not sleeping together - Oh, fine.” Kun throws his arms in the air in a fit of exasperation. Kunhang laughs a little, climbing into the cot to hold Dejun, and Dejun laughs, too, immediately hissing in pain. 

It’s not long before they’re both drifting off to sleep. Dejun is tinier, but he’s pulled Kunhang to his chest, close enough that he can listen to his heartbeat again. It's unsettling, but less so than before. When he wakes up, maybe, they'll be synchronized, and that would be just cheesy enough for Dejun to be happy. 

Kunhang thinks that would be nice. 

Year 2, Month 6, Day 16 -- [Park Jisung]

It’s been… some time. Half a day. Maybe longer. Jisung is lost in infinity, floating in shreds of space, somewhere between explosives going off across his life and the voices of the present that call to him, every now and then. He goes through the motions of what he can, drifting from place to place under hands that guide him and distant echoes that try desperately to remind him of where he is. 

It’s not that Jisung isn’t aware. He is more aware than he’s ever been. 

He’s sitting in the space at the center of the canyon, on the small rock Taeyong likes to claim as his. He has no idea why he’s here, nor how long it’s been; it feels like seconds and days all at once, when sounds move close enough to breach the haze and mix with the ones in his head. He only blinks back to life, to the concrete moment, when something touches his shoulder. 

Jisung doesn’t jump. 

He slowly turns his head, eyes focusing on the intruder. It’s Taeyong. Jisung has no idea of what he should say, but he stands up to free his seat. 

“You’re lost somewhere?” the leader asks instead. He’s not pitying him. It’s a question. 

Jisung nods. 

“Scared of the battle?”

Is he? 

Not quite. 

“Do you think they’ll come again?” he asks, instead. It’s not the right question, but his head is too loud to chase what he really means to ask. To his credit, Taeyong thinks about it, at least, before letting out a defeated sigh and running his hands over his face in a feeble attempt at relax that Jisung knows won’t work. 

“Maybe,” he admits. “We did this once, we can do it again, if they come back with more men. But there will always be a threat or another. A famine, more ravagers, a pestilence. This isn't a nice world, Jisung. It’s never been. We’ll just be fighting every day to see the next morning.”

That’s it. That’s the question, in the end. The bombs and screams and cries and pain from past and present and future that mirror and echo each other overlap, until only the present is left, clear for the first time since Jisung stepped into the Dream Machine with a makeshift bullet vest.  

"Why?" 

That’s what it boils down to. 

Taeyong doesn’t have to think, this time. He sighs, defeated. 

"I wish I knew. Dying is easy. Those who are gone don’t need a reason to live. The rest of us fight for years and cling on to life to build something new, and tomorrow the wind could come and wipe it all away.” Jisung nods. He knows. He feels like he’s the only one who doesn’t try to forget it, at times. 

“Some are just lucky,” Taeyong explains, almost as if he knew exactly what Jisung is thinking. He probably does. “They keep going automatically. It’s survival instinct. I think they realize it too, they just don’t want to. In the end, we’re doing ourselves a disservice by staying alive to suffer. We can’t live to rebuild what’s gone."

"But not for the future, either,” Jisung croaks. His throat is sore from disuse.  

“We can’t live for what’s uncertain,” Taeyong shrugs. “Well, some can. Some find strength in uncertainty. It gives them hope to establish something new. That’s great for them. It’s just not enough for people like us.” 

Jisung nods. He knows he would rather die than build something good and pure and have it destroyed again and again. 

“Follow me.”

Jisung does, mechanically, dragging his feet on dry ground, slumped under the weight of the sun. Taeyong leads him through the common room, down into the springs, and further into the nook that is Kun’s makeshift infirmary. Jisung thought everyone had been discharged after the initial emergency care - after all, there were a lot of voices and bodies moving around him all this time - yet in the corner lie the sleeping forms of Kunhang and Dejun, tangled in a cot that’s definitely too small for the both of them. 

There are flashes of Dejun falling, of Kunhang crying. He couldn’t be sure until now that they weren’t just a dream. 

“I don’t understand,” he admits, because he does not. Dejun is clinging to his life for no reason; every breath hurts. Jisung knows. He’s been there before, crushed under the weight of a building, losing feeling in his arm, knowing if the wrong person found him he would die a much slower death than if he hadn’t tried to survive Seoul at all. He’s felt the weight of forcing his lungs to keep going every time he needed to take a breath. It hurts. 

He doesn’t know if he would do that again. 

“He’ll recover. Kun is sure of it. He’s determined.” Taeyong starts walking away. He leads Jisung back to the hot springs, shrugging off his grimey jeans jacket and starting to undo the buckles of his harness vest. “Dejun is scared of life itself. Not death. You wouldn’t tell, but he knows that. Why do you think he’s staying with us?” 

Jisung raises his shoulders, peeling off his own clothes. He hadn’t realized how they were sticking to his skin until now, but now that he has, he hates it. 

“Kunhang stayed with him all night. There’s no reason to do that, medically. Either Dejun lives, or he doesn’t. Organizing bloody scalpels won’t change that outcome, but you know no one could stop him. That boy loves Dejun with his whole heart. Whether he is a brother or a lover doesn’t matter. He loves Dejun. He’d die for him. And Dejun…” Taeyong shrugs. “Dejun would live for him.” 

Jisung is quiet as he steps into the hot water. Life trickles back into him, slowly but steadily. There is an energy in the air; there always is. He can feel it again. 

“I guess it’s that, in the end,” Taeyong sighs. “You can miss the past. You can have hopes for the future. In the end, one way or the other, your days will be long and painful, and there will always be a day where you will wish for death. You have to have a powerful reason to keep going and build over and over again when the world spits in your face. The world could have loved us once. Taeil always thought we could love the world, too,” he remarks, almost a side note. “That’s why he’s not leader. You can’t love the world. But you can love someone. You can love a great deal of people, in fact.” Taeyong sinks further into the water, until he’s only surfacing enough to keep talking. 

“If the reason you wake up and suffer, and go to sleep knowing tomorrow you’ll lose a hand, or an eye, or be burned alive… if it’s to see someone else laugh, you’d give everything. Some people love themselves and their close ones enough to create powerful things. They tell stories and create massive sculptures. Others fight, or build. Give us food. Some of us just survive. At the end of the day, love is the only thing that can make you do that.”

Jisung nods, blankly, turning back to his thoughts. They don’t scare him when he needs to be inside them. 

When Seoul had fallen, he’d followed Chenle on nothing more than a hunch. Chenle was his best friend. He loved him. Of course he would follow. 

He got to live, then. They’d kept each other alive, throughout the years; if Jisung hadn’t been there, Chenle would have never made it out of the outskirts after the First Colony had been destroyed. If Chenle hadn’t been there, Jisung would’ve died crushed under a building because of a random trap, in the middle of nowhere. It was always Chenle, who spent restless nights massaging dead skin off his stump, who Jisung wanted to protect so badly he could barely talk to him, at times. 

The others, too. The Dream Machine crew, who picked him up, with their collection of well-loved games and their terribly loud music. The rest of the colony, who had done everything they could to make Jisung’s life just that little bit easier and never asked for anything in return. He’s not sure why he would live, but he knows, deeper than anything, that he doesn’t want them to die of any death, even an inner one. Selfish or not, he would save them, over and over again. 

Chenle… This one person confuses him, makes his heart move in ways that hurt too much to be the superficial friendship they had as children, beyond the tension of obvious romance they could see around the couples of the group; but he loves them all, all the Dream Team. All this weird, makeshift family of twenty-one.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to the water his eyes are lost into. Somehow, he knows Taeyong is smiling even without looking at him.

He’s always known he would die for his friends. 

Maybe he can live, too.

[rec. fin.]