Archive of Our Own ^beta

Against the void of the universe, Hongjoong's ship should be exposed as he approaches solitary space stations. But he and Seonghwa have near perfected the art of flying under the radar, and Mingi's adjustments to the ship itself allow it to travel relatively unnoticed. Controls and inner mechanics aren't as uncooperative as they once were. It's much easier for Hongjoong to steer them into the ports of unsuspecting stations, now, avoiding any of their defenses. Nobody sees them coming, and once they're onboard, it's too late.

Seonghwa is the best at combat that Hongjoong has ever seen; there is sureness in his movements, a confidence in his stance and grace in the flow of his blocks into counters into strikes. A kind of effortlessness expected from a former captain who Hongjoong has always envied.

"We should go before more soldiers come," Seonghwa tells him. The way he steps around the soldier knocked out on the floor is almost polite, as if to not disturb.

His words are not an order--those days of Seonghwa's are over. It doesn't change the fact that he is more experienced between the two of them, or that the station's alert system is still blaring to direct all trained personnel in Hongjoong's direction.

Hongjoong accepts Seonghwa's suggestion, but not before grabbing one more of the satchels that they came here for and throwing another into Seonghwa's arms.

Hongjoong's ship doesn't technically belong to him. Decommissioned from their military years ago when the government decided to shift focus from defense to survival, the skeleton is twice his age--an outdated and battle-scarred piece of scrap sent off to be melted down. The radar was shot. The weapons, deactivated. Most of the interior was even gutted, though Hongjoong wasn't sure if that was from preparing to send it to the junk heap or from desperate people making off with what they could during the evacuation.

Hongjoong never wanted anything more intensely in his life.

As soon as Seonghwa saw it, he sighed. "This does look like it belongs in a junk heap."

"Shallow," Hongjoong told him, light and joking. "It's what's inside that counts."

Seonghwa countered, "There's nothing inside," just as playful.

Hongjoong breathed life back into it, but Mingi was the one who kept it alive. For all of his exaggerations about missions he never went on and battles he never fought, he really did know his way around a ship and what a real one should be.

"It reminds me of the one time me and my old crew flew back to Earth," Mingi said one time. "The cooperative built their bases everywhere down there and tried so hard to shoot us down, but they missed every time. Honestly, I was kind of embarrassed for them."

Every word was a lie; that part of the galaxy had been uninhabited for centuries. Mingi's story was the first time Hongjoong had even heard the name Earth spoken in a sentence outside of an ancient history class.

"Impressive," Hongjoong said. "How did you manage that?"

"I'm that good," Mingi told him. After seeing the improvements Mingi made on his own wreckage to turn it into a proper ship, Hongjoong was kind of willing to believe it.

Hongjoong has lost track of how many hours he's been awake. Seonghwa had insisted that he take over the remainder of their flight, and eventually, Hongjoong let him. He always has trouble winding down in the days following their raids, though; Hongjoong tells himself it's adrenaline. More likely, it's nerves. Just because his people no longer have a military doesn't mean that other stations lack in offense, too.

By the time they arrive back at their home station, Hongjoong is exhausted and ready to collapse. They still have to unload the portion of their bounty that they're willing to share with the few of their people left.

Mingi says Hongjoong is too soft. He helps regardless.

As they're moving a particularly heavy crate, San appears in the hangar with Wooyoung and Yeosang and tells Hongjoong: "You need us."

"I don't think so," Hongjoong says. He stands straight, firm, not allowing himself to look as tired as he feels.

"You know how good Yeosang is with computers," San insists.

Hongjoong does know. Yeosang is the only reason why enemy ships in range haven't picked up the station on their radar yet. A particularly helpful advantage, considering the likelihood Hongjoong is being pursued.

"And San and Wooyoung are also good at..." Yeosang pauses. "Whatever thing it is that they do."

Wooyoung barks: "Fighting!"

"No," Hongjoong says.

San gestures at the remaining crates on Hongjoong's ship. "You could use extra hands. There's nothing back here anyway. Only what gets brought."

Mingi nudges Hongjoong. The corner of the crate he's holding scrapes against Hongjoong's elbow. "He has a good point."

San's cool confidence and Yeosang's calm demeanor make an almost comical contrast to the way Wooyoung is nearly bouncing with excitement. For a moment, Hongjoong actually considers the idea; he is too aware that there is nothing for anyone, here.

And then he thinks of the station he just fled, and the ships that could've been right behind them.

Hongjoong tells the three of them, "You're better off here," and then he boards his ship so he can finally collapse into his bed and hope to steal a few minutes of sleep.

Their station had a military, once, before the war started. Hongjoong was part of it: he flew and fought for them, only a number in the crowd, but good at his job nonetheless. When it became clear that food and water supplies were dwindling after an entire section of their station was lost to an asteroid—their station, of all stations, a main hub for supplies in this part of the galaxy—they were mostly disbanded so focus could be placed on survival. Hongjoong was never a passive person, though, and was accepted to remain as one of the few pilots left. He was proud, in the beginning, up until the point that their superiors decided to abandon the station entirely.

As soon as an actual threat targeted them, they went into action. They had trained so long and studied so many different strategies. It still wasn't enough--by then, their numbers were so few.

Government officials were nowhere to be found when things started to look grim, and their pilots were lost at an alarming rate. Few supplies remained on their station after officials and enemy ships took what they could. Almost everything else taken by the rest of their people who disappeared immediately after--ships were stolen, food and water stores ransacked, and nearby stations overwhelmed by people trying to escape to safety. A few were welcoming. Others, hostile.

By the time it was over, everyone was gone, and they had taken everything.

Hongjoong is one of the few still able to do something about it.

Ever since the evacuation, their home station's hangar has been mostly vacant, only occupied by two or three ships at a time. Standing there now with only his own ship docked in such a vast room, Hongjoong thinks it feels almost as empty as the endlessness surrounding them.

Mingi is almost always there, working on their ship; it belongs to him just as much as Hongjoong, after all. The sound of him rambling on about some adventure he may or may not have had as he listens to different broadcasts on the radio is familiar. Comforting, kind of, like watching a memory of the way life used to be.

Today, though, someone else is slinking around it, inspecting the craftsmanship with intent.

Hongjoong approaches slow and silent. "Can I help you?"

"As a matter of fact," the guy says, "I think we could help each other."

"Oh, really?" Hongjoong asks. "What do I need help with?"

The stranger finishes his lap around Hongjoong's ship and stops in front of the door. He says, under his breath but loud enough for Hongjoong to hear: "Taste." And then: "An extra pair of hands, of course."

San must have been the one to send this guy. Hongjoong doesn't recognize him, which is odd because their population is so small now. Everyone knows everyone. Aside from Hongjoong's crew, San and his friends are a few of the only people with enough knowledge about flying to explore outside the station.

Hongjoong bristles but does his best not to let it show. "Not interested."

The guy tells him, "One day you will be," like he knows this for a fact, and shoots one more sidelong glance at Hongjoong's ship before leaving.

Hongjoong refuses to let people get to him. He wouldn't let his classmates make him nervous during selection exams. He wouldn't let other pilots intimidate him during their drills, when they talked about the dangers outside. And he wouldn't listen to the instructors, who spoke in hushed voices about the rumors of unrest rising in neighboring stations as the grip on food and supplies tightened. Hongjoong's decision was already made; he was tired of being stuck on the station and feeling helpless.

We're waiting to die here, he told Seonghwa over lunch more than once.

Seonghwa stared at his plate, portion a fraction of the size of what it was the day before. Hongjoong remembers this particular meal well, because that was the time Seonghwa finally asked, so what are we going to do about this?

It's a conversation that passes through Hongjoong's mind from time to time and always in moments like this: when they've boarded another station, as Hongjoong charges through halls crawling with security, gun drawn and ready and deadly accurate, Seonghwa always at his side.

By the time they've reached the kitchens, Mingi is already frantic over their earpieces, needing to know if they're safe.

Hongjoong almost tells him we're not the ones to worry about. But then he looks over at Seonghwa, expressionless and motions swift as he puts his gun back in his holster in favor of loading his bag with every nonperishable he can find.

Somehow, Hongjoong gets the feeling that Seonghwa is thinking about the same thing as him and wondering: what are we going to do about this?

"We can't live like this forever," Seonghwa tells Hongjoong in the private of his room. "We both know it."

Rather than admit that Seonghwa is right, Hongjoong asks, "Why not?" He says, "We have everything we need. And we can take anything else."

Seonghwa says, so gentle, "Other people need those things too."

"Those things weren't theirs in the first place," Hongjoong says. It's a line he often rehearses in his head so he's ready whenever someone tries to question him, or in the moments he fights not to question himself. "They had to know someone would want it all back."

Seonghwa rises from his seat at Hongjoong's desk and sighs, long and deep and tired. "Everyone still on the station needs those things. How long can we take enough for all of them too?"

Before he leaves, Seonghwa pauses as if to give Hongjoong the opportunity to offer an answer.

Hongjoong doesn't have one.

Seonghwa had been a captain, once, and one of the youngest from their station. That fact wasn't impressive, though. In the past, the young and fit and energetic were always snapped up at an early age. With the sudden discontinuation of funding and attention to defense, the more surprising part at the time was that he still had a crew to lead at all.

Hongjoong remembers seeing him in the hangar after their crew returned from a supposed scouting mission. The idea was far less illustrious than trained fighters like them would prefer, but it was necessary even if it felt a little like a step down.

At the time, Hongjoong had assumed that was why the aura around Seonghwa felt so somber.

The next day, Hongjoong noticed that the crew had a different captain.

There is never time to waste on second guessing. Hesitation means losing food and supplies to other people, other raiders, many worse than Hongjoong. Many also defenseless and trying only to survive.

This is how they meet Yunho--a lone survivor of his exploration team, stranded and untrained in combative flight needed to navigate the galaxy nowadays.

Small as the vessel is, it was the only one they had come across in too long. Hongjoong had boarded it hoping to find anything now that his own supplies aren't lasting as long as he planned, only to discover Yunho alone, with even fewer essentials than Hongjoong's crew, waiting and defenseless. Maybe it's a moment of weakness, but Hongjoong is overcome with memories of himself feeling trapped on his home station.

The walls of Yunho's ship are decorated with intricate maps of the galaxy so detailed that Hongjoong thinks they were printed at first, until he notices the black stains on Yunho's hands and fingertips. Most of the computers are shut down to conserve energy, no doubt.

Beside Hongjoong, Seonghwa stands, impassive. For a flicker of a moment, Hongjoong's gut churns. He thinks of their conversation again: what are we going to do about this?

Hongjoong swallows the foul taste in his mouth. He asks, "Can you navigate?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he's sure that he sees some of the tension in Seonghwa's shoulders release.

Inviting Yunho is a good decision. They have guidance now, rather than following outdated directions from Hongjoong's computers. It's clear that Yunho has a passion for learning about the galaxy and discovering new places. He has an understanding of trajectories and paths that different bodies and structures are most likely to follow.

"Yeah," Mingi says. He kicks up his feet on the control panel and leans back in the captain's seat. "This is much better."

Yunho asks them, "What are you looking for, exactly?"

Mingi answers, only a little bit joking, "Revenge."

All Yunho says is: Oh. Hongjoong can't stop thinking about it.

Hongjoong runs into the stranger again, the guy who had been sneaking around his ship in the hangar so long ago. Not in the hallways of the station Hongjoong and Seonghwa are boarding, though. Not in its control room, or in its galley. The raid itself is uneventful. Fruitful, even--the haul is their best in a long time.

Rather, they find the guy on Hongjoong's ship when they get back.

Seated in the captain's chair, the guy puts his hands up, faux defensive. "I still think we can help each other."

Mingi is sitting on the floor next to Yunho. He takes a deep breath but doesn't appear frightened, just frustrated. "Sorry," he tells Hongjoong. "He came out of nowhere."

Of course, while Hongjoong's mind is racing to evaluate the situation, it takes another turn--San and Wooyoung and Yeosang all step out from the storage room.

San says, casual, "I think we should all listen to the great offer Jongho has."

"Thank you!" The guy, Jongho, says. "It is a great offer."

Hongjoong sighs, drawn out and tired.

"That was so stupid." Hongjoong takes a steadying breath, but it does little to help. His nerves feel more alight than when he's raiding a ship, uncertain of any threats onboard. "Stowaways?"

"Too late to take us back now," San says. He shrugs. "You're stuck with us. Lucky for you, we can help."

"Seems like you need a long-term plan anyway," Jongho tells him. "Unless you want to keep raiding people forever."

Hongjoong counters, "You mean like you were?"

"I'm going somewhere," Jongho tells him. "I'm offering to let you all come, too. All I need is a ride."

This guy, Hongjoong thinks, is out of his mind. Nobody has ever spoken to Hongjoong this way, so cocky, like he poses no threat. "This is my ship."

Yunho nudges him gently. "There's nowhere habitable that I've found," he says. The corner of his mouth is pulled up in a forced smile, but he sounds disappointed. "We do need a long-term plan."

Right now, Hongjoong's mind is still trying to wrap around San and Wooyoung and Yeosang being here. They shouldn't have to do this forever. They shouldn't have gotten involved. They are too young.

Rather than agree, Hongjoong walks away.

("You don't always have to be at war with someone," Seonghwa says to Hongjoong later, softly.

Now that they're alone in the safety of Hongjoong's room, he lets himself deflate, just a little. Unable to bring himself to say what's really on his mind, he tells Seonghwa, "That guy has problems."

"Well," Seonghwa says, "you do like taking on projects.")

"I heard Seonghwa spit in the commander's coffee," San says, too loud to be making an honest attempt at whispering. "That's why he got removed as a captain."

Wooyoung wrinkles his nose. "Coffee's nasty anyway."

"Not quite," Seonghwa says.

"So." San scratches his chin. "Close?"

In front of the navigation system, Yunho laughs.

Despite all of the ridiculous scenarios about Seonghwa spitting in coffee or keying other captains' ships or installing a voice mod in the commander's ship to make him sound like movie characters, Hongjoong can't remember the last time he saw Seonghwa this at ease. It's possible he's never seen a time like this, really. This Seonghwa is leaning against the doorframe with his shoulders relaxed, so different from the one who follows Hongjoong on raids, ready and alert.

Hongjoong doesn't know why, but his stomach turns, a little. "Actually," he says, "it was because he replaced the commander's gun with a water gun."

Seonghwa looks surprised. And then he eases into smile so genuine, gaze so soft.

Cutting into the moment of pause, Wooyoung announces: "I knew it."

When Seonghwa walked into Hongjoong's classroom for the first time, Hongjoong had assumed he would be a guest speaker--a former captain to give them some idea of what world they were stepping into, talking about the current state of the galaxy. He had that aura about him, the kind that only an experienced captain would have. A confidence and dignity in his step that Hongjoong had admired and tried to mimic.

He didn't expect Seonghwa to walk in without meeting anyone's gaze, take the seat next to him, and remove a textbook from his bag.

For the entirety of the class, all Hongjoong could concentrate on was Seonghwa beside him, taking notes during a lecture that he had no doubt completed ages ago. This information had to be elementary for someone of his status.

Former status, Hongjoong corrected.

As their classmates moved to leave, Hongjoong hesitated before doing the same.

"Excuse me." He heard Seonghwa say, "Did you understand that part about escape velocity?"

Hongjoong didn't. He confessed, "No," then said, "but let's figure it out?"

The expression on Seonghwa's face could only have been relief.

"The problem isn't you, per se," Yeosang tells Hongjoong. "The problem is that your ship's programming is ancient."

This is the last thing that Hongjoong wants to hear right now. He already knows this information, but his ship has served him well to this point, regardless.

Yeosang continues, "So when other raiders shoot at us and land hits, it reflects on the captain, by default."

Hongjoong scoffs and doesn't reply.

"You need to scramble their radar." Yeosang seems to take Hongjoong's silence as permission to step further into the command deck. "Let me play with your programming. Even if they pick us up, which they won't, they'll miss the shot every time."

Eventually, Hongjoong says, "Bold claims."

"We might actually be stealthy," Yeosang tells him.

Hongjoong is too focused on the field of stars ahead, scanning hawk-like for any other raiders, and too familiar with everything Yeosang did for their home station to say much other than: "Prove it."

With only a little reluctance, Hongjoong does confess that Yeosang's adjustments are a great help; as Yeosang said, when other raiders happen across them, evading their shots is easier. He's even finding he has a better time boarding stations with higher security.

Hongjoong refuses to admit, however, that Yeosang and his friends coming along was anything but a bad idea.

"This is awesome!" Wooyoung cheers. He jumps up from the floor as he finally breaks out of a rough scuffle with a guard. Wooyoung had managed to land a blow with his elbow as they fell that knocked the guard unconscious. A lucky turn of events, but a victorious one for him nonetheless.

San nods in agreement and adds, "It's so nice to be outside."

Hongjoong interrupts, once he feels like he can stop holding his breath: "Pay attention."

After all of this time, Hongjoong is still not too sure about Jongho either. The guy is a friend of San and Wooyoung and Yeosang, but Jongho is so skilled at combat, far more controlled and tactical than his friends. Almost on par with Hongjoong, to be honest.

"You're good," Hongjoong tells him. "Where did you say you were from, again?"

Jongho answers, "I didn't say." And, "There's nothing left to say about it."

"Nothing left?" Hongjoong asks. Jongho's words are cryptic, but Hongjoong is more confused than irritated; he has a feeling there's some meaning here that he's missing.

"Nothing," Jongho reaffirms. He shrugs and continues on to the storage hull.

So many stations were lost during the war.

As limited as supplies were on Hongjoong's home station, he later considers, at least they had a home to rebuild.

"There's a planet a few lightyears away that has the biggest, most colorful trees you could ever see," Yunho says as he points at a small dot on one of his maps. "Way bigger than the ones on any station."

Wooyoung leans forward on his knees and catches himself with his hands. "We should go! That could be our long-term plan."

"Nothing there breathes oxygen though. Nothing anywhere near us does." Yunho looks so apologetic that Hongjoong's heart breaks, a little.

San hums. "The universe is huge," he says. "There has to be somewhere. We just have to find it!"

"Explorers!" Wooyoung cheers. "Sailing the galaxy, beating up the bad guys!"

This seems to cheer Yunho up a bit; his smile returns, and he agrees. "Maybe we'll find Jongho's place, too."

They all turn to look at Hongjoong, and he's not sure what to say. Back on the home station, when he flew with their military, he had no issue telling others the brutal honest truth. But here, his crew, his friends, they all look at him with such expectation.

He can't do it, now. He can't tell them that even though Jongho knows a general direction, even with Yunho's navigation and Yeosang's upgrades, they don't know what they're looking for, exactly. So he tells them, "Yeah," and hopes that their oxygen stores last until the next raid.

The war started over resources. Once Hongjoong's home station lost such a substantial supply of the galaxy's food and water, everyone else immediately demanded control. And when negotiations went nowhere, people decided to take it. Fighting has never really ended.

An actual home planet had to be out there, somewhere. Hongjoong had heard too many stories for all of them to be lies. But if it did exist, and anybody found it, its location was without a doubt kept secret out of greed. To find such an amazing place all for your own would be unbelievable--there would never be any fear of sharing and depleting resources.

People took every resource they could carry from Hongjoong's home and fled. Some found sympathetic stations. Others wander through the universe, taking from others, wanting control over those life-sustaining items.

The truth is that the war started for the same reasons that Hongjoong started raiding.

He forces that thought out of his mind.

Supplies are always essential. It is an unfortunate part of life, now, and there is only one way to get them.

Hongjoong starts telling himself: this will be the last time. And: this is not forever.

The last time does not come fast enough.

For all of his claims about being a fighter, San is inexperienced. His only real battles back on the station were sparring matches where combatants weren't allow to actually hurt each other.

San crumples to the floor in front of a security officer, and Hongjoong knows that it is all his fault.

None of them are skilled medics, but with all of the med kits they collected and their combined first aid knowledge, however minimal, San is okay.

The smell permeating Hongjoong's ship is clinical and nauseating.

San is, of course, the one to stumble across the liquor stores as soon as he's back on his feet and running, hesitantly this time, into the next raid. Hongjoong had refused to let him come. San ignored him and pushed through, as expected.

He reminded Hongjoong of himself, kind of.

"You need to loosen up," he tells Hongjoong. His words are too coherent for him to have drank as much as he did.

Hearing Wooyoung is difficult from where he is sprawled on the floor, but at least his yes is audible.

"I've been telling him that for years," Mingi insists. "Clearly it hasn't worked."

A welcome warmth spreads through Hongjoong's veins and in his chest. It might only partially be from the liquor. He says hey as he nudges Mingi's shoulder with his foot, but there's no malice.

"I think Seonghwa needs another drink too," San says. "He's been quiet."

"Maybe then he'll finally tell us what he did to piss off his commander," Wooyoung adds.

Seonghwa hums. When he doesn't answer immediately, San and Wooyoung lose focus and instead turn on Mingi to demand another story about his adventures.

Later in the peace of Seonghwa's room, Hongjoong is just tipsy enough to work up the courage to knock on the door and tell him: "You don't like this."

Seonghwa breathes in, deep and slow, but invites Hongjoong in.

"You hate raiding stations," Hongjoong continues. "You hate fighting. You're so good at it."

Seonghwa's smile is bitter and doesn't reach his eyes. Hongjoong never wants to see it again.

The burn starting to bloom at the back of his throat is happening too late to blame on liquor. He swallows it down and asks, "Do you feel like I'm making you do this?"

For a fraction of a second, Seonghwa looks surprised. "Give me some credit," he says. "I make my own decisions."

"I know." Hongjoong hopes that he's not prying too much. "What really happened?"

Seonghwa says, voice so soft, "My crew was so good at fighting, especially when the other side couldn't fight back. On our last mission, I didn't. I couldn't." He finishes, "The commander disapproved, obviously."

Hongjoong asks, "If you hate it so much, why did you come with us?"

"What other option did we have?"

Hongjoong remembers that meal on their home station. So long ago, but so clear in his mind.

A long silence follows, though not uncomfortable. It's quiet, and considering, and familiar.

Finally, Hongjoong tells him, "I think we both need to stop being at war." San and Wooyoung and Yeosang are all so young. Jongho and Yunho have lost everything. Mingi has given up his old life in the hopes of finding something better. "I think other people need to stop being dragged into it."

Relief floods over him when Seonghwa answers, "Yeah," and says, "it ended a long time ago."

Hongjoong shifts his gaze to look through the large window in front of Seonghwa's bed. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well." Seonghwa pauses to consider. Slowly, a real smile forms. "You could try listening to Jongho for once."

Hongjoong scoffs but returns Seonghwa's grin.

Outside, the universe stretches on, infinite.