Work Text:
Blowing up Imperial bases is fun.
No one, not even Seonghwa, can deny it. The way the steel, glass, and stone are torn apart until nothing but dust is left, how a ball of plasma-hot fire expands, swallowing starships, melting them into blobs of metal, the gush of air that knocks you off your feet and presses into ground. It’s a magnificent sight, one that the crew of Shaboom (because, quoting Hongjoong, “I don’t care about beautiful names for the ship, all I want is to shaboom.”) enjoys watching from the safety of their deck.
So, yeah, blowing up Imperial bases is fun. As long as you aren’t inside it right before the explosion.
“San, please tell me you’re already in the hangar and see the starship,” there’s a thinly veiled worry in Yunho’s voice.
“I’m working on it,” San replies, peeking from behind the corner. So far, he’s been lucky, and the corridors were empty, the base's staff drawn away by the series of distractions Hongjoong and Seonghwa orchestrated.
“You were supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”
Yeah, he knows.
“I know,” he mutters, tapping on the earpiece. He needs all the concentration he can gather to cover the distance from Sector 1 to the hangar. Yunho can have his head for it later.
Taking a deep breath, San sprints forward, the monotonous silver of metal wall panels blurring into one continuous line in the corners of his eyes. He’s so focused on running that he barely catches himself from crashing into a wall when he misses his turn, lifting his hands just in time to cushion the bump.
Catching his breath, San looks around, trying to remember where he’s, and then his heart freezes in his throat when he meets eyes with an officer. The man is standing barely a few meters away, his mouth agape. Horrified, San notices the man’s hand lifting to reach a communicator on his chest. But before either of them has a chance to do anything—call for troopers or pull the blaster's trigger—the officer’s face goes slack.
“You haven’t seen anyone,” a familiar voice comes from behind San, and he can’t help but smile, relieved.
“I haven’t seen anyone,” the officer repeats dully, his eyes unfocused.
“You will go to Sector 2 and will keep anyone you meet on your way from going to the hangar.”
“I will go to Sector 2 and keep everyone I meet away from the hangar.”
“Go,” a firm push in the voice of San’s favorite person in the galaxy makes the officer blink and turn around swiftly, heading towards the row of elevators.
“My prince,” San smiles, turning towards the cloaked figure.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Yeosang? We’re not in the palace anymore,” the prince—Yeosang— pulls the hood of his dark cloak off his head, his eyes flashing with annoyance from under cherry-red curls.
“Even if we were in another galaxy, I’d still call you my prince,” San argues with a sweet smile, and Yeosang has no other choice but to huff and let it go. Months of arguing taught him that nothing, not even the Force, could make San stop being reverently polite towards him.
“Come on, we should hurry,” Yeosang swiftly changes the subject, and San nods, pushing his affection aside for now.
They have less than twenty minutes before the base gets obliterated. If they don't make it out in time, Hongjoong will find a way to revive them and then kill them again.
Navigating the steel maze that houses a quarter of Imperial forces in this star system is much easier and faster when you have a Jedi beside you. Although San always takes extra time to memorize the layouts of the buildings they have to infiltrate, in times like this, when all the corridors seem the same, and there’s no indicator to check or a droid to hack into, Yeosang’s sense of direction is unmatching.
And when they face a stray patrol or an officer too confused to follow proper protocols, who's just running around screaming orders…. Two fighters are always better than one.
“Thank you, my prince,” San quips, looking at a row of troupers hanging in the air, wiggling and grasping for purchases uselessly. He takes a few well-aimed shots, and the bodies fall onto the ground in a clatter of scorched armor.
Yeosang doesn’t reply, too focused on sending another group of soldiers flying over the corridor and smashing into the wall with a flick of his wrist. A pale-looking officer, the only one left against them, picks up one of the discarded phases and shoots at Yeosang, but he evades it, his body twisting gracefully. San stuns the officer, scoffing when the man lets out a pathetic squeak and turns away, uncaring.
As soon as the bomb goes off, they all will burn for every one of their evil deeds.
They almost reach the hangar, San can feel the vibration of the force field generators under his feet when Yeosang suddenly stops, his eyes widening in alarm.
“What is it?” San is at his side in an instant, checking him for injuries just in case.
“I feel the presence of another Force user,” Yeosang whispers. Judging by worry creasing his forehead, it’s not Seonghwa.
San doesn’t have a chance to ask any more questions—the doors leading to what should be a control room overlooking the hangar hiss open, and Yeosang’s posture grows rigid right away. Instinctively, San steps forward and to the right, effectively covering Yeosang’s body with his, and only then looks at whatever threat is coming their way.
It’s Minjae.
“I knew you’d be here,” he says, his voice much deeper than San remembers. The red glow his lightsaber casts on his face makes him look even older.
“Minjae…” Yeosang exhales, pain lacing his words. He tries to push San aside, but as long as Minjae has this empty look in his eyes and a lightsaber aimed at them, San won’t move.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” Minjae replies with empty politeness. “Are you going to wreak havoc here as well?”
Yeosang’s grip on San’s shoulder tightens as he must be recalling what Mingjae refers to. Even San feels a pang of hurt and guilt shooting through his heart despite knowing that neither of them could be blamed for everything that happened on Halazia.
“It needs to be done,” San says, drawing Minjae’s attention to himself. If he strikes him first, it may give Yeosang a few precious seconds to either make a run for it and block the doors leading to the hangar or disarm him.
Smiling dryly, Minjae spares San only a flickering glance before focusing back on Yeosang. Dammit.
“The base is about to explode within twenty minutes,” San tries again, wondering if stepping forward will be a good idea. “We should hurry up if we want to make it out alive.”
Appealing to Minjae’s desire to survive seems to be a bad choice. His face shatters, baring deep-etched anguish, and then morphs into a blank mask as if he feels nothing.
“Maybe we should all die here,” is all he says before jumping up high in the air, the Force carrying him across the corridor and right over their heads. San doesn’t have a chance to lift his blaster and pull the trigger. His body's dragged to the side by an invisible hand. Yeosang must’ve had enough of his stubbornness and used Force to move him out of harm’s way.
Thinking about Minjae intending to harm him makes San’s eyes sting with unshed tears.
Not now. He has his beloved prince to save.
He double-checks the blaster, ensuring it’s set to stun, and aims at Minjae, trying, if not hit, then at least distract him. It works. Whatever training he’s had in these four years isn’t enough to fight off them both at once, so Minjae has to stick to going into defense mode. But wasting time on fighting means they have lower chances to get the fuck away from here before all hell gets loose.
Yeosang shares the sentiment, it seems. He shifts his stance a bit, providing an opening to switch from defense to attack. Inexperienced as he is, Minjae charges forward, leaving his back open for San to aim.
The blaster cracks quietly, the shot buzzing through the air and smashing against Minjae’s back, knocking him out immediately. Carried by momentum, his body leans forward, but Yeosang is right there, catching his unconscious body before it falls onto the floor. The lightsaber slips between Minjae’s limp fingers, and San runs to pick it up, attaching it to his belt swiftly.
“We need transport right now,” Yeosang looks up at San, a poorly masked worry shining in his eyes.
“Yeah, got it,” San nods, tapping on his earpiece and waiting for the signal to cut through.
At first, the plan was to steal an Imperial spaceship and use it to flee the base. As it wouldn't be traceable for some time, they could use it for some future operations. But now they don’t have time to rummage through the database, lift the lock off the ship, and then hack into it.
So, plan B it is.
Yunho’s voice is like a ray of sunshine breaking through black clouds hanging over San’s head, “—if you don’t answer right now, I’m giving your plushies to Jongho. He’ll use them as punching bags. Shiber’s face will be absolutely destroyed if you—”
“Don’t you dare,” San cuts him off, “don’t you dare touch Shiber.”
“That’s what made you answer?!” Yunho yells at him, making the earpiece in San’s ear vibrate from the loudness. “Twelve minutes until the bomb goes off, neither Hongjoong nor Seonghwa can reach Yeosang, you’re still on the base, and you reply—”
“Yuyu,” at least now San knows how much time they have left, “I have Yeosang right beside me. And…And Minjae. And we need a ride.”
It takes just a few seconds for Yunho to process the information, “We’ll be there in eight.”
The line disconnects, and San crouches beside Yeosang, squeezing his arm gently. Like this, not marred with disdain and sorrow, Minjae looks as young as San remembers him.
“They’ll pick us up soon, we should at least make it to the hangar,” he says softly, watching Yeosang coming back from the memory line that they both don’t like to visit much.
Carefully, San picks Minjae up and follows Yeosang as they swiftly make their way through the control room, to the elevators, and then finally to the hangar itself. Barely any soldiers are left here, so they easily find themselves a place to hide while waiting for their crew.
“Hey, Yeosang,” San says, looking at his prince over Minjae’s head. He doesn’t like seeing him so upset, it makes his skin crawl with the desire to fix it, to do anything to see him smile again.
So when Yeosang shifts his gaze towards him, San grins widely, letting his mouth run before his brain, “You looked so hot today.”
“I—did?” Yeosang stammers, blinking confusedly.
“Yeah,” San nods enthusiastically, “you looked awesome, the best Jedi in the galaxy. Just don’t tell Seonghwa I said so.”
“Thank you,” Yeosang smiles. It’s small and way dimmer than San would’ve liked.
“Also, I want to kiss you very much.”
That makes Yeosang blush. San counts it as a win.
“I told you no kissing as long as you still call me your 'prince.'”
“No calling you prince, no calling you highness. What next? No calling you my boyfriend?”
“You don’t call me that anyway,” Yeosang mumbles, and is it the apprehension San hears in his voice?
“Do you want me to?” He asks eagerly but doesn’t hear the answer.
Somehow, Mingi manages to blast through three meters of solid steel, metal, and rock, only Hongjoong’s exceptional piloting skills saving Shaboom from being buried under debris. Oh, he knows everything about grand entries.
“Come on, we gotta go,” Yeosang says, jumping to his feet.
“Wait,” San scrambles to follow him, “Yeosang, wait!”