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Chapter Text

Haechan throws open the door and steps out, the abrupt shift into sunlight mirroring the elated expression he wears on his face. Starfleet Academy. This is the door to his dream job, adventure, flight, and freedom. He jogs down the stairs from the Admissions building, campus map in hand, making sure to crunch happily on the few fallen leaves signaling the arrival of autumn.

Haechan, born and raised in San Francisco, is immensely relieved that all he has to do to move into the dorms is to pack up his father’s old pick-up truck (vintage, nearly no-one drives vehicles that actually make contact with the road anymore) and make the cross-city jaunt from Sunset District, the location of his family home, to Marin County. Other students travel from other continents, even other planets, and many resort to beaming their possessions to campus before their arrival, so Haechan is glad to transport his few boxes and bags personally. It’s something that grounds him despite the fizzing excitement he’s experiencing; the physical movement of lifting boxes into the bed of the truck assures him that this is real. Besides, cargo beaming sometimes makes a mess of things. (He would like to keep his whale plushie collection intact, thank you.)

Upon arrival at his dorm, Haechan is almost disappointed because his roommate Jaemin seems human at first. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for bubblegum pink hair and an almost unnaturally wide grin, containing the whitest and most beautiful teeth Haechan has ever seen.

Haechan expresses this to him, jokingly, and is delighted to learn that though humanoid in appearance, Jaemin is distinctly not human, his location of origin being the Milky Way gamma quadrant. His species is known to humans as Changeling, due to their ability to shapeshift.

“Dude,” Haechan says, “that’s so cool!”

Jaemin, grinning impossibly wider, seems relieved at Haechan’s excitement. He holds out a hand to shake, but instead of making contact like Haechan expects, his hand changes to a liquid form. It’s light pink, shimmering as it surrounds Haechan’s hand before forming back into its original appearance. Haechan lets out a noise of happy surprise, content to let Jaemin show off a little.

"Usually that freaks people out," Jaemin says. "It takes a good amount of energy to shift, but little changes here and there aren't too bad. Besides, it makes a good party trick."

Haechan laughs. He thinks he'll get along with Jaemin just fine.

---

Mark’s trip from Vulcan is rough by any definition. There is an abrupt sandstorm accompanied by heat lightning during the shuttle’s takeoff, not unheard of for the end of summer, but stressful nonetheless. He tries his best not to interpret it as a bad omen. He hears his father’s voice in his head, It is illogical to worry. Events will progress as they mean to.

Vulcans aren’t superstitious beings, and Mark’s father is no exception. The trip is long, and he tries not to shake for the duration of it, lest he broadcast his undeniably human fears to the rest of the stoic passengers aboard the shuttle.

Leaving home indefinitely for the sake of study and career frightens him, but no more than the thought of staying on Vulcan for the rest of his life. Nonetheless, Mark has always been hesitant in the face of change. His eyes seem to give him away at the slightest discomfort or surprise when observed up close, his reactive nature something that his Vulcan schoolmates always took advantage of. They seemed to make a game out of it, how long they could hurl basic insults at Mark before he became teary-eyed. Mark wonders what Starfleet Academy student interactions are like, then shudders. He doesn’t need anything else to worry about at the moment.

The trip becomes truly worth it, however, upon the sight of his Human mother exiting the San Francisco research station and running towards him with open arms, eyes crinkling and long hair trailing behind her shoulders. It had become more silver since the last time he saw her, though the sight of her was no less comforting than it had been years prior.

“Look at how you’ve grown! Is this really my Mark?” His mother, now inches shorter than him, gently tugs on his cheek before wrapping him in a hug. Mark can’t remember the last time he’d been hugged, remembering belatedly to squeeze back. Tears spring to his eyes. Half of his teenage years, including his entry to adulthood, had been spent apart from his mother.

“Mom-” he breaks off, content to just hold onto her a minute longer. He exhales, chest sinking and relaxing like a deflating balloon, some stress effectively leaving him. The promise of guidance and company as he finds his way around the Academy for the first time wraps around him pleasantly like his favorite weighted blanket.

Mark can’t believe how smoothly everything goes, from being greeted by the chipper Andorian girl at the front desk of his dorm, to receiving his uniform, to collecting his sparse belongings from the transport room. He’s a bit shy of his overly-enthusiastic advisor, blaming his shock on the stark difference between Vulcan and Earth modes of conversation and emotional connection.

Mark’s fears regarding relationships to other Academy students partially dissipate as he exchanges initial conversation with his roommate, Renjun. In appearance, Renjun is very similar to humans, the subtle ridges across the bridge of his nose the only factor distinguishing him as Bajoran.

He is comforted by the low lighting and tapestries that Renjun has already decorated the space of their dorm with. Objects and books of religious significance are strewn across Renjun’s desk, which doesn’t surprise Mark. Bajorans are known for their spirituality, and Mark can nearly perceive Renjun’s calm energy in a tangible sense, floating in the air around them. 

Despite knowing him less than two days, Mark is disappointed to find that Renjun, as a Xenoarchaeology major, does not share any courses with him.

This fact finds Mark walking in an attentive straight line towards his first ever lecture course, nerves causing his breath to shake on each exhale and his face to flush. He hopes the green tint on his cheeks and tips of his ears isn’t too noticeable. He focuses his attention on his feet, progressing with slow steps across the walkway that connects one side of campus to the other. It’s a bridge, of sorts, above the grassy bowl that contains the park-like center of campus.

Mark hears commotion in the distance behind him in the form of rapid footfalls hitting the pavement, followed by peals of laughter. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stops on the walkway and turns, momentarily squinting in the mid-morning sun. He finds what he’s looking for in the form of two male figures jumping the few feet from pavement to lawn. They half-skid and half-run down the side of the grassy hill, in what seems to be a game of chase. The direction of their intent clues mark into the fact that they’re probably on their way to class, as he is.

Mark fails to understand the merits of running through the recreational outdoor space of campus, however. It is by no means a more direct route to the main building.

As the two humanoid boys run past, shouting, Mark gets a clearer look. One is of average height, lanky, with soft pink hair. The other, Mark just observes for a moment, blinking as if looking into the sun. The boy seems metallic, with golden skin and bronze hair that ruffles in the wind of his own speed. He’s carefree, grasping a textbook under one arm and looking back at his companion. They’re both laughing, and Mark misses what joke was told.

He wonders what it’s like to showcase emotion so easily, without the confines of others’ expectations.

Chapter Text

The golden boy from outside enters Mark’s first-year Command and Control class minutes after he has settled into his seat.

Ah, Mark thinks, this makes sense. He should have guessed that a boy who shines this brightly would be a first year Command and Control student. He’s probably even on Captain-track, too.

Looking around the lecture hall, Mark notices commonalities between all the Command and Control students. They’re self-assured, relaxed even, despite the nervous energy thrumming through the classroom. They may be first years, but they’re all future leaders.

Not like Mark, who feels out of place. Technically, he normally wouldn’t be allowed to enroll in this course. His majors are Xenolinguistics and Exobiology, but he is determined to take at least one course in every area of study. His advisor allowed this only because Mark comes highly recommended from the junior program at Ni’Var, the Vulcan academy of science. Mark is still not sure if he chose this path because of the advice of his father, or his own (logical) insistence to cover all his bases. A baseball reference, Mark thinks. Maybe he is getting used to Earth.

The other students chatter, seemingly unaware of Mark’s stiff posture and closed-off expression. There’s a slight commotion as the golden boy and his friend find seats, smoothing down their red cadet uniforms but looking otherwise intact from what Mark could only describe as their frolic.

Mark overhears a deeper-than-expected “Hey, man!” from the pink-haired boy, whose name he observes to be Jaemin. Jaemin connects palms with another student with a brief percussive slap before sitting down.

The golden boy relaxes into his seat with the nonchalance of a senior officer. Mark wonders what his name is.

---

Haechan, Mark learns, possesses a confidence that is borderline obnoxious.

As the weeks go on, Mark has plenty of time to observe that Haechan attempts to answer nearly every question put out by any professor in any lecture. Mark is floored by the fact that Haechan often has braggadocious confidence in answering questions he has the wrong answer to. Sometimes, Haechan answers questions that don’t even have right answers.

Mark, in contrast, raises his hand 34% of the time, having calculated the amount of class participation he deems polite.

The first time Mark contributes to conversation around a moral quandary (in Politics of the Prime Directive, no less), he’s met with glinting eyes and a smirk as Haechan disagrees with him. Simply for the fun of it, it seems. All Mark can do is sink slightly lower in his seat and try to ignore the embarrassed heat his ears burn with. Mark is overwhelmed, for which he faults his inexperience with Earth-style debate (His inner thoughts blame the sheer intensity of experiencing Haechan’s full attention, which he ignores).

Haechan’s audacity isn’t limited to lecture courses, Mark is astonished to find. In Basic Hand-to-hand Combat, Haechan is filled with overenthusiastic energy, throwing sudden (and sometimes misdirected) blows at his roommate, one of which Jaemin is only able to avoid by flailing backwards and landing in a heap on their mat.

Their instructor encourages this energy, citing natural talent and resigning herself to the fact that Haechan can polish his accuracy over time. Mark isn’t so sure. Vulcans are known to be three times stronger than humans, sure, but Mark doesn’t know how his human side factors into that. He does not want to be on the receiving end of a spastic Haechan swing. Mark has never been more relieved to be paired with Wendy, the Andorian girl that works the front desk at his dorm.

The next time Mark looks over, Haechan is looking back at him, fire in his eyes, tongue in his cheek, stance ready to engage with Jaemin. Mark doesn’t know what this means- does Haechan have something against him? Does he want to resort to physical altercation to resolve it?

The fact that he’s looking at Mark means that Haechan is distracted, though, and Jaemin uses the opportunity to reach out and flick his ear. Haechan looks offended for a moment, before lunging for Jaemin, grabbing him around the waist. The two of them hit their mat with a slap. The wind is effectively knocked out of Haechan, and an almost comical sound leaves his mouth.

Mark feels one side of his mouth pull upwards, a smile threatening to spread across his features.

Chapter Text

Haechan can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he started noticing Mark Lee.

During the first couple weeks of the semester, he’s aware of him, sometimes wondering about his nearly impassive expressions and quiet nature. He marvels at his posture and overall composure, surprising himself with his level of interest in a boy he’s never talked to.

It isn’t until Haechan finds himself in the library, peering through a bookshelf at Mark, that he realizes the extent of his curiosity. He can finally examine the nature of his classmate, without being observed.

Mark is sitting in a relatively secluded space in the library, at a low table pushed near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He has the desk lamp turned off, presumably in favor of the late-autumn natural light still streaming in through the glass.

Haechan hadn’t even realized he was Vulcan, at first. He attributed Mark’s sharp cheekbones and straight eyebrows only to the Earth ancestry that Haechan assumes they share, but now he realizes it’s more than that. Mark seems to have ditched the bowl cut that Haechan has observed to be characteristic of most Vulcan men. His hair is midnight black and glossy, yes, but it’s casually parted over one of his straight eyebrows and softly combed back. Mark’s ears come to a slight point, perhaps more subtle than his fully-Vulcan relations, but distinct nonetheless.

Mark, clumsier than Haechan originally thought, accidentally knocks a book off the table with a sizable BANG. He retrieves the book and looks around frantically, prompting Haechan to duck for fear of being noticed.

When Haechan deems the coast clear, he rises up slowly to look through his window of books and continues his observations. This time, though, Mark is blushing. Instead of the pink indicative of human embarrassment, a pretty green tint is now present across his cheekbones, creeping up the back of his neck, and, to Haechan’s delight, coloring the tips of his ears. Cute.

His appreciation is cut short with a sharp jab to the stomach, presumably someone’s elbow. Haechan makes a soft noise of annoyance and grabs the offending arm, dragging them both down to a squat between the bookshelves. It’s Jaemin. Of course.

“What are you doing,” Jaemin hisses gleefully, much louder than Haechan finds comfortable given his current activity. Jaemin, for all his talents, is not skilled in the art of whispering. Haechan claps his hand over Jaemin’s mouth and nods at the exit of the library, then grabs his bag and gives Jaemin an encouraging push.

Once outside, Jaemin looks smug, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He drags Haechan to the edge of the massive staircase in front of the library, where Jeno is currently seated. Jeno notices them and stands up, eyes crinkling in his signature smile as he dusts off the back of his pants.

“Hey, guys!” Jeno’s smile is blinding.

Of course Jeno is waiting for Jaemin, Haechan thinks, mentally rolling his eyes.

Within their first month of school, Jaemin managed to befriend (read: abduct) the polite medical student who he now constantly drags around campus (and off campus, really) wherever he pleases. If Jeno wasn’t so kind and easy to talk to, Haechan would probably refer to him as Jaemin’s pet. Jeno doesn’t seem to mind, however. Haechan sometimes worries that Jeno’s lack of resistance towards Jaemin demonstrates slight mental instability, but the two of them get along so well that he brushes it off.

“So,” Jaemin starts, “Are you going to tell us what that was about?”

At Jeno’s confused noise, he adds, “I caught our Haechan here ogling Mark Lee in the library!”

Jeno’s mouth drops open slightly in surprise. Haechan fumes.

“I was not ogling, thank you very much! You know I’m just nosy,” he says.

“Nosy enough to spy on an innocent classmate for minutes on end?” Jaemin leers at him.

“I- How long were you...If you must know, yes.” Haechan is exasperated. “He rarely talks to anyone. He probably thinks he’s better than everyone. I need to keep tabs on the enemy.”

Jaemin and Jeno exchange amused glances at this, then seem to decide to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Good. Haechan pouts.

---

It’s just so easy, Haechan thinks, to quirk an eyebrow, say something brash, and get Mark’s full attention in a manner of seconds. Mark, who typically ignores any student drama for the sake of solitude and study.

He first realizes that he’s actively competing with Mark in lectures to provide more correct answers than him. Then, he realizes that nothing bewilders Mark more than when Haechan takes a massive shortcut to an answer and still ends up being right. Haechan eventually finds himself to be determined to outperform Mark Lee in all areas.

Haechan is aware that he’s let his own antics escalate, but he isn’t about to stop anytime soon.

In hand-to-hand combat, though satisfied with Jaemin as his sparring partner, he wonders what it would be like to be paired with Mark. Perhaps, a game of calculation and precision against enthusiasm and gut instinct. Haechan is riveted by the fight he imagines, and finds himself actively staring at Mark from across the room. Whoops.

So sue him, Haechan finds satisfaction in getting a rise out of Starfleet Academy’s virtuoso student like no one else can.

---

Haechan spots Mark under a tree in the afternoon sunlight, a less common place for him, though he still has his nose plastered to his tablet full of extensive notes. There’s a furrow of concentration between his brows, and the lack of movement he exhibits makes Haechan wonder if he’s even breathing.

A leaf falls on his head and stays there. Mark doesn’t notice.

Haechan snorts to himself.

“Hey, Lee!” Haechan calls animatedly, striding across the lawn to stand a few feet in front of Mark.

Mark looks up at him, unguarded for just a moment, causing his eyes to appear softer than Haechan usually recognizes. The leaf on his head slides off sideways, brushing his shoulder and causing him to flinch almost invisibly.

His gaze quickly changes, however, angular and impassive facial expression sliding back into place. Mark raises both his eyebrows slightly, a silent inquisition of the reason why Haechan is currently in his space, demanding his attention.

What had Haechan come over to say?

Right.

“Looks like you have some competition in Klingon Language III,” Haechan smirks, gesturing vaguely to himself.

That morning, Haechan had beat Mark to the punch. Their professor had asked for a conversational partner, in order to demonstrate the usage of a particular set of verbs in front of the class. He hadn’t been fully confident that he remembered every conjugation correctly, but it was worth it upon sight of Mark’s scowl as Haechan made his way down the few steps to the podium.

Partly by luck, Haechan’s Klingon grammar had been perfect.

“Professor Larson is aware of my speaking capabilities in all Klingon dialects. I don’t find I have to try so hard to prove myself,” Mark retorts.

Haechan scoffs. “A try-hard? Me? I’m not the one with my head in my notes on a Friday afternoon.”

If Mark takes offense to this, he doesn’t show it. Haechan is going to have to advance from a different angle.

Haechan adds, “Do you even have any friends? You’re as uptight as a nun in a nightclub.”

That seems to do the trick, Mark’s focus snapping back to Haechan from where he had let his eyes wander, possibly out of boredom. Now, there’s a fire in his eyes, slight embarrassment only perceptible by the green tint developing on the outer edge of his ears.

“I fail to see the relevance of Earthian religious tradition to this conversation.” Mark closes his school-issued tablet with a snap, and grabs his bag like he’s about to dash away.

Haechan knows that Mark has understood his full meaning, and considers this a win, for today.

He puts on his most provoking laugh, a Haechan classic, and says, “Hey, don’t get your underwear in a twist. I’m leaving.”

Haechan walks away, whistling with contentment. He commits the sight of an exasperated Mark to memory. Mark appears unsure of how to proceed, one hand hovering over a textbook and the other gripping his bag tightly.

---

Mark finds Haechan to be irritating, an emotion new to him. Annoyance was never triggered by his Vulcan schoolmates.

Haechan, like Mark’s science academy peers, is determined to get a rise out of him, but that is where the similarity stops. All of Mark’s negative interactions on Vulcan left him feeling lonely, out of place, and at times sorrowful.

Interacting with Haechan is different. Mark may not wholly understand his intentions, but Haechan’s actions and words do not develop true anger within him. At times, facing Haechan is almost a relief. Mark lets the buzz of annoyance travel across his skin, participates in the give-and-take nature of engagement, and is often left full of crackling energy that he puts to use in other areas of his life.

Perhaps, their manner of confrontation serves an evolutionary purpose, Mark thinks. Competition is imperative for survival. Mark theorizes that their disputes may be helpful to the both of them in the demanding environment of Starfleet Academy.

Mark ignores a different inner voice, distinctly human, reminding him of the thrill of facing off with Haechan. Mark doesn’t understand why Haechan makes him feel different than any other student on campus, but he shuts off his inner complications for now. His feelings are too human for him to want to process at the present.

Chapter Text

3 Years Later

In his fourth year at Starfleet Academy, Mark finds himself in multiple positions of responsibility. One of these is campus patrol, which interrupts his sleep schedule twice a week. Despite this, he is still able to find fulfillment in keeping the Academy safe.

That is, he would, if he did not have the bad luck to routinely encounter Haechan and his… sidekicks… in the small hours of the morning. Mark does not understand their childish contempt for the rules. They may be adults, but it is perfectly reasonable that the Academy would expect them to adhere to decrees regarding curfew, substances, and behavior.

The first weekend of the semester brings cool and pleasant September nights, refreshing meditation sessions with Renjun, and, to Mark’s dismay, his first written report regarding Haechan and his crew.

Mark, finished with his campus patrol, is looking up at the stars when he hears a commotion. He turns to witness Haechan and Jeno, clearly intoxicated, supporting a floppy Jaemin between them. Mark assumes they are attempting to find the way back to their dormitory, and failing. All three of the boys are letting out noises that Mark can only describe as giggling. Mark does not understand why they are laughing, as the current situation does not appear to be very amusing. Loss of standard bodily and mental function is nothing to neglect.

Internally, Mark sighs. He makes his way closer to the intoxicated imbeciles, resisting the urge to drag his feet.

As soon as they become aware of Mark’s presence, he rattles off his required statement. “Rule 54 of the Academy Code states that cadets are expected to return to their living quarters prior to 0100 hours. Currently, the time is 2:47, and you are in violation of the rules.”

“Mark Leeee!” Jaemin slurs, “what are you doing here? I didn’t know you went to bars…” Haechan and Jeno snicker at him.

“Jaeminnie, we’re on campus now,” Haechan says. “I think we’re in trouble with the big bad teacher’s pet!” Haechan winks obnoxiously at Mark. Though he’s drunk (adopting Earth terms, Mark can only describe him as smashed), Haechan’s first priority is still an attempt to get under Mark’s skin.

In a flash of annoyance, Mark wishes to simply storm away from the group, file his report, and fall into his bed. A rational voice in the back of his head stops him. The safest thing would be to personally see the cadets to their respective rooms.

At any rate, Haechan and Jeno appear to be no longer capable of lifting Jaemin between them. Mark takes matters into his own hands.

“I will accompany you to your rooms. Jaemin, come here,” he says, grasping one of Jaemin’s arms in order to hoist him onto his back. He makes sure to avoid touching Jaemin’s fingers with his own. In Vulcan culture, the gesture is a lot more… intimate than would be suggested by Earth customs. It comes as a relief that Jaemin complies, loosely circling his arms around Mark’s shoulders and gripping Mark’s hips with his thighs. Mark tries not to flinch at the feeling of Jaemin’s breath against his neck. He is not at all accustomed to physical contact with beings other than his mother and half-sister.

As the group makes their way to the fourth-year dormitory, Jaemin starts to mumble half-coherent sentences into the back of Mark’s head. The snippets Mark catches are embarrassing, at best.

“Marrrk… so nice.... so strong... can see why H- “ Jaemin abruptly cuts off his valiant attempt at speech with a whine as Haechan pinches him on the calf, hard, presumably to quiet him.

Mark, who normally has an aversion to anything Haechan does, feels momentary relief that he has effectively stopped Jaemin saying… whatever he was attempting to. Mark is a no less a stranger to compliments than he is to physical touch, a fact that he actively tries to hide. Haechan, though characteristically aloof, has gone strangely quiet. Mark is certain that his own discomposure has appeared on his face in a deep flush. He is curious to the reason Haechan does not take this opportunity to torment him about his very human reaction.

---

A few weeks later, Mark reports Haechan again.

He walks the halls of the Science building, flashlight in hand, falling into the routine of his wednesday patrol. All is quiet, the only disturbance in the peace his own faint footfalls echoing along the corridor. Mark takes the turbolift to the next floor. As the door slides open, he is suddenly aware of hushed voices coming from around the corner. Moving towards the noise, he makes sure to walk as silently as possible in order to assess the situation.

Abruptly, there is a telltale metallic CLANG of what Mark assumes to be a wall panel coming loose and falling to the floor.

“Jaemin!” a voice hisses. “You said you could do this without noise!”

Oh, no. Mark knows exactly who is standing, in the dark, in front of Professor Moon’s office. He lets out an exasperated breath before stepping forwards.

“I would not advise the continuation of your current actions,” Mark suggests, flipping on the hallway light to reveal Jaemin and Haechan.

Jaemin, surprisingly, has the compunction to appear guilty. It would be hard to look innocent in this situation, Mark supposes. He still has one hand on the control panel in the wall, where he was previously attempting to override the system to unlock Professor Moon’s office door. Haechan, on the other hand, is a different story. He saunters the few remaining feet over to Mark, a sarcastically jovial expression plastered across his features.

“Well look who it is. Mark Lee, don’t you think it’s a little past your bedtime?” Haechan quips.

“If by bedtime you are referring to curfew, I believe that you are the one awake too late.”

“Okay, goody-two-shoes, we’ll go back to our dormitory after we finish this task for Professor Moon.” Haechan rolls his eyes for good measure.

“Cadet Lee, the current actions of you and your classmate do not appear to suggest guidance from Academy personnel. If Professor Moon wanted you to enter his office, he would have provided you a key.” Mark stands with his hands behind his back and stares Haechan down. (He has, as Renjun would say, had enough of this shit.)

Haechan shows no intention of backing down, however. He grins from ear to ear, somehow aware that this is what irks Mark the most.

Mark calls the Academy police.

---

It was a harmless prank, really. Haechan can’t possibly be blamed for wanting to fill Professor Moon’s office with Ferengian exploding confetti- he was finally leaving for his honeymoon that he put off for three years, for crying out loud! Haechan only meant to congratulate him.

Nonetheless, the next day finds Haechan sitting in awkward silence in the Superintendent’s office.

“Put your feet down,” an annoyed voice sounds behind him, as the Superintendent enters the room.

“Whatever you say, Johnny,” Haechan grumbles, removing his feet from said man’s desk.

“Now, you know to call me Dr. Seo in this office, Haechan. Just because we are cousins doesn’t mean I play favorites.” Johnny (Dr. Seo, Haechan corrects mentally) relaxes into his seat and rifles through a stack of papers.

“Ah,” Dr. Seo intones, giving the top sheet one last glance. “Professor Moon has made me aware of last night’s situation.”

“And?” Haechan asks, not entirely unaware of his rude tone.

“And,” Dr. Seo repeats, “While hilarious, this behavior is entirely inappropriate for someone of your rank and skill. Not to mention, against Academy policy.”

“If I’m about to receive disciplinary action, why isn’t Jaemin here too?”

Johnny- Dr. Seo- quirks an eyebrow. “You can’t expect me to believe that Jaemin Na broke into Academy property on his own volition, Haechan. But worry not, your minion is meeting with Professor Larson as we speak.”

“I’m not being suspended, am I?” Haechan tries to maintain a tone of jest, though he feels a genuine pang of anxiety at the thought. He’s aware of his status as a mild troublemaker, but he’s an adult, so close to captaincy, not some kid unable to finish 10th grade.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Dr. Seo placates. Haechan detects a scheming flicker in his eyes.

“You’ll just have to complete, oh, roughly fifty hours of Academy service.”

“WHAT?” Haechan squawks.

Later, Haechan discovers that Jaemin has been let off with only a warning, which he assumes to be a direct result of Mark’s particular phrasing within his report.

Damn that godawful Mark Lee, he thinks.

---

Mark arrives precisely on time to Advanced Tactical Training, not surprised the training room is half empty. By the time the first month of the semester passed, nearly one-third of the class had dropped out. Mark determines that they were probably lulled into a false sense of security, considering the course began with basic phaser training, directly followed by standard weapon theory. It was the grueling obstacle course on Relva VII last week, he supposes, that reduced their class size from twenty-nine to twenty just over the weekend. Mark thinks that it is unreasonable for the students to be unaware of the difficulty of the course- they were required to obtain personal permission from the instructor to enroll.

Their current class initiates their unit on weaponless defense, therefore Mark is met with the sight of a room nearly empty save tactical training mats on the floor (and, of course, his classmates). He is reminded of his first time stepping into this room- of nervous first years, himself included, their shaky yet determined stances directed at each other from across these precise mats.

As fate would have it, Mark is paired with Haechan. It is the first time they have encountered each other since the confetti incident, and Mark truly cannot say that he is pleased at this occurrence.

“Come to rat me out again, have you?” are the first words that Haechan directs at Mark, coming to a stop in front of him. Mark merely tilts his head in greeting, face impassive. He’s distracted by an additional detail from the past- the current expression on Haechan’s face is a true duplicate of how he had looked at Mark three years ago in this very room. Tongue in cheek, eyes ablaze. This is the same boy.

In other areas, Mark concedes, there have been changes. Haechan’s shoulders, while still lean, have become broader, the plane of his jaw more pronounced. The energy circulating through his stance now comes from a place of true, honest confidence in his personhood rather than reliance on arrogance. Over the years, Mark has come to admire Haechan’s determination, despite his sometimes inappropriate application of said virtue.

Instructor Ro claps her hands once, a piercing noise that ricochets off the high ceiling. Several students flinch. Mark, completed with his assessment of Haechan, directs his focus to the instructor.

She provides the class their fighting assignment, which proves to be simple in nature yet exceedingly complicated in execution. There are no rules of engagement, barring only the use of weapons of any kind, and the act of injuring one’s partner. This means that any fighting style or tactic learned in the last three years is fair game.

Mark looks around the room. He notes with apprehension that Instructor Ro is the only authority present to monitor all twenty students simultaneously. He mentally braces himself before turning back to Haechan. Without a word, they each step onto the mat across from one another. Mark widens his stance, barely shifting but gearing up nonetheless. Haechan mirrors him.

Instructor Ro blows her whistle, signaling them to begin.

“They gave me fifty hours, you know.” Haechan throws the first punch, shoulder height. Mark ducks to avoid it.

“I am aware,” Mark says. “It was at my suggestion that the Academy considered this course of action,” he adds, as they circle each other along the edge of the mat.

Mark moves to knock Haechan’s legs out from under him, rotating a half circle with a low sweep of one leg before returning to an upright position. Haechan jumps over his attempt.

“That makes my punishment entirely your fault,” Haechan bites. He throws another punch, which connects this time. Mark barely has time to brace for the blow, still absorbing most of the force. He stifles a groan.

“My job is to keep delinquents like you in line,” Mark says.

Haechan, color rising in his cheeks, lashes out with a series of swings. He’s faster this time, but Mark is prepared, and finds himself able to predict and block each blow. Haechan aims one at his jaw, which Mark drops into a roll to avoid. He stands back up at a distance from Haechan, which doesn’t last long- Haechan, clearly irritated with Mark’s evasive action, strides forwards again towards him. Mark throws a defensive punch, which Haechan catches in the palm of his hand. This turn of events surprises Haechan, evident in the momentary widening of his eyes.

“Are you pulling your punches? What, you think I can’t handle you?”

Mark’s hesitation to use his full strength appears to provoke Haechan even more, his breathing pattern starting to speed up. Haechan still holds Mark’s fist in his hand.

“I know you can’t handle me.” In hindsight, Mark finds his own statement to be distinctly not Vulcan in nature. He tears his fist from Haechan’s grip, which provides Mark an opportunity to attack with similar jabs, each to the same result. Mark has the upper hand; this tactic proves to direct all of Haechan’s energy towards predicting and blocking his advances, while Mark does not swing with full capacity, therefore avoiding exhaustion.

Haechan lets out an aggravated yell, before ducking under Mark’s arms and making one leap to the farthest corner of the mat. A drop of sweat falls off the tip of his nose. He glowers at Mark from where he stands, and uses one hand to aggressively comb his damp hair backwards, where it stays.

Mark is perplexed as the next actions appear to occur in slow motion.

One moment, Mark is observing Haechan, who seems to need a breather judging by the rise and fall of his chest. The next, Haechan has launched himself at Mark, his brow set in a determined line.

Time suddenly seems to catch up with him. In quick succession, Mark feels a hand slam into his chest, becomes aware of his own body tilting backwards, then feels his back smack onto the mat with excessive force. Before he’s even processed it, he finds himself effectively pinned to the floor, Haechan’s knees on either side of his hips and both hands pushing down on Mark’s chest as Mark lets out an involuntary noise of surprise.

It feels like a culmination, reaching a breaking point after building for so long. Mark and Haechan have always disputed, yes, but they never found the opportunity to battle it out.

Mark blinks, trying to clear his head enough to strategize his way out. Ah, Haechan should have immobilized his arms, too.

“I said, why are you pulling your punches?” Haechan demands, his bronze hair falling into his eyes from where he sits above Mark. He presses down harder with his hands, which makes Mark struggle to take a deep breath. Mark doesn’t dignify him with an answer. In one movement, he seizes Haechan’s wrists in his grip, plants his feet against the mat to find leverage, and quickly rolls the both of them over. Mark is now lying bodily on top of Haechan, a knee pinning one of his hips to the floor and elbows on either side of his head. He doesn’t make the mistake of releasing Haechan’s wrists from his grip.

“You- you dick-” Haechan snarls.

“I fail to see the relevance of male genitalia to the current situation.” Mark lets a hint of a vicious smile quirk at the edge of his mouth, thoroughly satisfied to have Haechan at his mercy.

What Haechan lacks in strength, however, he makes up for in unpredictability in sheer willpower.

“Just get off me, you hobgoblin,” Haechan says, relaxing into the floor in what Mark interprets as a surrender. Against his instincts, Mark loosens his grip. This proves to be the only opportunity Haechan needs to take control again, grabbing Mark around the waist and once again, shoving his back into the mat.

“Why do you even try to win, huh?” Haechan has appeared to switch strategies. “You don’t have emotions, anyway. You don’t feel. So why do you even care to win?”

“Even someone like you should surely know that every being possesses survival instincts, Cadet.” Mark’s words leave his mouth with a rasp due to Haechan’s knee pushing into his abdomen.

“Ah, yes, survival. Is that the only reason your dad married your mom? I heard they’re divorced now, I suppose, so there’s our answ-”

Mark’s stomach boils with heat, and he whips his fist at the underside of Haechan’s jaw.

Haechan’s words are cut off with a resounding THWACK, eyes rolling back into his head before collapsing limply onto the mat, unconscious.

Only then does Mark realize he is capable of punching someone out cold.

Chapter Text

The doctor performs one last sweep of her tricorder over Haechan’s jawbone, the blinking lights of the instrument visible in his periphery. 

“There we are,” she says kindly. “You’re finally all patched up. It was a rather ugly injury just for tactical training, if you ask me. You’d think you were out on a mission.”

Haechan sighs. He no longer has pain, but he still feels disoriented, as if he has been struck by lightning and lived to tell the tale. His first memories following his fight with Mark still seem a dream, or a nightmare; the general commotion of voices, floating in and out, some panicked, some soothing. The occasional blurry sight of a figure crouching next to him, which reminds Haechan he’s on the floor somewhere. A pair of arms cradling the sides of his shoulders, firm softness behind his head and upper back as if he’s in someone’s lap. Then, weightlessness and darkness.

He had woken up again, pulled back to the surface of consciousness by the agonizing throbbing present on one side of his jaw. He blinked into the bright light of a room in sickbay, relieved at the clarity of his awareness, no longer drowning in numbing confusion. The doctor had first instructed him not to speak, then informed him of the hairline fracture on his jawbone. Using an instrument called an osteogenic stimulator, she was able to drastically quicken the repair of his bone tissue, effectively fusing his mandible back together.

As he gathers his belongings to leave sickbay, Haechan hears his own words, which echo brutally inside of his skull.

Ah, yes, survival. Is that the only reason your dad married your mom?

He flinches. He acknowledges that he has a penchant to needle and provoke others, but what Haechan does not wish to be is cruel. He tries to push his shame back down from where it bubbles up inside his ribcage, scorching hot.

---

“ Haechannieee~” Jaemin coos, entering their dorm room with Jeno in tow.

Haechan just looks at him from where he’s sitting up in bed, eyes narrowing at Jaemin’s tone. He’s not a baby .

Jaemin, to Haechan’s dismay, has taken it upon himself to be his personal babysitter while he’s still under doctor’s orders. He even tries to use Jeno’s medical student status as an excuse ( he’s practically a doctor, that makes me practically a nurse!). For the past forty-eight hours, Haechan has been required to stay on a diet of soups, mashed potatoes, and smoothies, and made to relax as much as possible to reduce jaw tension. The bone has mended, but there is still a risk of reduced structural integrity for about a week. 

Not the worst sentence, but Haechan’s never liked being told what to do.

Jaemin and Jeno have brought him his favorite ice cream, though, and he feels his annoyance abate. He even lets the both of them clamber onto his bed without asking, an occurrence that usually ends with one or both of them being shoved unceremoniously to the floor. But his friends have come over specifically to keep him company and watch ridiculous reality programs; he’ll grant them passage just this once. 

“How’s our Rocky, then?” Jeno says, once they’ve started watching their show. He’s settled comfortably, his back against the wall and his side against Jaemin. 

“Don’t call me that,” Haechan grumbles. He feels the beginnings of a pout develop on his face. “You just have to remind me of the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I still can’t believe I got absolutely knocked out by Mark LEE, of all people, in front of the top twenty students in our class. It’s embarrassing.” The truth is, Haechan can believe it. Mark shows proficiency in all areas, which even extends to rendering Haechan unconscious, apparently. 

“Are you sure it isn’t the best thing?” Jaemin says with what Haechan assesses to be a dangerously playful tone. “Mark is HOT . Like, majorly. But I think you already knew that.”

Haechan splutters, nearly losing control of his mouthful of ice cream. “What?! He’s not hot , Jaemin! And may I remind you, he broke my face! He’s a criminal in this household!” 

Jeno giggles around his spoon. Haechan hopes he chokes.

“Jeno, I think he needs to go back to sickbay, his eyes don’t seem to be functioning properly,” Jaemin snickers. 

“My eyes are functioning perfectly fine!”

Jeno jumps in. “Really? And you still won’t admit Mark is attractive? Objectively, you’ve gotta agree. If your rivalry is so strong it’s impairing your vision, then yeah, you might wanna get that checked out,” he says, clearly entertained. Jaemin joins him in dissolving into another fit of giggles.

“Okay, OKAY.” Haechan just wants them to stop. “Fine. He’s not… terrible to look at.” 

Jaemin hums, feigning contemplation. “I’d say that’s a pretty lukewarm evaluation of the guy half of campus has heart eyes for, even if he is a giant nerd.” Mercifully, he turns his attention back to their reality show.

Oh, right. Haechan forgot. He doesn’t understand why everyone’s so in love with Mark Lee.

Well, a voice in the back of his head supplies, he does have nice proportions. Haechan has been jealous, a time or two, of Mark’s legs, sturdy, long without being lanky. He supposes he’s noticed the way his waist tapers, remarkably slim in contrast with the line of his shoulders ( and backside, Haechan’s subconscious provides. He mentally slaps himself.) The truth of the matter is, while at times Mark may seem innocuous and not particularly powerful, Haechan had been equal parts impressed and terrified while pinned under him. He had, for a split second, given in to panic— he knew that he might not have been able to escape, had Mark truly wanted him to stay down. Haechan considers, yes, from an objective point of view, it makes sense for students to be attracted to Mark’s equally lean and robust physicality.

It’s not just that, though, the voice in his head continues, apparently not ready to let Haechan forget his annoyingly competent classmate. He’s cuuuute. Haechan feels his pulse speed up from what he assumes to be distaste at the very idea. But, objectively, it’s true, no matter how much he may want to fight the facts. On the rare occasion Mark deems a smile appropriate for the situation, he looks like a cherub. The moments when he has his guard down— after finals week, for example, when everyone leaves their last exam in a euphoric daze, one can be privy to his big, sparkly eyes, if they know where to look. A more frequent occurrence, however, is the charming verdant blush that appears when he’s embarrassed, irritated, or even angry. Haechan has never observed a Vulcan who is that reactive. 

He wonders how people treated Mark while he lived on his father’s home planet. Were they accepting, fascinated by something unique and distinctive? Haechan, knowing how Vulcans value logic and emotional repression, imagines this is not the case. Vulcans, who were at one point violent and emotional to the point of danger, adopted their current way of life to avoid war, homicide, unnecessary death— but this only proves beneficial for individuals fully Vulcan. What would Mark have done, on Vulcan, with the traits, the thoughts and feelings, that he inherited from his mother?

Haechan is promptly hit with the realization that it might be difficult— impossible even— for Mark to fit into either of his two worlds completely.

Haechan is reminded once again of his words to Mark. Why do you try to win, huh? You don’t have emotions, anyway. You don’t feel. 

This time, Haechan’s guilt is sharp, a knife under his heart. He knows he went too far, but there’s no amount of wishing or praying that can turn back time. He slumps further down in bed, and before he remembers his present company he lets a remorseful whimper leave his mouth.

Jaemin and Jeno, previously tittering at some quadrillionaire on screen having an altercation with a model next to his newest zero grav swimming pool, gently turn their attention to Haechan. 

“You okay there, bud?” Jaemin’s voice is soft, deeply soothing, no hint of condescension. 

Haechan lets himself shake his head. He leans his body forwards, resting his forehead where Jaemin’s neck and shoulder meet. 

Jeno gently takes his forgotten and pitifully melty ice cream from his hands and places it on Haechan’s desk. Without his ice cream to hold onto, Haechan finds his hands skimming the soft fabric of Jaemin’s t-shirt, before twining arms around his waist. 

A few minutes later finds Haechan and Jaemin lying down, limbs intertwined, one of Jaemin’s hands carding through his hair. Jeno, sitting cross legged out of Haechan’s line of vision, is rubbing one warm palm in slow circles on Haechan’s back.

It’s nice, impossibly so, something that Haechan rarely lets himself have. He usually prefers to absorb energy from the world with fast-paced social stimulation, and he doesn’t discriminate between positive and negative attention. 

“I can’t believe I'm letting you baby me,” he says, in a halfhearted attempt to keep his reputation intact.

“Oh? You want us to leave?” Jeno hums from behind him, a smile audible in his voice.

The way that Haechan shifts to be able to squeeze both of his friends, one in each arm, seems to suffice as an answer.

---

Mark dreams of roiling conflict; anger, coloring red behind his eyelids; the sharp crack of impact with malicious intent. A thunderstorm, a tornado, being swept up and stuck in the mode of destroy . Mark tries reaches out blindly through the storm, but he can’t seem to move his limbs—

“Mark?” Renjun is pressing on his upper arms, smoothing his thumbs back and forth, as Mark blinks his eyes open to the low light of their room. 

“I uh—” Mark tries. “What—”

“You were talking in your sleep, you sounded really distressed.”

Mark reaches up to touch his own face, and his fingers come away wet. That’s a surprise… he files it away to process later. “I’m sorry— I must have woken you…”

“Oh, Mark.” Renjun wears a gentle expression on his face. “Don’t apologize. Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothing precise happened in my dream, it was mostly chaos and confusion. I do not know that there’s anything specific to discuss,” Mark says softly, as if one wrong move will throw him back into the dream tornado. His curiosity gets the better of him, however, and he adds, “What did you happen to overhear?”

“You were mostly just saying ‘no’, and apologizing for something, and, um… you brought up Haechan.”

Mark sits up in bed.

“Uh— what did I say about him?” he asks, ignoring the burn in his cheeks.

“Just his name. Don’t worry, I understand… I’m sure the other day was traumatic for the both of you.”

Renjun, ever the empath, seems content to sit in silence, a hand still on his arm as Mark soaks the truth of his words in. Mark feels his friendly touch like an anchor back to reality. 

His inference that Mark’s dream was probably connected to the events in tactical training reminds Mark that what happened is very real.

He’s brought back to the initial realization of what he did, brain numb in shock. He remembers someone calling for help, their instructor speaking in a comforting tone to calm everyone down as they waited for someone from sickbay to transport Haechan on a hover stretcher. Though hesitant at first to move the injured boy, he had held his upper body on his lap anyways, the top of Haechan’s head against Mark’s stomach. It was only logical— if he woke up, he wouldn’t hurt himself more by rolling over, and Mark could stop him if he tried to stand up.

Unconscious, Haechan had looked younger; the bravado faded away to leave only soft skin, full cheeks, and dark eyelashes resting on cheekbones. He could look completely peaceful, Mark supposed, if it was not for the alarmingly large red bruise quickly swelling on his jaw, the skin subtly broken in a few places. Probably where each of Mark’s knuckles hit, he thinks. He had then been struck by panic at the realization that he was the one responsible for this, and out of childish anger...

That isn’t who Mark is. And if it is, he doesn’t recognize himself anymore. He doesn’t assault classmates . 

Mark must have stared silently at his own blanket-covered knees for too long, because he’s almost startled when Renjun moves his hand from his arm to smooth back and forth on his shoulder instead.

“Hey…” Renjun’s voice is delicate. “It’s going to be okay.”

It is these simple words that make the dam break. 

Mark, a little hysterically, mumbles, “I didn’t want to hurt him. He was just saying things… I shouldn't have let it upset me. I can’t believe... I didn’t mean— I didn’t know —” Mark is frustrated at his inability to find his way to the end of a sentence. He’s crying again, tears making their way down his face in two hot streaks. 

If Renjun is taken aback by the change from Mark's usual composure and very carefully selected words, he doesn't show it. 

“I know you didn’t mean it. Everyone probably knows. Accidents happen, especially in that environment. It’s not like you punched him in a lecture course.”

Mark almost laughs, a sound like a cough bursting from his mouth.The image of him punching Haechan, unprovoked, in front of Professor Larson and her slideshows is not entirely unamusing.

“Besides, look on the bright side.” Renjun is smiling at him, eyes half moon crescents. “You managed to shut Lee Haechan up for more than a second. That’s an accomplishment.”

This time, Mark does laugh, a watery sound that he would normally be embarrassed about. Around Renjun, however, he doesn’t think he has to worry.

---

By the time Haechan and Mark are called to superintendent Seo’s office, the student body has moved on from telling tall tales about what they have collectively decided to refer to as the ‘jawbreaker incident’. Jeno and Jaemin would have usually had a field day at this kind of development, but they seem to respect the gravity of the situation. They know of Haechan’s regrets, and even help him to avoid the attention as much as possible. Besides, it’s a completely lame name for the occurence. Haechan’s tormentors (admirers? bullies? He doesn’t understand the nature of the interest) have absolutely no creativity.

Now, in Dr. Seo’s office, Haechan slumps in his chair. He’s hyper-aware that Mark is sitting less than three feet away, to his right, and he feels completely unable to look him in the eye. Haechan’s own words are once again relentlessly sitting on the edge of his memory, forcing him to look at the mess he made. In contrast to the last time he was in this office, he now feels like a criminal, who has immaturely turned a simple assignment into a personal feud while in a place of learning.

Dr. Seo nods at each of them in turn. “Mr. Lee… and Mr. Lee,” he says with a pleased glint in his eye. “Nice of you to join me on this fine afternoon. You seem to have made it here in one piece.”

Haechan can tell he’s very amused. It’s not funny, Johnny-hyung, he whines in his head.

“Right down to business, then, I suppose…” Dr. Seo swipes open a file on his tablet. “It has come to the Academy’s attention that two of our most promising students need to work on their cooperation skills. Therefore, we have decided to send the two of you on a mission.”

Mark still hasn’t said anything. He just nods once, respectfully, at Dr. Seo.

“A mission? Like, on a training ship?” Haechan, shame momentarily forgotten, scoffs. “Yeah, been there, done that. Captain Nakamoto just made me bring him iced matchas all the time.” And he pinched my cheek and cooed whenever I tried to sit in the Captain's chair, Haechan mentally adds. He doesn’t want to be treated like a baby— in a year he will have the opportunity to apply for his own ship and crew.

“No, not exactly. You’ll find this a little more… fitting, as we are allowing it to count towards your Academy service hours.”

Ah, Haechan thinks. So it’s a job that no one wants to do.

“But sir,” Mark says quietly, “cadets don’t usually go on missions other than training ship related ones. We have not yet graduated from Starfleet Academy.” Haechan observes that he seems uncomfortable. It makes sense, Mark probably hasn’t ever been reprimanded for his actions by the Academy before.

“A good point,” Dr. Seo hums. “However, we have noted the proficiency you both possess in your respective areas of study. Mark, for your linguistic and biology skills, and Haechan, for your extensive knowledge of captaincy and your… creative… leadership skills.” (Haechan hears the unspoken ‘chaotic’ in this description of his abilities.) “Besides, it would be irresponsible of the academy to waste your skills spearing garbage on Psi Epsilon III.”

Dr. Seo tells them that they will be sent to Delta Vega ( uuuugh , Haechan thinks. That god-forsaken ice planet next to Vulcan? ). Lee Taeyong, captain of the USS Prometheus (NCT-71201) has business on a nearby planet, so Haechan and Mark will hitch a ride on the starship first, then fly to and from Delta Vega via shuttle. 

“You both have your basic shuttle pilot licenses, right?” Dr. Seo asks. Haechan and Mark nod. “It should be easy flying, you can depend on the navigation system to get you there.”

The mission is as follows: The Starfleet outpost on Delta Vega needs assistance in receiving a much-needed delivery of supplies and food. They need a translator, which Mark is qualified for. They also need someone to oversee and organize the interaction, which is the perfect opportunity for Haechan to practice his people-management skills. Usually, receiving a shipment wouldn’t need so much care and attention from Starfleet, but the supplies are coming from Vulcan for the first time. While it would be highly improbable that miscommunication would end in war with the Vulcans, Starfleet deems it important not to trod on any customs. 

The academy, of course, is aware that many Vulcans speak languages native to earth, but it never hurts to be extra prepared. Mark, a child of both Vulcan and Earth, is hypothetically the perfect linking factor for smooth communication. The inhabitants of the Delta Vega outpost are known for their genius scientific discoveries, environmental and technology wise, not for their accuracy in language.

“Now,” says Dr. Seo, fixing them both with a stern gaze. “You will have to rely on one another for success on this trip. I assume that your little... incident... will not be repeated, and that you have once again become the mature cadets I know you are.”

“Yes, Dr. Seo,” Mark says. Haechan repeats him, and Johnny beams at them, strict demeanor vanishing.

Miraculously, Haechan finds it within himself to turn his focus to Mark, meeting his eyes for the first time in two weeks. The two of them, while hesitant, share a firm and respectful nod. The interaction is cold, clinical; but coldness shouldn’t hinder the success of the assignment. There’s plenty of ice on the planet they’re headed to, after all.

Chapter Text

Mark zips up the jacket of his red cadet uniform, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. His eyes look wide, a little worried. He tries to neutralize his expression, but he brings his eyebrows down too far and looks childish. On Earth, one would probably use the word pouty . That won’t do. He sighs, running a hand through his hair in a last minute attempt to make it look neater. It’s messier than usual, which he blames on fretful sleep and his tendency to scrub a hand through his hair while concentrating.

He has been aboard the starship Prometheus for two days, precise to the minute, according to his communicator. He spent the last forty eight hours working on various assignments, notably his research paper for Hematology, in which he compared the blood cells and plasma proteins of pure Human and pure Vulcan blood to his own. He had hoped to better understand his own mixed heritage, as well as provide important information to the exobiology field, but he finds himself feeling even more like a misfit, not completely belonging to one world or the other.

While in the mess hall for meals, he keeps mostly to himself. He does, however, make some conversation with cadets who actually are there to fulfill their training ship requirement, unlike Mark and his… cohort. To his relief, they don’t mention the incident in tactical training, despite the fact that a few of them were in the room to witness it. This might be because of Renjun, Mark supposes, the smaller boy possessing the ability to threaten busybodies with nothing more than a well placed glare. Though Renjun seemed to think him unaware, Mark had observed him utilizing this particular ability more than usual over the last couple of weeks. Mark wishes that Renjun was with him, now, instead of lightdays away on Earth.

The chef in the mess hall is kind enough to make a few Vulcan dishes for Mark during his stay, even though Mark is able to live completely off of human food. This kindness helps Mark to relax, albeit marginally. Yesterday, as he tucked into his pok tar , he felt eyes on him, a prickling sensation on one side of his face. Looking up from his food, he had spotted Haechan, a few tables away, and met his eyes, a question in Mark’s gaze. Haechan stared back for a long second, before he had startled, looked away, and shoveled a bite of what appeared to be a purple omelette into his mouth. His face turned a subtle shade of red, which Mark interpreted as residual anger. He doesn’t blame him… Mark is prepared for Haechan to never forgive him for what he has done.

Other than a few wordless interactions such as this, Mark and Haechan stay in separate quarters as the starship makes its way to the Alpha Quadrant, the location of Captain Taeyong’s mission and theirs. They travel at warp speed nearly the whole time, distinctive by the flow of lights and colors observable outside all the windows. It’s as if they’re stuck traveling inside a particularly beautiful jet stream.

---

Mark walks silently beside Haechan down the corridor to the bridge, as they’ve almost reached their destination, and the Captain wishes to speak to them. It’s awkward; the only sounds are their footsteps and the occasional rustle of Haechan adjusting the travel bag over his shoulder. The turbolift ride is even more uncomfortable, and Mark finds himself tapping the toe of his boot on the floor in rapid succession due to his proximity to the other boy. His eyes scan the ceiling for no particular reason.

Captain Taeyong, as it turns out, is possibly the nicest Starfleet officer Mark has ever met. Barely have the words “permission to enter the bridge, sir,” left Mark’s mouth before the captain himself ushers the two cadets in, a wide smile on his (alarmingly) beautiful face.

“Cadet Mark, Cadet Haechan,” he chirps, “It’s nice to finally meet you. Johnny— um, Dr. Seo, that is, has told me a lot about you two.” 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Mark replies, his tone shyer than he would have liked. He blames it on his surprise to learn that the captain had not yet met Haechan, despite the cadet’s familial relationship to Dr. Seo.

“Great to meet you too, sir,” Haechan says, suddenly all charm. Mark feels disoriented by this change, taken aback by the beatific smile spreading across Haechan’s face. “I’m sincere when I say I’ve heard a lot about you too, from my cousin. All good things, of course,” he adds, his last statement hushed to a conspiratorial pseudo-whisper.

“Oh, well, that’s— that’s very kind of you to mention,” the captain says, a blush suddenly creeping up his neck. Mark wonders what could have caused this particular reaction; he is under the impression that Captain Taeyong and Haechan have every reason to be comfortable around each other, given their shared social circles.

Finding his composure once again, the captain inquires, “I trust you have been provided with everything you need for your trip to Delta Vega?”

“Yes, Captain,” Mark says.

“Good. I wanted to check in with you before you left, and wish you a safe assignment,” Taeyong says, now with a serious expression. “It is relatively low risk, but if anything goes awry, the outpost inhabitants should be able to help you. We will not be able to beam you aboard this ship from the distance of our own mission.”

“Yes, Captain.” Haechan’s gaze turns determined. “We are prepared.”

Captain Taeyong, turning away from them, seems satisfied with his answer. “Pilot Kim, prepare to take us out of warp.” 

Mark recognizes the pilot to be none other than Doyoung Kim, the creator of the brand new pilot training program now used at the Academy. Internally, he marvels at his proximity to living history.

“Disengaging warp,” the pilot says, pulling a lever towards himself. Mark feels a slight sensation of being pulled forwards, then, all at once, it stops, and the stars fix themselves to hang in space as definitive points. Through the big viewport at the front of the bridge, Mark can faintly see two planets, the bigger of the two he recognizes to be his home. One of his homes, anyway.  

“You may make your way to shuttlebay, cadets, and we will proceed once we receive confirmation of your takeoff.” Captain Taeyong smiles encouragingly at them.

---

Once again, Mark and Haechan walk in silence, the tapping of their boots echoing in shuttlebay, the vast hangar where smaller ships, shuttlecraft, and a few escape pods are kept. 

They arrive at their destination, a shuttle with the name Galileo printed in sturdy lettering on the side. Haechan presses a button to open the door with a smooth hiss, before gesturing for Mark to enter the shuttlecraft first. 

“Oh. Yes—Thank you, um, Cadet Lee,” Mark says, ducking slightly to climb up the ramp and enter the spacecraft. He shakes his head briefly, overly self conscious of his inability to construct his usually professional-sounding sentences around Haechan. 

Haechan boards the shuttle after him, shutting the door, and they both secure their packs in compartments on opposite sides of the small cabin. Mark has more than he would usually think to bring; the crew aboard the Prometheus provided them with heavy duty cold-weather clothing. He is grateful for this, as the icy conditions on Delta Vega differ greatly from both San Francisco and the planet of Vulcan, the latter of which averages 125 degrees Fahrenheit on a mild day. 

He notices Haechan settling into his seat, and Mark does the same, sliding into the bucket seat to his colleague’s right. Though they plan to utilize autopilot, they both sit in front of the helm anyways. Mark activates his seatbelt, and it unfolds with several metallic clinks to form a cross over his chest. Haechan flips a few switches located over their heads, which brings the shuttle to life, the engine starting and all interior lights coming online.

“Set course via autopilot for Starfleet outpost 3092,” Haechan says, flipping one last switch with a confidence that Mark admires. They seem to have wordlessly agreed that Haechan would operate their vessel, which Mark somehow finds relief in. It’s an obvious choice, given his more extensive experience in the flight simulation room and flying actual spacecraft. Mark is confident, in theory. However, though illogical, he becomes extremely nervous when thinking about his lack of real-life execution.

“ Setting course,” the computer says.

Haechan looks over to Mark, a peculiar look on his face that he can’t identify. 

“Are you ready, Mark?” His own name sounds soft, leaving Haechan’s mouth, and he realizes this is the first time he’s heard Haechan call him by his first name only. Mark, interpreting Haechan’s lack of sarcastic tone as a sign of respect, is confused. He doesn't understand why Haechan would respect him more after what happened.

“Yes, Cadet… Haechan,” Mark tries, wanting to meet Haechan where he stands. It’s only polite, he thinks, to match the manner one is addressed with. 

Haechan tilts his head, and one side of his mouth twitches in an expression that Mark, once again, cannot identify. 

“Proceed when ready.” Haechan turns his gaze forward to address the computer, leaving Mark to wonder what he’s thinking.

“ Disengaging shuttlecraft from starship Prometheus,” the computer says. 

---

The trip is going smoothly, nothing standing between their shuttlecraft and Delta Vega except for the empty vacuum of space. It only takes about half an hour to reach their destination, which Mark is grateful for. While he and Haechan seem to be in some sort of cease-fire, a truce, Mark would not want to sit in relative silence for much longer. He can’t imagine how Haechan feels, as he is well aware of his affinity for filling any silence with words. Mark wonders if he’s still in pain from the injury he caused. If he is, he has every right to loathe me, Mark thinks.  

“Approaching Delta Vega. Atmospheric entry in two minutes,” The level voice of the computer recites. Its calm tone does not match the feeling Mark has in the pit of his stomach.

This time, it’s Mark that turns to Haechan to check that he’s ready for the descent. Haechan looks back at him, and Mark can see the reflection of a few stars in his dark irises. They share a nod, marginally less awkward than the previous one in Dr. Seo’s office. Mark breaks their eye contact to tug on his seatbelt and make sure it’s secure. 

“Atmospheric entry in 10...9...8…” The computer counts down, and Mark watches in amazement as they hurtle towards the planet. 

Mark sees more than feels the moment they enter the atmosphere, the windows covered with a sheen of burning bright orange. It’s like being on the inside of a ball of fire and looking out. The pull of gravity is subtle, but very present; he’s aware of the G forces that now press a bit harder on his body, despite the artificial gravity in the shuttle. Then, the orange flames are gone, and the ship shifts its course so it’s no longer pointed, nose first, at the ground. 

Mark sees that it’s very dark on this side of the planet; the only light is the dim wash of silver from one the planet’s moons, and a few pinpricks of light in the distance he assumes belong to the Starfleet outpost.

Haechan seems to have made this deduction as well; he turns to Mark with an alarmed “It’s nighttime! They could have told us!”

Mark is aware of the increased risk of landing at night. However, there’s nothing they can do about it, and he wants to be a good colleague, so he attempts to reassure Haechan.

“The autopilot feature should land us directly in the outpost hangar,” Mark says, and, to his relief, Haechan does relax slightly in his seat.

That is, until their atmospheric readings go haywire.

There are no less than five emergency lights flashing, and Mark leans forward to check the weather radar and the readings on their instruments. 

“Cadet Lee, I seem to be picking up high winds… a storm system… possibly a tornado.” Mark tries to keep his voice level. He tries to ignore the panic clawing its way up his throat at the realization that they have no means of visually assessing the situation.

Mark notices something else on the readings. “Yes, it is a tornado. Wait, it’s an ice tornado?” Mark can’t control the panic that makes its way into his tone, this time.

“Great, just great,” Haechan grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let me check our trajectory, there’s no way for us to see where this thing is visually, because it’s freaking NIGHT TIME!” He swipes across the screen on the helm to show a different display. His face blanches.

“Mark… I think our trajectory is heading us straight towards the storm system.”

“Is there time for a reroute?” Mark asks. He doesn’t want to lose hope that they can make it out of the situation easily.

His answer comes in the form of an extreme tilt of the shuttle, the both of them straining against their seat belts. It’s too late; the strong winds have picked them up. Large chunks of hail smash loudly on the hull, the shuttle gradually shaking more and more. With each blow comes a stream of soft cursing from Mark’s left, where Haechan is frantically pushing buttons on the display. However, the conditions appear to just become worse; despite the poor visibility Mark is nearly certain they’re just spinning in wonky circles at this point.

“Autopilot unavailable due to unpredictable weather. Switching to manual mode only.”

“DAMN IT!” Haechan has just enough time to lunge towards the helm and grab the steering column. The shuttle dips, losing air, before Haechan rights them, overcorrecting, which makes both their seatbelts struggle to keep them seated. 

Haechan, to Mark’s terror, shuts his eyes and slams the steering column down as far as possible to accelerate. It seems to work, though, and the shuttle zooms out of the tornado with more speed than Mark deems strictly necessary.

Now that they’re out of the vortex, Mark can see in the dim moonlight that they’re way closer to the ground than he would have estimated. Haechan seems surprised at this as well, letting out a gasp as he swerves to avoid an outcropping of rock. 

They’re going too fast; the ship seems to have been damaged in the tornado. Haechan is stuck steering them around obstacles they can barely see in the glacier-filled terrain, despite the shuttle’s headlights. On one particular swerve, the bottom of the ship scrapes rock, and there’s a terrible, ear splitting sound of tearing metal. 

“Ventral plating damaged. Landing gear at 10% functionality.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?!” Haechan all but yells. He flips another switch, which is when Mark recognizes that he’s overriding the normal landing protocol that would lower the shuttle gently, given that they could reduce their speed.

“Cadet Lee,” Mark says, “it would be unwise to attempt to land manually—”

“I’m going to have to! Ten percent functionality? We could die!”

Mark concedes. They can’t rely on the damaged shuttlecraft system.

“Hang on to something!” Haechan shouts, and maneuvers them into what Mark can only describe as a nose dive. The whole shuttle rattles, rebounding once against the ground, and then they’re sliding on the ice and snow. Haechan pulls the emergency brake, but it can only do so much on the slippery surface. 

Mark feels the shuttle momentarily slow, tip over the crest of a hill, and then they’re sliding again, dangerously fast. The only thing visible through the windshield is the white snow illuminated by their headlights. Mark doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe.

With a resounding CRASH , the front of the shuttle ramming into a wall of white, they’re jerked forwards against their restraints, then slammed back against their seats. Then, a pause. All is still.

With a pitiful poof, the outdated shuttlecraft airbags belatedly go off.

The two cadets stare blankly out the window at the nose of the shuttle, which is now completely embedded in ice. They take a few shaky breaths each.

“See? Perfect landing,” Haechan says. It is not, by any definition of the word, perfect , Mark thinks. 

Instead, all Mark is able to muster is a squeaky “...yup…”

Haechan lets out a single laugh, a hysteric noise an octave higher than usual.

---

Mercifully, the shuttle is stuck in the ice only three miles away from the outpost, according to Haechan’s interactive map. They will have to walk, as the ship’s comms are too damaged to contact the outpost, and their personal communicators don’t have access to official Starfleet channels. 

“What’s the air like out there?” He asks Mark, banking on his assumption that he has done his research.

Mark doesn’t disappoint. “Approximately 78% nitrogen, 20% oxygen, very similar to Earth.”

“Good,” says Haechan, popping open the compartment with his belongings and beginning to suit up for the cold.

Mark does the same, albeit hesitantly— Haechan wonders what’s going through his mind.

The escape hatch is only partially covered in snow, whereas the regular door is completely encased by the glacier they crashed into, making the hatch the better option. Haechan twists the release valve, and attempts to kick it open with force, to no avail.

He asks Mark to join him, and with a ‘One, two, three,” BANG! they're able to pop the hatch open.

They start to trudge through the snow, fur-lined hoods pulled up and hands in pockets, when Haechan realizes three miles in this climate is entirely incomparable to his leisurely three mile jogs back home, on the coast of California. He wonders how Mark is doing, vaguely remembering something about the weather on Vulcan being hot.

Haechan’s thoughts are interrupted by a series of sharp cracking sounds coming from somewhere behind them. He turns around— he can’t see anything, but it’s dark, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He shrugs at Mark, who looks equally confused, and they both plod along once again. 

However, the cracking sounds come back, louder and closer, and alarm bells sound in the back of Haechan’s head. There’s a small avalanche to their left, the ice tumbling down in small chunks, and something— a creature— bursts out of the wall of snow with a deafening, metallic roar.

There’s no time to think. “RUN!” Mark shouts, though the two of them have already taken off.

The creature seems to lose its footing, so they initially gain ground. Quick glances back inform Haechan that this thing is huge, dashing at them on four— no, more than four— spindly legs, its terrifying mouth opening so wide it becomes a flat expanse of teeth.

“It’s a Hengrauggi!” Mark shouts, in between panting breaths.

“Like that fucking matters right now!” comes Haechan’s reply. If they weren’t about to die, he would have thought Mark’s consistent application of facts, no matter the situation, amusing.

The thing— Hengrauggi, whatever, is gaining ground, and Haechan knows they won’t be able to outrun it. They’ll have to think of something else. But WHAT? Haechan’s brain is starting to panic.

That’s when he sees it— a small opening, set in a slab of dark stone, instead of the blue-white ice all around them. It’s a gamble, but the only one they have. Haechan exhales.

“Over there!” He points Mark’s focus to what they both assume to be the entrance to a cave.

“Got it!” comes Mark’s reply. They run as long as possible in a straight line, then veer off path towards the hole. Mark slides into the cave first, Haechan second, and just in the nick of time. The creature foolishly tries to enter, its head slamming against the exterior of the cave. It roars in what sounds like frustration. This time, it tries to stick its head into the cave, but once again, the opening is too small. From inside, Mark and Haechan stare at the entrance, stock still, until the creature seems to give up. To their relief, it finally leaves.

---

Once they’re relatively sure of their safety, Mark produces his flashlight from his bag and shines it around the cave. It’s beautiful, really, natural columns of dark, smooth stone, the high ceiling filled in with blue ice in some places. 

Haechan, next to him, slumps to the ground with an exhale. To Mark’s alarm, he starts laughing. It’s a full-bodied laugh, loud, one that has Haechan clutching his own abdomen. Mark worries for a moment that Haechan is in a mentally altered state from the crash.

Concerned, he asks, “Cadet Lee… I mean, Haechan… did you happen to hit your head at any point?” Oh, no, did he hit his jaw again? Is anything broken? ! 

“No, no—” Haechan hiccups once, wiping a stray mirthful tear with his sleeve. “It's just… it would have been nice to be warned about freaking ice tornadoes … or, I don’t know, bloodthirsty creatures that want to eat us?!”

Oh. Mark is relieved. He allows one side of his mouth to form into a smile, head tilting to the side as he looks down at Haechan. The cadet meets his eyes, and continues to occasionally giggle, his laugh attack fading considerably slower than it began.

It’s just two more hours until sunrise, so Mark and Haechan collectively decide to wait until there’s sunlight to proceed to the outpost. That way, if the creature comes back, they can at least see it coming from farther away. The creepy noises followed by absolute surprise the first time do not need to be repeated, they both agree. Besides, it's entirely plausible that the creature only hunts at night.

Half an hour into their wait, which they fill with going over assignment details for the following day, Mark finds himself shivering. It’s more than the slight tremors of a chilly morning on Earth. It’s something that wracks through his whole body, starting as an unpleasant and uncontrollable shaking in the muscles of his abdomen. His teeth click together a handful of times, and that’s when Haechan looks at him, brows furrowed.

“Mark, are you alright?”

“I’m— I’m f-f-fine,” Mark grits out.

“You don’t sound fine... If I remember right, isn’t Vulcan a lot hotter than Earth? Aren’t you at higher risk for hypothermia?” Haechan sounds more concerned by the second.

Mark is too cold to answer. He slides down the wall of the cave so he can lay on the floor, curling his knees into his chest to try to conserve body heat. 

“Oh— Mark!” He hears Haechan’s exclamation above the chattering of his own teeth. 

Haechan kneels down beside him, hands fluttering inches from Mark as if he’s not sure what to do. “Can...can I try to help you?”

Mark just nods, feeling the cold seep into him even more.

He lets Haechan sit him back up, and is slightly startled to find him leaning further into his space. Haechan starts by tugging the hood of Mark’s parka, which has slipped down, back onto his head.

“You could at least have closed your jacket all the way,” Haechan says, pulling the zipper, previously at Mark’s sternum, to fit snugly under his chin. He then rubs his gloved hands quickly up and down Mark’s arms, trying to produce heat through friction.

Mark’s shivers, while still terrible, subside minutely. 

“Yes, you were c-correct,” Mark says, conscious of how pitiful he thinks his own voice sounds. Ugh. He continues, “The average t-temperature on Vulcan is around 125 degrees f-fahrenheit. Because I’m half h-human, I feel completely fine at the location of St-Starfleet Academy.”

Haechan hums, a soothing sound that Mark interprets as... empathy? Interesting. Mark gets distracted by Haechan’s hands, no longer moving, now grasping the sleeves of his coat gently as he listens to Mark’s words.

“My body t-temperature, as a half-Vulcan, is actually lower than that of humans. It has s-something to do with the planet’s p-proximity to the sun… heat is provided by o-our desert-like climate…” Mark lamely trails off.

“Hmm,” Haechan appears to be contemplating something. “You don’t seem to be getting any warmer. I have an idea, but… I don’t know if it’s okay with you.”

Mark is so cold, his liver might be frozen. Any solution is a good solution, he thinks.

“Go ahead,” Mark says, “I trust you.” This comes as news to the both of them, as Haechan’s eyes slightly widen, and Mark is taken aback by his own words.

Mark is confused to observe Haechan as he stands up, finding a seat again with his back against the wall of stone, right next to Mark. He extends his legs, straight out in front of him, into a v-shape, before patting the floor between his knees.

Oh, Mark thinks. He’s a little unsure, but he moves to take a seat where Haechan wants him to.

He sits stiffly, back straight, and feels Haechan huff a laugh behind his back.

“No, you weirdo, lean back! I won’t be able to help you like that.” Mark would usually take offense with the insult, but he lets it slide at Haechan’s surprisingly cheery tone. 

Mark follows his order, leaning his back gingerly against Haechan’s chest. It’s not too awkward, he supposes, the combined padding of their parkas making it not very obvious that he’s even leaning on another person. He already feels more comfortable, as the surface behind his back is no longer the frigid stone seeping cold into his bones.

“There we go.” Haechan sounds a little...anxious, Mark deduces. It’s probably the combined stress of all the events that happened in the last hour. “Okay, now,” he continues, “let me know if this isn’t cool with you, but I think it could work.”

Mark doesn’t know what Haechan could have possibly planned, but at this point he’s (mostly) sure that he doesn't have malicious intent, so he nods. When Haechan moves to pull his own gloves off and stuff them in his pocket, then rubs his hands together a couple times, Mark is not so much hesitant as he is curious.

“I promise i’m not trying to feel you up... but, do i have permission to put my hands on your skin?” Haechan mumbles the second part, rapidly, as if he’s embarrassed. Curious. Mark didn’t think that he felt shame, pretty much ever.

“Yeah, that’s f-fine”. Mark isn’t about to scoff at a solution when he’s still shivering this intensely.

Haechan fiddles at the bottom hem of Mark’s parka, then reaches under his shirt. To Mark’s relief, he finds Haechan is trying his best not to let any cold air in. 

It’s a bit of a shock, Haechan’s warm palm sliding up to rest at the place where Mark’s ribs meet. He splays his fingers, his thumb pressing against Mark’s sternum. He shifts Mark forwards, off his chest just the smallest bit, to do the same thing to Mark’s back. Heat permeates his skin, from Haechan’s hand pressed squarely in the center. Mark wills himself to relax into Haechan’s hands, a feat, given his unfamiliarity of skin-to-skin contact. He tries not to think about it too much. It’s an emergency situation; there is no room to care about social discomfort. 

“How is... how’s that?” Haechan sounds kinda… weird. Mark hopes this isn’t too morally excruciating for Haechan… he’s helping the guy that punched him in the face, in class , no less.

“It’s good,” Mark says, cautiously. “Working, I think,” which proves to be right— his teeth have stopped clicking together rapidly on every exhale.

It’s more than good, really, it’s absolutely heavenly, particularly in contrast with the slow terror of freezing to death. Mark feels the center of his body melting, like a sugar cube dissolving in Vulcan plomeek tea. From just the two handprints of contact, he feels himself thaw a little. It makes sense; Haechan has chosen to place his hands over the location of some of Mark’s most vital organs.

His survival tactics are exceptional, Mark thinks, making a mental note to put it in his mission report. That might be silly, though… maybe his brain is having trouble because his eyelids are drooping… chin dropping slightly to his chest… so…. sleepy…

“Mark,” comes Haechan’s voice, very close to his ear, effectively snapping Mark out of his struggle against sleep.

“Mm?”

“What you told me about Vulcans… you’re technically colder-blooded than humans, right?”

“...Yes?” Mark doesn’t know where he’s going with this.

“So… you’re basically a lizard?”

Mark rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his head.

Chapter Text

“Should we...knock or something?”

“Yeah. You do it.” 

“Why should I— ugh—” Mark scrubs a hand through his hair before approaching the vast metal door and knocking, loudly.

It’s a bit after sunrise, and they’ve made it to the outpost in one piece. An hour prior, light had filtered into the cave, reflecting off stone with rose-gold resplendence. For Haechan, the start of the day was accompanied by shyness, which hit him like a meteor as the sun illuminated the rather intimate sight of his own hands, disappearing under Mark’s clothing to press directly onto Mark’s skin. Mark, warm and asleep in Haechan’s arms, breathed evenly, his professionally self-conscious demeanor gone in slumber. His head had even tilted backwards to rest, weighty, on Haechan’s shoulder. He was so peaceful in sleep, the only movement the smooth rise and fall of his ribcage between Haechan’s hands.

Haechan had hated to wake him. He was entirely unsure of whether it was because Mark looked so peaceful, or because he dreaded the increase of his shyness that would come with Mark’s awareness returning to his body. Haechan momentarily cringed at his unreadable and complex thoughts.

Come on, Haechan reprimanded himself , just wake him up. For a moment, he just sat there, not daring to breathe, lest he burst the silent bubble, though it was now slowly filling in with sunlight. He felt as if one more ray of gold could burst the bubble, however, which is what got him moving. He slid his hands out of Mark’s clothing, tugging the hem of his soft undershirt back into place under his uniform and parka. He held the back of Mark’s head with one hand, before leaning his own upper body away. He figured Mark would startle upon waking at how close their faces had been, considering his hesitant reaction towards physical touch in the first place. 

Haechan was in no way prepared for the way Mark blinked awake, slowly, inky eyes unguarded as they focused on the light hitting the far cave wall.

Clickclickclickclick CLUNK. Haechan is snapped out of his reverie by the metal exterior door of the outpost unlocking and opening, and a kid with alarmingly bright green hair sticking his head out. Well, not a child , Haechan thinks, he looks, what, seventeen?

“What’s up?” the boy says, rather nonchalantly. This seems to take Mark by surprise, judging by his hilariously shocked expression, and Haechan assumes he (reasonably) expected a more professional reception at an official Starfleet outpost.

Haechan snorts once and turns to the kid. “We’re here from the starship Prometheus? Captain Taeyong sent us?” He is relatively sure that he won’t know what he is talking about.

To his utter astonishment, the green haired boy nods, and with an “Oh! Right! Come on in,” he ushers Mark and Haechan inside. The wide hallway they enter into is almost green under the occasionally flickering fluorescent lights. The boy shuts the door behind them with another clunking noise, which echoes almost endlessly down the narrow passage. 

“I’m Chenle, by the way,” he says, chirpy, then starts walking down the hallway. “You can follow me.”

Mark and Haechan introduce themselves, respectively. Chenle nods like he already knows.

“Where in the heck is your ship?” Chenle asks, in a way that Haechan thinks is a tad too confident for someone who is probably not even an adult yet.

“It’s stuck in the glacier a few miles back,” Haechan says, going for an unbothered tone but still coming across vaguely worried.

“Oh,” says Chenle, “I’m surprised you’re in one piece, then. Although it would have been worse if you got here at night. That’s when the Hengrauggi come out.”

Haechan laughs, a slightly panicked sound that starts as a yelp and ends in a cough. Chenle looks at him, tilting his head and slightly narrowing his eyes in confusion.

Mark quickly steps in, to Haechan’s relief. “We arrived when it was dark, yes. We may have encountered one of the creatures along the way.”

“You WHAT?! And you’re still ALIVE?” Chenle all but yells. Haechan is starting to get the feeling that this is the boy’s default volume.

“Yes, well…” Mark fades out, nodding his head awkwardly as if equally surprised at his own state of alive-ness.

Then Chenle starts to speak rapidly, “That’s crazy, JaehyunsaidthatTaeyongsaidthatJohnnysaidthat you guys were gutsy but I didn’t think it was THAT much, jeez!”

“Wait. You know my cousin?” And he calls him Johnny?! Haechan is floored. This day couldn’t get weirder if it tried.

Chenle doesn’t answer, as they have reached an intersection, almost bumping into another person coming from the adjacent hallway. Haechan is momentarily alarmed, which fades quickly once Chenle starts an elaborate handshake routine with the person, who turns out to be a tall, lanky boy. 

“Yo, Jisung!”

“Yo, Chenle!” Jisung, apparently, says, albeit much quieter than Chenle.

They finish hand-slapping and end their ritual with a shockingly loud chest bump. Chenle introduces Mark and Haechan to him, and Jisung’s eyes widen like he knows who they are too. Huh.

Chenle, now chatting rapidly with Jisung (though it seems to be rather one-sided), leads the way to what seems to be an old hangar. Instead of being a vast empty space save for ships and other spacecraft, it is completely full of random parts, tools, and piles of well, stuff, and Haechan isn’t sure what eighty percent of it is. Chenle and Jisung weave rapidly through the chaos, and Haechan bumps shoulders with Mark more than once in confusion as they try to keep up. They finally stop in front of what appears to be the severed front half of a very small ship, and Chenle bangs on the side of it.

There’s commotion in the partial ship as a man startles, hitting his head on the bottom of a pilot’s station then emerging out from under it. “Chenle, what have I told you about—” He cuts off abruptly when he sees Haechan and Mark, replacing his small scowl with a bright grin. He has smears of black grease on his shirt, and a matching one on his (annoyingly) perfect alabaster cheek, right above a dimple.

“Haechan! Mark! I’m so glad you made it.” At their mildly bewildered expressions, he adds, “I’m Jaehyun. I’m temporarily in charge around here; I requested to have a translator sent. Not strictly necessary, no, but any excuse to see more people…” Jaehyun trails off, and it’s only then that Haechan realizes he’s trying to make a joke. He lets off a giggle, belatedly, at Jaehyun’s kind yet disorganized demeanor. 

“And you! ” Jaehyun gestures to Haechan, who is yet again slightly taken aback. “You look exactly like Johnny described. A bit older, though, he does have the tendency to coo over you like a baby brother.”

Oh. This is Jaehyun Jaehyun . As in, Lieutenant Commander Jung Jaehyun. Inventor of more than a few advanced warp equations, best engineer in the field, and of course, one of Johnny’s best friends and classmates from his time at Starfleet Academy. What is he doing here, then? Haechan is thoroughly confused. And sulky, really. Couldn’t Johnny have warned him he was going to meet nearly every friend he’s ever mentioned in the span of a couple days? It’s annoying, really, how many Starfleet legends his cousin is friends with.

Haechan figures transparency is best, particularly in front of Johnny’s closest friends. “Oh, you’re that Jaehyun! I’m sorry, I actually didn’t recognize you. Johnny didn’t exactly tell us we’d see you. And I didn’t expect you to be...” He trails off, hoping Jaehyun catches his drift.

Jaehyun laughs, in a way that reminds Haechan of his dad. Uncanny, really.

“How did I end up here, you mean?” Jaehyun has a teasing glint in his eye.

“I was wondering that too, sir,” Mark chimes in. “I would expect someone of your abilities to be somewhere other than a nearly deserted outpost.” His ears suddenly color, and he hastily adds “With respect, sir.”

“Of course, Mark! No need to call me sir, though.” Jaehyun seems wildly casual in comparison to Taeyong and Doyoung on the bridge of the Prometheus, and it gives Haechan whiplash. 

“I’m on volunteer rotation,” he continues, “so I can mentor young and gifted engineers.” 

There’s snickering from Haechan’s left, in the form of Chenle and Jisung. “He called us gifted,” Chenle attempts to whisper, but everyone hears it.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes, but his smile stays firmly planted on his face. “These are my babies.”

Chenle and Jisung squawk at the infantilization.

---

In contrast to the rough landing, their responsibilities go without a hitch. Mark is relieved that he doesn’t personally know any of the Vulcans who delivered the supplies. He doesn’t know what he expected— to run into an old classmate? There’s literally billions of people on Vulcan. Mark was definitely necessary for the transaction, which he was relieved to find. The Vulcans didn’t speak English, Korean, or Klingon, currently the only languages spoken at the outpost. 

Haechan had handled his job beautifully (though Mark avoids praising him at all; he definitely doesn’t need it), succinctly giving instructions through Mark with a tone of respect that the Vulcans appreciated greatly. His organization for the unloading of supplies was perfect, despite what Mark has decided to call Haechan’s everyday chaos in every other area of his life.

Mark and Haechan brave the incredibly long hallway to make their way back to Jaehyun and his workshop (which, in Mark’s opinion, can be more properly defined as a junkyard). They’re still responsible for flying themselves back to the main ship within the next twenty-four hours, and for all Mark can tell their shuttle is destroyed.

Jaehyun, thankfully, appears to conjure up a plan immediately when Haechan explains the situation to him. He almost seems excited, really, and Mark wonders what they’ve gotten themselves into. 

“Let’s power up the tractor beam, boys!” Jaehyun exclaims.

“Woohoo!” Chenle and Jisung’s voices carry from the other side of the hangar.

Mark’s gut reaction is to look at Haechan with an apprehensive look on his face. He finds his expression to be mirrored, and allows a laugh to escape as Haechan breaks into his full-bodied cackle.

---

The tractor beam, to Mark’s alarm, is exactly what it sounds like. The outpost currently doesn’t have advanced beaming capabilities, so Jaehyun and the kids’ plan involves manually grabbing their shuttle via tractor beam from three miles away. 

“Incoming!” Jaehyun shouts, rapidly pushing buttons on a handheld machine, his face about three inches from some sort of radar displayed on the screen in front of him. “Open the door now, Jisung!”

A large panel on the far wall of the hangar slides open with a terrible screeching sound. 

“Three… two... one…” Jaehyun’s countdown makes Mark’s heart speed up. Is this safe?

Their shuttle comes careening in, suspended in a beam of bright blue light. It lightly clips the wall on the way in, and Jaehyun’s only acknowledgement of this is a mumbled, “whoops”. Thankfully, though rocky, the shuttle skids into an empty space that Jaehyun had cleared for it. Mark exhales, previously unaware he had been holding his breath. He hears Haechan, next to him, do the same. The shuttle looks absolutely trashed, yes, but that worry is diminished because of their proximity to Jung Jaehyun— Mark knows that he is the best in his field, though his demeanor and manner of completing tasks is entirely unexpected.  

Jaehyun and his students (charges? kids?) are able to return the shuttle to a flyable state in record time. The only way to fix the bottom of the shuttle is to patch the ventral plating, which isn’t ideal, but will suffice for landing on a starship— it’s much more straightforward than landing on the surface of a planet. The internal computers, particularly autopilot and some navigation features, are completely without function, however, and Jaehyun resorts to some...experimental...ways of getting around that. 

Most of the afternoon is spent watching Jaehyun opening all control panels in the ship, creating an entirely different (and more complex) wiring system to function as a complete manual override. When Mark asks him how he thought of partially using the wiring design of shuttles a century prior, Jaehyun just shrugs and grabs another flight control console he has lying around and drags it aboard the shuttle. 

At one point, Haechan comes back from the outpost kitchen with Chenle and Jisung, the three of them giggling while trying to hold onto multiple dishes of food. Chenle all but forces Jaehyun to take at least a piece of toast, which Jaehyun munches on while staring at his work, unoccupied hand on his hip. 

“So,” Jaehyun says, casually addressing the group as they eat. “This thing is gonna take three or four people to fly it.”

What? Worries fill Mark’s thoughts as fast as lightning. 

“Luckily,” Jaehyun continues, “The three of us are just a week or two away from when we planned to return to Earth, anyways.” He gestures to himself, Chenle, and Jisung, with his toast, and a few stray crumbs fly.

“We get to go already!?”

“And onto the Prometheus?”

“We can see Mom!”

“I’m gonna pack.”

“Don’t you dare bring that creepy teddy bear we found in the closet, Chenle!”

Jisung and Chenle speak over one another rapidly, but all it takes to quiet them is Jaehyun clearing his throat.

“Yes, the both of you need to pack. I expect you back in twenty minutes; I know you don’t have many belongings here.” Jisung and Chenle start to scramble away, but Jaehyun stops them. “And boys?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t call Captain Taeyong ‘Mom’ when you see him. I’d never live down the embarrassment.”

Before Mark can process it, they’ve run out of the hangar. Once again, Mark and Haechan are at a loss for words.

“Oh, right!” Jaehyun appears to once again register their presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t keep you two in the loop.”

“That’s alright, sir,” Mark says, hesitantly, still not sure what the ‘loop’ even is.

“Yes," Haechan agrees, "We would have been stranded without you."

“Two resourceful cadets like yourselves?” Jaehyun has that twinkle in his eye again. “Nah, I think you would have been just fine.”

Jaehyun goes on to explain that Chenle and Jisung have been selected to start early at Starfleet Academy, an honor Mark didn’t think possible. However, they’re both nearly eighteen, anyways, and though it’s still only mid-October, it will be good for them to have time to re-acclimate to Earth before they start classes in January. Starfleet has already granted them permission to move into the dorms whenever they’re ready, and Jaehyun doesn’t think it will be a problem for them all to hitch a ride on the Prometheus. 

---

Flying the reconstructed Galileo is an interesting experience, to say the least. Jaehyun has to call out every command that they need for flying, most of which would usually be automatically accomplished by the computer. Haechan has the controller for thrusters, Jaehyun for steering, Chenle’s busy accounting for gravitational changes, and Jisung is constantly checking and adjusting stabilizers and life support systems. Though the initial takeoff is akin to a toddler’s steps, jolting and unpredictable, the systems are stable and they’re able to make it past the atmosphere and into space safely. 

Haechan turns his head over his shoulder to look at Mark, who is sitting on the bench-like passenger seating, his back to one of the side walls of the cabin. He’s less nervous now, it seems, no longer gripping his seatbelt with his hands, knuckles white with the pressure, as he did when Haechan checked on him immediately before takeoff. He understands why Mark is worried, though there isn’t much reason to be. Jaehyun wouldn’t put their lives in danger; Haechan knows he’s sure the shuttle is capable of making it back to the Prometheus. Nonetheless, earlier, as Haechan boarded the shuttle to find his own seat, he had tugged on Mark’s safety restraints just once, to make sure he was secure. 

---

“Permission to board this ship, Captain?” Jaehyun says, a beatific smile on his face as the turbolift door slides open to reveal the bridge.

All occupants of the bridge start to chatter with delight.

“Jaehyun!” Taeyong strides over, elated disbelief in his eyes as he catches the engineer in a tight squeeze. “I wasn’t expecting to see you for a month!”

“Well, something came up. Had to help some brilliant cadets leave our lovely Delta Vega,” Jaehyun says, patting Haechan twice on the shoulder.

Taeyong’s expression becomes concerned, and he turns to address Haechan and Mark. “I knew it was dangerous, you should never have been given that assignment without a backup plan.”

“They’re here in one piece, Taeyong, I think Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Taeyong nods with a resigned sigh. “I know, Jaehyun. They just seem so young.”

Jaehyun almost vibrates with excitement. “Speaking of young,” he says, coaxing Jisung and Chenle out from behind him, one arm around each of their shoulders. 

Taeyong gasps and clutches at his heart. Haechan is starting to understand why the kids had called him ‘Mom’.

“You’re both so tall now, I almost didn’t recognize you! What has it been, two years?” Taeyong pinches Jisung’s cheek. “All grown up, I suppose, and starting at the Academy soon?”

“Yes, Captain!” Chenle says, volume dialed up to eleven. 

Jaehyun and Taeyong beam. Haechan can hardly hold in his giggles at the boy’s excitement, as his sheer volume seems to have startled Kim Doyoung, previously sitting in silence at the pilot’s station, into flinching like a cat. Next to him, Mark lets out a little cough of amusement.

---

Haechan, back in his dorm with a blanket pulled up under his chin, wants to sleep for a week. He hasn’t even emptied his small duffel bag yet.

Instead, Jaemin and Jeno, returning from the Medical Botany course they’re both in, swing the door open swiftly, and immediately jump on Haechan over his covers. 

“ Hngff — get off,” Haechan tries, but the two imbeciles just snuggle into him more aggressively. 

“I’m so glad you’re baaaack, ” Jaemin faux cries.

“How was it?” Jeno lightly pokes Haechan in the ribs.

“Did you get alone time with Mark? ” Jaemin seems to take the way Haechan pulls his blanket over his face, feigning suffocation, as an answer.

“You did! You did. Details, please!”

Haechan frantically claws the blanket off of his face, spitting a corner of it out of his mouth. “Why do you assume that I want to be alone with Mark Lee?” He whines, kicking his feet under the covers.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You loathe him, right. I forgot. ” Haechan doesn’t appreciate his sarcastic tone, but he does appreciate that he stops teasing. For the moment.

“We’re sorry, Haechan,” Jeno says, even though he did nothing wrong. “We just want to hear about how it went.”

Haechan, already feeling his melodramatic story-telling skills kick in, scoots up his bed to sit upright.  He starts from the moment they met Captain Taeyong, explaining the crash landing on the planet at night, the close encounter with the Hengrauggi, and the insane reconstruction and flight of the Galileo shuttle back to the starship Prometheus.

Jaemin and Jeno’s audience participation is exceptional, letting out gasps and other exclamations at precisely the right times. If Haechan leaves out the events in the cave, well… no one has to know.

The next time Haechan sees Mark is in their Tamarian Language course, and the half-Vulcan catches his eyes as he drops his bookbag in front of his seat. They exchange a nod, this time with no coolness to be found between them. Belatedly, after he sits down, Haechan realizes he’s smiling, just a little.

---

Mark is in the grassy center of campus with Renjun, under a tree. They’re here under the guise of studying, which quickly gets abandoned in favor of watching a few leaves fall in the golden sunlight of a late-October afternoon. 

A week before, upon his return, Mark had been shocked to realize that entering his shared dorm room with Renjun felt like home. He never thought Earth would truly feel like home, though he can understand that traveling lightdays through space and nearly getting trapped on a planet with a hostile climate would put one’s priorities in order. 

Mark feels content, lying on a picnic blanket next to Renjun and staring up at the sky. His hands are behind his head as a makeshift pillow. 

“Mark!” A familiar voice calls. It’s loud, high, and Mark can’t immediately place it.

That is, until Chenle strides up to them, Jisung in tow. Mark sits up, Renjun quickly following his action.

“Oh, hi Chenle… and Jisung,” Mark says, smoothing down the back of his hair.

“We’ve been looking for you for days,” Jisung says. Chenle elbows him in the ribs. 

“He means, what a coincidence, meeting you here!” Mark doesn’t know what to say to this, so he says nothing.

Renjun, next to Mark, just tilts his head and watches with an amused smile.

Mark finds his voice again. “Jisung, Chenle, this is my friend, Renjun.”

Renjun and the kids exchange greetings. Mark explains that these are the students he met on Delta Vega, that were under Lieutenant Commander Jung’s tutelage, and they’re here to start classes in January. 

“Mark is so cool,” Chenle says to Renjun, “he knows so many languages!”

“Him and Haechan work really well together,” Jisung adds. “No wonder they’re friends! I’m glad they got to do a mission together. I’ve always wanted to do a mission with Chenle.”

Renjun snorts, then plays it off at the confused glances he gets from the kids.

“It’s nice to meet you! If you have any questions about any of the Xenoarchaeology courses, let me know. Although, it sounds like you’ll mainly be in Engineering.” Renjun’s tone is cheery, kind, and Mark can see Jisung and Chenle’s eyes brighten immediately. Mark is sure they've immediately taken a liking to Renjun. 

“Will do! Thank you. See you around! Maybe we can all hang out with Haechan!” Chenle says, then grabs Jisung around the shoulders and they waltz off.

Immediately, Renjun turns to Mark with an eyebrow raised. “What lovely… friends you’ve made, Mark,” and oh no, Mark recognizes his playful tone. “Funny, though— they seem to have been left with the impression that your biggest rival is your best friend.”

“I—” Mark scrambles to explain. “I was only being professional,” he says, quietly. “What was I supposed to do, argue with him on a mission?”

“Mark, I think it’s more than that.” Renjun’s tone has turned gentle in the face of Mark’s self-consciousness. “Plus, why do you need to prove to me that Haechan is your enemy? I would think you would deem that sort of rivalry illogical.”

Mark is no longer sure about his thoughts on Haechan, but he takes a stab anyways. “It may be true that I have become… less… contentious towards him, ever since the tactical training incident.”

“I’d say.” Renjun’s smile is sweet, comforting. “You don’t have to answer, but, did anything… happen with him on Delta Vega?”

“I am not sure of what you are inquiring about,” Mark says, and he can feel his cheeks betray him. He knows exactly what Renjun is asking. He’ll tell Renjun, sometime, once he can process it himself.

Chapter Text

Haechan aggressively crosses out a class that Chenle has listed in his potential course schedule for January, before handing the tablet back to him. 

“What was that for?” Chenle asks, pouting as he leans into Jisung, who is on the couch next to him. 

“You do not want Professor O’Brien your first semester, trust me,” Haechan replies. Jeno and Jaemin hum in assent from their place on the floor, their backs against a different couch and legs tucked under a coffee table covered with papers.

The group is in one of the spacious lounges in the top floor of the Language building, two windows cracked to let in the late-Autumn breeze. It has become a regular occurrence over the last few weeks: Chenle and Jisung join Haechan and his friends while they chat, do homework, and study. Surprisingly, the two new kids have been busy; they have to turn in quite a few reports and papers cataloguing their time learning from Jaehyun at the Delta Vega outpost. 

Jeno types out the last sentence of a report, before switching off his holo-keyboard and closing his tablet with a click. He leans his head on Jaemin’s shoulder and sighs. One by one, the rest of the group stops typing, as dinnertime is approaching and their empty stomachs have distracted them from concentrating. 

Haechan finds himself making eye contact with Chenle, who is now sporting an alarmingly mischievous look on his face. 

“I overheard something in the dining hall the other day,” Chenle says, which effectively gets everyone’s attention. Jeno even lifts his head from Jaemin’s shoulder, and Jisung stops playing whatever mind-numbing game he has pulled up on his screen. The group has no shortage of an interest in gossip, though Haechan likes to think of himself as a classy busybody, not a common blabbermouth.

“Which is?” Jaemin asks, when Chenle shows no signs of continuing.

“I can’t believe you deceived us, Haechan…” Chenle’s eyes are full of mirth. Haechan has no idea what he’s talking about, but he has done his fair share of tricks during his time at the Academy, so his pulse speeds anyway.

“Jeez, Chenle, just tell us!” Jisung chimes in. 

Chenle, apparently satisfied with the level of interest, nods and rubs his hands together. “It has come to my attention that Mark, apparently, is Haechan’s greatest nemesis.”

Jisung laughs. “Very funny, Chenle, as if you could fool us into thinking that. Haechan’s right here, you think he’s going to let us think that about his good friend?”

This time, it’s Jeno and Jaemin that start to cackle. Through laughter, Jaemin wheezes, “No— Jisung, honey— I’m so sorry— haHAhaha— It’s kinda true—”

“What?!” Jisung says, alarmed. “But how?”

Jaemin and Jeno can’t seem to stop laughing. Haechan covers his face with his hands and groans. He doesn't understand why his personal affairs are so hilarious to his so-called ‘friends’. He supposes he should explain, though, because Jisung’s shocked expression isn’t going to go away anytime soon.

Haechan lifts his face from his hands. “It’s a long story, Jisung. But most of campus knows that we don’t get along.”

Jisung’s face falls. “Oh… so that’s why Renjun keeps saying ‘later’ with a weird smile, whenever I ask if we can hang out, the seven of us?”

“You’ve been asking him WHAT?!” Jeno and Jaemin, having barely recovered from their first laugh attack, launch into a new one. 

This time, it’s Chenle that looks solemn. “Oh, I kind of thought it might be a joke too. Did he really break your jaw, too?” Ack. So the stories were still circulating on campus.

Poor Jisung looks like he might cry.

“Yes,” Haechan says, scrambling to do some damage control. “But it was an accident, really. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt me, and plus, it was literally in tactical training.” Jisung and Chenle look marginally less traumatized, which Haechan considers a win. He glares at Jeno and Jaemin, who finally stop laughing.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” Jeno hiccups, then reaches up to ruffle Jisung’s hair. “I just don’t understand how you’ve hung out with both of our little groups for weeks and it’s never come up.”

“No wonder Mark’s face gets all weird whenever we bring up Haechan,” Chenle says.

Jaemin seems to take an alarming amount of interest in this. “Weird… how?” He asks Chenle.

Jisung answers for him. “Well, his cheeks and ears go a little green and he looks like he might explode, is that what you’re talking about, Chenle?”

Now, it's Haechan’s turn to blush. He doesn’t understand why Mark and himself are so reactive to each other, but he can’t deny it’s a thing that happens.

---

At first, Mark thinks he’s hallucinating when he spots Renjun tucked into the back corner of the campus coffee shop with none other than Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno. When he rubs his eyes, blinks back into focus, and realizes they’re still there, his immediate reaction is to hide behind the large plant at the entrance and peer around it. The sight of the three cadets, though innocuous to any other onlooker, leaves Mark confused and alarmed. 

He sees Jaemin lean his elbows against the small table and angle himself towards Renjun, in order to say something to him in a conspiratorial manner. He tilts his head, a playful expression on his face. Renjun relaxes in his chair, crossing his arms and throwing his head back to laugh. Jeno, charming eye smile at full blast, adds something that makes the three of them nearly fall out of their seats. 

Later, Mark asks Renjun if he knows Jeno and Jaemin. Renjun just nods. 

“Um...” Mark doesn’t know why he’s hesitant, but he is. “Why were you together in the coffee shop?” He mumbles.

Renjun looks at Mark with a glimmer in his eye and simply says, “Group project.”

Mark doesn’t think Renjun has any classes with Jeno or Jaemin this semester. He could be wrong, though, so he tries to brush it off.

---

For the first time, Haechan is in Johnny’s office for something other than a punishment. ( Dr. Seo! His own brain yells at him, which he ignores. It’s getting harder to call him by his professional name when Haechan is slowly becoming more familiar with his colleagues who treat him like family.)

Mark is there, too, which doesn’t come as a surprise to either of them, by this point.

Johnny has called them in to congratulate them on their success in working together for the Delta Vega outpost, apparently, which Haechan sees as a positive development.

Of course, that’s before Johnny announces that the Academy thought they did such a great job, considering the circumstances, that they’ll be working together on more small missions. 

If Haechan wasn’t so taken aback, he would have groaned. The universe is playing some big, cosmic joke on him, for him to constantly be put in situations with pretty much the only student on campus that he’s uncomfortable around. 

It’s a shorter mission this time, for which Haechan is grateful. The week that it took to make it to the Alpha Quadrant, execute the mission on Delta Vega, then fly back to Earth on the Prometheus resulted in no less than nine missed class periods, one missed test, and a mountain of make-up work. 

Mark takes notes on his tablet as Johnny explains that they’ll be flying to Nibiru, a Class M planet, in a couple of days. It’s a planet early in its development, and the indigenous lifeforms who live there have limited technology. Because of this, they have no idea that the volcano, central to their civilization, is about to erupt and wipe out nearly the entire population. This is where Starfleet comes in. If they can neutralize the volcano, undetected by the lifeforms, they will be successful in saving an entire race without interfering with their course of development. 

After the meeting, Haechan and Mark make their way out of the building together. They have the same destination, the year four dorms, and Haechan doesn’t think it would be polite to weirdly slow down or speed up to spare Mark from having to walk next to him the whole time.

He chances a glance over at Mark, who is already looking back at him.

“Are you ready for another mission?” Haechan asks. 

“I suppose,” Mark muses, “though I can’t say I want a repeat of the last one.” 

They both chuckle, Mark’s laugh a few subtle exhalations, but present nonetheless. Haechan wonders what particular disastrous detail Mark is currently thinking of. 

“That’s for sure,” Haechan says. He’s never had such a conversational interaction with Mark, and it throws him off his normal patterns of speech. It’s because of this that he finds himself walking in comfortable silence beside Mark, matching his strides. Their boots tap on the pavement in tandem.

---

To Mark’s relief, they are accompanied by Starfleet officers for the duration of the mission. Nakamoto Yuta, who has held numerous leadership positions, is one of them. Mark and Haechan are both familiar with him due to their time aboard one of the training ships, where he was their captain. Also part of the mission party is Dong Sicheng, an anthropologist that studies the connections between cultures and their environments. He had been cataloguing volcanoes present on a series of planets, which is how Starfleet came to find out about Nibiru.

Sicheng and Yuta’s presence gives Mark the impression that himself and Haechan are there primarily to shadow; to observe the officers’ expertise. If Mark had to guess, he’d say one of the officers involved in the last mission, either Jaehyun or Taeyong, submitted a report that resulted in increased caution when assigning them their next mission.

Yuta is chatty, even as he flies their small ship in the direction of Nibiru. It’s the size of a shuttle, but new on the inside, with glossy black leather seats, and reinforced for extreme heat. Mark can’t say he minds the chatter. He’s usually averse to excessive wordiness, but Yuta’s habit of continuously filling the silence means Mark does not have to address the thaw that has recently occurred, albeit slowly, between him and Haechan. He never thought it would be more awkward to no longer be at odds with the other cadet. 

“And you, Mark?” Sicheng asks. Mark backtracks in his memory, and realizes that Haechan had been telling Sicheng and Yuta about his hometown. 

“My mother is also from San Francisco, but I spent most of my time growing up with my father on Vulcan.”

“Fascinating!” Yuta says. Mark is thankful that he doesn’t pry into his family situation.

It only takes two hours to arrive at Nibiru. It’s beautiful, a planet of deep red soil, ruby trees, and azure beaches which they pass to hover, inconspicuously, on one side of the volcano. Yuta assures them that this will be quick, ten minutes, as Sicheng suits up into what Mark assumes to be a partially volcano-proof suit. 

Yuta gives Sicheng a smack of a kiss on the cheek (which Sicheng endures, with a faint smile of apology at Mark), before beaming him down to the top surface of the volcano. 

Oh. Mark didn’t know they were together. Neither did Haechan, apparent by his expression of equal shock and delight. The two cadets exchange glances, before going back to the minor tasks Yuta has assigned them. Mark is watching the volcano activity to make sure it doesn’t erupt with Sicheng inside, but it’s hours away from detonation, and everything continues to be normal. Haechan is checking Sicheng’s vitals, also normal, besides a slight raise in his body temperature. 

When Sicheng activates the neutralization material inside the volcano, there’s a tense moment where communication gets cut off between him and the ship. Yuta nearly shakes with worry, but as abruptly as he was cut off, Sicheng’s voice crackles over the comms. “It’s done! Beam me up!”

As soon as Sicheng appears on the ship, thankfully in one piece, Yuta directs their vessel away from the volcano. Mark catches a glimpse of the top of the volcano, now shrouded in a light grey, puffy-looking material that would definitely pass as natural rock from a distance. 

Once Yuta is able to engage autopilot, he drags Sicheng to sit in the captain’s chair and fusses over him. He’s definitely freaked out by Sicheng’s venture into the volcano, Mark thinks. He overhears a fragile “I’m never letting you do that again” from a slightly teary-eyed Yuta, and decides to sit back in passenger seating to give them space for the journey home. Haechan, appearing to have come to the same conclusion, joins him in the limited space.

Haechan tugs on Mark’s safety belt, just once, before buckling in right next to him. It reminds Mark of their last mission, when Haechan had done the same. It’s a kind gesture, but Mark is curious as to why Haechan repeats it— this is a different situation; they’re on a fully functional ship now, and Mark isn’t shaking like a leaf from anxiousness. 

“I didn’t know they were together,” Haechan says quietly. Mark turns to meet his gaze. And... oh, he’s really quite close. Mark feels his exhale on his cheek, and finds he’s only able to nod at the man next to him. He starts to feel a blush creep up the back of his neck, even though he knows Haechan is only this close so the officers won’t overhear him.

“I knew Yuta liked him,” Haechan continues, “but I didn’t know if Sicheng would give him a chance.”

Mark looks forwards again, towards the couple. They make a sweet picture, really, as Yuta wipes Sicheng’s face of the few streaks of ash that smeared from his gloves when he pulled his helmet off. 

“Does Dr. Seo know Yuta and Sicheng, too?” Mark asks, itching to change the subject, though unsure of why. 

“Yeah, he does. Their friend group all graduated the same year.”

“I see,” Mark says. “I know their graduating class was one of the most successful in Starfleet history, but it’s a different story to know many of them were friends.” He tries to avoid Haechan’s gaze, as he’s blinking up at him without sarcasm, anger, or mirth. Mark doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Many of them were friends, correct,” Haechan says, then a smile starts to develop at the corners of his mouth. “Johnny has said things, though, that makes me think our… situation… isn’t entirely unique.”

Mark thinks he catches Haechan’s meaning. Two or more of Dr. Seo’s friends must have disagreed, for a time, while at the Academy. Mark wonders who it could be.

---

Haechan gathers his belongings for the usual Thursday night movie night in Jeno’s room. He limits himself to two whale plushies, one pillow, and one blanket, which still proves to be almost too much to carry. He drapes his blanket around his neck and shuffles out of his room, arms full. Jaemin, strangely, hasn’t been in their room in the past couple hours. Haechan assumes that he’s already in Jeno’s room. 

It doesn’t take long to get there, just one flight up the stairs, a turn around a corner, and he’s at Jeno’s room. He swings open the door that had been cracked open for him, then promptly drops one of his precious whale plushies in shock.

He expects to see Jeno, Jaemin, and the kids, but Chenle and Jisung are nowhere in sight. 

Instead, blinking at him from between Jeno and Jaemin is… Huang Renjun?!

Haechan eyes him suspiciously, before looking at Jaemin with an expression he hopes conveys the complex emotion of 'Do you care to EXPLAIN?'

“What’s that look for, Haechan?” Jaemin flashes his best, innocent smile.

“Since when have the three of you been friends?”

“Oh, ever since the uh… group project we had together.” Jeno says.

“Besides, you were gone!” Jaemin adds.

“I was gone for less than five hours!” Haechan is incredulous. There are some footsteps in the hallway behind him, though, so he picks up the whale plushie he dropped, enters the room, and closes the door behind him. 

Jeno pats the empty space next to him on his bed, and Haechan grudgingly snuggles into his side. It may have been only five hours, but he did miss his friends. 

It actually checks out to be legit, not some weird setup— Renjun genuinely gets along with Jeno and Jaemin. He laughs at their dumb jokes, and even gets overly invested in whatever ridiculous movie Jaemin picked for tonight. Haechan’s brain is so overloaded from his mission, and this surprise, that he has trouble paying attention to the plot. Jaemin, overly touchy as always, even pulls Renjun into his lap so he can rub his back, just like he sometimes does for Haechan.

Haechan slowly becomes embarrassed that he thought it was all about himself , just because Renjun happens to be Mark’s roommate. 

---

It’s a crisp, rainy Saturday, not common for San Francisco but very welcome. 

Mark gets a message from Renjun to meet up to study. He has been able commandeer their favorite study spot, which is tucked back in a corner of a study lounge no one knows about.

It turns out that Renjun isn’t alone, waiting for him. Mark hears them more than sees them, at first, aware of Chenle’s high pitched laugh, and a few other voices he can’t seem to place. Once he gets closer, he has to blink away his disbelief. Sitting in the circle of comfy armchairs and couches is not just Renjun and the kids, the group includes Jeno and Jaemin as well. 

“...and then i said to him, get your OWN Enaran algae puffs!” Jaemin finishes some story with a flourish, and the group erupts into laughter.

“Oh hi, Mark!” Jisung pops up from where he’s slumped in an armchair. 

“Hi…” Mark waves to the group. He never waves. Why is he waving?!

In an attempt to act normal, Mark sits down next to Renjun as he usually does, close but not too close on the widest and softest couch. However, this means Jaemin is directly to his left, and Mark doesn’t really know how to proceed from there. He pulls up a paper he’s already finished on his tablet, just to have something to look at as he processes the situation. It appears that Renjun really has become friends with Jaemin and Jeno, despite the suspicious nature of that time Mark saw them all together in the campus coffee shop. Hmm. Maybe they really did have a group project. 

The easy flow of chatter from Mark’s friends and acquaintances slowly chips away his internal awkwardness. He hasn’t participated much in the dialogue, which no one seems to take notice of. Besides, his friends know that there are days he rarely speaks at all, if they’ve gathered together to study. If Renjun treats his quiet demeanor as normal, so will the others.

The conversation turns to plants, predictably, as Renjun is currently working on a paper where he has chosen to analyze ethnobotany through the lens of anthropology. Jaemin, as it turns out, is an ethnobotany major, which creates the perfect storm for the two of them to throw around plant names and terms Mark has never heard of.

“Oh, that’s fascinating, I would have never thought to look at plants the same way we study people! Renjun rapidly scribbles down a few notes in the margins of his paper draft.

“Mark,” Jaemin says, “There are some really beautiful herbs and spices on Vulcan that have the ability to speed healing. Did you ever get the chance to gather any?”

Mark, to his surprise, is pleased to be addressed. “Uh— yeah! We make tea with them. It’s really good. I recovered from a sickness, which was kind of like Earth’s flu, in just a few hours.” On Vulcan, Mark had spent most of his time at the Academy of Science, but he had encountered the plants a couple of times while on educational hikes with his father. 

Mark’s answer seems to have opened the proverbial floodgates, and Jaemin and Jeno start peppering him, politely, with questions about plants, and illnesses, on Vulcan. He doesn't mind answering, but he’s glad he doesn’t have a lot of homework to do.

It’s nice, talking to them. It seems lightyears away, the days that Mark only hung out with Renjun, though Jisung and Chenle were added to the group less than a month ago. Jaemin and Jeno are kind, and though they always greeted him by name most times they saw him, he never had the chance to sit down and talk with either of them. Mark thinks back to the numerous times he’d witnessed them as part of Haechan’s hijinks, and it makes sense that they wouldn’t have exactly held the same social circles. Now, though, everything seems to be changing.

Mark wonders what Haechan is doing right now— though well-known across campus, and friendly to most, he doesn’t seem to have close friends other than his roommate, Jeno, and the kids. 

As it turns out, Mark doesn’t have to wonder. Haechan comes sauntering down the hallway towards their lounge space.

“Nice of you to join us, you slowpoke!” Jeno says.

“Well sorry, It was hard to find. I didn’t know the engineering building even HAD a study lounge. Why are you guys here anyw—” He spots Mark.

Mark waves, as he had earlier, a small movement he keeps against his chest. He’s starting to think waving has become a coping mechanism in the face of awkwardness. Great.

“Come on, sit next to me!” Chenle pats the seat next to him enthusiastically. 

Haechan sighs, then does as he asks. Immediately, he props his feet up on the coffee table and starts complaining about the proctor that oversees his flight simulator exams. It seems to be a common occurrence, from the way Jeno asks him if he spilled his coffee on Haechan’s exam sheet again, and how the rest of the group hums in sympathy at his grievances. 

Jaemin finds a way to steer the conversation towards plants, again, and eventually Mark finds himself contributing to Haechan’s description of the ruby red trees and stark white undergrowth that they saw on Nibiru. 

It’s surprisingly...normal, the merging of friends old and new alike. Mark thinks he truly enjoys this development.

Chapter Text

Haechan moves yet another cluster of branches out of the way, making sure to hold it for Mark so it doesn’t snap back and whack him in the face. They’re in a particularly dense section of forest on a planet called Pahvo, on another mission assigned to the two of them by Johnny. 

The ‘missions,’ Haechan thinks, are more akin to errands. They’re not usually stressful, nor do they require brainpower, but they have the tendency to be tedious, and often far away from home. This mission is no exception— it took about thirty-six hours on the Prometheus to get here. Captain Taeyong once again has a bigger project nearby, but this time, Mark and Haechan are close enough that they can be beamed up in an emergency. 

Taeyong, extremely worried, had been the one to personally send them off, which tells Haechan that he’s personally responsible for the virtually risk-free missions that they’ve been assigned lately. Haechan is impressed— It would take strong resolve to reign in Johnny that much. That, or Haechan’s older cousin has a weak spot for the inhumanly beautiful captain. (He has bets with Chenle on the latter. Jaehyun had let so many seemingly inconsequential details slip about his Starfleet Academy friends to Chenle and Jisung, because of how few people there were to talk to at the Delta Vega outpost.)

Haechan and Mark are scanning to make sure that an invasive plant species hasn’t spread into this part of the forest— it had nearly eradicated a section just a few miles away. It’s a straightforward task, they just have to point their scanners at the forest floor and press a button. The problem is, each time they click, it only covers about ten square feet. They’re only about two hours in, and Haechan feels like it may take all day.

Pahvo is an enchanting planet, full of rich, lush vegetation. There are even trees that resemble redwoods, which Haechan has seen many times in Golden Gate park. It’s homey, though they’re very far away from San Francisco. There’s a difference, however, in the sound the forest makes. Each tree, rock, and blade of grass vibrates with a unique frequency, audible to human and vulcan ears alike, and creates a kind of music. 

The two cadets finally step into a small clearing, and an involuntary gasp leaves Haechan’s mouth. The sounds from the forest, now that they’re no longer in the thick of it, surround them in  a beautiful cacophony. There are a few bright purple songbirds, darting between branches and adding another layer to the music. Mark, next to him, gazes wide-eyed at the sky, taking a moment to enjoy the splendor.

“Jaemin would love this!” Mark’s tone is almost reverent. He’s right, Haechan thinks— Jaemin would be absolutely adore this forest. 

It’s charming, and incredibly endearing, how Mark has become so quickly attached to Haechan's friends. It’s as if there was a shift in gravity, an inescapable pull in the form of their dear friends, that plucked Mark and Haechan out of their own orbits to rotate nearer to one another.

Mark’s eyes are wide with awe at the woodland melody, and there’s a hint of sparkle as he tracks the flight of a purple songbird that flits by, overhead. Haechan is suddenly hit with longing to know more about him. Over the past few weeks they’ve spent time together, laughing with their friends, studying, talking, playing games, but he knows there’s so much more to learn. 

He finds his chance, later, when they’re back to mindlessly traversing the forest to scan for the invasive species.

“Mark,” he says, between scanner beeps. “Do you ever see, um, family, over breaks?”

Mark looks at him, tilting his head with a curious expression. Haechan becomes self-conscious. Was the question too personal? Too out of the blue?

“Yes,” Mark says, and a small smile makes its way onto his face. Haechan is relieved. “I spend Earth holidays, and all of our other school breaks, with my mother and grandparents. I don’t really get the chance to go to Vulcan, though. But you probably assumed that. You've been just as busy as me, over the past years with the Academy.”

That’s very true. Their summers off, however, are lengthy, usually more than two months. 

Haechan wonders if Mark’s summers are anything like his own— he spends the time on trails, next to oceans or rivers, in cabins, tents, and national parks. If it’s outside, it’s part of Haechan’s summer plans. He thinks Mark would enjoy it.

There’s a comfortable pause, filled only with light footsteps and the continuous hum of the world around them.

“Do you miss Vulcan?” Haechan asks, carefully.

Mark doesn’t look up, this time, and Haechan wonders if he struck a nerve. He gets ready to apologize, but then Mark speaks.

“Sometimes...I do. But my last few years— I mean, It started to feel hollow, living there in reality. I’m not at all saying it’s not a magnificent planet, and culture, I just encountered some...problems, personally.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?” Haechan asks softly.

At this, Mark does look up, surprised.

“You don’t have to answer,” Haechan clarifies.

“No, it’s not that— just… no one’s ever asked me about it. Well, Renjun knows, but that’s because I just started rambling at him without being prompted.” 

Mark goes on to explain, to Haechan’s horror, that he had been bullied nearly every day for years by his classmates at the Academy of Science. For being human, yet not human enough, and reacting differently to negative emotional stimuli, as he was unable to ever fully hide his outward reactions. He was, at best, a living science experiment to the other students.

And oh, this just makes every negative word and action he’s ever directed at Mark suddenly become one hundred percent worse. While Haechan is self-aware enough to know that very few of his past taunting words actually had the capability to inflict damage, he worries that his exchanges with Mark brought up cruel memories. 

There’s one instance in which he did inflict damage, however, and the shame is huge, ugly, burning a hole in his brain and heart.

“So— about that day in tactical training,” Haechan starts, voice wavering. “I um, I never apologized for what I said. I am truly sorry. It was completely unacceptable, and cruel, and I want you to know—”

To his complete surprise, Mark cuts him off. “No, Haechan, I’m the one who never apologized. I literally broke one of your bones.” In a different scenario, Haechan would have grinned at the adorable earnesty of Mark’s expression.

Instead, he looks down at the forest floor and scans another section with a pitiful beep. “I deserved it,” Haechan says. “It was my fault, and mine alone. I deserved worse than that, really.”

“What?” Mark raises his voice, just a little, like he can’t comprehend that Haechan needs to be punished for the words he spoke on that day. 

It’s not right, Haechan needs to make this clear— “Mark, I suck. I’m terribly mean, and I do dumb things for attention. Sometimes I think I’m nothing but a nuisance— we’re in our last year before we’re real adults and I’m not…I’m not...” He doesn’t know why this is coming out, now, on a planet full of musical plants, but it is.

“No,” Mark simply says. “I think you’re kind.” He walks a little closer to Haechan, as the trees are growing closer together once again. 

Haechan opens his mouth to object. “How... I...”

But Mark is too quick. “I see how you talk to Chenle and Jisung,” he says. “You encourage them. You pull on my seatbelt to make sure it’s latched, even on a brand new ship that would have no flaws, logically. You just tried to completely take the blame for me hurting you. Badly enough that you were unconscious. You were limp, on the floor, and it was something I had done.”

By the end of Mark’s words, the two cadets had slowed down to a stop, scanners momentarily forgotten, facing each other in the vast, humming woods. They are close enough for Haechan to see that Mark’s eyes have gone watery, just a little. There’s a firm resolve there, too, a fire in his gaze.

“I forgive you,” Haechan says, an announcement clear above the din of the forest.

“You cannot—”

“I can.”

There’s a pause. Mark starts to fall apart.

It’s the sight of a single tear, tracing a wet path down Mark’s cheek, that makes Haechan throw his residual hesitation out the window. Haechan pulls him into a hug, one arm wrapping around his waist and the other hand threading into his hair. Mark, a couple inches taller than him, lowers his head to rest it on Haechan’s shoulder, arms following to drape around his back. It reminds Haechan of the last time they inhabited each other's space like this, on Delta Vega. Just like then, Mark is vulnerable, trusting, his head a grounding weight on Haechan’s shoulder. A warmness that Haechan can’t identify grows in his chest. 

“I forgive you, too.” Mark’s voice is soft, muffled by their embrace, but Haechan feels his sincerity clear as day.

It’s a number of minutes before they pull away, and Haechan rubs his hand comfortingly on the side of Mark’s waist as he steps back.

“I can’t believe you punching me is what made us friends, after all these years.” Haechan smiles so Mark knows his statement is in jest. 

Mark laughs, an unrestrained joyous sound that would seem out of character, but isn’t. Recently, Haechan has heard the sound too many times, with their newly minted friend group, for it to be unexpected. 

Haechan’s mind reels because of the stark difference between a couple months ago and now. Mark forgives him, and his laugh is more familiar to Haechan than breathing, and they’re friends.  

Friends. Haechan tries the word out, a couple more times, in his head.

---

They’re wrapping up the mission, just reciting a few numbers from the scanners into their mission log, while sitting on a fallen tree. Haechan thinks they have about ten minutes before they contact the Prometheus to be beamed up.

There’s a suspicious rustling behind them, the noise very different from the sounds produced from the small woodland creatures they’ve been encountering all day. 

Haechan instinctually scrambles to his feet, snapping into attentiveness. Two figures, which he assumes to be native to Pahvo, emerge from behind a large tree. To Haechan’s alarm, they are dressed as bandits— a threat they had been warned of, though Taeyong assured them that bandits did not frequent the part of the forest. It’s just Haechan’s luck, really, that they’re here now.

The Pahvan bandits rush forwards, and Haechan and Mark engage with one each. Haechan executes a dive roll towards his bag, which succeeds purely because of adrenaline (he’s been attempting dive rolls for weeks in tactical training, to no avail, so he’s surprised it actually works). His phaser is in the outside pocket of his bag, set to stun, and he’s able to grab it and spring back up to his feet. He directs one blast at the bandit that’s moving towards him, and the figure falls to the soft forest floor, immobilized.

Mark didn’t bring a phaser with him, so it’s taking him longer to subdue the remaining bandit through hand-to-hand combat. Haechan doesn’t dare shoot—the two of them are moving too fast and he doesn’t want to hit Mark in the process. Instead, he tries to find a window to step in and help, expecting to be able to somehow tackle the bandit to the ground with Mark’s assistance.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for the Pahvan to move with incredible speed, and disarm Haechan by catching his wrists behind his back, pressing some kind of metal to his throat. It’s intimidating, but the metal feels too dull to be life-threatening, so Haechan doesn’t panic.

The bandit had pushed Mark to the ground before ensnaring Haechan, and Haechan watches him carefully make his way to standing. Mark holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but Haechan once again recognizes fire in his eyes. He wonders what he has planned. 

Mark moves even quicker than the Pahvan, and in a fraction of a second he’s in front of Haechan. He simply reaches over Haechan’s shoulder, and pinches between the bandit’s shoulder and neck, hard. It only takes a few seconds for the bandit to collapse to the ground, unconscious. Haechan belatedly recognizes the action as the infamous vulcan nerve pinch.

Haechan, now free from capture, just looks at Mark.

“Dude… I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Me neither. I’ve never tried it until now.” Mark looks just as shocked as Haechan.

The Pahvan that Haechan stunned earlier lets out a half-conscious groan and twitches his foot. They’re going to wake up soon, so Haechan quickly contacts the starship.

“Cadets Haechan and Mark to Prometheus. Beam us up.”

Threads of white light twist and spin around them, and soon, Haechan and Mark find themselves back on the platform of the transporter room.

---

Thursday movie nights have been moved to Mark and Renjun’s room, as it’s bigger than Jeno’s single dorm. They need the space, especially when all seven of them are present. Besides, Jaemin and Haechan have become attached to Renjun’s essential oil diffuser, and his tea stash that’s easily in reach. Mark sometimes has to hold back a laugh when he thinks about what the rest of campus would think to see Lee Haechan calmly drinking tea in Mark’s dorm room (though he supposes their classmates may have caught onto the fact they’re now friends).

Two weeks ago, Jeno had found out Mark never had the opportunity to try any kinds of cookies other than chocolate chip, which he deems a crime. He’s been bringing Mark different flavors— so far he’s tried white chocolate macadamia and chocolate crackles. Tonight, he brings snickerdoodles. The name makes Mark giggle, and the desserts are sweet, sugar from the outside melting on his tongue. 

The seven friends assume their movie watching positions. Jisung, Mark, and Jeno are on the floor, in a nest of blankets and pillows gathered from everyone’s respective rooms. Mark has his back propped against Renjun’s bed, which Jaemin and Haechan are on. Chenle is over on Mark’s bed, wanting room to completely spread out. 

Jaemin picks the movie, as usual, and it’s a cheesy Earth pre-teen favorite about a mermaid who gets washed into human society from a storm. She spends the movie trying to prove to her father the splendor and richness of human love; it exists, and it can be found between friends, not just romantic partners. Mark is only a little embarrassed at how invested he gets, until he realizes that Jeno literally sheds a tear at one of the more emotional scenes. It’s a fun movie, and there’s plenty of moments for Chenle to throw popcorn at the screen, and Haechan and Jaemin to yell exclamations at some of the more annoying characters. 

When the movie is over, Chenle and Jisung leave to go to bed. The rest of the group decides to stay up and watch another movie, which does not happen very often, but they’re feeling awake from the relief of being finished with midterm exams. Mark still has one left, the only one with a Friday exam for his Hematology course, but he’s well prepared, so he tells everyone he doesn’t mind them staying.

Now that the younger ones are gone, the five of them can fit on Renjun’s bed, though they have to tangle up a bit to do it. Mark finds himself more or less in the center, as Jaemin wraps his limbs around him the second he crawls onto the bed. The others follow, Renjun pressing his nose between Mark’s shoulder blades, Haechan clinging to Renjun, and Jeno on the other side of Jaemin. Mark wonders at what point this changed from something new, to what is now a very common occurrence.

The first time the cuddle pile happened, Mark had watched, shyly, from his own twin bed as Jeno joined Renjun and Haechan on Renjun’s bed, and wrapped his arms around both of them. Jaemin followed, not far behind, and chirped out an easy, ‘Come here, Mark!’ It was easier to see the screen from Renjun’s bed, and Mark didn’t want to seem rude, so he had joined them. 

It took awhile for him to get used to the physical affection, but now, he enjoys it. It’s comforting, the connection to his friends, and after a stressful day he can feel the tension leaving his body the tighter Jaemin, or anyone else, squeezes. 

Mark doesn’t know when he dozed off, but he wakes to a sticky kiss planted on his cheek. Without even opening his eyes, he pushes Jaemin away, before grumbling a little and sitting up. The movie is over, end credits rolling. Mark only remembers about half an hour from the beginning of it, but he’s not surprised. The cuddle pile always seems to have a sleep-inducing effect on him for some reason. Haechan and Jeno give him pats on the shoulder before following Jaemin out of the room. He blinks up at them, sleepily, nodding at their cheery farewells. 

After Jeno closes the door, Renjun wraps his arms tightly around a sleepy Mark in order to coo at him. Mark, though comfortable with the rest of their friends, is happy that they aren’t here to tease him about the way Renjun babies him. He can feel a blush building, partially from annoyance and partially from shyness at the attention.

“Mark Lee, how can you be so cuuuute,” Renjun says, pulling one of Mark’s earlobes gently. Mark is entirely certain that his cheeks and ears flush even more, by the way Renjun squeals and squeezes him tighter.  Mark thinks that hanging out with Jaemin has rubbed off on Renjun, maybe a little too much.

Chapter Text

The study lounge in the engineering building has become the regular spot for the entire group, to Mark’s equal enjoyment and dismay. They no longer seek it out because of the solitude it brings— now, his friends value the space because they can make noise without other people hearing them. It’s come full circle, really. 

The afternoons they spend there have done wonders for Mark’s general enjoyment of life, but drastically decrease his ability to be productive in a public space. Recently, he’s given up being productive at all around the louder cadets (read: Haechan and Jaemin). Mark has written more papers in his room in the last two weeks than he did during his first three years combined. When with his friends, he prefers to take part in the socialization, for example, as he is now— currently engaged in a heated debate with Haechan about whether mint chocolate is a valid flavor of ice cream.

It’s on this particular afternoon that an idea pops out of Renjun and Jaemin, after they mysteriously bend their heads together to whisper for almost half an hour.

“We should go out this weekend!” Renjun says, one arm wrapped around the shoulders of a smiling Jaemin.

“Like, out out?” Jeno voices Mark’s confusion before he gets the chance to.

They have gone out, Mark thinks, to pizza joints, an arcade, and even once to an aquarium, which had been filled with families that all had small children. However, he has a feeling that’s not what Renjun means. 

Renjun nods at Jeno. That, paired with a suggestive shimmy of Chenle’s shoulders, confirms Mark’s suspicions that yes, they mean ‘ out out,’ as Jeno astutely worded it. 

Haechan whacks Chenle. “You aren’t of age yet, you delinquent,” he laughs.

The fourth year cadets respond to this idea enthusiastically, which Mark registers as background noise as he internally panics, just a little. Suddenly, he becomes aware of multiple pairs of eyes on him, and he looks around, confused. They’re looking at him expectantly, and Mark realizes he’s the only one who hasn’t answered in the affirmative yet. 

He scrambles, internally, quickly debating with himself. He’s never been out in that context, and he knows it’s okay to decline, but as nervous as he is, he wants to go. And this weekend holds the first completely free saturday and sunday they’ve had in weeks, so before he can back out—

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he says.

Renjun and Jaemin cheer and exchange a ridiculous high-five, Jeno giggles at them, and Haechan looks surprised at Mark, which he tries not to focus on. Mark doesn’t need any more reminders that he’s scared of having a night on the town, for lack of better phrasing, and he feels a bit pathetic about it.

The ‘study session’ ends with Jisung and Jeno on the floor, the younger boy wrestling Jeno into a faux chokehold. Jeno goes along with it, making a scene, including fake-choking sounds so loud that Haechan actually looks concerned for once.

---

On Saturday evening, there’s a few startlingly loud and aggressive knocks on Mark’s door. He opens it, confused, and is met with the sight of Jaemin and his alarmingly wide grin. Mark realizes he must have knocked with his foot, as his arms are completely full of clothing, belts, makeup, and hair supplies. What has Mark gotten himself into?

“What are you waiting for? Let the man in,” Renjun says, behind Mark, before nudging him aside. Jaemin waltzes into the room and unceremoniously dumps his cargo onto Mark’s bed.

Mark assumes that Renjun told Jaemin he has no idea what to wear for tonight. He still isn’t used to the speed at which his personal affairs breeze through their friend group, but he isn’t about to turn down help. He hasn’t had the opportunity to do things like this before, so he is glad to have friends that know how to dress well. Mark really wants to avoid looking like an idiot.

Jaemin and Renjun, as it turns out, take absolute delight in sitting on Mark’s bed and instructing him to try on different combinations of clothing. Mark feels like a mannequin, a doll. To humor them, he goes along with it, holding up shirt after shirt, and wriggling into numerous pants, which he almost works up a sweat doing.

Finally, finally, his two friends seem to come to an agreement, and Mark can stop changing clothes. He ends up in a shirt that Jaemin pilfered from Jeno’s room, which is too small for the med student but fits Mark perfectly. It’s a button down, a dark, sheer base fabric covered in a metallic bronze pattern that reminds Mark of tree bark. To his surprise, he’s actually allowed to wear his own fitted black jacket, but he supposes it makes sense— Renjun had found it for him the last time they went shopping, gushing about how it accentuated his shoulders and waist. Mark mostly bought it so that Renjun would stop complimenting him; he doesn’t really know what to do with flattery, especially when it’s sincere (which it always is, coming from Renjun).

They manage to squeeze Mark into a pair of Jaemin’s black skinny jeans, which, embarrassingly, proves to be a two-man task. Mark, previously in the ensuite bathroom, has to shuffle back out to his friends in his boxer briefs, pants around his knees, and ask them for help. They manage, Jaemin yanking the material up around his thighs, and then, with one last pull, over his backside. Mark is pleasantly surprised that the jeans, though tight in other places, are comfortable around his waist, and he fastens them with no problem. He blushes at how skin-tight the garment is, especially when Jaemin takes a step back and whistles appreciatively.

Renjun fiddles with Mark’s hair, which Mark himself previously put product in and combed neatly. He messes it up a little, so that some of the damp-looking strands swoop down over one side of his forehead. Renjun coaxes him into sitting still ‘just a minute longer, please, Mark,’ with his kicked-puppy look, which, unfortunately, is effective on Mark one-hundred percent of the time. Mark stays in place, letting Renjun artfully smudge eyeshadow, dark and sparkly, on his upper lash line. 

“Okay, now, the final touch!” Jaemin says, once Renjun is finished. Mark is alarmed as he reaches for the top button of his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Mark is wary.

“No one buttons their shirt all the way up to the collar anymore, come on, Mark,” Jaemin says. Mark is inclined, though hesitant, to trust him. He can only watch, at a loss for words, as Jaemin works open several buttons. 

“Now are you done?” Mark asks, at the end of his rope, in terms of makeover-related patience. 

“Yes,” Jaemin says, “you can look at yourself now!” He taps Mark to turn him towards the mirror, which they hadn’t let him look at for the past forty-five minutes.

Oh. He looks... good. He looks human, really, which it’s not like he’s not human, but... yeah. There’s the obvious difference to his ears, of course, but with the makeup and the outfit, the way they end in soft points looks... edgy, actually. It’s a strange phenomenon— Mark always thought his ears were shouting to the world ‘nerd!’ or possibly ‘uptight,’ because of the rather annoying vulcan stereotypes. He blushes at the smooth expanse of collarbones and hint of sternum that Jaemin has revealed by unbuttoning his shirt, but he was right. It does complete the look.

Mark is jealous at the speed that Renjun and Jaemin get ready. They didn’t spend twenty minutes going ‘black or blue?’ ‘matte or glossy shoes?’ and it’s unfair. Mark doesn't even know why there are so many options. Why does Jaemin even have all these clothes if he’s in his cadet uniform seventy-five percent of the time? Clothing hoarding habits aside, they look extremely put together in just fifteen minutes. Dark clothing, tight jeans, and metallic accents seem to be the theme, and Mark is happy to look part of a set of three.

Mark and his fairy godmothers make their way downstairs to meet Jeno and Haechan in the dorm lobby. Mark nearly doesn’t recognize them, at first. He can count on one hand the amount of times he has seen them not wearing either uniforms or ratty loungewear. Jeno has a completely different aura than usual in his distressed denim jacket, and it’s intimidating...until he smiles, of course. 

And then there’s Haechan, in his black leather jacket and very ripped powder blue jeans. His skin and hair glow bronze, nearly matching in color, and his eyes are darkened with shadow. There’s glitter on his cheekbones, too...it suits him so well that Mark would believe it if the shimmer turned out to be natural.

It’s awkward to be this dressed up in the lobby, Mark thinks. Or maybe that’s just a personal problem, as he can’t help looking at Haechan’s legs, long and shapely, a distracting amount of golden skin visible through a large rip, very high up on his right thigh.

There’s a silence, just a beat too long after they greet one another, and Mark realizes that Haechan is looking right back at him. Mark, for some reason, feels frozen, a deer in headlights. (Mark wonders when the expression entered his vocabulary. There weren’t exactly any deer on Vulcan.)

“O-kayyyy,” Jeno says, “We ready to go?” Mark blinks, disoriented, trance effectively broken.

---

As it turns out, Mark takes a liking to tequila shots. They’re delightful, delicious, even, which he finds out after following Renjun’s instructions involving salt first, and then lime, afterwards. Mark has always liked the sharp tang of citrus, and it’s a nice contrast to the lightheaded warmth he’s starting to feel. 

Mark downs his second shot, tapping the empty glass down on the table while scraping the juice out of a lime wedge with his teeth, just as Renjun did before him. Jaemin coos at him, which is weird, but Mark feels pretty good right now, so he just leans into Jaemin’s hand as he pets his hair.

Haechan, also two drinks in, drags Renjun away from their booth to dance. Mark finds it impossible to look away. His friends fit in completely with the pulsing lights and the heavy beat of the music. For a moment, it’s hard to tell if Haechan’s skillful movements are a result of the music, or if the sound is being created by his body. Haechan has a slight smirk on his face, which Mark has seen many times, but never in this context. Mark remembers how he used to get so infuriated by the sight, but now...he can hardly think over his own heartbeat, loud, a constant pulse in his ears. 

Jeno comes back to their table with more tequila. This time, Jaemin makes Mark link arms with him as they drink, resulting in a few drops of liquid sloshing over the edge of Mark’s glass, the action followed by more than a few giggles from the both of them. When Mark looks up, watching Jeno drink, Renjun and Haechan have returned from the dance floor with mischief in their eyes.

Before he knows it, Mark is being dragged to the dance floor, too. He doesn't know if it’s because of the shots (his world is now tilting slightly, but it’s still pleasant), or the fact that it’s Haechan that grasps his upper arm, but he follows without complaint. 

In a different situation, Mark would be self conscious about his limited experience dancing, but he’s never had enough to drink to get this pleasantly tipsy before, and he’s comfortable around his friends, so he feels fine. Mark is able to follow some of their movements— he bobs his head to the beat, matches Renjun’s body rolls, and tries out some footwork that Jeno does. It’s a lot of fun, and Mark is hit with an almost overwhelming affection for his friends. 

As the song changes to something slower, deep and sticky like wildflower honey, Renjun and Jaemin migrate further into Jeno’s space. Their movements change with the music, now sinuous, dipping into the realm of immodest, but still playful.

This shift, however, means that Mark is left alone with Haechan. He pulls Mark in closer, fingers circling loose around his wrist. Haechan is magnetic, glimmering in the low light, and Mark intuitively starts to match his sleek, confident movements. It’s almost too much to handle, as Mark can distinguish each of Haechan’s dark eyelashes from this close. He feels his heart start to speed, once again, when Haechan’s warm hand trails down the side of his neck to rest on his shoulder. Mark doesn’t think he could break their eye contact if he tried. He feels himself being drawn in, irreversibly, by Haechan’s gravity.  

---

Haechan thinks that Mark, in his red cadet uniform, is cute, handsome, sometimes elegant. 

Mark in a partially unbuttoned shirt and tight black jeans, however, is something else entirely. Oftentimes, Mark’s default facial expression is relaxed, neutral, but the smudge of eyeshadow makes his gaze smoldery without even trying. He’s gorgeous, and Haechan is dumbstruck with the realization that he, specifically, is attracted to Mark, it’s not just an objective appreciation, as he previously tried to convince himself. 

Based on the stomach-flipping, earth-shattering reaction Haechan has towards this brand of tipsy, uninhibited Mark, he knows he’s playing with fire as he drags the half-vulcan boy closer to him when the music slows. Mark doesn’t shy away from him, and follows Haechan’s lead to dance with him. Haechan watches, an out of body experience, as his own fingers ghost under Mark’s jaw. He can’t resist sliding his hand to rest on Mark’s shoulder, thumb stroking along the bare, soft skin of his collarbone. He can’t tear his gaze from the revealed section of Mark’s chest, then his lips, then his eyes. There’s so much beauty to fixate on, and the slow spread of tequila through Haechan’s system is obliterating his self control. 

Mark reaches for Haechan’s hand, and there’s a split second of panic where he thinks he crossed too far into whatever territory they’re in— but Mark doesn’t move to push away from him. Instead, he keeps hold of Haechan’s hand. Mark slides two of his fingers, gently, across Haechan’s palm as they continue dancing. Haechan shivers. He doesn’t know why, they’re just touching fingers, but there’s something intimate in Mark’s gaze that sends a fluttery feeling up his spine. Mark’s eyes widen marginally, green blush overtaking his ears and chest, too (which Haechan files away to process, later). Haechan wonders if he’s missing something; Mark seemed to be completely confident until this particular moment. 

The music changes once again, to an upbeat song, and Haechan curses it for breaking the spell between him and Mark. He doesn’t want this to end, even though he doesn’t know exactly what this is, really. He just wants to be close to Mark, whatever that means. Haechan reluctantly untangles his fingers from the half-vulcan’s. 

The disappointment isn’t too much, however, as their friends join them, rushing at Haechan and Mark to create one big group again. Their dancing has devolved into mostly jumping up and down, and the feeling is almost the same as before, lively, carefree, except for one change. Haechan is hyper-aware of Mark, a burning presence in his periphery that Haechan is tempted to cling to and never let go.

Somewhere in the next hour there’s another tequila shot, more dancing, and Jaemin slipping and falling spectacularly, only to break into laughter and wobble enthusiastically back to standing. 

--- 

Haechan wakes up to sunlight, red behind his eyelids, and a warm nose pressing against his neck. Ugh, Jaemin never makes it to his own bed after they drink. He cracks one eye open, and is entirely surprised to find that it’s Renjun, in Jaemin’s pajamas, that’s currently cuddled on top of him.

Huh. Haechan could have sworn last night that he helped Jaemin brush his teeth, threw Jaemin’s pajamas at the boy next to him, and attempted to tuck Jaemin into bed. After four shots he becomes extremely sleepy, though, and doubts he even had his eyes all the way open to check if the boy he dragged into his room was the correct one.

Once Renjun wakes, they giggle at the hilarity of the mix up. if Renjun is here, they realize, Jaemin is probably in Mark’s room. They wonder if Jeno even made it back to his own room. Probably not, is the consensus they come to— Jeno latches onto Jaemin like a leech whenever he drinks. 

Haechan, still lying in bed with Renjun and staring at the ceiling, isn’t sure what to do with last night’s revelation. He’s extremely fond of Mark and enjoys being friends with him, and he doesn’t want to muddle it up. He doesn’t want to ruin their friendship just because he happens to think Mark is sexy.

He’s still confused at the pure enchantment of Mark’s fingers stroking against his, so without thinking, he tells Renjun about it. He tells him of Mark taking his hand, caressing his fingers, and Mark’s belatedly shy reaction to his own actions. 

Renjun just stares at him, slack-jawed for a moment, then breaks into laughter. What. Haechan has no idea why what he said caused him to react like that. Infuriatingly, he doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh, you’re going to have to talk to Mark about that one, bud,” is all Renjun says, trying to speak through a few more giggles.

---

Mark is disgruntled, waking up in his own bed with… he counts… eight extra limbs wrapped around him. He definitely likes his solitude in the mornings, and being tangled up in no less than two other people does not fulfill that preference. That’s the perk of living with Renjun, they coexist peacefully in silence for the first hour of every day.

His annoyance fades, however, with the angelic nature of having not only Jaemin, but Jeno, too, to take care of him. Last night was the first time Mark became intoxicated, and without them there to help he would have stared up at the ceiling, feeling like twice-microwaved spaghetti, for the entirety of his precious Sunday.

Jeno has magic hands, Mark finds, as Jeno massages his head, focusing on his temples and where his skull meets the top of his spine. Mark thinks it’s extremely fitting for Jeno to be in the field of healing— if his hands were used for anything other than helping people feel better, it would be a crime. Jaemin brings him cool water, and headache tablets, and Mark almost cries. He loves his friends, so much… and um… he suddenly remembers previously voicing the same thought, over and over, mumbling it into someone’s hair as he fell asleep. Whoops. 

He also remembers something else, and it makes him fling himself upright, out of Jeno’s lap. He holds his head in his hands as he recalls Haechan, gorgeous and impossibly close, dancing with him... Mark’s own hand, intertwining with Haechan’s, sliding fingers together in something akin to the vulcan equivalent of a kiss… well, it’s not directly translatable as that, but it certainly seemed just as intimate. 

He might as well have stuck his tongue in Haechan’s mouth, right there on the dance floor, Mark thinks. Well, that might be a little dramatic of a comparison, but Mark feels just as exposed as if he had grabbed Haechan by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a sultry, fervent kiss. Mark gets distracted from his embarrassment, because isn’t that an idea… Mark wonders how it would have gone, if he stepped forwards, wetting his own lips, before sliding them against— WAIT!! He mentally slaps himself. Haechan is his friend. They’re friends, and Mark is completely comfortable blaming the tequila for the events of last night.

Besides, he’s ninety-nine percent sure his actions have gone unnoticed. It’s a part of Vulcan culture that not many people seem to talk about, thank god. 

---

It’s another Thursday evening, but strangely empty of the usual movie night participants. Jeno and Jaemin are on a field trip for their organic chem class, and Chenle and Jisung are having dinner with Jaehyun, who is back on earth for a while. It would be weird for them not to have their hang-out night, Haechan thinks, and that’s why he’s in Mark and Renjun’s room, feeling out of place as the only one who doesn’t actually live there. 

Without Jaemin, it seems, it’s impossible to think of a movie to watch. They play video games, instead, an effective distraction from the heat of Mark’s shoulder, just inches away from his own. Haechan feels the negative space like a burn, and can’t decide if that means he wants to get closer or move further away. 

After a while, Renjun leaves the room to talk to his mom on the phone, and Haechan just stares  at the paused game on the screen for a moment, unsure of what to do. In his periphery, he sees Mark turn to face him. Haechan turns to face Mark, and they’re cross legged, facing each other, seated on the floor.

“Hi,” Haechan says, articulately.

“Hello,” Mark says.

Haechan doesn’t know where to look. His eyes track to the floor, then up to the ceiling, before he forces himself to look Mark in the eye. 

“I never asked you if you felt okay, a few days ago, the morning after we went out,” Haechan manages.

“Oh, yeah...I had a pretty bad headache, but Jeno and Jaemin took care of me.” Mark is fidgety, which is very unusual for him.

Haechan nods. “Did you have a good time?” He adds.

Mark’s face lights up in a small smile. “Yes, I did, immensely.”

There’s a pause. 

“I’m just curious,” Haechan says, recognizing where he’s going, and tries to stop himself, but it’s too late— his own hands betray him. 

“When you do this,” Haechan continues, softly lifting Mark’s wrist into his hold, “what does it mean?” Heart in his throat, Haechan mirrors Mark’s actions from the club. He brushes two fingers across his palm, then rubs gently along Mark’s middle and pointer finger.

Mark lets out a noise akin to a squeak, but leaves his hand where it is. Haechan watches in awe as his cheeks and ears flush, immediately tinting to the pretty green he’s become so fond of.

“I...I’m sorry, Haechan… I did it without asking, but—”

Renjun waltzes back into the room, and they spring apart with more force than necessary. Mark hits his elbow on his desk chair and hisses in pain.

“Oh— oh my god, am I interrupting something?” Renjun is only trying to look sorry, Haechan thinks— he can see that trademark teasing glint in his eye. 

“No!” says Haechan, at the same time as Mark.

“No way! Haha, we were just…” Mark trails off with a shrug, picking up his game controller. He would seem totally nonchalant if it weren’t for his blush and the slight wobble to his voice.

Renjun doesn’t press, and they go back to playing video games. 

Later, Haechan wonders at what is growing between him and Mark. There’s something there, and Mark is reactive enough that there’s no way it’s one sided, but Haechan needs to figure out what the something actually is. He’s scared of it, as it feels monumental, but he wants more. 

Chapter Text

Haechan meets Jeno on his break, bringing him coffee from the mess hall. They meet in a quiet hallway of the starship to look out the viewport, at the glowing river of passing stars that’s characteristic of warp speed. 

This time, the Prometheus is venturing four and a half lightdays out, and it’s perfectly in the direction of Haechan and Mark’s next mission. They’re helping to organize and translate for a cultural exchange day at the Starfleet Academy annex on Beta Aquilae II.

Jeno is on the ship, too, fulfilling internship hours working in sickbay. It’s amazing how Jeno has grown since their first year— Haechan thinks back to the constant, nervous flipping through medical term flashcards for Jeno’s first class, the panic before Jeno’s first finals, and the relief of having made it through. Now, Jeno is confident, ready to step into the role of nurse, then after a couple years of residency, he will be a fully-fledged doctor. 

They’re sharing living quarters for this trip, which has been immensely helpful in keeping Haechan grounded throughout the endless night that comes with traveling at warp speed for so long. Because they’re missing so many classes, and so close to finals, all students aboard the ship have access to video lectures, and set up assignments with instructors to receive credit for lab classes like tactical training. Haechan is relieved; there’s no way they would have been able to catch up and take their finals in the two weeks after their return.

Mealtimes bring a reprieve from lectures, papers, and Jeno’s long sickbay shifts. Haechan sits with Jeno and Mark at the same table in the mess hall every evening. The first night, they chat animatedly; the second, they play a card game. The third evening, however, finds the three cadets nearly dozing off with exhaustion into their plates of food. Their final year is proving to be just as labor-intensive as they’ve heard from past Academy students.

The silence reminds Haechan that things are clumsy, stilted, with Mark— it’s only been a week since they played video games with Renjun. Shortly after that evening, there was an uptick in their assignment load, and now here they are, on the Prometheus, with no time to talk things out. Haechan doesn’t even know what there is to talk about, though, so he finds comfort in the fact that he can put off processing his thoughts and feelings for now. He thinks that might not be very healthy, but it’s working for him at the moment.  

---

Haechan and Mark are flying a shuttle from the Prometheus to Beta Aquilae II. It’s extraordinarily similar, yet incredibly different, from the trip to Delta Vega, and it sends Haechan’s mind reeling. It’s comparable because of the silence, the darkness of open space, and even the stumbling manner of their conversation. It’s distinct, however, by the fact that Haechan knows Mark, they’re close, connected somehow, and despite the air of awkwardness they’re now unquestionably a team. 

Haechan becomes aware of the relentless passage of time, for better or for worse. He marvels at how connections to other people are built, brick by brick, from the ground up, and before one is even aware of it, they’re at a precipice, a turning point, a change. Now, Haechan realizes, connections are not one sided. As much as he has connected to Mark, it has been reciprocated, effectively exchanging pieces of one another until Haechan is unsure where he ends and Mark begins. 

He sighs to himself. They really need to talk.

There’s a beep, then, from the navigation system. It’s an unknown ship, coming in fast, and Mark quickly checks the records for Federation ships that are scheduled to be in this part of space right now. There are none. 

Mark tells Haechan that the ship is headed straight for them, with no signs of slowing. 

Haechan opens the communication channel. “USS Copernicus to non-Federation ship. State your intention. I repeat, state your intention.”

There is no reply. The ship, now visible through the viewport, looms ominously closer, a collection of sharp masses that make up the body of the vessel. 

“Haechan, they’re locking torpedoes.”

This is a clear indicator of hostile intent, and Haechan swallows his panic. 

“Prepare for evasive action.” He looks over at Mark, and meets his gaze momentarily.

Haechan can’t help but to reach over and tug on Mark’s seatbelt to check it, before switching off autopilot, pulling the steering column towards him, and bracing himself.

The unknown ship fires a torpedo, and Haechan makes himself wait until the last possible second to swerve out of the way so that it has less of a chance to track their movements. They get lucky, the ship is unharmed, and Haechan shakily breathes out in relief. 

The hostile ship seems to learn from this, however, and when the next torpedo hits they aren’t as fortunate. Haechan’s evasive tactics are partially successful, so the torpedo just clips them, but their shuttle is small and the damage is done. The blast causes their vessel to spin off into open space, and Haechan’s ears ring with the multiple system failure alarms that sound.

Hull at forty percent integrity, the computer says, which of course it is, Haechan can see pieces of the vessel breaking off and hurtling past the window. 

“What do we do? ” Haechan chokes out.

They’re still spinning, and Mark looks nauseous as he taps, rapid-fire, at his tablet.

To Haechan’s surprise, he leans over and puts his hand on the steering column. 

“This is the nearest planet that has breathable air,” Mark says, pressing the tablet that now has a set of coordinates on it into Haechan’s hands. 

Haechan’s heart pounds. It’s the only option— the ship is tearing apart, they have to land somewhere. 

Mark puts his hand softly on Haechan’s face, for just a moment, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. “We can do this,” he says to Haechan.

Mark pulls away. “Get ready to stabilize using opposite thrusters, we’re going to have to get out of the spin quickly. The only reason they haven’t fired again is because they think we’re as good as dead.”

Haechan braces himself, a hand over the correct controls. Mark still has the steering column in his possession.

“Okay,” Mark says, “three...two...one.”

They’re able to escape, though Haechan has a chilling feeling that they’ve been allowed to.

The entry to the atmosphere is a jolting, terrifying experience, and they hurtle towards the surface of the planet with the deafening sound of the spacecraft being ripped apart at the seams. 

Haechan tries to slow their descent, but they’ve lost their fuel, and there’s only so much he can do after rerouting all remaining energy to the stabilizers. This is it, he thinks, this might be the end.

They rip through a grove of trees, and with an intensely terrible screeching , the shuttle skids on rock, tilts dangerously sideways more and more and more, and halts.

The first thing Haechan processes after the crash is the sapphire sky, peaceful, beautiful, through the decimated roof of the shuttle. 

Then, he realizes he can’t see Mark, as the space of the cabin between them has caved in. Haechan, in a panic, unlatches his seatbelt and scrambles out of the vessel the only way he can, pulling himself through a hole in the roof and sliding down the outside.

They’ve landed on the edge of a small river, and Haechan clambers in between rocks, splashing through the shallow water, to arrive on the other side of the shuttle. There’s movement, and Mark climbs out onto the riverbank, and Haechan could cry with relief, he’s fine, they’re both fine—

Mark is holding his abdomen, and there’s something glinting between his fingers, which come away dark green with his own blood. He looks at his hand in blank-faced bewilderment. His knees give out as he slumps towards the ground, and Haechan reaches him in the nick of time, supporting him by the front of his shoulders so he doesn’t fall forwards onto his injury. 

“Lean back,” Haechan coaxes, “lean back for me, Mark.” 

Mark complies, and after a careful, linear maneuver, Haechan has him flat on his back on the soft grass of the riverbank. 

There’s a flat piece of shrapnel, the size of about two playing cards side by side, sticking out of Mark’s abdomen, under his lowest rib. It gleams menacingly in the sun. 

“Stay here, do not pull that out, do you hear me, Mark Lee?” 

Mark nods, dazed, eyes wide as he focuses on Haechan.

Haechan re-enters the shuttle, and stuffs some supplies, everything he can salvage, in his bag, before climbing back out.

He pulls his communicator out of his pocket, and it’s unharmed. Haechan has to contact the ship twice before he gets through, and to his surprise, Kim Doyoung answers. 

There are noises in the background, an alarm, raised voices, the fast click of boots through a hallway.

“Cadet Lee, you’re alive,” Doyoung says, out of breath. 

“Yes, we landed on an Altair IX, our shuttle is no longer functional. There was a hostile ship—”

“The one we are dealing with now, as fate would have it.” Doyoung explains that they’re currently under attack, but the Prometheus will be able to handle it. Backup is on the way, but they can’t reach Haechan and Mark right now. They’ll get close enough to beam them aboard the Prometheus when they can.

“But Doyoung, sir— Mark is hurt,” Haechan says. He lowers his voice, so Mark has less of a chance of hearing him. “He has a big piece of shrapnel that’s fucking...sticking out of his torso…”

“Shit,” Doyoung says, fervently. 

There’s a rustling, then Taeyong’s voice comes over the communicator.

“Haechan— can you hear me?”

Haechan feels his throat tightening up, and he’s sure Taeyong hears it in his voice when he answers.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Haechan, sweetheart, I heard what happened. I know you aced your survival tactics course— do you have a phaser?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good,” Taeyong says. “You know what to do.”

Oh. Oh. Haechan remembers an example, in their survival tactics textbook, something that should only be done in dire circumstances— he looks over at Mark. His face is pale, almost grey, as he blinks blankly at the sky. The grass next to him is slowly becoming saturated with blood. Yes. This is dire. 

“I can do it,” he tells Taeyong, with resolve.

“We will get you as soon as we can, honey. I believe in you. Just hang in there.” 

There’s a crashing sound, some cursing, a quick "I’ve got to go!" from Taeyong, and the connection drops.

Even if the Prometheus was on its way now, it would take more than half an hour, and Mark is losing blood, fast. Haechan needs to act quickly. He grabs his phaser, and tears more metal from the trashed ship, a long and thin piece, making sure it isn’t too sharp on the edges.

He makes his way over to Mark, brow set in a hard line. Mark takes one look at Haechan’s hands— the phaser, the scrap metal, and Haechan can tell he knows exactly what they have to do.

Haechan kneels at Mark’s injured side. “Mark, is it okay—”

“Yes,” Mark rasps, “We need to do it. I trust you.”

It’s an out of body experience when Haechan pulls the shrapnel out, like he’s watching from a distance. Mark groans, but endures it admirably. 

Quickly, Haechan sets his phaser to a continuous beam, heats up his piece of scrap metal until the tip is glowing, and carefully cauterizes the wound in Mark’s abdomen.

The yell that rips out of Mark is heartbreaking, too much to bear, but then, suddenly, Haechan is finished.

It’s done.

It’s over, and they’re both sobbing, Mark out of pain, and Haechan out of fear, and Haechan leans over the injured boy to press their foreheads together gently, cradling the sides of Mark’s head with his hands.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you, you’re okay, Mark, we’re okay,” is the litany that flows out of Haechan’s mouth, warm tears streaming down his face, dripping onto Mark’s cheeks, into his hair. Moments pass, or minutes, or a lifetime, Haechan really isn’t sure, and their sobs slow to hiccuping breaths. 

Haechan sits up, and gently wipes the tears off of Mark’s face. 

Mark tries to reciprocate, but Haechan gently presses his arms back down.

“Don’t move,” Haechan says. “What I did was a temporary fix.”

“But you’re bleeding,” Marks pouts. 

Haechan reaches up to feel his own hairline, where he now registers a throbbing pain, and his fingers come away red. He realizes that there’s red on Mark’s forehead, too, so Haechan was bleeding the whole time...he must have hit his head in the crash.

“I’m fine,” Haechan says. “How are you feeling, bud? How’s the pain level?”

“Eh, I’ve been better. I think I could still manage a half marathon, though,” Mark says, then giggles, and Haechan realizes he might be a little loopy.

“It could be worse," Mark continues. "At least I have you to take care of me, gorgeous,” Yeah, Haechan thinks, he’s definitely delirious from the blood loss. 

The bleeding hasn’t started again, which means the cauterization worked. Even with the blood loss, Mark seems to have stabilized— his breathing has returned somewhat to normal. His face looks less… at death’s door, than it did before.

Then, it’s just a waiting game, Haechan carefully placing Mark’s head and shoulders into his lap to make him more comfortable, and hoping and praying the Prometheus really does pull through. Haechan tries to chat about anything trivial he can think of, like the trees, the lovely breeze, how the rocks here remind him of ocean tide pools, to get his mind off the intensity of Mark almost dying, and god, the very thought makes Haechan tear up again.

“We’re on our way,” comes Doyoung’s voice through Haechan’s communicator, and it’s as if an angel has spoken. Haechan sends their coordinates so the ship can find them. Just a little longer, he thinks, just a bit longer, and then we’ll be with real doctors that can fix Mark.

Mark is in pain, still, and the noises he makes rip and tear at Haechan's heart. On a particularly rough-sounding groan, Haechan’s first instinct is to grab onto one of Mark’s hands and let him squeeze as tight as he wants. 

“Haechan,” Mark says drowsily, after the wave of pain eases, “there’s something I never got to tell you.”

“What’s that, Markie?” 

“You asked me about this,” he says, and sweetly pets Haechan’s fingers where their hands are still connected. It brings Haechan back to the night in the club, and the time he had faced Mark on the floor of his room and did the same. 

“On Vulcan,” Mark says, “it’s a sign of affection.”

Haechan’s cheeks flame. “Oh,” he tries, cautiously, “well, that makes sense… You know I care about you, so much, just like Renjun—”

“No,” Mark asserts, then groans at the pain of speaking too loudly. “It’s only between...people who...are together…” 

Everything clicks, then, for Haechan.

It makes sense, really, and he’s probably known for a while now, but it feels different, now that Mark has opened the door. Ever since Haechan met Mark they’ve been hurtling down this path, he thinks, but only now does Haechan realize exactly where it’s led them. 

I like him. 

No, Haechan thinks, I love him, which startles a giggle out of his own mouth.

Mark looks up at him, confused, so Haechan strokes his hair, and then taps his nose. 

“We’re going to get you out of this mess, cutie, and you’re going to be just fine.”

Mark looks mildly bewildered at the pet name, so Haechan takes matters into his own hands. He doesn’t want to move Mark from his lap, so he kisses where he can reach— Mark’s forehead, one cheek, then the other. 

Mark just giggles, enjoying it, and Haechan can tell he’s fading a bit, less lucid with each second that passes.

“USS Prometheus to my cutie cadets,” comes Jaehyun’s voice, ecstatic, from the communicator. “It’s your favorite engineer, standby for transport on this lovely, lovely day.” 

Haechan can't help but snort as his enthusiasm.

There's a pause, then Jaehyun comes back. “I’ve locked onto your signals, don’t move.”

Haechan doesn’t move, and they’re beamed into the transporter room, Mark on his lap, hands still intertwined.

Chapter Text

Jeno is the one to hold Haechan back, with a gentle yet firm grasp around his shoulders, as Mark is whisked off to emergency surgery on the starship Prometheus. As soon as the transport room door shuts, and Mark is out of sight, Haechan slumps, Jeno supporting most of his weight. Of course, what was Haechan about to do, follow him into the operating room? He had wanted to, desperately… still wants to, really. He would follow Mark anywhere.

Because he’s an angel, truly an angel, Jeno sits up with Haechan overnight, in their shared living quarters. He also promises to tell Haechan about anything he hears about Mark on the medbay comm channel, a bribe necessary to get Haechan to sit down and stop pacing. Jeno needs to take a look at the cut on his head, which Haechan had once again forgotten about. He sits, staring out the window, and vaguely registers Jeno talking to the head nurse over his communicator, convincing her to let him treat Haechan in the comfort of their own room. Jeno is gentle with him, but it still hurts, as he has to clean the wound before using the dermal regenerator. 

Even though he stays up all night, Jeno has no complaints other than having to cajole Haechan into showering. But what if Mark gets out of surgery when Haechan is still in the shower?

“For heaven’s sake, Haechan, do you still want to be covered in blood and dirt when you get to see Mark again?” Jeno says, eyebrows raised rather pointedly.

It’s not until then that Haechan realizes Jeno knows. Of course, Jeno knows of his feelings for Mark. In some ways, he knows him better than Haechan knows himself. Haechan ducks his head, avoiding Jeno’s gaze, and heads to the shower.

It’s four-thirty in the morning when he’s done washing up, steam curling out of the open bathroom door as he yanks jeans over his still-damp legs. Jeno gets a message from the head nurse that Mark’s out of surgery, and Haechan nearly trips over himself trying to get his shoes on. 

Mark is unconscious, of course, which Haechan expects. What he doesn’t expect is for him to look so fragile, under the fluffy white comforter of his medbay bed. Haechan is let into medbay, begrudgingly, by the intern working the graveyard shift, whose sour expression lifts slightly on sight of Jeno’s apologetic eye-smile. He’s allowed to stay, for just a couple hours, which he spends holding Mark’s hand and watching the smooth, healthy rise and fall of his chest. It’s grounding, comforting. It eases some of the trauma caused by previously having to watch Mark struggle to breathe, and not being able to help.

---

The second time he visits Mark is the afternoon of the same day, after a fitful nap that Jeno forces Haechan to take. The half-vulcan boy is awake, but incredibly dopey off of pain meds. It reminds Haechan of the old Earth tv programs Jaemin is so fond of, in which patients have to stay in the hospital for days at a time, taking the slow route to heal. While cuts, abrasions, and even fractured bones can now be mended quickly, some of Mark’s internal organs were damaged enough that it took a few hours of surgery to fix. 

Haechan pulls up a chair as close as possible, so he can rest his elbows on the raised medbay bed and be at eye-level with the sleepy, partially sedated boy. Mark clumsily finds Haechan’s hand, and refuses to let go as Haechan provides mindless, comforting chatter. Mark mostly just hums in response, but Haechan doesn’t mind.

“Want you to stay,” Mark mumbles, eyes half closed and one cheek squishing against his pillow.

When Haechan doesn’t immediately answer, Mark whines at him.

“I know you do, honey, I’m right here.” Haechan surprises himself at how naturally the endearment slips out, and he’s glad there’s no one around to hear it.

It’s painful, a tight squeeze around his heart, to slip his hand out of Mark’s grip after he falls asleep. 

---

The third time Haechan visits him, Mark’s eyes are clear, and he’s sitting up. From the way he flushes when Haechan walks in, color blooming high on his cheeks, it seems that Mark remembers at least some of his bold actions due to blood loss and questionable awareness. 

“We need to talk,” Mark says, as Haechan sits on the edge of his bed, hip just a few inches from Mark’s thigh.

“Yes,” Haechan says, “we do.”

Mark’s gaze is on his own hands, fidgeting with his blanket. “Will you… listen, if I say a lot of things, and not answer until the end?” He looks up at Haechan, expression earnest.

“Of course,” Haechan says. 

Mark takes a deep, shuddery breath.

“On Vulcan,” Mark begins, “affection between friends and family exists, of course, but it’s more internal, controlled. It’s not a bad thing at all, for vulcans. But when you’re part human? Well.” he laughs, a breathy sound equally bitter and sweet. 

“The first time I saw you, Haechan, I thought you were glowing. You were with Jaemin, and I didn’t know either of you at the time, but you were running, and laughing, so carefree that it seemed reckless.” 

This is news, Haechan thinks— Mark has never told him this before. He supposes that’s the point.

Mark continues. “That’s how you’ve always been, in my eyes. Unrestrained, vibrant, and for a long time I was jealous. To me, you’re brave. It seems heroic, how you fling yourself, your emotions, out into the world. And—” another shaky, monumental breath. “I’m going to do the same, now.”

Haechan can only blink, pinned in place by Mark’s gentle determination.

“Haechan, you don’t have to like me back. I’m not expecting you to like me back, and um...”

(And oh, this is happening, and Haechan wants to shout, dance, cheer, ‘your feelings are returned!’ but he took a vow of silence, and he honors it.)

“I don’t know how to handle romantic things, but I’m going to try. I’m in love with you, Haechan. I know we’ve been through some...stuff, but this seems inevitable, in a way. I could never look away from you. Even when we thought we hated each other.”

Mark blinks at him. “Um. Yeah. I’m done, now.”

Haechan can’t help a laugh that bubbles up, pure joy rising in his chest. For once, he doesn’t know what to say, so he takes Mark’s hand and presses it over his own heart, where it races, recklessly, a betrayal of his own feelings.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Mark Lee?”

Mark beams, eyes softening with affection. “If you want to be,” he says. 

“I’d love to.”

The next few minutes bring four occurrences. 

One: A kiss, planted on Mark’s forehead in between giggles, the nervous, bubbly energy refusing to dissipate.

Two: Numerous cheek kisses, also from Haechan— he can’t resist pressing his lips all over Mark’s sweet face.

Three: A confession, “I’m in love with you, too, Mark,” whispered into soft hair.

Four: A real kiss— Mark pulls him down breathlessly for a long press of their lips together, and Haechan all but melts— before the nurse comes back and shoos Haechan out. 

---

Despite having to stay in the Academy sickbay for quite a few more days after returning to earth, Mark is never bored. It's the reading period, a week without classes before finals, and the days pass in a flurry of writing final papers, studying, and being visited by friends. Mark is rarely alone in the daytime; there’s usually at least one, if not two, of his friends sprawled out in chairs, or at the foot of Mark’s bed (sometimes even in his bed, Jaemin keeps crawling in to cuddle), papers and flashcards strewn across every surface like a dusting of snow. 

On Friday, there’s a dorm Christmas party that Mark misses, and he’s alone in sickbay for the first evening in three days. He’s not usually sad to miss events like these, but tonight, he knows he’ll have to find something to distract himself from loneliness. Mark looks at the clock. Visiting hours are over, anyways, so he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He sighs, and picks up his novel.

He only reads half a page, then there’s some sort of faint jingling coming from the hallway. He brushes it off, but then there’s murmuring, and the sound of aggressive shushing outside his door. Mark rolls his eyes, then snaps his book shut with delight. Do they really think he won’t be able to hear them?

The door swings open, and Jaemin, Renjun, and Haechan come parading into the room. They’re all wearing ridiculous reindeer antlers (Haechan’s are covered with bells, hence the jingling), and carrying plates loaded with sweets and popcorn. Haechan puts a pair of antlers onto Marks head, which have tiny, glowing lights on them, and smacks a sugar-sticky kiss to his cheek. Renjun just smiles and shakes his head at them, from where he’s already seated at the foot of Mark’s bed. 

Jeno comes in last, taking a quick look down the hallway before shutting the door quietly. He’s holding a big, steaming paper cup of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, which he places into Mark’s hands.

“Why are you guys here? You should be enjoying the party,” Mark says, but he’s unable to contain a smile.

“What do you mean? The party’s right here,” Jaemin says, and ruffles Mark’s hair.

It turns out that Jeno, who now works in campus sickbay after demonstrating his skills on the Prometheus, has switched his schedule with a friend. He technically works now, so that’s how he was able to sneak everyone in. Mark is only allowed two visitors at a time, really, but he’s the only one currently in this wing, and if Jeno thinks it’s fine, it must be.

Soon, the snacks are gone, empty plates abandoned. Mark’s friends settle in, gathering around him. Haechan wriggles into bed with him, head resting on his shoulder. Jaemin is sprawled in a chair pulled close, and Jeno and Renjun fit themselves comfortably on foot of the bed, sinking into the soft comforter. Mark misses Chenle and Jisung, but it’s past their curfew and he wouldn’t want them to risk getting in trouble before they even start classes.

It’s an enchanting picture, a close circle of friends in the low light. Mark’s antler headband washes colors over their cheerful faces. He suddenly wishes he had a camera handy, but, as it is, he doesn’t think he could forget this moment anyway.

Their previously hyper chatter has quieted, making room for nostalgia.

“Hey, Jeno,” Jaemin says sleepily from his chair. “Do you remember our first year, when you walked into that glass door in front of a group of professors?”

“You haven’t let me forget, so, obviously,” Jeno says.

“Aha! So you admit it actually happened!” Haechan chimes in.

“Did you pretend like it didn’t?” Mark asks, laughing.

“Yes, he was in denial for like, two years,” Jaemin says. 

Renjun laughs, “I’m sorry, Jeno, but I can totally see that happening to you.”

“I can’t believe we’re here now, one semester left. It seems like just yesterday that we were awkward first years, running into glass doors,” Haechan says. The group laughs. 

Mark wraps one arm around the back of Haechan’s shoulders and squeezes, then presses a kiss to his temple. There’s a comfortable pause, and his friends’ fond smiles tell Mark the action hasn’t gone unnoticed. 

“I have a confession,” Renjun says, playfully.

“Oh, do share,” says Jaemin.

“Well, okay, if you insist,” Renjun says.

Mark is suspicious. This seems planned. 

Renjun continues. “Mark, Haechan, do you remember that big group project that I had with Jeno and Jaemin, the reason I gave for becoming friends with them?”

“Yeah?” Mark is confused.

“There wasn’t a group project.”

“I knew it, you bastards!” Haechan points a finger at Jaemin, then directs it at Jeno. “You two were being so suspicious. I still don’t understand why you lied to me for no reason.”

“Well, it’s not like there wasn’t a reason…” Jeno says.

“Let’s just say that this,” Jaemin gestures to Mark and Haechan, “would never have happened without a push in the right direction.”

Mark understands now.

So does Haechan, apparently— “I’m assuming I can blame you all, too, for putting Mark in an outfit that nearly killed me, that night we went out?”

Mark chokes on his last sip of hot chocolate. (He also makes a mental note to ask Renjun to help him to shop, in the future.)

Renjun shrugs. “It’s not my fault you two were disgustingly into each other and didn’t even notice.”

Haechan throws a spare pillow at him, but when Mark looks over, he’s grinning. 

---

Mark feels impossibly fizzy, like he’s been dipped in a sweet effervescent drink, as he tries to sit still in his room and wait for Haechan to arrive. Between Mark’s recovery on the starship, his time in the Academy sickbay, studying for finals, and catching up with friends, they haven’t had the chance to be alone. So, as soon as he convinces Renjun it’s okay to go study with Jaemin and Jeno, and leave Mark in the dorm alone (‘My scans were fine! Really, Injunnie, I’m fine, I swear, you don’t have to worry. Just go, already!’), Mark immediately messages Haechan.

It goes exactly as Mark expects, though somehow, completely different. 

There’s a bit of small talk after Haechan crosses the threshold, standing in Mark’s room with all his warm and honeyed beauty. The conversation is light, on the surface, but electrically-charged, something bubbling underneath it.

There’s a pause, and Mark just looks at Haechan. Haechan looks back.

Haechan strides closer to him, then closer still, chin tilted up to account for their slight height difference as he smiles, dazzlingly, at Mark.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Haechan’s voice is heavy, sweet, like maple syrup. “Make yourself comfortable,” he says, and how can Mark feel comfortable when Haechan is looking at him like that? 

Haechan presses his palms firmly on Mark’s shoulders until he understands his meaning— Mark complies, stepping the few feet backwards to take a seat on his bed. He scoots a little, so his back is almost against the wall. His legs are splayed out haphazardly in front of him, and it makes him feel like a moron, what is he doing? But then, Haechan joins him, crawling over him, ultimately settling with his knees on either side of Mark’s hips, Haechan’s weight a blissful warmth on his thighs.

Haechan tips up Mark’s jaw, gently, his other hand smoothing Mark’s hair out of his eyes. It’s incredibly nice to appreciate Haechan this closely, gaze lingering on his charming moles without anyone else’s judgement. Mark strokes his fingertips down Haechan’s spine, starting at the top and stopping to rest at the small of his back. It’s exploratory, with excellent results— Haechan visibly shivers. Mark files that thought for later, as he can’t concentrate due to his boyfriend leaning in, slowly, towards his lips.

“Finally,” Haechan breathes, lips just a centimeter from Mark’s. 

It isn’t anything like Mark expects; it’s better. His mouth is incredibly soft and warm, and he’s gentle, pressing against Mark’s lips in kiss after kiss after kiss . It’s slow, thoughtful, drawn out to the point that Mark feels time stretching out like taffy— it’s perfectly at the midpoint between innocently sweet and sensually languid. Mark can no longer tell which way is up, his head spinning, hands gripping the soft fabric of Haechan’s t-shirt in fists. He’d be perfectly happy to stay here forever, slowly drowning in the chastely sensual enigma of kissing his boyfriend, but Haechan pulls away from his lips. 

Mark tries to object, but he gets interrupted. 

“Let me have this, you’ll have plenty of time to kiss me later, baby,” and Mark closes his mouth, protest completely forgotten, because isn’t that just the most gorgeous sound that’s ever left Haechan’s mouth?

But what is Haechan talking about? What is Mark letting him have? 

Mark doesn’t know what he means, until he does.

Haechan presses his parted lips under Mark’s jaw, at a pulse point that jumps underneath his touch. He gives a kitten lick to the spot, which should be gross, but isn’t. It’s definitely not gross, from the way Mark has to suppress a whine. His heavy exhale just seems to spur his boyfriend on, and he traverses Mark's neck with his lips (and occasionally teeth, which, Mark finds, is a revelation). It’s when Haechan stretches out the neck of his shirt to start earnestly sucking at his collarbone that Mark taps out, a gentle prod against Haechan’s waist that hopefully says, ‘Hang on a minute here, I might actually die.’

Haechan appears to understand the general sentiment, and he resurfaces to mouth at the shell of Mark’s ear instead. It’s a drag of barely parted lips, a warm puff of breath, and Mark nearly shakes with how intimate it is.

“I’ve waited so long to kiss you properly, you have no idea,” Haechan says, mouth still against his ear, and Mark’s heart beats double-time.

“I think I might have some idea what that’s like.” In a moment of daring, he slips his hands under the back of Haechan’s shirt to scrape all the way down, lightly, with his nails, effectively producing a full-body shiver. Aha. Mark thought so. He slides his palms back up, stopping at Haechan's shoulder blades, so he can press him close and fit their lips back together. Mark feels like he has the upper hand, now, and he takes the opportunity to smooth his hands over Haechan's sides, following the lines of his ribs under soft, plush skin.

Abruptly, Haechan leans backwards, almost like he’s falling, but it’s purposeful, and he drags Mark down with him. Mark barely has time to prepare himself for the landing— he catches himself, arms bracing on either side of Haechan’s head, their noses an inch apart. And this is different, Mark thinks, Haechan’s soft hair fanned out on Mark’s pillow, lips shiny and rosy pink. Haechan pulls Mark even closer. Their chests press together, and Mark can feel Haechan’s heartbeat against his own rib cage.

It’s many, many kisses later that it devolves into playful wrestling— Haechan accidentally kicks Mark off the bed, then immediately fusses over him, pressing a kiss to the faint, white scar where his injury used to be.

Chapter Text

The rush of finals ends, and Haechan comes out of it, dazed, to arrive in disorienting stillness. There’s a buzzing energy still present within him, like an echo, the remnants of the stress, elation, terror, and relief of the events of the past few weeks. 

He’s sitting on Mark’s bed, as the vulcan boy packs up a few things to bring to his mother’s house for their winter break. It’s hard to watch him pack, hard to let him depart, however briefly, because of the newness of being together. It’s dramatic to feel this way, Haechan thinks— both of their families live in the Bay area so there’s no reason they can’t see each other over break. 

Nonetheless, Haechan invites his friends to his family’s beach house for a meal, one last get-together, before everyone parts ways for the few weeks of vacation. Johnny is there, too, as he has decided to work from the beach house during the students’ winter break, to get some solace— the usual tourists are nowhere to be found, because of the season. Haechan huffs a laugh to himself. In Monterey, the winter temperatures are only about ten degrees fahrenheit cooler than in the height of summer. Haechan is used to the beaches being bitingly chilly, even in summer, as the fog and cloud cover rarely burns off.

It’s homey, the grey-blue of the water and clouds blurring together like an impressionist painting. He trudges along the cold sand, hands in the pockets of his thick jacket, head bent against the wind. Haechan spots a formation of driftwood, the same pieces that were there years ago, that someone has dragged further up the beach. The sight makes Haechan feel as if he’s fourteen again, as if no time has passed...though, Mark is here, too, next to him, effectively rewriting memory pathways and forever changing how Haechan sees this place. It’s sweet, the realization that soon, Mark will be part of so many more memories.

He directs Mark to sit on the driftwood, next to him. Haechan leans against his boyfriend, head on his shoulder, then intertwines one of Mark’s hands with his own and pulls it into his pocket.

“I’m going to miss you,” Haechan says.

“You don’t have to,” Mark says, nuzzling his cheek against the top of Haechan’s head. “Can’t you just put the rest of me in your pocket, too, and bring me wherever you go?”

Haechan giggles. “Mark Lee, who knew you were such a needy baby?” He can’t see Mark’s face but he’s sure he flushes a light green. 

“But you like it,” Mark mumbles into Haechan's hair. “You shouldn’t make fun of me if you like it.”

And, well, that’s true, so Haechan lifts his head to kiss Mark as an apology. Their lips fit together, perfectly, in the chilly, salty ocean wind. Mark’s hair flutters against his forehead, and the sound of the waves crashing on the beach makes Haechan lose track of time.

There’s yelling, faint in the wind, and the two cadets look up to see Jaemin, Renjun, and Jeno approaching. They jog faster, the closer they get, until they make it to the driftwood, joyously breathless. There’s an exchange of hugs and greetings, even though they spent the morning packing and visiting each other’s rooms when they became bored.

“Where are Jisung and Chenle?” Mark asks.

“Oh, they’re stuck inside. Taeyong won’t let them leave him,” Renjun says.

“Taeyong is here?!” Haechan stands up, dragging Mark by their joined hands to head inside.

They enter through the back porch. The moment they arrive, Jaehyun does, too, nearly falling through the front door with an astounding number of groceries. He puts them on the kitchen island, then calls out a belated, “Surprise!”

Johnny appears at the top of the staircase, laughing, then dashes down to catch Jaehyun in a crushing bear hug. 

“Jae! I knew you sounded funny when I asked you how things were on Psi Epsilon II. You weren’t even there! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yes, well, Taeyong wanted to surprise you somehow, and couldn’t do it himself. You know each other’s schedules too well, you weirdos.”

Haechan is glad to see both Taeyong and Jaehyun outside of a major disaster, and gets his chance to hug them after Johnny is done fussing over the two of them. To his delight, the starfleet officers coo over Mark, too, complimenting him and generally showering him with affection. It’s Haechan’s favorite thing (well, one of them, pretty much anything Mark-related is his favorite), seeing Mark slightly embarrassed as he enjoys positive attention.

The preparations for dinner are lively, with only one major mishap involving spaghetti on the wall, and resulting in Jisung and Mark being banned from the kitchen. Jaemin, as it turns out, is a wonderful chef. He even teaches Jeno how to julienne vegetables, standing behind him and guiding the med student’s hands with his own. Haechan observes the charming scene, and wonders about Jaemin and Jeno, as he sometimes does. They’re affectionate with all their friends, he supposes, but there’s something cosmic to their friendship in particular. Jaemin and Jeno are constant, familiar, as if their atoms were next to each other at the start of the universe. 

Soon, the table is filled with steaming dishes, and everyone takes a seat around it. Johnny clears his throat and holds his glass up. 

“To friends, family,” Johnny winks at Haechan, “and being together.”

“To graduates, soon-to-be graduates, and new cadets alike.” Taeyong’s gaze sweeps along the table as he speaks, beaming at them all.

“To recovery, health, and love.” Haechan says, directed at Mark, then turns a bit shy in the face of Johnny and Jaemin’s teasing noises.  

“To the future, to us, to the stars.” 

Haechan feels Mark's toast like an anchor, grounding him in hope, light and love. This moment is fleeting, as all time is, but in his memory it will stay, ceaseless, eternal.