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The edge of the world is completely still.
Renjun grinds his heel into the mound of dirt that serves as his present lookout and contemplates the ugly sprawling expanse below. Dark roiling dunes of debris and soil stretch lazily into the horizon, and every here and there a large chunk of gravel or concrete hints at a highway since laid to waste.
Not too long ago this used to be life. If he closes one eye, tilts his head just so, and concentrates very, very hard -
There. He can see it. The side alley they used to take as a shortcut to Old Man Jung's tuckshop, a band of them racing side by side in the swelter of summer. First one there got his pick of ice cream.
He remembers running as fast as he could, arms and legs aflail in a desperate bid to beat the others. Nobody ever fought him for the milk pop he favoured, but it was the principle of the thing, you know? The rush of blood. The haste.
Renjun lets out a breath, scoffing a little on the exhale. In hindsight he feels almost silly for having run so hard all those times, when he cannot remember the taste now.
Maybe he should put that on the list, Things to do when we're good again. Have a milk popsicle. Could be nice.
"Hey - !"
He turns in surprise just as another form stumbles straight into him. The force completely disrupts his balance, and Renjun yelps, arms forced into a mad dance in the air. There are a few tense moments where it’s a toss up between fall or stay, but eventually he only avoids keeling over to the ground by jabbing his rifle into it, arresting the unsolicited momentum.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!"
Under his hand the beat thrumming in his chest is an irregular tattoo, the flight pattern of a hummingbird. It surges forward, upwards, back - it is on its way back down when a familiar pale blond head pokes itself into view, and he feels annoyance play tug of war with an unwelcome, instinctive fondness between his ribs.
"Jaemin," Renjun manages after a moment, when he can safely speak. He tries his best to put a stern note into his tone. "Why'd you run straight into me for?"
Jaemin looks at him, head cocked just the barest fraction to one side, and smiles, brows dipping in a faint indication of confusion. In the glaring sun he nearly glistens gold, looking for all the world as if he is exactly where he is meant to be despite the smudge of dirt on his nose and the rip in his shirt at the join.
"Didn't see you there," he chirps, nonchalant.
That makes no sense, and he knows it - before Renjun can get a word in edgewise he abruptly changes the topic, gesturing off towards the rest of their crew. "’Sides, you're lagging behind, Injunnie.”
Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, the lightest shove, and when Renjun stumbles backwards a step he is greeted by a cheery flash of teeth as Jaemin jogs backwards with a wave. A glance towards the horizon, then: “Stop looking back.”
He watches, dumbfounded, as Jaemin promptly turns himself back around and then speeds up, racing towards the rest of their group with a shout.
Absently - and not a little disgruntled - he raises a hand to his shoulder to rub at it. The ghost of a touch lingers, lending him an imaginary warmth. You’re lagging behind, Jaemin had said. Didn’t see you there.
Strange, then, how he had been ahead of him in the first place. What was it he’d said - Stop looking back?
He isn’t so sure about that. Take your own advice sometime, Renjun thinks anyway, hoisting his rifle into his hands as he sets off to catch up.
---
“Okay! I’ll count to fifty and then I’ll come look! One, two, three…”
At the soft, high tones counting off numbers there is a chorus of screaming and pushing. Deer-footed and occasionally too polite for his own good Renjun stumbles as someone rushes past him, reaching out a hand to stabilise little Chenle as he, too, scans their surroundings for the best path to a hiding spot.
That's not fair! someone shouts, You started early!
In response the counted numbers only speed up, gaining a sort of melody as their Seeker hums his way through the task. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…
Renjun thinks fast. The lines for their game are drawn several roads down, bounded by shops and traffic lights. Spinning on his heel he sprints off in a direction he knows less of them had taken, racing fleet of foot down twists and turns until he finds a side alley he is familiar with, having stopped to finish a cold drink in the shade there from time to time.
The air around is still. He picks his way past the assortment of old boxes and abandoned appliances left sitting in the way, discovers a convenient closet, and peels the door carefully open, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.
In the darkness there is only the sound of the ticking of his watch and the warmth of his own breath hitting his bare knees. Settling in and pleased with himself Renjun checks the time, mindful of the half hour limit. He doesn’t want to be left sitting out here long after everyone’s gone home.
As it turns out, however, he needn’t have worried. He can’t have been in there for longer than a few minutes when there is the sound of steady, sure footsteps echoing down the alleyway. Renjun is sucking in a breath to hold it when he is stunned by the abrupt flooding of light into his little space, accompanied by the sound of Jaemin’s victorious crows.
He’s completely dumbfounded. “How did you even,” Renjun starts, then aborts the question altogether, shaking his head as he is helped out of the ominously creaking structure. The brief moments of darkness have made the sun outside blinding. A change of track. “Who else have you got already?”
Jaemin’s answering grin is bright, and curves from ear to ear. It almost renders the sunlight mild. “You’re the first,” he informs him, notably pleased about the fact. Renjun wonders why he'd even bothered to ask.
Of course Jaemin finds him first. He always finds him first.
---
He finds him first in the mess hall, too, when Renjun is trying to finish his porridge, blowing on it to dissipate some of the steam before stuffing it into his mouth.
“Reonjwinnieee,” he hears, just seconds before his entire frame sags with the sudden incomprehensible weight of someone taller and far clingier than he is draping his body around Renjun’s slight shoulders, hands linked at the finger so the culprit doesn’t slip.
“My favourite bird-boy. How have you been?”
Renjun takes a moment to compose himself, primarily because he’d had to focus very hard on his spoon to prevent it from spilling everywhere in the Jaemin-induced turbulence he has just experienced. “Hungry,” he says, hopeful that this will put the point across.
Jaemin’s cheek squishes itself lovingly into his shoulder. “Is that so,” he sings, sounding contemplative. “It’s a great thing you’ve got your food right in front of you, then.”
With some effort Renjun inhales to the fullest extent of his lung capacity, and then lets it out in shuttering stages, feeling the weight of Jaemin on his shoulders. “I can’t eat it if you’re hanging off me,” he suggests, wriggling a little experimentally. “Jaemin-ah. Off.”
As with most other things, Jaemin resists. His grip tightens. His cheek dents even further by Renjun’s bone.
“No.”
The futility does not surprise him. Renjun spares a longing glance at his bowl, and then back at his contemporary symbiote, where for an instant he is briefly caught off guard - the eyes focused on him are bright and far too clear. Blinking rapidly, Renjun opens his mouth, but nothing that he’d intended to come out does.
Then Jaemin shifts a little and grins, and the moment is gone. Renjun remembers, abruptly, that he looks at everyone like that.
“Off, Jaemin,” he tries again, shaking his shoulder with a little more effort, now. “I’m trying to eat. I’ve got training in an hour.”
“But Injun -” Jaemin starts, puffing out his cheeks, and Renjun does afford him a smile as he wriggles an arm free to push him off.
“No buts,” he parries, diplomatically. “You’ve got a whole canteen full of people to bother here.”
The cheeks puff out further, and the brows draw low. It’s a game he’s come to know well by now; Renjun tilts his head just the slightest bit, challenging, and raises an eyebrow in silent question.
Soon enough Jaemin deflates. “Fine,” he sniffles, straightening up and looking off towards the canteen petulantly. “I’ll go give someone else my love.”
Finally back on track to finishing his lunch Renjun nods very charitably, only half listening. “You do that,” he says, and does not watch when Jaemin does.
---
In their school there is a tree.
There is nothing particularly of interest about it. In hindsight Renjun knows it is an extremely common breed, because their provincial school simply hadn’t had the funds. But in this past time he is ten or maybe eleven, and thinks, as with all of his friends, that the tree is perfectly suited to their uses: it is stout, with deep green leaves, and low, thick branches that can support a child’s weight and are easy to climb.
A high pitched voice - Donghyuck, probably, who’s volunteered to sit out of this first round - counts three, two, one, shouts start, and Renjun takes off from where they’re all seated, racing towards the tree across the field.
But even as he’s running Jaemin sprints past him - past all of them, his legs long and his strides unrestrained - and is the first to the base of the tree where he begins a skilful ascent. As he draws closer he watches Jaemin move, adept, until he’s hefting his weight up on the second to last branch and taking his throne at its peak.
Legs dangling from his secure seat, Jaemin grins toothily down at them. “I’m king of the castle,” he says, because he’s supposed to, and because, Renjun thinks, he likes the sound. “Get me if you can!”
Renjun becomes aware of tiny Jisung next to him, eyes blown wide with the thrill of the game. He lets out a loud cry in response to Jaemin's taunt, then rushes up the lowest branches before stopping briefly, contemplating.
Renjun can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he makes for a branch well within his reach then seems to change his mind. Instead Jisung stretches upwards, aiming for one that will take some manoeuvring to hoist all of his weight onto.
What follows next is a series of stills from a dream. Jisung shifts and misses, letting out a yelp of fear - Renjun abandons his own bid for the top and changes course - the younger boy falls, and someone’s shouting, but Renjun’s made it in time, and there is a thud as the two of them go sideways to the ground.
All of the air has been knocked out of him, and the sun is a hazy cloud of bright. Renjun is dimly aware, first, of a small movement against his chest; a smaller voice says, “Thanks, hyung,” and it’s all quivery at the edges as Jisung’s head surfaces into view, eyes wide and afraid.
“No problem,” he manages wanly, patting Jisung’s shoulder as he rolls off. Then he, too, makes to stand, but doesn’t get very far before a white-hot pain is erupting in his ankle, taking all of the blood straight out of his face as he drops back down.
There’s the sound of rustling, and a solid thunk of feet on ground. “Are you guys okay?” Jaemin’s rushed up to them now, looking wild. He doesn't wait for an answer as he takes in the scene, and bites a lip. Around them the others have abandoned the game, and are running over.
“Oh god. Um. Someone call a teacher - ‘Hyuck’s on it? - okay, okay. Okay." He casts about frantically for a second, then descends into a squat. "Injun, can you stand?"
The pain is beginning to go to his head. He doesn't think it's broken, but there's a sprain at least for sure. Mutely Renjun shakes his head.
Jaemin's entire face falls. "I - I'll do something, uh," he says, getting up and looking around - for what, it isn't clear.
Suddenly there is the sound of hurried footsteps and a clear adult's voice calling. "Ms Jeon's here," Jisung tells them, running up in a haste. He looks at Renjun, subdued, and says, very softly, "'m sorry, hyung."
He feels a little faint. He would really like to be unconscious right now. But Ms Jeon is helping him up with the aid of Jeno, and he has to keep a brave face so Jisung doesn't feel bad, so he grins brightly as he is brought upright, and says, "Don't worry about it."
Later, it is just him and the drawn blinds of the infirmary, where he has been left to rest until his parents can come by after school to pick him up. Or it would be, if not for Jaemin’s conspicuous presence, a lanky line on a stool pulled up to his bed almost too close for comfort.
“It’s PE now,” Renjun says abruptly, deciding to break the uncomfortably dense silence that has settled upon the two of them. “Don’t you wanna go?”
Jaemin shifts, but otherwise remains ramrod-straight in his seat. His gaze is fixed on the blanket, somewhere between the bump of Renjun’s knees and the jut of his feet. Renjun wiggles his good foot restlessly, abruptly self-conscious.
He thinks that a little more encouragement may be in order. “You love gym,” he reminds. “I think we're starting baseball today.”
This does get a response - Jaemin’s lower lip quivers a little bit. But still he remains silent, stubbornly glued to his chair. After a pause he shakes his head, a small jerk of the barest fraction.
That isn't like him at all. Renjun purses his lips, considering. "Jaemin? What's wrong?"
Jaemin kicks his legs, dangling as they are above the ground. Says, very quietly, "I was the king of the castle."
Renjun doesn't quite follow. "Uhuh," he says anyway, trying to play along. "You're really good at that game."
Jaemin glances up, too-quick, and says, "That isn't it." His brows furrow, like he's upset, or maybe like he's thinking hard. It isn't always easy to tell.
Renjun suppresses a brief surge of irritation - it isn't his fault Jaemin's being opaque. Also, his ankle hurts. "Then?" he prompts, carefully.
"If I'm King -" Jaemin starts, cautiously. "If I'm King - then that means I have to protect you guys, right? That's the King's job?" And I failed, he doesn't say, It's my fault you got hurt.
"Oh." Renjun says, and takes a moment to tug the curtains aside, watching the sun beat brightly down on the school field. Their tree carves out an oasis of shade in all that world of light. A castle, he thinks, is just another building without its ruler, or a thing to protect.
Then he turns back, and laughs it off. It's not like that, Jaemin-ah, he remembers saying, watching blotchy shadows play over the other's face. You don't have to do any of that. This is just a game.
---
"We're on code red," Renjun says, out on the hills to the south of their encampment as the sun blazes down towards the horizon.
Jaemin doesn't turn back, only shifts his head the barest bit in his direction. "So?"
Renjun huffs to himself as he climbs the last few steps up, dropping down to the ground in a sprawl of limbs. He's left a metre or so of distance between them. "So you shouldn't be out here," he explains, matter of fact. "You could be killed and eaten."
"Could I really," Jaemin mumbles, dipping his head against the sunset. "Y'think they really do that?"
Renjun shrugs. "Who knows," he says, "I'm not an expert on - aliens, or whatever they are." He pauses, considering. "If I were I'd persuade them to like. Leave us in peace."
Jaemin huffs a laugh that is suddenly overtaken by a heavy sort of sobriety. "Did Jeno tell you?"
He'd been in the training room all day. "No, he didn't," Renjun replies. "What about?"
Now Jaemin does turn to look at him, for the first time all conversation. "Yiren got seriously injured today," he says, almost blandly. "Regular supplies mission."
He stops, then murmurs, "They'd booby trapped the building."
Renjun's breath catches in his lungs, and he has to force it out against the fear and paranoia that is slowly building, waves cresting against a shore. "How did they know where to attack?"
Jaemin turns back. His profile glows orange, limned in dying light. "We're predictable," he says, "Don't have a choice."
Then, almost dreamily, he adds, "So we have to act soon. It's going to be us or them."
The sentence, spoken aloud, takes a form like the undesirable ultimatum it has to be. They've trained for this for years - ever since Meteor, when the adults evacuated the children and they emerged weeks later to find they had never been more alone.
At first they thought they'd be able to live out the rest of their lives in peace, but then the calls and reports had come, and then the eyewitness accounts and trails of blood and people disappearing one by one...
There's something in the way Jaemin sits, rigid and too-upright, that reminds Renjun of another time. A high stool and a view out onto the school field.
He doesn't like it, and tries desperately to claw back the levity. "Scared?" Renjun jibes, trying for the kind of arrogance he's seen so many times in broad daylight.
The air between them skips a beat. A moment, then maybe two. He's ready to make another futile jab at humour when the silence breaks, cleaving unevenly with the crack in the word that follows.
"Yeah." Jaemin's voice is tremulous, and lightyears away. "I guess I am."
The admission is unfamiliar. It settles around Jaemin and cloaks him, weaves itself between them like something dense and viscous, feeling - Renjun thinks - like a shroud.
But they aren't done yet - not if he has anything to say about it. And perhaps there is something he should say - if the words would come out, lines like this is all of ours to bear and we've got this, don't worry and it wasn't on you then, and isn't now, too.
His tongue is laden with lead. So Renjun opts instead for pretending not to hear, swallows his hesitation and inches towards Jaemin, close enough that their feet just barely touch.
They sit mutely as the sun sinks beneath the horizon, until the fire on Jaemin's hair extinguishes and is replaced by a wan cast reminiscent of dirty shallows. When they're wordlessly packing up to go Renjun stops, and - against his better nature - looks back. But all there is to see is barren land and ugly juts of concrete and steel.
There is nothing poetic, he thinks wistfully, about loss in the light of dusk.
---
In the days that follow things fall into place, hurtling into motion towards an ill-defined end he hadn't ever been sure was really going to come.
Well, Renjun muses, glancing at the Final Day: T-18 printed in block letters in chalk on a wall visible to one and all in the training room, can't say I don't feel it now.
Identical signages mar every assemblage area they have. Things had only accelerated soon after Yiren's injury - a team assaulted on their way back from a supply run, the discovery of mines freshly laid along the perimeter of their camp. A scout, killed in the night.
He remembers the look on their leader's face - tight, haunted, almost ashamed when he'd told them what he'd done. I asked for time, Taeyong had said, slow and distant. They gave me four weeks.
And there had been the apologies, later, but Renjun had been as reluctant to accept them as anyone. We're okay, hyung. We're going to be fine. He's getting very familiar with the cold comfort of platitudes, recently.
"Renjun!"
He has a split second to register his name being called before Jeno's fist connects with the side of his head - he can tell the punch has been pulled at the last minute by the fact that he can still feel his ear.
The momentum and his lack of preparation send him staggering, though, and there's the ringing that starts up, an alarm that sounds like time is running time is running out. Dropping his stance Jeno goes over to him, and peers at him with concern.
"Renjun," he starts, carefully. "You good?"
For some reason he can't pull away the hand that has reflexively come up to cradle his ear. He looks at Jeno, blinking rapidly, and then across the hall - to Jaemin, who had called his name, and who looks strangely small now, all drawn together and severe.
"I," he says, then shakes his head to force himself out of it. His ear is still ringing. "I'm fine," he says, "Just… just distracted." He fidgets. "Sorry."
Jeno's mouth draws into a taut line of understanding as he reaches out and claps a hand on Renjun's shoulder. "Take a break, yeah?"
He's too off kilter to really protest. "Yeah," Renjun says, turning around and walking off to the side. "Okay."
"I'll go next," he hears Donghyuck say, rushing up to take his place. Renjun keeps his head down until he's reaching where the others are gathered, then peers up to look at Jaemin as he walks past.
He opens his mouth, wanting suddenly to call out. But any courage he has dries up when he sees the sallow cast to Jaemin's face, the way he seems to look straight through him.
It's been well over a week since they'd last spoken. Jaemin hasn't been present at all outside of training - the grapevine says he's been desperate to help the older kids with strategy, with intelligence, with recon. Even now he's monitoring them for any potential weaknesses, and some of it shows now, the near-grey of his skin.
He stares for a moment longer, but doesn't know what he's looking for. Renjun dips his head and turns instead to take a seat. The ringing does not stop.
---
When his feet hit the ground, he's running.
His legs are working as quickly as they can. Around him there are shrieks of mixed terror and delight as the bunch of them scatter, running helter-skelter every which way to escape the reaches of their catcher. It's Mark, this time, running suspiciously slowly like he's giving the younger kids a fighting chance.
He doesn't need the leniency, and if he gets within catching range he may well not be afforded it. Renjun slows just enough to look around him - where is Mark, anyway? - and is turning to pick up his pace again when there's a tap on his shoulder.
His head whips around to see Mark's apologetic grin. It lasts an instant before he's turning and dashing away, and Renjun stalls for a moment before realising he's the catcher now - he lags, processing, and then gives chase.
They have a no revenge rule to prevent petty squabbles, so Mark isn't an option. Renjun is in the midst of scanning when there is a gleeful cackle near his ear - oh, he'd know that voice anywhere.
"Na Jaemin - !"
A quick spin on his heel and Renjun is making a beeline for Jaemin, to the exclusion of everyone else. Even if he's putting his all into it - running as fast as he can, it seems like for every step he takes Jaemin takes two.
Wait up, he thinks but doesn't say, I can't keep pace.
That would ruin the very mechanics of the game; Renjun has always had a grudging respect for the rules. That means playing even when you're bound to lose. So he holds his tongue, grits his teeth, and runs even harder.
---
On Judgment Day, as it has come to be informally called, Renjun is awoken by the first rays of sunlight filtering in through the dormitory window.
He lies there for a while, staring at the concrete grey ceiling above him. A thick trapezoidal slice of light is disrupted by the shadows of the makeshift grilles they'd installed to keep intruders out, and yeah, he thinks. Maybe this really does have to end.
The others will be up soon. He wonders if he should steal a last few brief moments of slumber - of peace, before everything as he knows it ends.
But he remembers the morning rush in the bathrooms, and doesn't think he can deal with that today. So he hauls himself out of bed and patters down the hallway, towards a large hollow room that will eat him whole.
He runs into Jeno there, looking sleep-worn and tentative. He’s mid-yawn when Renjun startles to a stop in the doorway, and in the moment when their gazes meet they come to a wordless silent agreement not to say anything about the other’s appearance.
“So,” Jeno says eventually, when Renjun’s washed his face and brushed his teeth and is toweling his face off in the last step of the minor ritual that will tug him back onto the right side of human. “Today, huh?”
The scrub of terrycloth on skin slows, then stops altogether. Renjun pulls the towel away to look - almost afraid - up, at where Jeno is watching him through the reflection. He is offered a small smile; he returns it, even though he can see in his own closely-watched image that it is very little more than a cheap imitation.
Nothing except this has been on his mind for days, maybe weeks. He cannot say that he is ready, but there is no choice; if he had his way maybe he would never be.
“Yeah,” Renjun murmurs, hoarse. “Today.”
“Are preparations in order?”
The camp is thrumming with an urgent, controlled chaos. Renjun watches as a small group of de facto lieutenants confirm the arrangements with Taeyong, who nods in thanks, mouth tight and eyes, for once, hard.
The rest of them are already in formation. There’s little to do except to keep calm, and wait for their enemy to draw into sight - and this is the worst part, perhaps, the waiting. Somebody is calling out a time countdown. He thinks he hears fifteen minutes.
When the little group breaks apart and most of its members return to their ranks Renjun sees a silver-blond head go instead to the side, not far from a haphazard pile of flammables. He glances around for a while, indecisive - then makes a snap decision, quietly making his excuses as he weaves off through the back to get to him.
This could be a bad idea. They haven’t spoken in weeks, maybe, but lately the same image has been in his mind, a boy on a tree at the top of the world. It isn’t so clear if he’s king, or if he’s trapped and wants to come down.
They were children then. They are still children now, Renjun thinks, except the playground is a battlefield and winning is now much more than a question of fancy. He rounds up on Jaemin, inhales deeply to steady his breathing, and says, “Hey.” Ten.
Jaemin turns. “Renjun,” he says, looking briefly surprised before he gentles entirely, going languid like he’s in the back row of an easy class. Casually, “Hey.”
Renjun opens his mouth - but now, with everything he wants to say, not a single sound comes out of all the white noise inside his head. “Hey.”
Jaemin is looking at him in that way he has, now - that way he’s always had, that says he’s seeing right through you and debating how much of that to reveal. His already low voice dips deep when he says, “I wanted to talk to you.”
Now, instead of all the time we’ve had these few weeks? Renjun doesn’t say, because there’s no point. Jaemin’s fidgeting - Renjun watches the item he’s tossing up and down in his hand as he waits for a response, and realises it’s a match box, its contents clattering cheaply as it’s knocked to and fro.
“Oh,” he says, dumbly. “About what?”
Jaemin’s fingers are slender. It makes a bizarre sticking point that wedges in his head as the box is slid open and a match is pulled out. “That night,” he hums, lashes long against his cheek. “Out on the hills.” Five - to your stations!
He remembers. “I remember,” Renjun says, distracted. He wonders if he should go, the thud of anxiety in his chest suddenly loud and nearly painful. “What about it?”
Jaemin strikes the match. It paints his features in light like liquid gold. “You didn’t have to pretend, you know?” Around him there is a riot of sound - wait where'd I put my ammo, murmur murmur murmur do you think it'll work laughter it has to, man, or we're toast.
It blurs into radio static. Renjun wants to formulate a response but he is transfixed by the dance of the fire; when he drags his gaze away it catches instead on Jaemin, who is looking back with eyes pools so wide and black.
He's caught on the off beat of his breathing when Jaemin says, abruptly, “You’re the only one I wanted to hear it.”
When he smiles it is brighter than the sun. Before Renjun can reply from behind them there is a count like five, four, three.
He backtracks instinctively, still watching that face. Jaemin glances up, as if surprised, then winks. “Talk to you later, hey?”
His heartbeat thuds two, one, and then Jaemin steps forward, touches the match to the ground, and sets the world aflame.