Archive of Our Own

"To Kyungsoo."

In the stillness of the empty control room, the clink of their glasses is sharp, reverberating between the desks of equipment and travelling along the wires of scattered machinery. Kyungsoo raises the rim to his lips, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. The liquid making its way down his throat definitely doesn't seem to be in any kind of rush, moving slowly, leaving a tangy, acidic taste in its wake. Kyungsoo licks the roof of his mouth and sets his glass back on the table; it's been a while since he last had something so sweet.

Opposite him, Minseok downs his entire glass at a go and lets out a long, contented sigh afterwards. "Is this okay, though? You never share this with anyone." He gestures absentmindedly at the frosted bottle perched in the middle of the table, like an unfinished centerpiece patiently awaiting adornment.

Junmyeon laughs. "Today's special, so it's fine."

In accordance with PPDC regulations, alcohol isn't allowed anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of the Seoul headquarters, not even in Marshall Wu Yifan's private store. Intoxication is, after all, something everyone in their line of work couldn't possibly afford. Kyungsoo was pretty sure they'd have to settle with regular-grade grape juice, the kind distributed in the cafeteria during lunch, but Junmyeon had pulled out a bottle of sparkling juice at the last minute with a twinkle in his eye and insisted today was a special enough occasion to share it.

"So how is it that you even have sparkling juice with you?" Kyungsoo challenges, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat.

Junmyeon's sarcasm has extremely rounded edges. The kind of blade that pokes you in the side, but doesn't bruise, barely even hurts. "Maybe I bought it? At a supermarket?"

It's Jongin's turn to grin, one arm casually tossed around Kyungsoo's shoulder as he stares Junmyeon right in the eye. "You actually go out, hyung? If you're not here, then you're over at J-Tech. If you're not at either of these places, you're probably in the cafeteria or conked out in your bunker," he points out.

Junmyeon makes an odd sputtering noise and wrings his hands in front of him. "I—" His mouth moves soundlessly to wrap around the beginnings of an unfinished retort. Prolonged moments of silence make it clear to everyone that Junmyeon has no legitimate rebuttal. "Fine, I asked Chanyeol to get it for me last week," he concedes reluctantly, an embarrassed flush fanning across his cheeks.

No surprises there; Kyungsoo first met Junmyeon four years ago, when he transferred in to local J-Tech from Tokyo HQ. Kyungsoo didn't need to ask to know what position he held in the department - Junmyeon's calm, easygoing demeanour was the giveaway, the signature of a qualified neural bridge operator. His shy smiles and modest laughter belied his real capabilities, though, the kind of startling intelligence and keen eye for detail that threw everyone off-balance and propelled him from J-Tech greenhorn to LOCCENT mission controller in little under a year.

In the span of time they've known each other, Kyungsoo can't recall ever seeing Junmyeon take weekends off, much less go for a breather in the outside world, someplace where the stench of engine oil and the sound of metal against metal can't stick to him like post-rain dew.

Kyungsoo isn't one to talk, though. He barely remembers going out for anything not related to work.

"Last week?" Jongin's question jerks him back to reality, like someone flinging open the curtains to a dark room without warning. There's a slight hint of bemusement seeping into his voice, accusation without malice. "Then you guys must've known about Kyungsoo making the cut for days now."

Minseok only offers a cryptic smile in return and gets to his feet, dusting his shirt lightly. "We have to get going," he reminds Junmyeon, tapping his watch. "Meeting at nine, remember?"

Junmyeon doesn't spare a single drop of juice from his glass. The thick file he picks up from the table reads 'Jaeger Tech' in authoritative, embossed silver letters. His gaze flickers from the text to Kyungsoo, then finally settles on Jongin. The faint traces of a smile linger on his lips, strangely telling under the lighting of the control room. "We at J-Tech tend to know a few things."

It's been three years since Junmyeon was assigned to the main body of Strike Group personnel. Technically— "You're not J-Tech anymore, hyung," Jongin says, subconsciously completing Kyungsoo's sentence.

"Once J-Tech, always J-Tech!" Junmyeon yells his reply over his shoulder, closing the door behind him.

Some things never change, Kyungsoo muses. He rubs his index finger against the rim of the glass, producing a soft, wispy note that dissipates just as quickly as it came in the newfound silence of the control room. Sound is a funny thing: seemingly far away, hard to grasp, elusive - just like today.

"Is Seoul's newest Jaeger pilot thinking about his first big kill already? A Category 3, maybe?" Jongin's questions are always phrased lightly, the end of his sentences seemingly tilting upward in intonation as he grins, but more often than not, they have silent implications. Jongin's never been one to say things directly, mostly because there's never a need to. His teasing, gentle smiles are a constant reminder that he knows the workings of Kyungsoo's mind like the back of his hand.

Today, though, the curl of his fingers against the fabric of Kyungsoo's sweater, marginal but very much purposeful, is enough to give him away. We won't spend much time together anymore.

Kyungsoo swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. "Shush," he says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. "I haven't been officially installed yet. I haven't even been assigned a co-pilot." Fair points, both of them, perfectly reasonable and perfectly true. The argument, though, sounds half-baked even to Kyungsoo's own ears.

Pilot.

Half of Kyungsoo's life has revolved around that one word. It was the star in his sky, the one he'd continue looking for even on nights where the clouds shrouded it protectively, the one he'd keep chasing even on days he fell and scraped his knees. He hadn't given much thought to the day where it would no longer be just a faraway concept.

Pilot Do Kyungsoo, Marshall Wu had announced to the Seoul HQ Shatterdome, will be one half of two pilots manning the newly-commissioned Jaeger, Nova Hyperion.

Kyungsoo can still hear the marshall's deep voice over deafening cheers and applause, looping over and over again in his head like a faultless recording. Surreality seems to come hand-in-hand with an odd sense of listlessness.

"Co-pilot designations, huh?" Jongin's voice is smaller now, more child-like, not the hardened, fiery Kim Jongin that everyone in Seoul HQ knows. This is Kim Jongin, Kyungsoo's friend since middle school, his protector and confidante and best friend personified in a sun-kissed, chiselled boy.

Kyungsoo toys with his fingers, runs them along the smooth, polished texture of the metal tabletop. It's seamless, cold, much like technology and the world they live in. He stares out the glass of the control room at the hollow loading bay, already lined with transport rails. In a week or two, it would no longer be empty - his heart lurches at the realisation that there would be a Mark 4 Jaeger in its place, a marvel with fifteen thousand tanks of diesel per muscle strand, the most advanced digital fighting machine to date. His Mark 4 Jaeger.

He nods slightly. "Yeah. I heard the candidates will start flying in tomorrow."

Jongin inclines his head, following Kyungsoo's gaze. "Minseok-hyung told me the one from Russia touched down this evening."

When Kyungsoo doesn't answer, Jongin clears his throat and scoots closer, the wheels of his chair moving soundlessly against the floor. He rests his cheek against Kyungsoo's shoulder and fiddles with the hem of his sweater. "You're gonna have an amazing co-pilot, hyung. They're sending in only the best for you. You deserve the best," he says, determination seeping into the tenderness of his words.

This feels like middle school all over again, when Jongin would do just this - lean his head against Kyungsoo's shoulder while they sat under their favourite tree in the park, telling him things in such a heartfelt, honest voice that Kyungsoo couldn't help but feel like the one who truly deserved the world and more was Jongin. Just like he always does, Kyungsoo lifts a hand to Jongin's hair, patting it gently.

"You're one of the candidates, Jongin. It could be you, you know. You're pretty close to the best."

Kyungsoo can feel the upturn of Jongin's lips against the cotton of his sweater. "We'll be the most kick-ass Jaeger pilot duo in history."

Their conversations always end when they feel like they've said all they want to say. The ensuing silence is comfortable.

 

◇

 

As he walks down the corridor, exchanging polite greetings with the people milling around or passing him by, it occurs to Kyungsoo that this could very well be one of his last days in trainee accommodation. In a few days' time, he'd move to the pilot bunkers, only a few minutes' walk away from the loading bay for maximum accessibility. He'd be mingling with unpredictability, rubbing shoulders with uncertainty. Working around circumstances and playing with fire would be the description most apt for the job.

Kyungsoo has a set routine of waking up at six thirty in the morning. He's in the shower by six forty most days, out the door by seven, at the cafeteria by fifteen, depending on elevator traffic. Repetition has always been a faithful companion of his, like a cassette on loop. Mundane at best, but somehow reassuring, in its own strange way. Kyungsoo is often reminded that humanity functions in a way that defies the logic they preach. Despite the impending danger looming over them, the world continues to spin, cocooned in blissful ignorance. The threat of extinction could be hanging in the air, but humanity still finds time to worry about petty things like material wealth, love, routines. It's an odd world to live in, but it's still their world, and in a few days, he'll join the ranks of those tasked to safeguard it.

By the time he arrives at the cafeteria, having excused himself as gently and quickly as he can from everybody who stops to offer him their congratulations, the large display above the open metal doors reads 7:38 in angular, red font.

The tape of the cassette is starting to come loose; the sound is beginning to jar.

The half hour that's slipped by Kyungsoo thankfully hasn't cost him; the line for breakfast isn't particularly long. As she hands him a tray of food, the cafeteria lady cooes her congratulatory wishes at him. "All my food must've done you some good, boy!" Chanyeol had told him this once, but Kyungsoo had written it off as mere exaggeration: if there's anywhere in Seoul HQ that word gets out the fastest among non-Shatterdome staff, it'd be the cafeteria. News spreads like wildfire here, blazing hot and near impossible to put out, be it a K-Science mishap or an all-out brawl in the Kwoon combat room.

Kyungsoo attempts to untangle his shirt collar from the notch of his jacket while balancing his tray of food at the top of the stairs. For a newly-approved Jaeger pilot graduate, his inability to multitask efficiently at anything not related to work is painfully apparent. The plastic cup of coffee on his tray might be tilting far too dangerously to the right—

"Careful, I don't think kimchi paste looks too good on white shirts." A hand reaches out to steady his tray, returning its level to a safe 180 degrees flat. Kyungsoo returns a runaway roll back onto its plate and looks up to meet a pair of bright, inquisitive eyes that belie the serene voice that had spoken. Much like his tone, the small smile that lifts the edges of the speaker's lips hints at amusement. "I'd shake your hand, but I wouldn't want both our trays falling over."

Kyungsoo finds himself hard-pressed not to return the tentative grin. Whoever this person is, he seems to have mastered the art of breaking the ice with strangers, slicing right through it like a hot knife through butter.

"Kim Jongdae," the man says.

"Do Kyungsoo; nice meeting you." It's been a long time since anybody has set him at such complete ease during their first conversation. The lightness is foreign, a far cry from the usual weight of expectations bearing down on him like one extra book in an overloaded backpack.

Jongdae's jaw goes slack and he blinks at Kyungsoo a few times, as if trying to clear a fog that's settled over his eyes. "Are you ser—" he begins. Readjusting his grip on his own plastic tray and rearranging his features into something less surprised, he directs a sheepish smile at Kyungsoo. "Who would've thought? Good ol' me saving Seoul HQ's newest pilot graduate from a breakfast disaster. Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thank you," is Kyungsoo's simple, shy reply. He knows he really should make an effort to be more eloquent in cases like these, but words have never been a close friend of his. He's never found himself particularly mindful of this shortcoming; he doesn't need words in the Drift. Succinctness has always been right up his alley anyway.

It suddenly strikes Kyungsoo that although Jongdae's Korean is just as natural as any local's, he's never seen Jongdae's face around these parts, in all his years here. "You're one of the pilot candidates, aren't you?" Kyungsoo ventures, although he's almost certain of the answer.

Jongdae adopts a mock regal tone, the grin on his face spreading to its full width. "I leave myself in your able care."

Kyungsoo gestures for Jongdae to follow him as he descends the steps to the main seating area of the cafeteria, scanning the crowd for any sign of either Jongin or Chanyeol, both of whom are the only ones tall enough to be seen over the sea of hungry cafeteria-goers. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Chanyeol waving a long arm animatedly at him, a piece of lettuce in his mouth.

"Do you sit with a pilot posse or something?" Jongdae speaks up as they weave their way through the crowd, narrowly avoiding the muscled arm of a big brute. "Because that'd be kind of overwhelming."

Kyungsoo can't help but chuckle at the comment. "Nah. I'll be honest with you, we're more a motley crew than a posse."

When he draws closer, he sees that the total headcount of the table has been brought to six. Junmyeon and Minseok are seated opposite each other, deep in discussion about J-Tech's newest open secret, the revamped cannon prototype. "Morning," Kyungsoo announces his arrival, slipping into the seat next to Jongin and motioning for Jongdae to do the same.

"Who's this?" Chanyeol flashes Jongdae a look of intrigue while trying to squeeze an oversized lump of kimchi into a folded piece of lettuce with limited success.

"Hi," is the nervous response that tumbles past Jongdae's lips, bringing all action at the table to a halt. Seated next to Chanyeol, Jongdae looks substantially smaller, both in stature and bearing. His earlier confidence seems to have retreated to the very tip of his tongue. Kyungsoo gives him an encouraging nod and mouths, they're nice, promise. "I— uh, I'm Kim Jongdae, and frankly, I'm just hoping to survive the week and be a pilot."

The soft clink of Jongin's chopsticks against the edge of his bowl is drowned out by Chanyeol's laughter, rough and loud like waves battering the foot of a cliff, amplified by the cafeteria's strangely excellent acoustics. Jongin extends a hand across the table, a grin teasing the edges of his lips upward. "Pilot trainee, Seoul-based, Kim Jongin." Kyungsoo can't say he's not impressed by Jongdae's seemingly contagious easygoing vibes. Very few people have made Jongin comfortable enough to offer the first greeting, standard introduction or not, much less coerce a smile out of him so soon.

Almost as if echoing his sentiments out loud, Chanyeol exclaims, "I like this one already!"

"This is the early bird I told everyone about," Minseok says over a mouthful of bread. "He's the pilot candidate from Russia."

When Kyungsoo argues that he hasn't been told, that he had to hear the news from Jongin secondhand, Minseok raises both palms defensively. "That's because you were too busy being congratulated by everyone. Russia sent him out the moment we paged international Shatterdomes about your co-pilot recruitment."

Fifteen minutes into breakfast is all it takes for them to feel like they've known Jongdae for years. He eagerly gives detailed answers to Junmyeon's enquiries about the newly-revamped Soviet Jaeger commissioning policies, shares stories about his gruelling days as a Russian trainee with Jongin, jokingly thanks Minseok for the glowing recommendation he'd been given to everyone.

"I have a feeling we'll be best friends!" Chanyeol's proclamation comes as he reaches over to steal a bit of Jongdae's pickled radish - a sign for the better, since he only ever attempts to nick food from people he considers close to him.

In a lot of ways, Kyungsoo realises, Chanyeol and Jongdae bear striking similarities. Easy to get along with, personable, all sunny smiles and boisterous laughter that serve to divert attention from the gloominess of the world. Chanyeol's lighthearted nature always reminds him that there are still simple pleasures in life, a temporary distraction, a decoy of sorts.

"You haven't lost your accent at all, though." Junmyeon's polite observation brings Kyungsoo back to the conversation at the table. He gestures in Jongdae's direction with his spoon. "Gyeonggi-do, right?"

Jongdae grins into his glass of water. "Siheung, yes. You've got a good ear."

"Really?" Jongin leans back in his chair, his breakfast tray wiped clean in front of him, without so much as a grain of food left. It used to save Kyungsoo a lot of trouble not having to throw out any food when Jongin came over for dinner. "Kyungsoo-hyung's from Gyeonggi-do too, Goyang, actually."

The grin Kyungsoo directs at Jongin is returned in similar fashion, shoulders bumping and hands brushing under the table. Sometimes Jongin knows him better than he knows himself - one of several side effects of having grown up side-by-side through years of friendship. Kyungsoo can't say he minds, though; it's good to have someone remind him of who he is from time to time, to catch him from being swept away by the merciless currents of the world.

Kyungsoo obliges Jongdae a high-five. "I moved to Seoul when I was a kid, so I've kind of lost my accent. Small world, though, huh?"

"The world is tiny. We're just insignificant pawns in a bigger game."

The voice that had answered isn't Jongdae's. It's sandy, nasally, almost, like alcohol on the rocks and the lapping of waves against the shore. Yet, it retained a certain smoothness to it, an enticing sound that draws you into the inviting arms of the water.

Kyungsoo spots him first.

A young man with hooded eyes, partially concealed behind a thick fringe of jet black hair and the peak of his cap, sits idly at the next table. His breakfast lies untouched in front of him, a silent spectator to the soft drumming of his fingers against the metal tabletop. By all means, a calculated, steady rhythm, but mildly off-putting. It sounds like the build-up to an explosive chorus, the calm at the eye of the storm.

His all-black getup is disarming, conveniently inconspicuous. He could easily be mistaken for a shadowy J-Tech figure, a specialist who spends his days holed up brainstorming the specs for the next generation of Jaegers. He could be K-Science, the prodigy who analyses twice as quickly as his colleagues harvest Kaijuu organs.

Call it instinct, call it intuition, but Kyungsoo knows neither of these are the case. The unwavering pair of eyes staring back at him is strangely reminiscent of a needle dipped in fire before vaccination. Fine but potent, dull but precise. They speak of all the hours he's spent in the training room, of all the years of being beaten down by intense physical and mental training.

This man, if anything, is a pilot in the making.

That defiance bleeding out of his eyes into his stare, caged by the iron bars of obedience and chained by the cuffs of responsibility, isn't alien to Kyungsoo. He's seen that look often enough, usually in the mirror.

His answer carries over the quiet murmur of the cafeteria and the aisle of distance between them. "When you're in a Jaeger, you're not. You don't need to run away from the storm. You face it head-on."

The stranger doesn't seem fazed in the slightest, not acknowledging Kyungsoo's answer, if he heard it at all. Kyungsoo watches him stand up and brush his hair out of his eyes - still as impassive as ever, but the most minute tinge of curiosity registers in the pursing of his lips. His gaze roams slowly over everyone seated at the table, like a parched bird drinking in the scenery to satiate its thirst, before landing on Kyungsoo. In a quieter voice, less bold but equally telling, he says, "Storms are there for a reason," and spins on his heel, walking away in the opposite direction.

Tense silence blankets the table for several long moments, broken only when Junmyeon folds up the plastic wrap on his tray. Kyungsoo keeps his eyes fixed on the direction of the man's departure, holding his breath, as if he might suddenly decide to come back.

"Who the hell was that?" Jongdae sounds two parts confused, three parts miffed.

Junmyeon and Minseok exchange cautious glances; a transfer of information through their small window of telepathy, made of an innate understanding of each other's thought processes and built by months of working together. Sometimes, Kyungsoo ponders what it would be like if they'd both been fit enough to be pilots. Would they have made the cut? Would they have been Drift-compatible partners?

Minseok is the first to concede. "That was Byun Baekhyun, another one of the pilot candidates. He's local, but he's been with the Academy in San Francisco nearly half his life."

Next to him, Jongin purses his lips, unmoving stare fixated on his cup of coffee, as if coercing answers from the plastic. The Jaeger Program in San Francisco has been nothing short of being held in the highest regard; its prestige and resourcefulness are common knowledge among anybody in this line of work. But if this man - no, Byun Baekhyun - had been prolific enough to be the solo representative they'd chosen to send here, surely Seoul HQ would've caught wind of such a character.

"What's he even doing as a pilot?" The question slips past Jongin's teeth in a growl. "He sounds like he doesn't even like the idea of being in a Jaeger."

The smooth grind of wood against tile punctuates their conversation as Junmyeon stands up. "The San Fran base didn't provide much information about him. But he's got an impressive track record."

He can't be that impressive, Kyungsoo wants to say, but he bites down on his tongue to stop the reply in its tracks. If it's anything Kyungsoo's learnt about Junmyeon in all the years they've known each other, it's that he never exaggerates. He tells things as they are - receives, analyses, concludes. It's one of Junmyeon's defining qualities as head of the LOCCENT control room.

"No," Minseok says, exhaling slowly and deeply, the same way students do when they've spent too many minutes on the same examination question. The variables have been set, but the formulas and answers to the problem elude them. "Impressive doesn't even begin to cut it. He's flawless. He's the physical specimen of an ideal Jaeger pilot. I gave them clearance, I would know."

Chanyeol picks the uneaten roll off Jongdae's plate and chews it slowly, as if the act of eating bread might be able to help piece together the puzzle that hangs heavy in the air around them. "You said San Fran didn't give you much info about this guy. Then, are they keeping it from us?"

The cassette has broken. In his mind, Kyungsoo switches to the radio. An ominous tune is playing, but you never know what song would be on next.

"There's none."

 

◇

 

Kyungsoo knows for a fact that all combat rooms are standardised in Jaeger bases throughout the world. Maintaining certain regulations, PPDC had announced, would be necessary to help trainees readjust their mindsets after relocation. Being transferred from one base to another depending on demand after they graduate from the Academy is hardly uncommon, after all. A combat room in Beijing would feel and look no different from one in Sydney; familiar terrain for all trainees to minimise culture shock.

He remembers the first time he set foot in Seoul HQ's combat room. Everything had been exactly the same as the one he'd gotten accustomed to in London, each detail replicated down to a T, from the temperature to the layout of the room. Seven years overseas, immersed in hardcore training under the Jaeger program, had elevated London into more of a home than Gyeonggi-do ever was. The Seoul base felt frighteningly similar, blurring the lines between here and there - the same mildly cooling air on his skin, the same bright crimson banner on the wall with the golden seal of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps embroidered on the front, the same unfeeling metal walls boxing him in. There is no escape, they seemed to say.

Fight or die - the same way you would in a Jaeger.

"Never really changes, does it?" Jongin always adopts a more hesitant tone whenever he says something with the intention of coaxing Kyungsoo out of his thoughts.

Kyungsoo diverts his gaze from the metal partition he'd been staring at to his fingers, clasped primly in front of him. "Sometimes, when I don't think about it, I feel like I'm back in London."

People call this strange feeling of nostalgia 'homesickness'. Kyungsoo had brought this up once, during his second month back in Seoul, when everything still felt foreign and the lilt of Korean on his tongue was alien and slow. He'd felt like a bear coming out of hibernation. Jongin had only frowned at him and asked, "How can you call it homesickness when London isn't even your home?"

You belong here, hyung. This is home, Jongin's eyes seem to say, then and now. He's right about this, or rather, he's never been wrong - the Republic of Korea will always be Kyungsoo's rightful home. He was born here, raised here. But he could never shake off the feeling of being incomplete, of waiting for someone or something to fill the gaps of his existence. It'd been a subconscious part of his reason for enrolling under the Jaeger program and being shipped off to Europe. His superiors and trainers at the Academy called this his fighting nature, his calling as a pilot.

Maybe they were right, Kyungsoo thinks, as he bids Jongin goodbye with a good luck, I'll see you on the mat, and begins making his way to the far end of the room, where Minseok awaits him expectantly, clipboard in hand. Maybe today, he'll find his co-pilot, his other half in mind and body. He mulls over the thought as he shrugs off his jacket, turning the idea around in his head like inspecting a coin.

Minseok's light smile always makes Kyungsoo feel more reassured, somehow. He acknowledges and respects, but never bears his expectations down on anyone. It feels liberating. "All geared up?"

Kyungsoo grins as he does some basic stretching, loosening his muscles, taut with tension and nerves. The combat room feels stuffier now, with fellow trainees, pilot candidates and spectators alike pouring in to witness the physical part of the co-pilot selection tests. "I don't have a suit yet, so no gearing up."

"That may be, Pilot Do, but I certainly hope the gears inside are already up and running," comes a deep, silken voice behind them both. A hushed quiet falls over the room as Marshall Wu Yifan himself strides in, decked in a uniform as green as lush fern, golden blond hair neatly pushed back and sharp eyes that seem to pierce through everything they see, hard but not unkindly.

Kyungsoo watches with amusement as the newer trainees and foreign pilot candidates gawk the sight of Marshall Wu, standing tall with all the regality and posture of a highborn prince. The Marshall is a clear head taller than everyone else, all except Jongin and a few other freshmen trainees Kyungsoo can't put names to. Excited but muted chatter spreads throughout the room the moment Marshall Wu turns away, as if everyone had been holding their breath and had exhaled as one.

He can't fault anybody, though; it's Kyungsoo's first time being in such close proximity to the Marshall himself, and he'd be lying if he said Wu Yifan doesn't live up to everything that's been said about him. A retired pilot, Guangzhou-born and one of the first to be groomed at the Jaeger base in Vancouver. Statistics show he isn't just a pretty face, though - he boasts an impressive repertoire of twenty-four drops and twenty-four kills.

"Kris, nice of you to join us early," Minseok chirps brightly, sliding the clipboard into his hands.

There's a hint of a smile at the corners of the Marshall's lips and in the tone of his reply. "You and Junmyeon are the only ones who ever call me that anymore."

He skims briefly through the list of candidates and returns it to Minseok, then extends a hand to Kyungsoo in greeting. "Pilot Do, you have my apologies for not personally congratulating you on the day of your appointment. You were a cut above your peers in training; it was a pleasure to have chosen you to join our ranks," he says curtly.

This close, Kyungsoo can see the sincerity in the crease of his brows and a sense of justice as hard and sharp as the angular line of his jaw. Nearly beside himself with awe, he barely manages to remember formalities, gives the Marshall the firmest handshake he can muster and bows deeply in return, albeit a few seconds later than he probably should've. "The pleasure is entirely mine, sir. Thank you for the faith you've put in me."

"I trust you've met at least part of your co-pilot candidates?" Marshall Wu poses the question just as Minseok excuses himself to round up the test takers. They watch the room fall into a noisy flurry of activity as spectators part to make way.

Kyungsoo sees Jongin at the front of the pack; he's taken off his jacket, lean, muscular arms strong at his side, eyes burning with all the intensity of molten lava. Jongdae stands a few paces away from him, taking deep breaths and staring ahead with a chilly kind of resolution. All traces of his cheerfulness and sunny smiles seem to have disappeared, replaced by an icy focus that looks deadly enough to kill.

Fire and water, hot and cold, Kyungsoo muses.

The rest of them are sturdy young lads lined up along the wall, some standing alone, others in clusters. Their stances are classic overconfident, crossed arms and sweeping gazes, each thinking himself better than the other while they burn with a sense of false pride and justice. Kyungsoo's seen the likes of them before. That's why he is where he is today and they aren't.

All in all, they're nondescript enough for Kyungsoo to dismiss. All, he notices, except a beautiful woman who looks like she'd belong on billboards more than she would in a Jaeger base. Her smile is as gentle as the soft brown tresses grazing her shoulder blades, but there is composure and agility in the tilt of her lips, in the way she carries herself. The only girl in the room, but she isn't even fidgeting, merely gazing coolly at the mat of the arena, as if the material were the most interesting thing in the world. Kyungsoo makes a mental note to be wary; he's never seen anyone quite like her.

"Yes," Kyungsoo replies, "I have. I spoke to some of them this morning."

Marshall Wu doesn't oblige him an answer; instead, he watches the crowd put themselves in order. Kyungsoo should be warming up, running tactics and strategies through his head one last time, or profiling everyone and coming up with possible weak spots. The last thing he should be doing is looking intently at the audience, scanning, searching.

Byun Baekhyun is pressed up against the wall at the very end of the line, arms crossed and staring right at Kyungsoo with his veiled grey eyes. What are you still doing? they seem to ask, speaking to Kyungsoo even if his mouth isn't moving and his face remains as impassive as ever. Shouldn't you be getting ready?

Kyungsoo's heart skips a beat, almost like an affirmation. Baekhyun diverts his gaze elsewhere, almost like he's gotten the message.

The Marshall's voice resounds clearly through the room, ricocheting off the walls and echoing in Kyungsoo's ears. It's the kind of voice that sounds like it's been polished to be heard over the booming sounds of battle. "Welcome to the first half of the co-pilot selection tests. I am Shatterdome Marshall Wu Yifan and I will be overseeing your tests today. Minseok-sshi, if you will."

"Each of you will challenge Pilot Do Kyungsoo one-on-one on the mat with these wooden staffs." Minseok gestures towards two wooden sticks lying in the middle of the makeshift arena; not long enough to be overbearing, but solid and heavy enough to be a challenge. "The first person to be two points ahead of the other wins."

"Thank you." Minseok's always been one to remember his manners, Kyungsoo thinks dryly. "Each of you will challenge Pilot Do Kyungsoo one-on-one on the mat. The first to gain a two-point advantage wins."

Quiet murmuring ushers in the first round, like a muted starting gong. The middle of the mat has never seemed further away as Kyungsoo takes deep breaths, closes the distance with slow but steady strides, picks up one of the sticks. The wood feels smooth under his fingertips as he tests its weight; it's just right. Like a symmetrical graph, his opponent mirrors his movements, a boy taller and bigger than Kyungsoo but with substantially less experience under his belt, if the uneasiness in his eyes is anything to go by.

You never bring emotions into the Drift. You never panic, Kyungsoo recites in his head, crouching low. He takes a deep breath.

 

◇

 

There are no clocks in the combat room, not even a counter. By the sheer number of times Minseok has called, "Game, 2-0!" or "Game, 3-1!" though, Kyungsoo can tell the better part of an hour has passed, at the very least.

Jongdae's lean build does wonders for his agility. His strokes are faster than Kyungsoo had ever expected them to be, delivering a torrent of blows one after another, as condensed and as heavy as a sheet of rain falling on zinc. Their match had concluded at 6-4, in Kyungsoo's favour.

As Kyungsoo had predicted, Jongin went down with a score lower than Jongdae's, finishing at 4-2. No fault lies in Jongin - he's a brilliant trainee, and were it anybody else, Kyungsoo has no doubts that Jongin would emerge victorious with a 2-0, but Kyungsoo knows Jongin like the back of his hand, knows how to analyse his center of gravity and read the slightest flicker in his eyes. Kyungsoo's surety and confidence in Jongin is rivalled only by his surety and confidence in himself.

The physical test did bring its fair share of surprises, though. One of the candidates, a boy easily no older than sixteen, caught Kyungsoo under the arm with an odd backhand stroke that was strangely reminiscent of a tennis move. Breathtakingly light, the woman he'd seen earlier moved with all the artful swiftness of a dove, her calculated strokes sparse but dangerously precise. She bowed graciously after he took the win, and Kyungsoo found it easy to smile genuinely back at her.

Kyungsoo wipes sweat away from his brow and waits for Minseok to announce the next name. He can hear the soft scratching of the tip of the pen against too-thin paper. Military bases like these tend to cut corners wherever they can. "Byun Baekhyun," Minseok calls, looking up.

It takes every ounce of Kyungsoo's willpower not to shoot upright, ramrod straight, at the sound of the name. Hearing about Baekhyun, seeing him in person, listening to him speak - none of these will define him better than actually feeling the strength of Baekhyun's strokes, or being on the receiving end of his combat techniques.

Kyungsoo's eyes follow Baekhyun as he takes brisk steps onto the mat, picking up the wooden staff and immediately sliding into position, not even bothering to take in its weight or length. Baekhyun's gaze is on him, fixated on his feet, undoubtedly waiting for the smallest tilt in his position. Everyone else had fire in their eyes. It didn't matter what kind of fire it was - some were burning wild and free, some were fake flames that looked frightening but never burned, some were chilly, focused tongues of fire.

Byun Baekhyun's eyes, he realises, are devoid of even the smallest of sparks, two lifeless, barren expanses of torched land.

The standard "Start!" barely registers in Kyungsoo's ears before they're both moving; Baekhyun coming at him like a thunderbolt in the dark and Kyungsoo dodging like a pup frightened by its roar. Baekhyun's blows are hard, relentless, striking him again and again and waiting for him to react a second too late. Kyungsoo doesn't oblige him the delay, and manages to tap the side of Baekhyun's shin.

"1-0," comes Minseok's cool voice from the sidelines. Baekhyun freezes, arm slowly retreating to his side as they part. Kyungsoo's head feels oddly like a spirit level slowly being tilted back to its original position.

They stare each other down in silence, Baekhyun's chest falling up and down in even measures as he tightens his grip on the staff. Kyungsoo sees opportunity peeking in through the sliver of his door and seizes it, lunging forward, striking in the same unorthodox order that has won him hundreds of one-on-one matches just like this one. Baekhyun parries it with a horizontal block, jabs him in the side, and falls back. Baekhyun hasn't even broken a sweat, he notices disdainfully.

Minseok's gaze flickers between them both as he scribbles something on his clipboard, interest bubbling beneath the surface. "1-1."

Don't think. Clear your mind. Let your body and your reflexes speak your conversations for you in the combat room. The memory chimes at the back of Kyungsoo's mind as clear as a bell. His trainer used to repeat this time and time again, circling the mat and sending in a neverending stream of opponents to face him.

The last thing Kyungsoo remembers thinking is if Baekhyun wants a dance, he's more than willing to comply. He plunges underwater then, the currents of concentration drowning all his emotions and thoughts.

Kyungsoo only vaguely registers his movements, much less keep track of how much time has passed, but when he comes to a complete halt, one end of his wooden staff pressed flat against the column of Baekhyun's neck, it feels like all the world has stopped with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jongin watching him with surprise in his expression, gaze fixated on Kyungsoo but thoughts obviously running in all directions. The trainees, the spectators, the Marshall himself, even - the whole room appears to be stunned into silence, intrigued on varying levels.

It feels as if he's really been underwater for a long, long time, and he's just resurfaced to a group of people anxiously wondering if he'd ever come back.

"Game," Minseok's steady voice shatters the silence. "10-8."

Baekhyun pulls away, slowly, but not warily, the weight of his gaze almost too heavy to bear. His expression is hard to read - it's not as stoic as it was before, but it's definitely not a prominent display of any kind of emotion, like he's toeing a line so fine the naked eye would have trouble picking it out. Kyungsoo notices that his features have softened somewhat, though, his gray eyes liquid metal instead of cold steel. If Kyungsoo squints, curiosity might've been fringing the edges of his irises, but Baekhyun looks away then, spins on his heel and leaves the mat.

Minseok calls the next candidate, his clear voice receding into the background, like the faraway, subtle sound of waves by the sea. Kyungsoo follows Baekhyun with his eyes, watches his receding back until he disappears into the throng of onlookers.

Kyungsoo doesn't even remember what the following opponents look like, doesn't recall how their match goes, only that he emerges victorious. All he sees, even as the collision of wood against wood sends tremors down the length of his arms, is the way Baekhyun's slender fingers tighten over his staff when he loses, the way Baekhyun's black hair falls in tufts onto his pale forehead, the way the edges of Baekhyun's lips might've tilted ever so slightly upward.

It's a beautiful kind of haunting.

 

◇

 

"Did you see her, though? She was amazing!" Jongdae wrings his hands in front of him is what is supposed to be an approximation of how much he's in awe, the words spilling out of his mouth, a byproduct of holding it all in for more than an hour. "The only girl in the room, but she was slaying, I tell you. I've never seen anyone like her."

Jongin snickers and makes an offhand comment about how Jongdae should stop placing special emphasis on every other word. "You should go say hi to her, then, hyung," he says, playful tone implying that Jongdae shouldn't just stop at hello. Jongdae's face promptly burns bright red in response, pink even till the tips of his ears.

On any other day, Kyungsoo would smile, join in the bantering, maybe even give Jongdae an encouraging pat on the back. Today, though, he can scarcely pay attention to an entire conversation at a go, picking up only the occasional line and voicing a short reply before sinking back into the deep fray of his thoughts. The only thing he can hear, even over the din of the lunchtime rush as he walks the corridors with Jongin and Jongdae by his side, is Marshall Wu's deep voice, somewhat robotic over the static of the Shatterdome-wide intercom.

"The following people are to report to the main LOCCENT control room at 1430 hours sharp." The Marshall had paused briefly, then, "Pilot Do Kyungsoo, Kim Jongin, Kim Jongdae, Byun Baekhyun. Please be punctual."

The sharp click that always succeeded intercom announcements brought everyone in the cafeteria to a complete standstill for a moment, then the excited chatter and congratulatory wishes started pouring in left and right. Jongdae and Jongin had to pry themselves away from the crowd when the clock showed 2:00pm, smiling so hard their faces looked as if they were going to split in half.

Kyungsoo walked behind them, a contented smile lingering on his lips. His happiness that Jongin and Jongdae had both made the cut for the final part of the co-pilot selections - the Drift test - had only made up part of the reason behind his smile, the other half was the relief that came with sharing the spotlight with somebody else.

In the modern world, Jaeger pilots are as prolific as rockstars. They are, after all, saviors of the realm, protectors of the Earth, guarding the coastlines against kaijuu, horrific alien creatures that come from the dark depths of the Pacific Ocean. A good twenty, thirty years ago, people like politicians or monarchs or pop stars might've been all the talk, but not anymore. Fame and fortune have always been at the very bottom of Kyungsoo's list of priorities; he could be an anonymous pilot for all he cares. Faceless and nameless to the world, and the only thing people would know is that he fights for the survival of mankind.

Unfortunately, things don't work that way, and pilots skyrocket to fame upon appointment. The whole world will know who he is. The whole world will dissect him, scrutinise him, depend on him. Nobody seems to wonder if pilots ever need people to depend on, on a personal level.

Kyungsoo feels more comfortable now, though. There aren't as many pairs of eyes on him now; most of them have diverted their attention to Jongin, all six feet of brazen, fierce fire, and Jongdae, someone Kyungsoo would best describe as a newly-forged blade wrapped in deceivingly soft silk. It's easier to think about this than recalling images of Byun Baekhyun leaning against the railing of the stairway leading down to the cafeteria, watching Kyungsoo intently from his vantage point. Even after turning his back on Baekhyun, Kyungsoo can still feel the searing intensity of his gaze, chipping away at his resolve.

"Which floor is LOCCENT on again?" Jongin asks no one in particular, staring at the control panel of the elevator with furrowed brows.

"Hold the door, please!"

Jongin presses the 'open' button long enough for a familiar figure to hurry into the elevator, steps swift but soundless. Soft, brown tresses, even softer doe-like eyes - Zhang Liyin looks Kyungsoo in the eye, pushing a tuft of hair behind her ear. "Congratulations, sir," she says, extending a hand in formal greeting. "I didn't get to wish you earlier, but I'm confident you'll make a great pilot."

The firmness and strength of her handshake surprises Kyungsoo. She'd make a wonderful addition to any base who would have her, he can feel it in the curve of her fingers against his. "Just 'Kyungsoo' is fine," he corrects her gently. "You were absolutely amazing on the mat. I have confidence that you'll be a pilot very soon as well." Formal words, but he hopes his tone conveys how much he means what he says.

If Liyin is flattered at all, a small, gentle smile is the only thing she has to show for it, as she turns to press the buttons for the third and fifth floors of the building. Kyungsoo remembers now - third is Weapons Analysis, fifth is LOCCENT - and murmurs thanks to her on everyone's behalf.

Liyin congratulates Jongin and a very red-faced Jongdae on successfully making the shortlist, speaking briefly about her intention to stay in Seoul, possibly as J-Tech staff, instead of returning to Beijing, where she'd come from. Jongin shifts slightly, taking shelter behind Kyungsoo, lean body easing into the space between Kyungsoo's back and the elevator wall.

When the display above them reads '3', the elevator comes to a smooth halt, the computerised beep too shrill to Kyungsoo's ears. Liyin waves them goodbye, casts one last look back at Jongdae and steps out the open doors. Her exit is as silent and graceful as her entrance three floors down, but Kyungsoo notices that her smile is a lot wider, a lot shyer.

Jongdae's eyes follow Liyin as she leaves, looking at her retreating back like she's the person who hung the moon and the stars in his sky. How nice it must be, Kyungsoo muses, to have someone admire and love you like that. Although he can't say for certain if this is love - they've only just met, and Kyungsoo doesn't even know what love is supposed to be like - it looks pleasant, nonetheless.

It's soft, beautiful, so different from the way Baekhyun looks at him, yet startlingly similar, in a way he can't quite place.

That very gaze is the first thing that greets Kyungsoo when he steps past the threshold of the main LOCCENT control room, nearly fumbling with returning his access card to his pocket. Baekhyun is in a fresh set of clothes, he notices; a V-necked tee and jeans to replace the singlet and trackpants he wore in the morning. He's still decked completely in black, though, his eyes even darker than the fabric of his clothing.

By the control panel, Wu Yifan looks every inch the renowned Marshall he is, still standing tall and proud in his neatly-pressed uniform, deep in a hushed discussion with Junmyeon.

To call the room a flurry of activity would an understatement. LOCCENT is the brain of the Jaeger programme, the heart of all the action, the central part of the magic that takes place here at Seoul HQ. Mission controllers receive data about kaijuu activity in the Breach, run Jaeger pilots through all the necessary protocol and instructions. On-deck marshalls command missions and convey instructions directly to the pilots themselves, all through the communications systems in this room.

Chaotic would be the only word to describe the scene before him, but it's an organised sort of chaos. Everybody knows where they belong, every move and step and push of a button done with purpose. Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, relishing in the grim excitement that flows into his lungs.

Junmyeon's opening greeting is short and simple. "Afternoon, gentlemen." Jongdae falls into step beside him, the seriousness and deadly focus from this morning taking him over again, and Kyungsoo can't help but marvel at how well he compartmentalises. Barring emotions from influencing the concentration needed and decisions made in a Jaeger is the most difficult thing to do. Physical strength and strategic thinking wouldn't be of any use without a clear mind.

"Congratulations on being shortlisted for the second part of the co-pilot selection tests. You've beaten a lot of talented competition to get here." Junmyeon gestures towards the room behind him, at the men and women tirelessly bent over their stations, analysing graphs and working machines, at the screen of fortified glass that separates the loading bay and the control room.

It strikes Kyungsoo that he was in one of the secondary control rooms only a few nights ago, the hollowness of the empty room echoing all around him. Jongin had felt warm next to him. The action goes on here, he tells himself. This is an upgrade. This is the upgrade.

The loading bay had been empty then, a large blue chamber with enough volume to keep several reservoirs of water. Through the glass, he can see the midriff of a Jaeger, metallic and beautiful and sharp, even from the back.

"In that loading bay is a Mark 4 Jaeger, the newest, lightest and fastest of its kind to date. I am aware you've been practicing with mock Mark 3 Jaegers at the Academy, but rest assured, the fours are no different in the Conn-Pod. It's just their firepower, so don't worry about having to adjust," Junmyeon says reassuringly, crisp voice carrying over the soft beeps and mechanical sounds of the control room.

Junmyeon continues, "You'll each take turns Drifting. Once you've established neural handshake, you boot up one weapon of your choice. No firing, of course. We'll be looking out for your neural frequencies, Drift strength, emotional stability, among other things."

The Marshall has joined him on the floor, sweeping them all with a critical gaze. "Pilot Do, if you'd lead the way to the Conn-Pod. Kim Jongin will go with you first."

Kyungsoo tries not to look back as he walks away with Jongin, not even when he brushes shoulders with Baekhyun.

Their trip to the Drivesuit Room is silent; the only sounds being the shuffle of feet and the monotonous, standard commands of the Drivesuit technician team. A large timer attached to the wall begins counting down the moment they step into the room - both Jaeger pilots are to be outfitted in tailor-made suits in seven minutes tops, in accordance with preset time constraints.

Only when they're safely cocooned in the Conn-Pod does Jongin exhale loudly, a wolfish grin creeping onto his face. "This is really happening," he breathes, documenting the surreality in his words. The deep grumble of the pod's metal walls grinding against the deployment tracks signals the beginning of their drop, to the test that awaits them both. Kyungsoo looks out the glass; the body of the Jaeger is fast approaching. He wonders if the adrenaline coursing through his veins is just a convenient cover-up crafted by his body to deal with anxiety. Maybe it's the pressure change in the pod.

Kyungsoo smiles at Jongin through his helmet. Jongin looks even taller in his white Drivesuit somehow. "We'll do this together. Deep breaths." He isn't sure who he's talking to.

Jongin lifts a fist, encased securely in metal. "The most kick-ass pilot duo in history?"

The Conn-Pod connects with the main body of the Jaeger almost seamlessly. Kyungsoo wouldn't have known the drop was over, if not for the latching of metal onto metal and the control interface coming to life in vivid shades of red and blue and green.

In the growing darkness of the Conn-Pod, Kyungsoo lifts a fist and bumps it against Jongin's. The soft, reassuring chink strikes a chord in his heart.

 

◇

 

When the taskforce of scientists and engineers assembled by political leaders from all over the world joined forces to create Jaegers, they dreamt big, and ended up doing bigger. Giant robots crafted from metal and running on nuclear reactors, fully fitted with an armada of weapons both attached and deployable, the Jaegers were mechanical monsters. Gone rogue, even a single one of them could wipe an entire city clean. Self-destruction would contaminate lands and seas within a radius of thousands of kilometres.

The sheer mental strength required to manoeuvre even a single one of the machines proved too much for a solo pilot, even the strongest and fittest of the trial's chosen candidates. It took two men to play God, it seemed, and so an effective double-pilot system was implemented. Two pilots - on the rare occasion, three - would be assigned to a Jaeger each, tethered man to man, men to machine, by a complex process known simply as Drifting.

Kyungsoo stares forlornly at the blotch of chocolate ice-cream on his elementary school uniform. The dobby would still be open at this time of evening, but curfews aren't put into place to be broken. His eyes feel strangely watery.

"Hey, no crying, I can get that fixed in no time!" A cheerful voice chirps, a handkerchief slipping into his field of vision, then a hand, then a friendly face. Kim Jongin begins wiping at his shirt, telling him about soccer practice and the 'new guy' who challenged him to a penalty showdown because Jongin had beaten him to getting his favourite jersey number.

Middle school Jongin has changed a lot from his younger counterpart. He's taller, tanner, stronger. Toy cars have been put aside for calculus textbooks, storybooks replaced by newspaper clippings detailing the Jaeger programme and its milestones. He still smiles the same, though, still clings to Kyungsoo on nights when the wind blows too strong and days when the sun beats down too hard.

"Are you okay?" Jongin asks, running a thumb along his cheek. It stings.

High school is shrouded in grey, as if someone had thrown black cloth over them. Jongin's smile is just as bright though, and he's running towards Kyungsoo with a piece of paper in hand, waving it over his head animatedly. Stopping breathless in front of him, Jongin smooths out the creases on the page and hands it to Kyungsoo.

There's a sense of hope in his voice. Jongin's always believed enough for both of them. "Wanna join the Jaeger programme with me, hyung?"

"Neural handshake strong and holding, sir." Junmyeon's voice is a little distorted over the communications system, but it's still as calm as ever. It reminds Kyungsoo of a koi pond in a zen garden. "Very minor fluctuations in brain frequencies, but good job, gentlemen."

A smile finds its way onto Kyungsoo's lips as he flexes his right fist. Without having to turn, he knows that Jongin is also grinning, clenching and unclenching his left hand. In the Drift, emotions, memories, reflexes, instincts, everything that goes through one pilot's head and heart is no secret from the other.

In the Drift, two pilots become one.

"Left hemisphere, calibrated," Jongin says confidently.

Kyungsoo answers with equal strife. "Right hemisphere, calibrated."

They choose the plasma cannon, a classic weapon installed into most Jaegers Mark 2 and above. The built-in A.I.'s voice is that of a woman's, soft in its tone but hard in its edge, floods Kyungsoo with a kind of warmth, like Nova Hyperion was custom-made to suit him, to put him at ease, to inject the right amount of determination in him to prepare him for war. A blinking 100% in cyan blue stares Kyungsoo in the face. "Plasma cannon, ready for deployment."

Intense training a la the Soviet military has shaped Jongdae's mind into hard and unyielding terrain, his thoughts and feelings scattered in a maze with walls so high Kyungsoo's not entirely sure if anyone will ever be able to scale them. Kyungsoo remembers reading about minds like this - pilot that have perfected the textbook techniques and procedures all the way down to the most minute of details, so much so that their level of concentration and focus are a level above the rest. Only someone who's undergone similar training will ever be able to find their way around the steel perimeters of Jongdae's mind, or perhaps, someone with a penchant for puzzles.

Despite having gotten along like the best of friends since they first met, Kyungsoo and Jongdae's camaraderie doesn't carry into the Conn-Pod. He can feel Jongdae reaching out to him, spirals of white mist in the air trying to pull him upwards and out of the labyrinth, but every time the wispy tendrils wrap themselves around his wrist, they fall short, slipping through Kyungsoo's skin like an apparition.

The force of being intentionally ejected from Jongdae's mind sends Kyungsoo reeling, nearly losing his balance and tumbling onto the stem of the control panel next to him. Junmyeon's voice filters into the Conn-Pod, as calm as ever. "Sorry guys, the neural handshake is a no-go. Your alignment is way off."

The smile Jongdae flashes Kyungsoo as he offers a hand to help Kyungsoo up is a mix of apologetic and sheepish, but it's worth noting that there isn't a great deal of surprise in the quirk of his lips.

"I kind of saw that coming," Jongdae admits with a shrug of the shoulders as they make their way back to the control room. To some degree, Kyungsoo supposed he should've, as well. While the success rate of pilots Drifting with each other for the first time doesn't entirely depend on the pre-existence or lack of any kind of interaction and relationship between them, it's common knowledge that trainees from Russia and China who make the Academy cuts almost always end up being paired amongst themselves. Their minds have been moulded a unique way that makes it more difficult for anyone who hasn't undergone the same training to reach that level of understanding and achieve a breakthrough in Drift co-dependency.

Kyungsoo rests a hand on Jongdae's shoulder just before they reach the doors. "I might not be the one, but I know you'll find a co-pilot someday, Jongdae. I really do," he says, genuinely, and revels in the bright smile that answers him.

One of the main rules of piloting is not to judge. Pilots are supposed to - bound by duty, even, when they're out in the field, in the body of their Jaegers - analyse each and every variable in all situations. Things happen for a reason, and even if there are no reasons, events taking place are already underway, so if prevention is out of the picture, how should they best cure it? Kyungsoo knows this, yet he's not entirely sure why they're going ahead with this last test at all. There's really not much point in it.

Byun Baekhyun's face is as blank as an artist's fresh canvas, staring down at the great chasm on top of the body of the Jaeger, the gaping hole that will be filled by their Conn-Pod once the drop ends. His arms are crossed over his chest again. Don't touch me, they seem to say.

"Why are you here?"

The question slips past Kyungsoo's lips before he can help it. Maybe it's a small part of his brain taking advantage of the fact that this is one of the only places he can ever be truly alone with Baekhyun; there's no one else here in the Conn-Pod but them, and the communication systems will only come alive once it's connected to the Jaeger frame. Even though he knows no one else will be able to hear him, his reflexes are faster - never risk getting caught. It's been a long time since he felt the foreign roll of English on his tongue.

While Kyungsoo's English is sharply enunciated, a staple Londoner's accent that's as cool on the skin as light rain, Baekhyun's is looser, syllables strung together smoothly and beautifully, distinct to the ears. North Californian, no two ways about it. It's sandy and flowy, just like his Korean, and it reminds Kyungsoo of the bay more than ever. It feels like he's revisiting the Golden Gate Bridge again, after all these years, fiery red against a backdrop of blue and gray.

Baekhyun doesn't turn to look at Kyungsoo, his reply nonchalant. "Because I was sent here."

Not because you want to fight? Not because you have something to protect? Not because you want to be here? Kyungsoo nearly yells the questions out loud, words perched precariously on the tip of his tongue, but this is Korea, and he's not basking in the rain in London or people-watching by the cliff overlooking the Golden Gate. Now isn't the right time, he tells himself. Maybe it'll never be the right time.

Not that it matters - he won't be seeing Baekhyun after today, anyway. The disparity in their personalities is clear as day, the suffocating weight of confusion and unanswered questions wedged between them too heavy to lift. As far as Kyungsoo can see, if their common ground could be at all measured, it would look like a gymnast's tightrope. Not in a million years would they be Drift-compatible.

He sighs quietly and averts his gaze to the control panel as it lights up, Junmyeon's voice (and Korean) pulling him out of his thoughts. "Initiating neural handshake." They might as well get this potential disaster of a Drift test over with.

Headspace is an abstract thing, but it's always seemed yellow to Kyungsoo, at least in his mind's eye. It's like the short time frame between preparation and deployment, the limbo between red and green lights. The familiar cushion of headspace morphs around the shape of his body, then abruptly propels him forward, like bouncing off a trampoline after a jump.

There's no one in sight, but a male voice is the first thing Kyungsoo hears. "If you keep this up, you'll never be good enough." The admonishment isn't sugar-coated, tone as sharp as the tip of an arrow.

Kyungsoo lets his eyes wander. He's in a moderately-sized house, probably Baekhyun's, he deduces, but it's terribly devoid of furniture. The white stone walls look like the eyes of the undead, watching him as he walks down the corridor, unfeeling as ice. Through the single window in the living room, he can see green flourishing in the yard, interrupted only by the occasional speck of orange and yellow and pink. It's too cold for a spring day this fine.

At the very end of the corridor, the door to a room has been left open. They're too far away for Kyungsoo to make out their faces, but he can see a couple standing over a child. The boy is crouched down on the floor, head in his knees and hands in his hair.

The sobbing sounds coming from the room feel like a punch to Kyungsoo's gut.

"We know better," the woman says. Her voice sounds oddly distant. "Don't waste your time on pointless things, Baekhyun."

Kyungsoo's mouth parts in a silent gasp when he feels a force yank him backwards, out of the corridor, the house, the memory. Everything else passes in a blur of muted colours, flashing before Kyungsoo's eyes, but the sounds he hears are so loud and vivid that he has to refrain from covering his ears with his hands.

"You'll never be good enough."

"You can be better. You just have to try harder than your best."

"You'll never be good enough."

"Are you even trying?"

"You'll never be good enough."

"Do you think you'll get anywhere like this?"

"You'll never be good enough."

Baekhyun looks like he's in his late years of elementary school, perhaps his first year of middle school. In a hapkido uniform, he looks even smaller, the long white sleeves extending till the knuckles of his hands as they hang limply at his sides. A figure towers over him, dressed in a crisp dark green uniform that looks all too familiar. "Where are your parents, boy?" he asks. A Pan-Pacific Defense Corps badge gleams gold under the light, a lamp in a forest.

Baekhyun's eyes are fixed on the man's trouser leg. Kyungsoo can't see his face, probably because Baekhyun doesn't either. "At home, busy wishing I was someone else." When the man doesn't answer, Baekhyun reaches down to fix the hem of his uniform. "Are you going to take me away?"

"After you pack your things, and if your parents say yes, I'd like to," the man says cautiously. He sounds almost wary.

Someone once told Kyungsoo that unfeeling words are scarier than any kind of sadness or rage. Emptiness is always the most difficult to read, because there's nothing to be read. "I don't have things to pack, so I can go now. Mom and Dad won't care if I go."

All of a sudden, everything turns dark, save a screen glowing orange in front of him. Kyungsoo feels like he's being encased in something, soft pressure pressing down on him from all directions, and he remembers he's in Nova Hyperion's Conn-Pod, in his white Drivesuit, staring at the control panel like he hasn't seen it about a hundred times before.

He slowly lifts his right hand, straightening his fingers. The motion is fluid, too fluid. His senses are an entirely different league of sharp. It's the first time he's felt anything like this, like he really could take over the world this way, like there's a force melding into his brain and his very being, easing it open and making it reach further in headspace. Baekhyun is walking the road of Kyungsoo's memories and thoughts, the same way Kyungsoo had walked his.

He sees everything. The thought echoes in the space between them, in both their voices, bridging the physical space between them in the Conn-Pod. There is no abstract space in their heads anymore. There is no Byun Baekhyun, no Do Kyungsoo. This is one mind, one body.

This is Nova Hyperion.

Kyungsoo dares himself to turn his head and wonders if he looks as astonished as Baekhyun does. For the first time since they'd spoken to each other in the cafeteria, a sense of relatability and comradeship and trust snakes around Kyungsoo's chest, tightening his ribcage over his heart. Their first meeting feels like twenty-two years ago, and it very well could've been. They've swum the depths of each other's histories, seen first-hand the two decades that have shaped them to be who they are - remarkably similar people.

"Right hemisphere, calibrated," Kyungsoo barely remembers to say, lifting a fist in the air.

Baekhyun mirrors his actions and his confirmation. "Left hemisphere, calibrated."

It takes a long time after they boot their plasma cannon for any sign of acknowledgment to reach them. For a moment, Kyungsoo wonders if something's happened in the control room, but then Marshall Wu Yifan himself speaks to them over the intercom. As one, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo tilt their faces upward. "Neural handshake confirmed. Zero fluctuations, perfect synchronisation." If Kyungsoo strains hard enough, he can hear the quiet breathing of the LOCCENT staff over the intercom.

Awe slips into the Marshall's cool, professional tone of voice. "Gentlemen, this is the perfect Drift."

 

◇

 

Kyungsoo still remembers his first (and only) visit to the States.

Three years ago, he was part of a group of five representing the United Kingdom at an international summit between participating Jaeger Academies in San Francisco. Selected trainees and their respective teachers - mostly retired pilots contributing back to the programme by supplying knowledge and experience - were given a glimpse at the then-latest technology in the business, sitting in the sidelines at conferences between world leaders and witnessing presentations on prototype Mark 3 models firsthand.

Assembly was the very best part. The frame of one of the first Mark 3 Jaegers in the world stood tall and proud in the loading bay for all to see, an enormous marvel of nuclear engineering, the United States' very own Shadow Hunter. The rails were full of carts and extended platforms carrying all manner of J-Tech staff, from engineers working on core fortifications to technicians making absolutely sure each metal plate fused together seamlessly. Even the smallest air breach could prove fatal.

It would be one of the most grievous lies in his life if Kyungsoo were to say the whole experience didn't leave an impact on him. The sheer power of it all, the feeling of being in the eye of the storm and watching the havoc let loose all around him, was as overwhelming as it was exhilarating for a wide-eyed trainee who'd been in the Academy just shy of two years.

But the memory that stuck the longest with him isn't having his name called among all his hundreds of peers as part of an elite five, isn't watching Shadow Hunter being put together right before his eyes, isn't seeing the President himself address the world leaders in the summit room.

It's clocking out from the San Francisco base at one in the morning for some fresh air, climbing the slanting slope that leads up to a small cliff overlooking the bay. Golden Gate Bridge wasn't so much red in the night as it is golden, twinkling at him merrily against a sky as dark as ink. He sat for an hour or two, watching the cars go by, admiring the sparkling reflection of the bridge in the water.

People called New York 'The City That Never Sleeps'. From what he's seen on the Internet and through mass media, Kyungsoo could tell The Big Apple is a lot busier than this, even in the wee hours of the morning. In its own way, though, San Francisco never really dozed off either. Its watchful sleeplessness felt warm, even reassuring, as if the city had kind eyes that were always looking out for him.

Maybe it was the beauty of the Golden Gate, or the fact that the moon was full and glowing that night. It could even have been the haziness of his mind, but that was the first time Kyungsoo truly felt the world was beautiful, and that this beauty was something he could put his trust in, could commit to protecting.

Watching Byun Baekhyun, leaning against the railing of outdoor observatory platform A and staring up into the sky, is the second.

Kyungsoo's thoughts run astray as he ponders how best to approach Baekhyun. Familiarity? Hostility? Caution, perhaps? They haven't spoken since their brief exchange in the Conn-Pod two evenings ago, before they Drifted. Kyungsoo had meant to talk to him after the Marshall dismissed all of them, but Baekhyun had been the first to leave, grabbing his coat and walking briskly out the door without so much as a second glance back at Kyungsoo.

The Marshall's official announcement came before dinner break yesterday. Kyungsoo had just made it to the cafeteria when the short tune that always preceded important notices hushed the milling staff and rangers alike into silence. Jongin froze next to him, smile fading from his face, one hand on his food and the other unmoving from its grip on Kyungsoo's arm.

"Attention, Seoul HQ; this is Shatterdome Marshall Wu Yifan speaking. South Korea's first Mark 4 Jaeger, Nova Hyperion, will go live tomorrow, with its newly-commissioned pilots, Do Kyungsoo and Byun Baekhyun. Pilots, please report to accommodation tomorrow. Seoul HQ, have a good night."

The click that signaled the end of the announcement sounded more like the boom before an overloaded dam bursts. Loud cheering and congratulatory wishes rang in his ears, people were shaking his hand left, right and centre, slapping him on the back and whooping. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the cafeteria ladies staring at him in awe. Through the sea of faces around him, he makes out Chanyeol giving him two thumbs-up, Jongdae and Minseok grinning so brightly, they seemed to radiate happiness.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Jongin's quiet, "Congrats, hyung," spoke louder than them all. His eyes never quite lived up to the smile on his face, warm words sounding too cold. The grip on Kyungsoo's arm loosens and falls away, disappearing just as abruptly as Jongin's tall figure, lost in the crowd of people pressing in all around him.

Kyungsoo shakes his head from side to side, an unfamiliar taste on his tongue. He should've gone looking for Jongin, to console him and to tell him that not making the cut isn't the end of the world. Kyungsoo can say with all the certainty in the world that Jongin would become a ranger as good as any other in time to come, that he'll pilot his own Jaeger with a worthy co-pilot by his side. He should've done that, but he'd found himself wading through the crowd, searching for Byun Baekhyun instead.

He never found either of them yesterday night.

Today, Baekhyun is dressed in skinny jeans, a black top, a cap perched on his head, outlined in gold and silver under the light of the moon. It's the first time Kyungsoo's seeing him in an outfit that isn't all black. He opts for as gentle a conversation starter as any, a simple, "Hey," that he hopes will be enough to grant him purchase on the ice, if not break it. The automatic doors slide shut silently behind him.

Baekhyun whirls around, a startled gasp slipping past his defenses, expression rotating between shocked and confused before finally settling on slightly awkward. "Um... hi." Kyungsoo isn't sure what he was expecting, or if he was expecting anything at all, but Baekhyun sounds gentler now, like a skilled hunter trudging carefully over fresh snow. He doesn't sound as unfeeling or as nonchalantly abrasive anymore, and it feels nice.

"Can I join you?" Kyungsoo ventures, taking a step forward, waist pressing lightly against the metal railing.

No words pass between them, but the small curve of Baekhyun's lips and the soft, faraway glint in his eyes say all Kyungsoo needs to hear. Stay. Stay here. Talk to me.

When Baekhyun had been nothing but frosty, enigmatic, almost soulless, it felt only natural to fight back, fire with fire. Some part of Kyungsoo still wonders if it had been survival instincts kicking in, or if it was his inborn tendency to believe that everybody had some good in them. Maybe, Kyungsoo thinks, when he locks gazes with Baekhyun and finds his chest suddenly too constricted for him to breathe, it's because he knows there's something beneath the surface. Cocooned in walls of ice and steel, designed to keep people out and its contents safe.

Kyungsoo realises he doesn't really mind looking for a way around the wall, so long as he gets to touch whatever's being hidden inside and tell it that it's safe with him, that he won't hurt it, not after what he's seen in the Drift.

"You saw everything," Baekhyun says quietly, his gray eyes drinking Kyungsoo in like he's translucent, trailing over every vein and capillary, every tendon and ligament. For somebody who wears mental armour like battle garments even when he's not at war, Baekhyun has an uncanny talent of disarming people.

Nothing is secret in the Drift, is the practiced answer that comes to Kyungsoo on reflex, but he swallows it down in favour of, "We both saw everything." Baekhyun's gaze falls to the ground tens of feet below them, at the hard concrete that suddenly feels like more than a walkway to Kyungsoo. It looks too hard, too inviting, and Kyungsoo's fingers wrap themselves around Baekhyun's wrist before he can help it. "No."

Baekhyun flinches, stares him down with eyes as wide as saucers, but doesn't pull away. His skin feels tense under Kyungsoo's touch, but so, so warm. "How... How did you know...?

How did he know? How was he supposed to know Baekhyun entertained thoughts of the wind in his hair, of his bones breaking upon contact with the stone-cold concrete below them, envisioning the sickening crack as his body twists in unimaginable, horrific angles in his mind's eye, even if they were only fleeting thoughts?

"Ghost Drifting," they both whisper at the same time. Doctor Caitlin Lightcap, possibly the most renowned Drift specialist in all of Jaeger programme history, had published a thesis that eventually earned itself the accolade of being every pilot's unofficial Holy Grail. On rare occasions or between pilots with immensely strong mental links, the connecting threads between their minds never truly fade away, even after they've stepped out of a Jaeger.

Baekhyun's gaze has never left him, but now there's a new edge in his irises. Intrigue, perhaps, and the smallest leeway towards acceptance. "We're not such different people after all, are we?" he asks softly, shifting his hand to slip his fingers between Kyungsoo's. Kyungsoo expects to choke back a gasp, but it never comes; even the fit of their hands is perfect, down to the crooks of their fingers. Something like elation flows through his veins, like the feeling of finding the lost piece to a puzzle he's been working on.

Courage bubbles up Kyungsoo's throat, takes form in words that he finds he truly means. "You're good enough to be here, Baekhyun, and that's good enough for me. The world needs us."

"Yes," Baekhyun says thoughtfully, resting their hands on top of the metal railing, cold muted by the heat of Baekhyun's skin on his, a welcome, reassuring weight. "But do we need the world?"

"You know my dad was a pharmaceutical millionaire. We lived in Gangnam, and he used to make eight figure salaries every month. He owned entire conglomerates; pharmacies, medicine manufacturers, hospitals, they were all under this company's umbrella." Kyungsoo isn't at all sure if this counts as an answer, but Baekhyun's curious eyes, glowing softly under the light of the moon, is as much of a green light as he needs. "He had it all. A loving wife, a promising son he was grooming to take over his business. Then a trip to Tokyo changed everything."

"I saw," Baekhyun says, voice quiet, fringing on private territory. Like this, up close, Kyungsoo struggles with wondering if Baekhyun is real substance, rosy cheeks beautiful under the glow of the facility's lights, the peak of his cap casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face and jaw. "There was another woman in your house. She wasn't your mom."

Kyungsoo images lifting the 'no entry' sign to his mind, voiding the protective barrier he's cast over his thoughts. He's only ever waivered this for two people - he told Jongin, all those years ago, and now, Baekhyun's found the answers himself. "I was born out of wedlock. I knew I'd never take over the family business, and honestly, that really didn't matter to me. I didn't want to run some medicinal empire."

"What..." Delicate as cotton, Baekhyun trails off, as if doubting the appropriateness of his question. He decides to ask anyway. "What did you want to do?"

Vivid images of stage lights and a sea of faceless people surfaces from the depths of Kyungsoo's mind, a smile coming to him unbidden. He hasn't let himself think about this in a long, long time. He's long since buried this fragment of hope, this beautiful dream, under the sandy, murky depths of his childhood. "I wanted to sing," he admits. "My father used to say real men don't dream, real men act. But I never got the chance to act, so dreaming was all I had."

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, looks down at their intertwined hands. Baekhyun's fingers are just as beautiful as his face, long, slender digits that wrap themselves in perfect curves around Kyungsoo's shorter, stubbier ones. "All my life, Baekhyun, I was told I'd never be more than a bastard child. I got the short end of the stick for everything. So in high school, I decided that maybe I'd prove to my family that I can be more than that."

The night air is frigid when it kisses Kyungsoo's face. "Is that when you and your... friend joined the programme?" Baekhyun asks, as if he needs to hear with his own ears to set his assumptions in stone.

"Jongin?" Kyungsoo glances up at the night sky, painfully aware that Baekhyun is still looking at him, still searching for something. "Yeah. He saved me, kind of. We joined the Academy together."

In his mind's eye, Kyungsoo can almost hear the pieces of his story, the finer nuances and details, clicking into place with the figments and flashes of his life that Baekhyun saw when they Drifted. The conversation dies off, Baekhyun digesting everything he's been told, Kyungsoo coming to terms with the fact that he'd just laid out his past in a detailed blueprint to a person he hasn't even known for a week. He doesn't feel as surprised or as disappointed in his boundaries as he expected to be, though. It feels natural, telling Baekhyun everything, as if it's something that should happen as much as the sun should rise tomorrow.

Baekhyun turns to him then, the corners of his mouth pulling upward, slowly but surely, into a full-fledged, brilliant smile. Almost too abruptly, it feels like night has faded away, as if they'd spent hours talking and time has eased itself into a new day without them knowing. Baekhyun's smile is almost too bright to look at, glowing softly and blazing fiercely all at the same time, like a replica of the sun has decided to take a detour on earth, substantially smaller in size but no less radiant. Kyungsoo tightens his grip on Baekhyun's fingers almost reflexively, searching for any kind of leverage.

He looks dazzling, more so than any bridge or machine in the world.

"And now you saved me," Baekhyun says, renewed determination in his voice. A whimper nearly escapes Kyungsoo when Baekhyun disentangles their fingers, eyes half-concealed behind his fringe of black hair again, but smiling mouth in complete view. He misses the warmth of skin against skin already. "So let's start over," Baekhyun proposes, lifting a hand between them. "Byun Baekhyun."

When their fingers meet this time, the touch is electric. Small jolts flow through Kyungsoo's bloodstream, slamming home in his chest, impulses that make the heart beat faster. "Do Kyungsoo."

That night, Kyungsoo spends his final hours in trainee accommodation. He falls asleep with the lingering warmth of Baekhyun's fingertips on the back of his hand, the memory of Baekhyun's voice lulling him to sleep, and the image of Baekhyun's smiling face on the back of his eyelids, prominent among the sea of people who watch him as he sings.

 

◇

 

If there's one thing that sets pilot accommodation apart from Kyungsoo's quarters back in the trainee wing, it's the bunk bed pressed against the wall. Twin-sized, just big enough for one person to sleep on, plain white sheets folded neatly at the foot of both mattresses. Other than that, it's really not much different from Kyungsoo's old room. Granted, it's slightly bigger, to make space for two grown men, but there's still only one closet and one bathroom.

A blunt, heavy object knocks Kyungsoo in the back of his knees. "So, top bunk or lower bunk?" Baekhyun asks, swinging his backpack around, eyes raking the room from where they both stand in the doorway. The door to his room - no, their room - is four inches of reinforced metal, built to withstand the hottest of fires and the coldest of drafts. The safety of pilots, after all, is of utmost priority in every base should security be breached.

"You can choose. I'll take whatever's left," Kyungsoo answers. Baekhyun makes his decision for him by ducking into the lower bed, back falling onto the hard mattress, grinning as he watches Kyungsoo toss his his duffel bag onto the top bunk.

Smiling seems to come easier to Baekhyun now, lighting up every inch of his face, from the crinkling of his eyes into tiny, curved crescents to the flash of his white teeth, framed by thin, pretty lips. Baekhyun had waited for him at the elevator of the trainee wing this morning, face in full view, 'good morning' written in the small grin toying with the edges of his lips. They'd scarcely spoken, but the silence between them isn't fraught with tension anymore. It's comfortable, easy, like second nature.

The bed dips beneath Kyungsoo's weight as he settles on the edge of the mattress. Baekhyun has his eyes closed, jet black hair fanning out in all directions against the off-white of the pillowcase. Everything about Baekhyun looks as if it's been made of porcelain, pale and beautiful and delicate. His eyelashes are long and curved, the very tips ghosting against his skin. The rise and fall of his chest is in small, steady measures. It feels like time would stop any minute, if only to preserve these tiny moments and details.

Very slowly, Baekhyun's eyelids part to reveal gray irises, staring right into Kyungsoo's brown ones, into his very soul. "What do you want to do now?" Kyungsoo asks, soft as a whisper, as if speaking any louder would cause the peace of the moment to shatter and slip away between his fingers like sand.

"Nothing." Baekhyun sits up, right knee brushing against Kyungsoo's thigh, fingers resting lightly on the sheets, far too close to Kyungsoo's own hand. Every single movement he makes is both distracting and gentle in equal parts. "Staying here sounds good."

"You know we can't. We have to train during the day." Kyungsoo's voice trails off into nothing more than a murmur, gaze travelling up to meet Baekhyun's. The idea is all too tempting, just whiling the day away here in their own personal chamber, behind fortified walls and a door of steel, where nothing can touch them, where nothing can interrupt th—

An alarm blares through the room, loud and urgent. A black screen attached to the wall furthest from them lights up with a three-dimensional sketch of what seems to be a cross between a snail and a lizard, urging them on their feet every time the image blinked at them.

Their shared room is the nearest to the Drivesuit rooms, barely a three-minute walk away, two, if they were to sprint. Baekhyun opts for a brisk walk, rounding the corners and dashing along the straight corridors, like he's learnt them by heart. Somewhere past the Miracle Mile, rearing its ugly head above the waters of the ocean, is a kaijuu ready for destruction, yet despite all this, Kyungsoo can't help the small smile on his face, the skip of his heartbeat.

Next to him, Baekhyun's every step resounds with resolution, a newfound purpose. He's ready to fight, to defend, and not just because someone sent him here. Kyungsoo knows.

The four minutes in the Drivesuit room, and what could possibly have been another three as they make their way to the doors of Nova Hyperion's Conn-Pod, pass by in a blur. "You ready?" Kyungsoo asks, as they begin their drop. It's approximately thirty seconds to impact, per regulations, but time seems to slow as he waits for Baekhyun's answer. He can wait. He'd always wait, he realises.

"If you are."

Kyungsoo can barely make out the features of Baekhyun's face under the relay gel in their helmets, but there's a smile in his voice and a promise in his words. We are the perfect drift, echoes in his head, we'll be ready if we have each other.

He doesn't fight when he feels the familiar presence of Baekhyun's mind pressing against his, moulding into one, long yellow tendrils intertwining with his blue ones in a coil tighter than any alpha helix. The neural handshake registers stronger than ever, and Kyungsoo can feel the air prickling against Baekhyun's skin as if it were his own.

People always said that Junmyeon is the picture of calm, even during complex missions with multiple Jaegers, but Kyungsoo never completely bought that till today. "Good afternoon, Nova Hyperion. We have a big guy, a Category 3 about ten kilometres past Miracle Mile, codename Ossyria. No civilian vessels in sight, so you've got a clear battle radius, guys."

A pause, the sound of Junmyeon's fingers working fast at a keyboard, and then a new voice speaks, deep and velvety. "This is Marshall Wu Yifan on deck. Your orders are to eliminate Ossyria well off the mile and come home safe. Be prepared for your debut, gentlemen."

Baekhyun's eyes are hard and determined beneath his helmet. He nods at Kyungsoo and pushes the intercom button, calm and prepared, not betraying even the smallest hint of the fire Kyungsoo can feel burning wild in them both. "Nova Hyperion, ready for deployment, sir."

The world is dull blue through the eyes of their Jaeger, small dots of red, yellow and white depicting human heat signals as technicians work to part the metal doors of their loading bay. Kyungsoo can feel the entire body of the machine being slid forward, then lifted into the air, undoubtedly by helicarriers transporting them to the coordinates of the kaijuu signal.

"Let's do this!" they yell collectively, as the mechanical hooks clamping on to their Nova Hyperion's shoulders disappear. Gravity takes over, pulling the machine hard to the base of the ocean, and Kyungsoo can feel the massive force in his knees as he bends to absorb the shock. He knows Baekhyun feels it too, gritting his teeth at the pressure.

Drifting not only connects pilot to pilot, but pilots to their machine, one to each of the left and right hemispheres. Injuries sustained by the Jaegers feel like direct blows to the pilot themselves - that is the price they all have to pay to control hundred-tonne robots and defend their city population.

Ossyria lets out a feral roar, blue liquid dripping off its outstretched tongue, contaminating the sloshing waters parting around its lower body.

As one, they lurch towards the creature, arms wrapping around the kaijuu's extended neck, squeezing it in an airtight headlock. Ossyria rears its ugly head, its short, stumpy limbs groping at Nova Hyperion's legs. "Keep the grip!" Baekhyun yells over the noise, voice only barely audible over the kaijuu's roaring and the Jaeger A.I. confirming neural inputs and commands. He's really only yelling on instinct, partly also for convenience on LOCCENT's end, because Kyungsoo's already one step ahead, already knows what he's going to do even before Baekhyun's body reacts to his thoughts.

Ossyria is, however, two steps ahead, its great whip of a tongue lashing out and connecting with Nova Hyperion's left arm with a crack as loud as thunder. Baekhyun cries out loud, clutching at his arm and bent over, but they're given no time to breathe as the kaijuu hurls itself at them, slimy underbelly sticking to the front of the Jaeger. LOCCENT checks in on them, the Marshall's voice up several notches in volume. "Nova, what's going on out there?!"

Baekhyun curses under his breath and regains his balance. "Shit, we forgot the grip! Get a hold of him! I'll finish him off!" Nova Hyperion's right hand is down, pressed immobile at an awkward angle down its side, but Baekhyun frees the left hemisphere and delivers a hard punch to Ossyria's jaw, sending it howling backwards into the sea.

"Let's go out with a bang," Kyungsoo says, sporting a grin identical to Baekhyun's as they boot up their Plasmacaster. The instant plasma cannon, 100% sounds through the Conn-Pod in the same robotic, female A.I. voice, the end of Nova's right arm turns a bright orange, then a blinding white, and finally a fearsome blue. A nuclear-powered laser empties Ossyria's guts. It collapses into the sea, and wails no more.

They're both still in offensive positions, braced and ready for the kaijuu to leap out at them from the depths of the ocean with renewed fury, but it never comes. The Miracle Mile is secure. It's Nova Hyperion's first win, Kyungsoo realises, their first win, and the thought only makes his smile grow wider, his body throbbing with excitement.

Baekhyun remembers the intercom first. Even the formality of his words does little to mask the thrill of adrenaline in his voice. "One shot fired at approximately eight kilometres off the Mile, sir. Ossyria is down. I repeat, Ossyria is down."

"Good job, Nova. Now come home," the Marshall says, and even through the communication systems, through his slightly accented Korean, Kyungsoo can hear the relief in his voice. The whole lot of them at mission control must have been worried sick, he realises; newbie pilots in a Jaeger that hasn't even been taken on a proper test run out in the waters yet, but they'd made it. Together.

The welcome at Seoul HQ is nothing short of phenomenal. Kyungsoo can't see anything except a crowd of bodies cheering enthusiastically, filling the main chamber of the Shatterdome as far as the eye can see. Above him, the clock displaying the time till the next predicted kaijuu attack is reset, bright orange digits on a big black screen, and it reminds Kyungsoo of the colour of the plasma cannon during the first stage of deployment.

He inclines his head in acknowledgment when he sees Liyin, waving gingerly at him, while Jongdae hovers protectively next to her, sending a two thumbs up his way with a brilliant smile on his face. He means to turn to grin at Baekhyun, to steal him for three seconds, maybe five, if Lady Luck is on his side, to smile at him and yell, "We did it!", but Jongin comes hurtling out of the crowd and envelops him in a fierce hug. "I'm so glad you're home safe, hyung."

Of course, silly and What, did you think I was going down on my first mission out? all lump together in Kyungsoo's throat when he sees the look on Jongin's face, washed over with relief, but there are still bits and pieces of what looks like jealousy, sadness, even.

"Are you o—" The question is left hanging, though, because Chanyeol pulls him into a messy headlock that has the crowd laughing even louder than they were, and by the time Kyungsoo wrenches himself free, Jongin is nowhere to be found.

 

◇

 

Seoul HQ is still buzzing with activity late into the night, what with LOCCENT sending out contamination control teams to contain Ossyria's blood within as small a radius as possible and to prevent it from seeping past the Miracle Mile into Incheon's waters. As he steps into the elevator, Kyungsoo can hear the heavy footsteps of the K-Science entourage leaving the wing, undoubtedly making their way to the scene to harvest the kaijuu organs for their research and development division.

He'd lost Baekhyun during the brief celebration earlier, having been dragged off into a conversation with a very chirpy Chanyeol and an ecstatic Junmyeon. Kyungsoo's gut feeling is telling him Baekhyun's perfectly fine, but it'd still be nice to hear it from Baekhyun himself, if only to stop the frantic tugging at his heartstrings.

By the time he reaches their room, greets the passing Drivesuit technicians who congratulate him on his first kill and slides the lock into place behind him, Baekhyun's already changed out of his circuitry suit and into a fresh set of clothes, a gray shirt that matches his eyes and soft white pants to go with the gentle expression on his face.

The silence hangs thin between them. Baekhyun brushes the web of quiet away, happiness and disbelief in his every word, almost as if this is all a dream and they'd both wake up, still in the middle of the battle and fighting for their lives. As they say, first impressions last the longest, and Kyungsoo's pretty sure this applies to first victories and the ensuing surreality as well. "We did it. We bagged our first kill," Baekhyun says, scooting aside to make space for Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo nods in agreement, toying with the hem of his shirt, but the bandage wrapped tightly around Baekhyun's upper forearm is too distracting to ignore. He runs his fingers over the seams where the tape meets, careful not to put any pressure on it. Baekhyun's breath hitches audibly under the touch, muscles tensing ever so slightly. "Are you okay, though? Does it hurt still?"

"It never really hurt to begin with. But the medics insisted, so, yeah," Baekhyun trails off into a soft chuckle, a sound Kyungsoo decides he'd like to keep in a bottle to listen to. It's whispery and sharp all at the same time, but it's so distinctly Baekhyun, a sweet kind of burning on his skin.

Every inch between them suddenly feels like mere millimetres when Baekhyun shifts to face him, pressing close as he slips a tentative hand into Kyungsoo's hair, watching dark brown fan over his long fingers. Baekhyun's palm is surprisingly cool and steady against Kyungsoo's scalp, unlike his breathing, warm and erratic and too prominent in this room, where they're all alone, where Kyungsoo's more than susceptible to the small voice in his head and the warmth in his body, telling him to close the gap and take that leap of faith.

"Thank you for asking," Baekhyun whispers, gaze dropping from Kyungsoo's hair to his eyes, lingering briefly on his lips, then down to his clasped hands. "I'll be okay."

Kyungsoo knows the door is locked, but he can't help thinking about how much talk this would garner if anybody were to see them. Two boys, partnered pilots, no less, so close to each other, touching each other so intimately like this, but he can't bring himself to pull away, and neither does he want to. It's not because Baekhyun looks so dazzling even under the dim light of their room, not because he's hot and cold all at the same time and the sensations are pushing Kyungsoo closer and closer to the edge they've been skirting. He hasn't even known Baekhyun for a week, but he feels like they've bridged all the years they've spent apart. The way they fit and the way they are - everything feels right, like an unexplainable mathematical certainty.

He's suddenly aware of a cool trail trickling down the side of his face, and for a moment, he wonders if it's blood, or cold sweat. Kyungsoo's heart nearly falls out of his chest when he realises Baekhyun's slender fingers are smoothing out the curves in his face, bumping against his cheekbone gently. He leans in, craving for more, marvelling in the way Baekhyun's fingers bend to accommodate the angles of his jaw.

"Goodnight, Kyungsoo," Baekhyun breathes, and all that's left when he eases himself under the covers and turns away from Kyungsoo is the ghost of his touch, the lingering warmth in his voice.

His name has never sounded more entrancing, syllables rolling smoothly off Baekhyun's tongue. Kyungsoo wonders how much more beautiful it could be, if Baekhyun whispered his name into his skin, murmured it into his hair.

Only when he's changed and safely nestled under his own blankets does Kyungsoo whisper a reply into his pillow. "Goodnight, Baekhyun." Kyungsoo falls asleep worrying if the pounding of his heart would wake Baekhyun up.

 

◇

 

Time becomes more of an abstract concept than a relative theory as the months go by.

Kyungsoo's days are spent in Jaeger training, honing his reflexes and testing prototype Jaeger weapons. Baekhyun's unorthodox style of sparring makes him the perfect training partner, unusual strokes and an erratic rhythm that only Baekhyun himself seems to be able to keep in check.

Most times, they're surrounded by good company - Jongdae has been appointed temporary Kwoon Fightmaster, training the greenhorns that come through Seoul HQ's door and indulging in the occasional practice round with either Kyungsoo or Baekhyun, with whom he's come to develop a fast-moving friendship. They're almost always greeted by Liyin and Junmyeon whenever they get paged by J-Tech weaponry, prodigies that have put their heads together towards making core improvements to Nova's frame and equipped weapons.

Although word has been rife that a Mark 5 Jaeger is in the works Down Under, Nova Hyperion still remains the newest Jaeger in the business to date. Her gleaming metallic sheen, trimmed with gold befitting a machine as agile and majestic as she is, has been a bane to any kaijuu that dares to try a hand at taking the coastline, a saviour to the citizens of South Korea and East Asia. 13 drops, 13 kills over the span of a few months - too often, if regular standards are anything to go by; the interval between kaijuu attacks are getting increasingly small. But every single time, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo make it home safe, make it home together, and every single time, Baekhyun smiles just that much more, responding to the greetings and congratulations from the crowd and their friends. Kyungsoo still remembers how stunned Minseok and Chanyeol had been when Baekhyun had first smiled at them, small and shy, but progress, nonetheless.

No matter how much Baekhyun opens up, though, Kyungsoo knows it's nothing like the bond they share, all the nights spent stealing glances at each other and watching each other like they're creatures of intrigue instead of normal flesh and blood. It makes him feel proud, somewhat, to know that he has a small part of Baekhyun all to himself, a side that he doesn't intend sharing with anyone else. It feels like they're laying themselves bare to each other, opening all their doors for the other to explore, tearing down the fencing between two houses.

Sometimes, Kyungsoo pretends to be reading while he observes Baekhyun milling around the room, changing his clothes, stretching, tending to his small injuries. The top bunk is a blessedly good vantage point. Baekhyun's dark gaze is no more inconspicuous than Kyungsoo's, a soft kind of presence that follows him everywhere but doesn't ever intrude.

Kyungsoo's not sure how much longer they can teeter around the edge of this cliff, lest one pushes the other over, or they both fall off. They live dangerous lives, after all.

Months feel like days, days like minutes, passing in a haze of battling and training and sleepless nights and attempting to comprehend the something festering in his chest, a twining tendril that coils its way around Kyungsoo's heart with ease, urging it to pump faster, rendering him short of breath. It's almost always there, lying dormant beneath his skin and waiting in its body, but Baekhyun pressing close, Baekhyun's rich, velvety voice, Baekhyun's eyes on him, Baekhyun, Baekhyun, Baekhyun, always sets it off, sending the best kinds of electric jolts racing down his spine. It's not an unpleasant sensation, and Kyungsoo finds himself coming back for more.

"What are you doing here alone?" The voice comes so suddenly out the silence that it takes all of Kyungsoo's restraint not to jump out of his skin. He's not falling (not really, not physically), but he reaches out to grab the central control display by reflex to steady himself, spinning around so abruptly that a soft blade of night air stings his cheeks.

The doors of the Conn-Pod slide shut behind Baekhyun, the shuffle barely audible even in the pin-drop silence of the chamber. Even when he was still in high school, before he'd joined the Jaeger programme, he's always had a small interest in engineering and mechanics, mesmerised by the seamlessness of modern technology. He often wonders, even to this day, how a loud, rambunctious species like mankind has managed to develop technology like this at all, perfect, faultless, powerful, dethroning the forces of nature.

He should be putting more thought into this, into the workings of science and the law of the world, not the forces of attraction, not the deceptive art of the human mind, not the way Baekhyun is closing the distance between them in quick strides, black sneakers soundless against the floor of the Conn-Pod. The way his black jacket is wrapped snugly over his broad shoulders, the collar of his white round-necked tee resting just below his collarbones, the dark jeans bringing out every curve in his legs - Baekhyun is the image of perfection, sinful to the last hair on his head.

Kyungsoo swallows. Whoever said angels only belonged in white or on the bright side clearly needs to reevaluate their judgment. "Just looking at our Jaeger," he says, trying not to wince at the shakiness of his voice. Conn-Pods are usually stationed at the very top of the loading bay, to prepare for a drop whenever needed, but not right after maintenance, especially when it's just past dinner time. In circumstances like this, the chamber would be parked on a platform in the middle of the deployment railing, just high enough to get a stellar view of the body of the Jaeger. The word our is pleasantly sweet on his tongue.

"Hm," Baekhyun hums in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes on Kyungsoo as he walks up to the circular front of the Conn-Pod, an entire piece of reinforced glass moulded in a perfect oval curve. Science says the impulses in the brain control movements in the body, but that's very much up for dispute now, especially since his feet seem more inclined to listen to his noisily persistent heart than the wise counsel of his head. You want this, you want to follow him, you want him.

Baekhyun keeps his eyes on Kyungsoo as he presses a hand against the glass. "Beautiful, don't you agree?" he asks.

It's a perfectly innocent question spun out of proportion and context by the sultry drawl of Baekhyun's voice, intoxicating poison and sweet antidote all at the same time, confusing and tempting and just so right. Kyungsoo would like to think he's referring to Nova Hyperion, standing tall and proud in the centre of the loading bay on her launcher, a stunning creation unlike any other. But Baekhyun hasn't once spared a glance at the Jaeger since he'd first stepped into the Conn-Pod, and Kyungsoo isn't sure if he wants to jump the gun on this one, to open the unlocked door Baekhyun has left for him.

His answer comes out thick and stuttered. "She's a real beauty, yeah."

He could run. He could run now, make a bolt for the door and punch the button and fling himself out of the Conn-Pod. He could do that, and he should, but Baekhyun's piercing gray eyes hold him in place, rendering him as immobile as a stone carving. "What do you see?" Baekhyun asks, and Kyungsoo's gaze flickers to his fingers, spread slightly open, as if waiting for someone to fill in the gaps, pads pressed lightly against the cold glass for anchorage. He repeats the question, enunciating each word, as if making sure he's not asking the wrong thing. "When you look at Nova Hyperion, what do you see?"

Engineering marvel, saviour of mankind, my dream come true, a machine to call my own, most advanced of her kind - this and many, many more surface at the back of Kyungsoo's mind, but only as prominent as faded accompanying music. Unbidden, the answer springs to his lips. He's not sure if it's the reply Baekhyun wants to hear, or if it's right or wrong. What he does know is that it's the first thing to come to his mind, the loudest of the first violins in the orchestra of voices in his head. It's the truth.

"You," Kyungsoo whispers. "I see you. It reminds me of you."

Soft breathing flutters against his cheek, and it feels like the flit of a butterfly's wings, the touch of silk, the smooth blackness of the night. "And what," Baekhyun's hand finds a new resting spot on the nape of Kyungsoo's neck, "do you think about when you think of me?" His fingertips are only touching Kyungsoo's skin, not even applying the slightest pressure, but it's suffocating, a sensation akin to asphyxiation. Kyungsoo is still afraid to open his mouth and speak, for fear of his lungs giving up on him, for fear of divulging the dark, dark truth.

It used to be curiosity. An innocent, piqued interest in the way Baekhyun carried himself, a want to find out more about his motivations and who made him what he was. They'd already established such a strong connection in the Drift, and they still had occasional incidences of Ghost-Drifting, but there are bound to be things Baekhyun has shut away as emotional baggage. There's always a gray spot amidst the black-and-white solidness of headspace, and Kyungsoo's been eager to know why for a long time now.

Then, it blossomed into what Kyungsoo can only call attraction. It didn't matter what Baekhyun was doing - pushing his body to its limits during their sparring sessions, pulling his shirt of his head, dozing off on his bed on nights where he's particularly tired - Kyungsoo felt inexplicably drawn to him, as if Baekhyun's cast a rope around his waist and is reeling him in without even trying.

Now, he's falling into a hopeless spiral, a dark tunnel with no end and no beginning, no indication of up and down, even. When he emerges from the shower to see Baekhyun sound asleep, long, elegant limbs splayed out over the mattress, mouth parted slightly, all he wants to do is press their lips together, steal all of the little sounds Baekhyun makes. Sometimes, he catches Baekhyun watching him, and it's nothing new, nothing Baekhyun hasn't been doing for months, but now, it ignites a low burn in the base of Kyungsoo's stomach, and he wants nothing more than to push Baekhyun up against the wall and fuck him raw, turn his intuitive gaze into begging eyes, smart, veiled remarks into desperate pleas and calls of Kyungsoo's name. It's dark, it's filthy, it's so, so tempting, and Kyungsoo's been jolted awake in the middle of the night more than once, dreaming of Baekhyun's lips around his cock.

But other times, when Baekhyun sends his small, private smiles Kyungsoo's way, intertwining their hands briefly while wishing him good night, Kyungsoo feels the burning need to kiss him soft, sweet and slow, to push him back into the mattress and hold him secure in his arms and tell him he's good enough for them both. Honestly, Kyungsoo wouldn't mind doing that every day for the rest of his life.

Now, Kyungsoo isn't sure what that's supposed to mean.

"I don't know. You make me so confused, Baekhyun. You're everywhere and I want everything and I just— I don't know," is his honest, whispered reply, harsh tone rounded off at the edges, a gentle bite, of sorts, spilling clumsily like he's been holding it in forever.

Baekhyun is so close now, parted lips grazing against Kyungsoo's with every breath he takes, dark, seductive eyes peering up at Kyungsoo through beautiful lashes. It's too easy to tangle his fingers in Baekhyun's silky black hair, yanking at the roots, pulling him in, in, in, kissing him hard through teeth and tongue and driving them both off the edge. Baekhyun responds to the kiss with equal fervour, one hand fisted in the fabric of Kyungsoo's shirt and the other on the nape of his neck, keeping him in place, as if easing up on the pressure would cause them to wake up from this immoral dream.

Byun Baekhyun is the picture of sin when he pulls away, a trail of saliva hanging between their mouths, face as flushed as his eyes are clouded. If Kyungsoo's going to hell for sinning, he decides, as he watches Baekhyun drop to the floor, knees digging into the metal even through the thick fabric of his jeans, deft fingers working at the button of Kyungsoo's jeans, then so be it.

The cold air burns the bare skin of Kyungsoo's legs, pants and underwear pooling around his ankles as Baekhyun drags a hot, wet trail up the inside of his thigh, mouthing at the base of Kyungsoo's cock. The torture continues until Baekhyun's lips meet the head, moulding around it briefly, teasingly, before taking the entire length of Kyungsoo's shaft into the cavern of his mouth.

"O-Oh, fuck," Kyungsoo hisses furiously, head pressed back against the metal wall, fingers threading through Baekhyun's hair, pulling and demanding more through touch than the words failing to form in his head. The lines between sweet pain and sinful pleasure blur as one when Baekhyun presses the flat of his tongue up against Kyungsoo's heavy cock, pretty, swollen lips parted wide as he takes in more and more each time he bobs his head.

It isn't too long before Kyungsoo is thrusting into Baekhyun's mouth, hand holding his head firmly in place, Baekhyun's fingers pressing bruises into the pale skin of his waist. The frantic pace Baekhyun has adopted is sickeningly effective, cheeks hollowed around Kyungsoo's dick. His eyes flicker up to Kyungsoo's, watching him unravel even through the sheen of lust settling over his gray irises, undressing him and dissecting him down to the very last seam. When Baekhyun times himself to pull away to the very tip and surge forward at the same time as Kyungsoo angles just right, the head of his cock slams into the back of Baekhyun's throat, tearing a stuttering, loud moan from his lips and hiccuped cries of Baekhyun, Baekhyun, Baekhyun.

The Conn-Pod isn't all that silent anymore, pregnant with heavy panting and groaning and the sound of skin on skin. He realises then how bad this could be, how people could be reporting back to their stations anytime now. How many minutes had passed? How many hours? How anybody would react to this, to Baekhyun sucking him off in the Conn-Pod of their Jaeger, Kyungsoo thrusting obscenely into his mouth behind clear glass for all the world to see, is beyond him. How they could get caught—

The thought of somebody walking in on them should frighten him and make him stop and yank Baekhyun off him, but it only makes him thrust harder, faster, deeper, Baekhyun's lips coming all the way up to his balls. "Ah, Baekhyun, I'm— fuck—" He comes so hard, over and over again, he sees white fade into double before his colour spectrum slowly returns to normal, to familiar shades of blue and gray.

Baekhyun keeps his lips around Kyungsoo's dick a little longer, slowing his pace and sucking Kyungsoo to completion. When he finally lets go and stands up on shaky legs, Kyungsoo half-expects a rough, hard kiss, to make him feel the stretch of Baekhyun's red lips. Instead, Baekhyun presses feathery, light pecks to the column of his neck, the shell of his ear, the corner of his mouth. Their lips do meet halfway, but the contact isn't as wild or rushed as Kyungsoo would've thought it'd be; the kiss is slow, languid, easy, Baekhyun's tongue running along the roof of his mouth, urging Kyungsoo to taste himself. The marks on his hips are still bright red and angry, but Baekhyun runs smooth thumbs over them in circles, easing the dull throb.

Kyungsoo leaves the Conn-Pod first, dishevelled and dazed, Baekhyun's murmured, unanswered question hanging in the air behind him and ringing in his ears.

"Do you know now?"

 

◇

 

Qingdao's distress call comes at an ungodly hour of the morning.

The loud blare of the siren jolts Kyungsoo awake in an instant, the display at the far end of the room coming to life under the dim lamplight. South Korea - no, the world - needs Nova Hyperion to defend its shores again. Pager alarms for cross-country missions are slightly different in its beat; it used to be no different from domestic alerts, but PPDC changed their policies about a decade ago. Even through the haze of sleepiness shrouding his mind, Kyungsoo registers the fact that this alarm is blaring louder, somehow, more urgent, more significant, and he's not sure if it's just a trick his subconscious is playing, or something else altogether.

For another country to page for help from neighbouring countries, though, this kaijuu must be a difficult one to beat, already engaging China's Jaeger and undoubtedly drawing too close for comfort to their Miracle Mile.

Emergency situations like this one awakens the whole of Seoul HQ from their slumber in mere moments. By now, the lights of the building and runway would already be on, technicians scrambling from their lodging to the loading bay to execute final preparations for the deployment of their Jaeger. Mission control would be analysing the category of the kaijuu and working a mission blueprint around the circumstances and geographical terrain. Decontamination teams and helicarrier pilots would be on standby, ready to take action where necessary.

None of the chaos carries into their brisk walk to the Drivesuit Room. The only sounds other than the constant blaring of the alarm drowning out their foosteps is their calm, even breathing, a basic warm-up technique for all pilots before a drop. The only company they have is each other.

A lump forms in Kyungsoo's throat when they step past the threshold of Nova Hyperion's Conn-Pod. It's been a week since he'd last been in here, since Baekhyun had pressed against him and kissed him and pushed him up against the glass, down on his knees and lips stretched around Kyungsoo's cock, but it could've been yesterday, earlier today, even, with the number of times Kyungsoo's watched the scene replay in his mind's eye, the number of times he's dreamt about it. The images and sensations are still too vivid, and even now, Kyungsoo feels an uncomfortable twitch down south thinking about it.

J-Tech maintains the temperature in Conn-Pods somewhere in the mid-twenty degrees, in accordance with scientific recommendation and also to accommodate the heat in their Drivesuit mechanism, but there's an unkindly chill in the chamber, cutting Kyungsoo open with careful, precise slashes that cause him to bleed his secrets and feelings, drop by drop, working his brain in slow, agonising ways.

"Hey," comes Baekhyun's voice, like a soft knock to the door of Kyungsoo's mind, even though he knows it's been left open. It reminds Kyungsoo of the night they first spoke to each other, out on the observatory platform, how Baekhyun had seemed even gentler and even more beautiful than the moon, gleaming down at them, watching over them. "Don't worry, okay? We'll be safe. We'll be okay."

What are you saying, Baekhyun? lingers on the seam of Kyungsoo's lips, walking the curve, threatening to lose balance and fall out should he open them. He isn't sure why they need the assurance now, and he isn't sure what it is that they'll be safe from, but this is the line of fire they've committed to walking on, a life of danger, of never being truly sheltered from the perils of the world. They risk their lives as the first and only line of defence against mutated alien creatures, fighting to sustain entire populations, people who only know them by name and by face. Widespread attention and the mass media spotlight are part of the reason why Kyungsoo and Baekhyun have always politely turned down requests to have them appear on interviews or talk shows.

The spoken word has never been his forte, and he's never really needed it. His parents didn't care, Jongin doesn't pry, and now, Baekhyun doesn't need to ask. As they begin their drop, Kyungsoo realises he really doesn't care about the media and he can do without the public's eye. All he wants is for them to come home. Together.

Before he can stop himself, he calls Baekhyun's name in gentle tones. Sudden courage throbs with every beat of his heart, thrumming in his veins, intensifying when Baekhyun turns to look at him, almost too quickly, as if he'd been waiting. The orange relay gel in his helmet dulls the beautiful gray shade of his eyes, but they do next to nothing to mask the hints of expectation on his face. "Yeah?"

Words have never been their preferred medium of communication, not between them. All they needed was the brush of hands, the briefest of glances, the smallest change in body language to know what the other was thinking. Baekhyun has always had an uncanny way of telling Kyungsoo things - minute, almost unnoticeable shivers when he's cold, a soft smile when he's warm, a tug on Kyungsoo's wrist when he's hungry and it's past time for them to adjourn to the cafeteria and have dinner with everyone else.

But this, this is different, today is different, and Baekhyun looks like he's prepared to wait forever to hear the words Kyungsoo has to say.

Kyungsoo has no idea what his follow-up statement is supposed to be. He hadn't even been planning on calling Baekhyun's name. You're right. We'll be okay. Actually, you know what? I think I might be in love with you.

"I... We'll be okay, Baek. I know we will. We can do this," he says instead, thin sheen of resolve settling over his words like drying paint.

They've barely spoken since their tryst in the Conn-Pod a week past, barely even made physical contact with each other save when they needed to during training, to avoid raising suspicions. Even so, the unspoken promise of we have to come home so I can tell you what I wanted to say, wait for me, be with me, do this with me floats in the air between them, more than enough to bridge the silence they've been keeping for seven days too long, now.

Fifteen seconds till a successful drop, by Kyungsoo's reckoning; the Conn-Pod has just zoomed past the the Zone C marker in the loading bay. Baekhyun reaches up to remove his helmet, then, eyes unfocused, as if he's being guided by impulse and his heart, rather than logic and his head. "Wha—" Kyungsoo begins, but the words wither away on his tongue when Baekhyun pulls his helmet off too, pressing a gloved hand to his cheek. The synthetic material is plastic and hard against Kyungsoo's skin, but he can feel the warmth of Baekhyun's fingertips radiating through it.

Ten seconds till LOCCENT gets a visual of them.

The small distance between them decreases swiftly, disappears when Baekhyun fits his lips against Kyungsoo's parted ones, not deepening the kiss, just pressing lightly, lips warm and innocent and soft. Kyungsoo eyelids flutter involuntarily, one hand resting on Baekhyun's chest to balance himself, to convince himself that this is real, that Baekhyun is kissing him now, after a week of only watching him from afar.

Five seconds.

Baekhyun smiles at him then, bright and brilliant and beautiful in every sense of the word, a beacon of light in the darkness of the Conn-Pod. It makes Kyungsoo's heart shake with violent tremors, and it only fully hits him now how much he's missed this smile, the wide curve of Baekhyun's lips, kissed by the stars and the sun, lips Kyungsoo wouldn't mind making his own for now and for always. "I'll wait," Baekhyun whispers.

Kyungsoo doesn't even question how Baekhyun knows.

They are the perfect Drift. They will always know.

"A very early morning to you, Nova boys." Junmyeon's familiar voice calms the frantic beating of his heart. Later, Kyungsoo decides, and he knows Baekhyun can hear him, feel him, even if they haven't initiated the Drifting process yet. His breathing has begun to even out. He flashes one last, small smile at Baekhyun and fits the helmet on his head again. I'll tell him later. But now, we have other things to worry about.

Mild surprise registers on both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun's faces when deployment begins immediately after initiating their neural handshake and hemisphere calibration. There's a small tinge of hastiness in Junmyeon's voice, the soft taps of his fingers against buttons and screens audible even through the intercom. Only when they're in the air does Junmyeon debrief the situation for them. "Morning Star is currently still engaged with a kaijuu northwest of the Yellow Sea, codenamed Vega. It's a new one, Asia's first ever Category 4, so be careful."

Kyungsoo blinks. This isn't right. He remembers Chanyeol showing him the prediction algorithm he'd developed together with a few assigned members of the K-Science development division. Category 4's aren't supposed to show up till early next year, if existing patterns in the Breach are anything to go by.

"What is Morning Star's current condition?" Baekhyun's eyes are as sharp and focused as twin blades of cold, cold ice.

Discomfort is evident in Junmyeon's voice when he speaks again. In the background, Kyungsoo can hear the Marshall barking orders at another LOCCENT officer. "Morning Star is out cold. Last reports to Qingdao HQ stated that they've been hit by some kind of acid. Their electrical systems are fried. One of the pilots used to be in Tech Ops, so he knows how to manually jumpstart things, but it'll take time. They're not sure how long they can last on their own."

A loud beeping echoes in the background, and the helicarriers transporting Nova Hyperion begin to slow down. Far below, an ominous, glowing creature swims in circles around the foot of an unmoving Jaeger, polished crimson shell dull in the darkness.

"Nova, your mission is to distract and take down Vega. It's a new category altogether, so be wary. Qingdao HQ tells us Pilot Zhang has almost gotten their power back up. They will not be at a hundred percent, but they will come to your aid as soon as they can," the Marshall says curtly into the intercom, as composed as ever, as if no new alien anomaly has just surfaced on human shores. "Protect each other, Nova, and then come home. We're patching you over to Morning Star now."

Static fills the newly-opened communication channel, then a string of panicked words too fast for Kyungsoo to catch reaches their ears. Mandarin, he recognises; his tenure in Chinese classes had been brief, but enough for him to make out the language when he needs to. "Morning Star, do you copy?" he calls, enunciating every word loudly and clearly just in case. English is always the first language pilots should use in international team drops. "Morning Star, this is Nova Hyperion. We're from Seoul HQ and we're here to help you; do you copy?"

Merely walking on the ocean floor is taking a toll on them both; the waters are deeper and rougher here, pressing in on their legs in all directions. Kyungsoo grits his teeth and waits for a reply, while Baekhyun inputs commands for their Chain Sword. "Yes!" a harried male voice, slightly high-pitched and panting heavily, responds to his call. His English is recognisably Chinese-accented, but his words are still smooth and easy to make out. "We copy, Nova. Our systems will be up soon, we're still working on it!"

As one, Baekhyun raises his left hand, while Kyungsoo lowers his right for balance, Nova crouching in a side squat as she drives her blade directly into the body of the unsuspecting kaijuu, the sickening squelch of metal piercing straight through flesh loud and nauseating in Kyungsoo's ears. Vega's mighty roar is terrifying to the ears, and Kyungsoo wonders just how far the sound waves would travel. To Indonesia, perhaps, Malaysia, maybe even the residents of Australia.

The creature pulls back, wrenching itself free of the blade and barrelling towards them, the immobile carcass of Morning Star all but forgotten behind it. They move into a defensive position, arms crossed in front of them to withstand the force of impact when Vega collides with the body of their Jaeger. It's one of their favourites to use, because it transitions into offensive right after, when they use the weight of their midriff and upper torso to overwhelm the kaijuu when it reels back from the collision. Even Jongdae had expressed his approval once, when Kyungsoo and Baekhyun had demonstrated it to him in the combat rooms.

"Steady!" The air is knocked out of him the moment his lips wrap around the words, the force of impact so strong that it nearly knocks Nova Hyperion off its feet. Vega's mouth is a drooping pit of black, with a spotted tongue glowing bright cyan, as bright and blinding as a flourescent lamp. Baekhyun rams Nova's left arm against the kaijuu's bulging underbelly, but the blade bounces off the hard surface with scarcely a scratch, taut and tough as old, hardy leather.

Standing at its full height, Vega is a monster terrible to behold, possibly the most fearsome of the creatures they've ever had to face. Its eyes are almond-shaped slits, red and yellow and black, unfeeling depths that know nothing but destruction and fire. It's almost as tall as Nova herself, its mouth hovering at Kyungsoo's eye level, snapping its shapeless jaws at the head of the Conn-Pod, hoping to rip it off.

Both their arms are the only thing holding it at bay, but just as Kyungsoo's about to put power into the thrusters to force the kaijuu off, a searing pain runs through his legs and he collapses to the floor in a heap, sweat running down his forehead and blood on his tongue. He's screaming, but no sound registers in his ears, no sound louder than Vega's feral battlecry, the gaping abyss of its mouth disappearing from sight as their Jaeger falls down to one knee. From their position, Kyungsoo can make out the shape of a sharp, clawed whip of a tail attached to the kaijuu's scaled back, sailing through the air with the force of a tidal wave. Baekhyun intercepts it just in time with their Chain Sword, but the smooth blade shatters into a hundred pieces upon impact, shards of metal flying into the ocean waters, some embedding themselves in Nova's torso, her arms, her thigh.

"Fuck!" Baekhyun hisses, a jarring groan torn past his lips as his back collides with the sharp pillar connecting their Drivesuits to the neural interface of the Jaeger, the hard protrusion of metal digging into his back.

Kyungsoo grapples for footing, trying to lift himself to his feet, staggering as he holds on to the central control panel. He can still hear Morning Star's pilots scrambling to return power to their Jaeger, hasty shouting in Chinese, heavy footfalls, collision of steel on steel. "What the hell is going on out there, Nova? Report, I repeat, report your condition!" Marshall Wu barks over the intercom.

"We've taken a hit, sir!" Baekhyun chokes over his words, picking himself off the floor. "Core has been compromised, one limb is down!"

Vega is hurtling towards them, its short limbs moving with surprising agility, carrying its fat body across the ocean water at an alarming speed. "Light him up!" Kyungsoo screams, panting into his arm. "Light him up, Baek, the cannons, the cannons!"

Their Plasmacaster is up at record speed, Baekhyun grunting as he spins the dial to manually hasten cannon deployment. Mustering all his remaining energy, Kyungsoo lifts his right arm high in the air, repulsive force propelling his arm back as he watches the heated laser stream hit Vega right in the chest, burning a hole right through its torso and causing it to stumble backwards, crashing into the ocean with a splash so mighty, a torrent of seawater splashes against the glass of the Conn-Pod.

Kyungsoo gulps down fresh air, parched throat burning and filled with the coppery taste of blood, as he slumps backwards onto his supporting pillar. It's a new category of kaijuu altogether, so he shouldn't be surprised that it's bigger or more powerful, but what sends a chill down Kyungsoo's spine is that Vega - and possibly every other kaijuu of his category still lurking at the Breach - is smarter. It sees things, knows what's coming and can take preventive measures, unlike its predecessors.

They're evolving, he realises. Too fast, too dangerous.

Baekhyun reboots the communication system, patching them to both Morning Star and Seoul HQ LOCCENT. "One shot fired near the Mile; Vega is down," he manages between pants, gritting his teeth and bearing with the pain. Kyungsoo can see his Drivesuit has been sliced open near his right waist, red pooling in the slit and dripping down the white metal. "Injuries sustained, we request immediate medical assistance and a technician team."

No confirmation reaches them, only harsh static and frantic voices in the distance. Their communication panel had probably taken a blow during the battle, most of the damage sustained by the motherboard or main circuitry wires. Morning Star's channel doesn't seem to be connected at all; only dead silence greets Kyungsoo when he opens the connection. Junmyeon's voice is barely audible, scratchy over the intercom, words choppy and indistinct.

"Nova...! Not... signal... alive!"

"What?" Baekhyun yells into the receiver. "We can't hear you, LOCCENT, our communica—"

A pained howl cuts through the chaos in their damaged Conn-Pod, piercing and shrill and so, so pitiful, almost animalistic in nature. Kyungsoo feels himself being thrown back, pulled away from the wires connecting him to the Jaeger's neural interface, face connecting with the metal floor of the chamber. Cold air whips around his face, hauntingly chilling fingers pulling him this way and that, and he realises with a shudder there is a gaping, dark cavity between his and Baekhyun's hemispheres, a plunging valley tens of feet into the air that ended in the choppy waters of the sea.

The same clawed tail that he'd seen is pulsing right in front of him, corroding every piece of metal it came into contact with. Their Conn-Pod has been sliced cleanly in half, hanging to their respective hemispheres by threads of metal and wire.

The scream had been his.

Kyungsoo shrieks, again and again, so raw and loud that his throat feels like it's being torn apart from his neck. As if the raking of his fingers against his Drivesuit will be able to coax the pain spreading throughout his body, he claws at his chest, scrambling to his feet. Vega's maimed body stumbles into view where the Conn-Pod's reinforced glass wall should've been, pulsating and spewing disgusting trails of blood as it wrings their Jaeger apart.

Kyungsoo's head is a mess, images of who he was and who he is flashing through his head, the swirl of chaos that reminds somebody what life is just before death. His gloves are slick with sweat and blood, slipping against the edges of the control panel. There is a painful stab to his chest that has nothing to do with the kaijuu's limbs and tail tearing Nova Hyperion apart, piece by piece, weapon by weapon. It's a sensation as sweet as spring day, so soft and sad that his heart aches, splitting at the seams. Baekhyun's mind touches his, caressing the familiar shape and colour gently, already fuzzy around the edges. They're still connected by the Drift.

I'm sorry I never got to tell you.

He screams for salvation, screams for escape, screams for Baekhyun.

Darkness answers his prayers.

 

◇

 

Gray is the first thing Kyungsoo sees.

Gray walls of metal and granite, gray ceiling staring blankly down at him, gray linen clothes he's only seen worn by people in the sickbay. The smell of medicine and sterilised equipment is strong in the air, not unpleasant, but too heavy and dank for Kyungsoo's liking. It tastes like the fine line between life and death.

Slowly and cautiously, he lifts a hand, testing the joints of his shoulders and the strength of his arm, wiggling his fingers to make certain they're still flexible and he hasn't completely lost motor control. Taking care not to exert pressure on his upper body, Kyungsoo sits up. This bed isn't his, but the mattress is soft and pliant under him. Kyungsoo looks around, runs his fingers through the sheets. A spot near the edge is surprisingly warm, as if someone had just been here.

A pang of longing and panic hits him square in the chest when he tries to remember. Gray is the colour of the military here in Seoul HQ, standard and dull and the hue of traditions long preserved among commanders and their underlings, but there is one particular shade of gray that makes him feel alive. Gray tinged with green and gold, a pair of warm, gentle eyes, embracing him whenever their gaze rested on him.

Baekhyun.

I'm sorry I never got to tell you. The words resonate in Kyungsoo's ears, bouncing off his eardrums and resonating in his ear canal. He scans the sickbay - cupboards full of prescription medicine, trays of equipment, bottles of chemicals. A glass of water sits idly on the table next to him, as small and lonely as a child awaiting his returning mother, and Kyungsoo can see that it's half empty. Someone was here. He finds the emergency buzzer on the control panel attached to the side of the bed, a big, prominent red button that glowed dangerously when pressed.

The door opens not ten seconds later, a young nurse with wavy blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. Panic, worry and relief all flash across her face as he looks at her, blinking and moving and very much alive. "Kyungsoo-sshi, welcome back," she says, quickly adopting a professional tone and expression. "Please don't get up, I'll page for the doctor to come take a look at you."

"Wait!" The nurse stops in the middle of spinning on her heel, with one hand on the doorknob and the other on a buzzer in her pocket. Kyungsoo's voice sounds scratchy and hoarse, unfamiliar after what could've been days of disuse, but it's wrought with desperation. Pilots are trained to be prepared for worst case scenarios, but not this. Military training never prepares you for pressing matters of the heart. "Is Baekhyun alright? Is he hurt? Is he... Is he safe?"

His ribcage suddenly feels too small for his heart as he waits for her answer. Baekhyun can't have... he can't, not when he'd made a promise, not when he'd said he'd wait to hear what Kyungsoo has to say.

"Byun Baekhyun?" the nurse asks slowly, testing the name on her tongue. Breathing seems to have become immensely difficult. "He's alright. He's been by your side almost the entire time you were out cold. I... I think the rest of the story should come from him." A small smile makes its way onto her face, setting it all aglow; she's a sweet but perceptive kind of beautiful, Kyungsoo can tell, much like Liyin. "He told me he wants to be the first to know when you wake up, if he's not around." She leaves him with a motherly smile and her whispered word to get Baekhyun before she pages the in-house doctor.

Fragments of his memory slowly begin to piece themselves together as he closes his eyes and immerses himself in darkness again, leaning back into the pillows. The spray of seawater in his eyes, the blood caking the side of his face and suit, the pain spreading through every nerve in his body - everything comes back to him in small flashes of frighteningly vivid detail. No matter how much he tries, he has absolutely no recollection of anything after the screaming and the roaring and the chaos, no idea what had become of Morning Star and its pilots, or the kaijuu that resembled a komodo lizard.

It isn't uncommon for rangers to come back from botched missions as different men, people who have seen things that nobody is supposed to see, feel things that nobody should have to feel. A Drift connection torn apart by force or fatal injury is, more often than not, traumatic.

Surfacing above the rest of his thoughts, though, like a warm blanket made out of wool on a snowy winter's day, is the feeling of Baekhyun's mind merging with his, never leaving him, not even until the last second before he'd lost consciousness. Maybe Baekhyun knows this, or maybe he doesn't, but the small touch of their minds in headspace protected the very core of his being. Kyungsoo isn't sure if he should laugh or cry. Liar, he chides Baekhyun in his head. I didn't save you. You saved me.

The wooden door to the room is flung open with a loud bang!, handle colliding with the metal walls in a sound so unpleasant, Kyungsoo would've cringed, if not for the figure dressed in all black standing stone still in the doorway. The only parts of his body still moving are his chest, falling up and down repeatedly as he gasps for breath, and a pair of deep gray eyes as beautiful as any spring day.

"Baekhyun." The name rolls off Kyungsoo's tongue in a whisper, as if saying it any louder would break the illusion and turn him into a million particles of sand. The name is so precious, so dear to him that the mere thought of not being able to call it again is enough to reopen all of Kyungsoo's cuts and bleed him dry. "Baekhyun, you're okay, you—"

Baekhyun isn't by the doorway anymore. A strong pair of arms find their way around Kyungsoo's neck, trembling with the effort, a face buried in the plane of his shoulder. His shirt is sticking to his skin, wet, and it takes long moments to register the hiccuped sobbing coming from the boy in his arms, clinging to Kyungsoo like he's the moon and stars in Baekhyun's sky. "You fucking liar," Baekhyun cries out, fingernails digging into the fabric of Kyungsoo's collar. "You told me you'd tell me when you came back! You scared me so much, I— I thought I... I thought I lost you and— I thought I'd never see you again and I'd never get to tell you—" The rest of Baekhyun's sentence blends into an incomprehensible mess of tears and emotions.

Kyungsoo would want to say something, to tell him he's sorry to have kept Baekhyun waiting and that it's okay now, that they're both safe and nothing will do that to them ever again, but certainty is one thing he's never had. Not when he was still a normal member of society, even less when he joined the Jaeger programme. So all he does is clasp his hands behind Baekhyun's slim body to keep him in place and kiss his ear, his neck, his nose, the salty teartracks on his cheeks, his lips, kiss him slow and deep, every swipe of his tongue against Baekhyun's lips a declaration of love all on its own.

They press impossibly close, as if even the smallest inch of distance between them is one inch too much, Baekhyun chasing Kyungsoo's lips, not letting him pull away. The doctor could be here any minute now, to see them like this, but for what it's worth, Kyungsoo has come back a changed man. It wouldn't matter in the slightest if they got caught in the act - he couldn't care less. Time is luck, life too brief a gift to spend worrying about things that aren't important to him, things that aren't love or Baekhyun or his friends.

Kyungsoo has Baekhyun's bottom lip between his teeth when they finally stop, foreheads pressed together, noses touching. He notices someone's taken the liberty of closing the door, probably the woman he'd seen earlier. Her encouraging smile and demeanour fuels the determination pooling in Kyungsoo's stomach.

"I know." When he whispers gently against Baekhyun's lips, he isn't sure what he means. Kyungsoo doesn't know if he means he knows Baekhyun has every right to be angry, if he'd thought he'd been lost to the battle, too. Intimacy and gentility like this have always been foreign to the both of them - as children, as adults, as comrades and pilots. They've never been privy to these luxuries during their childhood, and even after they met, they'd either toyed around with their boundaries or barraged past them, trampling things as they went.

They're testing new waters, sharing the keys to their hearts and minds and trusting the other to do lock the doors behind them. It feels nice. It feels like being in love.

An image of Baekhyun pops into his head, all flushed cheeks and swollen, abused lips, spit and come dripping out of the corner of his mouth, but still so gentle, so beautiful when he'd leaned close to Kyungsoo and pressed their lips together and asked, "Do you know now?".

Kyungsoo knows. He knows what his answer his for now. He knows what he means.

"I know now," he says aloud, tremors racking his voice, and he realises he's crying as well, trembling as he holds on to Baekhyun with every ounce of strength he has left. "I know and I'm sorry I made you wait and I'm sorry I scared you and fuck, Baekhyun, I'm sorry about a lot of things but I'm not sorry I fell in love with you."

The smile blossoming on Baekhyun's face makes him look like an exotic flower, the only one of its kind, and Kyungsoo knows it's true. He'll never find another like Byun Baekhyun, nothing as perfect in all his imperfections, no one as important and beloved. He chokes out a sob, like an expectant bride on her wedding day. "I promised you, Baekhyun, and I'm not going to leave you," Kyungsoo murmurs, quiet but strong, threading his fingers through the dishevelled strands of Baekhyun's black hair. "I love you. I love you so much."

Baekhyun kicks off his shoes as Kyungsoo makes room for him on the bed, pulling him into an embrace that fits so perfectly, it feels almost tailor-made. And maybe they are, Kyungsoo decides, as Baekhyun presses his cheek against Kyungsoo's chest, tiny, fluttering breaths blowing against the cotton of his shirt. Maybe they are destined for each other, soulmates, lovers whose match is written in the stars.

"You're the only one I've ever loved, Kyungsoo, and you're the only one who's ever loved me." Baekhyun's voice is wrought with emotion, but still low and soft, restrained even in the silence of the sickbay. The arm around Kyungsoo's waist tightens, a leg slips between his. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," Kyungsoo reassures, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets his lips linger on the crown of Baekhyun's head.

They while the afternoon away like this, bright blue sky fading into oranges and yellows, making the lone window on the wall look like an empty canvas being repainted over and over again. Kyungsoo discovers he's been out cold for three whole days, and while he suffered no broken bones or fractures, the cuts had nearly been deep enough to sever his leg and both arms. There would've been no limbs to save, though, if Morning Star hadn't jumpstarted their Jaeger at the last minute and rushed to Nova Hyperion's aid, taking Vega down once and for all with a two-man Thundercloud formation, putting a few more holes in it with their plasma cannon for good measure. They gave new meaning to the Miracle Mile - Baekhyun had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, but hadn't been diagnosed with any brain haemorrhage or concussions. Mild nerve damage had put Kyungsoo in a temporary coma, but nothing else seemed to be wrong, save some bodily injuries that could be helped in time.

The visits begin after lunch. Junmyeon and Minseok look like they've been hassled for weeks, lines of worry etched into their tired faces, but it only makes their genuine smiles look that much brighter. Chanyeol barrages in shortly after they leave with several rolls of blueprint, all as long as he is, so he has to peer over the edge to make sure he doesn't ram into the edge of the bed. Safe to say, Baekhyun had laughed at him silly, a sound that reminds Kyungsoo of tinkling windchimes and zen gardens. Jongdae and Liyin drop by on their way to dinner, the concern on their faces quickly disappearing under flushed cheeks when Kyungsoo points out that Jongdae has a hand on her waist. "W-We're... We're going out," Liyin admits, shuffling close to Jongdae, and Kyungsoo swears he feels Baekhyun's lips curve against his skin as they say their goodbyes and turn to leave.

Everybody visits, except Jongin.

The sky looks like a bottle of ink has been spilt over its pastel-coloured expanse, dark blue slowly seeping into the lavenders and pinks of the evening, when Kyungsoo wakes Baekhyun up with a kiss on the lips. "You should go eat. If you're not hungry, then just go rest."

Baekhyun shakes his head adamantly, like a child refusing to be taken away. "I'm staying here with you tonight," he says in a tone of so much finality that Kyungsoo has neither the heart nor the strength to convince him to do otherwise.

It's easily nine or ten in the evening when Marshall Wu knocks on the door to the sickbay, still in his uniform, cap tucked under the crook of his arm. Surprise flickers in his eyes when he sees Baekhyun nestled protectively in Kyungsoo's embrace, but he doesn't comment, only smiles a small, private smile at them and and says, "You're both quite a miracle, you know." The double meaning is clear as day; Kyungsoo can't help but smile back at him.

The news Marshall Wu brings is none for smiling, though, and quite frankly, it's the last thing Kyungsoo ever expected to hear. The terrorising of an entire country watching a kaijuu render one Jaeger useless and plow through the other like butter has caused the World Security Council to rethink their decisions. A sizeable majority of world leaders are opting to build what has been dubbed 'anti-kaijuu walls', perimeter walls tens of storeys high and made of reinforced material to keep the creatures at bay.

"The Council is prepared to finance the Jaeger programme for the next six months, but after that, we're on our own. All remaining Jaegers - the ones they haven't already begun to decommission, that is - are to report to Hong Kong Bay," Marshall Wu finishes, his mouth set in a hard, grim line.

This is the perfect opportunity falling into their laps. A chance for them to run away from this life of uncertainty, of not knowing how many tomorrows they'll have with each other, of always being the defenders and never being accorded the chance to be defended. Kyungsoo looks at Baekhyun out of the corner of his eye and sees fire in every curve of his face and body, and he doesn't need a mirror to know he looks the same. They'll never be safe, whether they stay or not. The only difference is running away will be giving up everything they've stood for - each other.

Baekhyun's voice is old steel, strong but brittle, kept together only by his resolve and Kyungsoo's hand warm on his. "What do we do?"

"Well, the choice is yours, gentlemen. I'm not going to force you to decide," the Marshall says, tucking his hair beneath his cap, standing tall at their bedside. His words are alight with a different kind of fire; he's already made his choice, and he's waiting for Baekhyun and Kyungsoo to make theirs. "I say, to hell with the Council, their walls aren't going to hold any more than a house of cards will. The world is ending. So where would you rather die? Cowering in a shelter, or in a Jaeger?"

Their silence is all the answers Wu Yifan needs.

 

◇

 

Jongin might be more accustomed to the spotlight than Kyungsoo ever was, but secret hiding places and abandoned storage closets have always been his favourite places to be, refuges where he can feel safe from the rest of the world, where no one will be able to find him. Kyungsoo never needs to ask where they are; he either finds out on his own, or picks up Jongin's hints. Trust is the only key to Jongin's safehouses.

It feels like a century too long since Kyungsoo last walked the corridors of Seoul HQ as freely as this. The base is quieter now, with substantially less people milling about. When the decommissioning announcement had been made public, many a worker didn't sit well with the idea of working for an organisation unsanctioned by the government, without the immunity, protection and perks once offered to them. Kyungsoo can't say he necessarily minds, though, it's a lot easier to organise his thoughts when there isn't so much going on around him.

He hasn't seen Jongin since the day Nova Hyperion came home with their eighth kill, several weeks back. Jongin spends most of his days holed up in J-Tech, or so Liyin says, learning about weaponry and development even though anyone with decent intuition can tell his heart is with the rangers, not a research and strategic team like theirs. Kyungsoo doesn't even know where Jongin's going or what Jongin plans to do, but he knows they have to speak once before he and Baekhyun leave for Hong Kong the day after, if only to finally close the door to the closet holding the broken skeletons of their past.

On a whim, Kyungsoo makes his way to the nearest elevator and punches the button to the roof. Jongin's always liked looking at things from a vantage point - one of the things that appealed to him most about piloting a Jaeger is standing in a machine tens of feet into the air, way above sea level, just as tall as the skyscrapers in Seoul.

In middle school, one of Jongin's favourite haunts had been the school roof, a wide, spacious area that nobody bothered to visit, not even to have lunch or study alone, simply because it was too tedious a climb, too many flights of stairs up to the very top. Kyungsoo caught him leaning over the railing one evening after he disappeared from soccer practice, watching the slow crawl of evening traffic and the city lights glimmering beneath him, the world spinning on its axis without a care for anyone else.

"It makes you feel like you know everyone, somehow," was Jongin's answer when Kyungsoo asked him why people-watching from their school rooftop interested him so much. "It makes me feel connected to them, watching them from above, no matter how small the tie might be. I feel like I want to keep things this way, hyung, and that this is something I wouldn't mind protecting."

Back then, Kyungsoo had only ruffled his hair and told him to come down before he caught a cold.

He's never been on Seoul HQ's rooftop before, never had a reason to. Autumn is coming to a decline, and the first signs of winter are already beginning to show. Some of the windbreaker trees lining Han River are already naked, twisted branches bare against the chilly late afternoon air.

True enough, Jongin is here, standing in the same position as he did the evening Kyungsoo found him on the roof in middle school, chin propped up on one hand while he gazed longingly at the city milling unaware a distance away from the base, the calm waters of the shore. Han River is a picturesque blade of water on a day as fine as this one, cutting through the modern infrastructure of the city.

Jongin whirls around at the sound of Kyungsoo's approaching footsteps. For a moment, Jongin looks like a deer caught in headlights, alarmed and retreating into the shadow of the forest, then he remembers this is Kyungsoo, his best friend, his confidante of years and years, and he doesn't need to hide. "How did you know I was here?" Jongin tries to come off as brusque, but the only thing he manages to pull off is badly-concealed surprise.

"I just kind of thought you'd be here." Kyungsoo shrugs, hands in his pockets as the approaches Jongin at the ledge.

Jongin looks antsy, like he's ready to make a run for the door any second now, but Kyungsoo pins him down with a stare, not soft, not hard, just curious and seeking answers. "You know, we haven't spoken in weeks. The nurses say you didn't come to see me even once when I was out cold in the sickbay. Even the Marshall came to visit me, Jongin." It's difficult to keep the hurt in his voice at bay. "Me being a pilot doesn't change anything. I'm still the same person, Jongin. Why are you ignoring me?"

The wind is getting chillier, but Jongin's words cut through Kyungsoo first, as sharp and bitter as a black whip. "You think I'm worried you've changed after being a pilot?" he asks incredulously, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm not ignoring you, hyung, but since you haven't figured it out even after— what, fifteen years? I'm not expecting you to know now. I'm ignoring your friend." Jongin's voice is as cold as ice, as closed-off as a secret hidden beneath a hundred Matryoshka dolls. He hasn't heard Jongin like this in all the years they've known each other.

"Baekhyun?" Kyungsoo asks disbelievingly. "Look, I know he didn't make the best of impressions, but he's a nice guy. He's opening up to everyone else, and they like him enough! When are you going to— Are you just being jealous?" Exasperation seeps into his tone of voice; he hadn't come for a confrontation, and the accusatory tone Jongin is using doesn't sit with him at all, even though Kyungsoo knows it's not fair to be upset when Jongin and Baekhyun have barely spoken to each other, if at all.

Bitter laughter echoes in the air all around them, even as Seoul continues to glimmer and shine in the dusk, the very tip of Namsan Tower barely visible in the distance. "Yes, hyung, yes, I'm jealous. I've been in love with you for years and years and you've never noticed how we fit, and suddenly Byun Baekhyun comes along and takes you away. So yes, hyung, I'm very, very jealous."

The answer stuns Kyungsoo into silence, all his retorts and answers fading from his mind. Jongin... in love with him? He's never even thought about the possibility, much less consider it - Jongin is a constant variable in his life, someone he's never gone without and someone he'd trust with great number of secrets, if not all. Jongin had been one of the things keeping him grounded since becoming a pilot, a reminder that he was someone before this and that he is someone outside a Jaeger, still. The thought of letting him go and closing the door to their friendship hurts, but knowing that he's shelved Jongin's feelings for more than a decade hurts more.

"Jongin," Kyungsoo begins softly, placing a comforting hand on his cheek like he used to do when they were children. "I'm sorry."

Jongin's eyes look like springs illuminated by moonlight; tears are pooling behind his lids, glimmering gently, and Kyungsoo wants nothing more than to wipe them away. "Don't do that," he cries, brushing Kyungsoo's hand off and looking away. The thick mop of brown hair on his head does nothing to hide the wet tears spilling down his face. His voice cracks with emotion, trembling violently as he speaks, pleads. "Don't tell me you're sorry. Just tell me you love me."

The opening of one of the runway gates is the only thing they hear for a while, other than their heavy breathing and the muted city sounds in the distance. It occurs to Kyungsoo that he hasn't seen Jongin cry in years; the sight alone is enough to make him look away. Drying his tears with the hem of his red sleeve, Jongin turns to him, suddenly small and shy and thirteen again. Kyungsoo wants nothing more than to scoop him up in his arms and whisper sweet empty promises in his ear, if only to bring things back to the way they were, but he knows he can't, and even if he could, he shouldn't.

"I was the one who's stuck by you all these years. I was the one you called at two in the morning sometimes. I took care of you the same way you took care of me. So why him, hyung? Why not me? What does he have that I don't?" Jongin's plea breaks the silence.

Kyungsoo puts a hand on Jongin's head, gently massaging his scalp, the same way he used to on all the nights they crammed for examinations and tests, in the hopes that some things won't have to change. Jongin doesn't respond, doesn't lean in, but he doesn't push Kyungsoo away either, so that's as good a start as any.

"I love him, Jongin. I just do. I don't know why or how or when, I just know I can't go without him." The wind carries Kyungsoo's murmured answer across the distance between them, out to the sea and the river and the hills, but he's not sure if it reaches Jongin. "When I Drifted with him, I... I realised we're not all that different. He and I are the same. He needs some place he can call home, Jongin. He needs some place he can belong."

The whimpering sound that escapes Jongin's lips when Kyungsoo pulls his hand away begs him to come back, or change his mind. "And me? Don't I need a place in your heart too?"

Kyungsoo looks at Jongin for the longest time, taking in the last of the Kim Jongin and Do Kyungsoo they used to be. Things will change once he leaves the rooftop, like stepping into an alternate reality in the same dimension, and while they might still be friends, acquaintances, perhaps, they will never be again. Maybe the price for tomorrows is giving up yesterdays. Kyungsoo isn't sure; he's never made decisions like this before. He's never envisioned the day he'd have to give Jongin up for something else.

When he blinks, an image of Baekhyun flashes behind his eyelids. Baekhyun is curled up against Kyungsoo's side, breathing softly, their fingers tightly interlocked.

"You've always had a place in my heart, Jongin," he whispers. "It's just not Baekhyun's place."

 

◇

 

The door to their shared room always opens too loudly for Kyungsoo's liking; he takes care to open it slowly, just in case he might wake Baekhyun up, but the heavy sliding of the lock is difficult to mask either way. Both their beds have been pressed neatly and cleaned, for what would possibly be the last time. From the entryway, their room looks strangely lonely, desolate, almost, as if the four walls are relishing in what could be their last human occupants in a long, long time. They've never been particularly cluttered, neither have they had lots of possessions, and it only serves to emphasise the emptiness in the chamber.

Kyungsoo sees it coming before it happens – a pair of warm, comforting lips pressed against his, a hand curving around the nape of his neck. "I waited for you," Baekhyun whispers teasingly, nipping at Kyungsoo's bottom lip. The room doesn't feel half as empty anymore, not with Baekhyun smiling against his mouth, free arm wrapped around his waist.

Baekhyun doesn't let go of his hand when they reach the foot of the bunker, instead he slides under the sheets of his own bed and tugs lightly at their intertwined fingers. Come to bed with me, sleep with me, hold me. Twenty years down the road, if their line of work hasn't claimed them yet and they're too old to be pilots anymore, Kyungsoo decides this is how he wants to spend his days, with Baekhyun's face resting in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and their twined hands idle on Kyungsoo's midriff.

They stay like that for a long while, just breathing each other in, spending as much time in their own paper world before the fires come to raze it all. The flames will come, Kyungsoo knows, it just depends how much they destroy at the end and how long it takes, but it doesn't really matter. If they burn, they'll burn together.

Kyungsoo shifts slightly so he's eye-to-eye with Baekhyun, resting on his side. "You know, I spoke to Jongin earlier."

"Yeah? What did he say?" The question comes out rhetorical at best; Baekhyun knows the answer just as well as Kyungsoo does, but things like these need to be said out aloud sometimes, just to solidify sentiment.

"He told me he loved me." Baekhyun's smile doesn't falter, but more often that not, he lets his eyes do the speaking for him, phrasing sentences and questions he couldn't otherwise ask aloud. And so? What did you say? The skin on Baekhyun's face is like cotton to the touch, smooth and light and reassuring. "I told him I love you, and that it couldn't be anyone else but you. I don't know if I lost him, though."

Neither of them can say for certainty that he has, but a small, familiar voice at the back of Kyungsoo's head says he'll never lose Jongin. Things will change, but not by that much, fourteen-year-old Kyungsoo says. Old habits die hard, and friendships can still be salvaged. Fourteen-year-old Do Kyungsoo was wise in his own way.

Baekhyun peels himself out of Kyungsoo's grip, straddles Kyungsoo's waist with strong legs. From under him, Kyungsoo thinks he looks even more beautiful, the light from the table lamp in the corner illuminating part of his eyes, the smile on his lips, the bridge of his nose. "I've never… I've never even imagined anybody saying that to me. When I was younger, I used to lie awake and wonder when somebody would tell me they loved me. My parents definitely wouldn't be the ones. After a while, it just became easier to give up."

Pulling Baekhyun down, Kyungsoo hopes more than ever that the press of their lips will wash every last trace of sorrow from Baekhyun's voice. Sadness doesn't become him. The smile Baekhyun wears after their lips part, the soft laughter that sounds more like music than an exclamation of happiness, makes Kyungsoo wish they could stop time, so that this could be their forever. No one else, nothing else, just them.

"I was homeschooled, I had a private tutor and everything. I was my parents' hopes and dreams, but not my own. How unimaginable it must be, the only son to a pair of lawyers so prolific their success rate scared the opposition, wanting to do performance and theatre." Baekhyun sounds sheepish, almost shy, but Kyungsoo knows this is his way of opening up to him, completely, verbalising secrets and stories he'd never otherwise share with anyone else.

"I got scouted for the Jaeger programme when I was at a hapkido exhibition. Anywhere was better than home, so I went." Baekhyun breathes out a sigh when Kyungsoo swipes a thumb over his bottom lip, parting it slightly. "My trainers didn't really like me either; they just kept me around because I was good at what I did. I never told them anything about me, never showed the same… enthusiasm everyone else did."

Kyungsoo pushes himself upward, lips meeting Baekhyun's halfway. "I like you. I want to keep you because I can't imagine doing anything but," he says honestly.

Baekhyun continues with the softest of smiles on his face. "I just… grew up believing that humanity wasn't really worth saving. What right do we have to sit on our thrones and take everything that endangers us as threats? What if we're the ones encroaching, y'know?" His eyes look suspiciously shiny, glistening even in their dimly-lit room, under the shadow of the top bunk. "Then I met you, that night on the platform, and you… spoke to me like you believed in me, like I wasn't someone you should avoid."

Kisses peppered along the column of Kyungsoo's neck and the curve of Kyungsoo's jaw turn to languid, slow meetings of their lips, then into feverish touches, drinking each other in like parched men would water.

Baekhyun's whispers and sounds come fast and desperate as he pants against the seam of Kyungsoo's lips. "Touch me, Kyungsoo," he all but begs, guiding Kyungsoo's hands under the fabric of his shirt, onto the planes of a toned, smooth body. His voice is low, dangerous, needy when he repeats the words in English, syllables sending a wave of heat right down to Kyungsoo's cock, painfully restrained in his jeans. "Touch me."

People like to believe they're immortal, Kyungsoo included. He used to think being in a Jaeger made him just that, protecting the people he holds dear and the city he's come to love. He realises he's sorely miseducated, been believing in all the wrong things, when Baekhyun slides into him, hot and heavy and crying Kyungsoo's name into the sheets, teeth mapping constellations on the pale skin around his neck and collarbones, panting into his shoulder. Battling kaijuu won't be forever, and neither will piloting Jaegers but this, this love, will go on till the end of time, until the world is no more and everything perishes and burns.

The feeling of Baekhyun rocking into him, harder and faster every time Kyungsoo says his name, fingers denting marks into Baekhyun's waist and shoulders and arms is exquisite, overwhelming sensations unlike any other, the kind that short-circuits your senses and sends your heart into overdrive. Being one in mind is a beautiful thing, but as Baekhyun comes inside him with a choked sob, biting into Kyungsoo's neck as he rides out his orgasm, being one in body in an entirely different kind of beautiful altogether.

As Baekhyun slumps limply into Kyungsoo's arms, sweaty and spent but sculpted and stunning, pressing soothing kisses to the bruises and marks on his skin, Kyungsoo feels like they still stand a chance at forever, in their own little world of paper, as long as they're together.

("I'm scared," Baekhyun mumbles into Kyungsoo's chest as their bodies ease into a state of rest. "I don’t know how much time I'll have with you." It's funny, almost ironic, how the world is coming face-to-face with its impending doom, with monsters and threats probably too much for them to outsmart and overcome, but here they are, falling in love, worrying about the slow, small things in life.

Kyungsoo takes Baekhyun's lips in his, kissing him until they fall into the haze between sleep and wake, fingers tightly interlocked between them. "Even if the world ends tomorrow, even if we die tomorrow, it doesn't change the fact that I loved you today.")

 

◇

 

Hong Kong is further south of Seoul by a long way, so it's not as cold as Kyungsoo is accustomed to at this time of year, but it's thrice as busy as their old base had been. Their helicarrier is greeted by a host of armed guards, all local lads by the looks of it. It's just rained; there are still puddles of water on the asphalt and tar of the runway and compound. Hong Kong's military base is as wide as Seoul's is tall, a low cylindrical structure, gray and intimidating in the gloom. The top hemisphere of a dome protrudes from the very centre of the building, no doubt Hong Kong Shatterdome. So the rumours of Hong Kong having underground loading bays must be true; no part of the building looks tall enough to house a full-fledged Jaeger.

Kyungsoo hoists his duffel bag over his shoulder, watches Baekhyun sling on his favourite, worn-out backpack, pressing close to each other as the armed guards escort them into the Shatterdome. At the very head of their entourage is Marshall Wu himself, speaking curtly to what appears to be the leader of the armed forces in fluent Cantonese. Other than pilots and the Shatterdome Marshall himself, Seoul has brought a few of its senior technicians and researches for the first batch, like Junmyeon and Minseok, while the rest of the staff and prominent trainees will be brought in with the second.

All around them, Jaeger technicians are scrambling up and down the runway, undoubtedly making space for the tens of machines and hundreds of people all over the world converging here in Hong Kong. Their faces are stone-cold and grim, the faces of a population going to war with no obvious advantage. The kaijuu are evolving faster than men can improve their Jaegers, what more with their limited resources now that the government is no longer funding the programme.

This is where we'll bring them hope, Kyungsoo thinks determinedly. That's what they've come for, and it's part of the reason why they'd agreed to follow Marshall Wu anyway. The faint brush of Baekhyun's fingers against his is extra reassurance.

If the scene outside the Shatterdome is chaotic, the inside is an absolute warzone. It's almost as if someone had condensed Shibuya Crossing and housed it under one roof. It's a messy throng of bodies, hasty but determined, purposeful people knowing where they want to go and what they want to do. Kyungsoo yanks Baekhyun out of the way of a moving truck carrying coal indoors, keeps a tight grip on his wrist as they walk.

"Gentlemen, this is the Hong Kong Shatterdome." Marshall Wu approaches them and gestures at the solid piece of metal that serves as the near-impenetrable door of the chamber. It stretches all the way to the ceiling, as far as they eye can see, hundreds of tonnes heavy in both substance and secrets. "If you'd be so kind as to show yourselves around, I need to speak briefly with the Shatterdome Marshall here. I'll rejoin you as soon as I can, but ask for help if you need to get around."

When the Marshall is completely out of earshot, Baekhyun turns to Kyungsoo with a tiny smile that says he's afraid of everything and nothing, all at the same time. "So… this is it, Soo."

Cold air floods through Kyungsoo's nostrils as he takes a deep breath, the cool tinged with the taste of metal and chemicals, fear and determination, today and tomorrow. Kyungsoo rests his hand on the ominous, large red button encased in a glass box, attached to a slim control panel just outside the door to the Shatterdome – the key to the rest of their lives, their new future. "We aren't the army anymore, Baekhyun," he whispers. He needs to make certain that this is what Baekhyun wants. "We're the resistance."

Baekhyun places his hand atop Kyungsoo's, slender fingers fitting into the gaps between Kyungsoo's perfectly, as if nature had made their hands to be held in each other's. "Together?"

The gaze Kyungsoo directs at Baekhyun lasts but a few seconds, but the way the edges of Baekhyun's lips slowly inch upward, the glint in his telling gray eyes, the face and person of his dreams, tells him everything he needs to know. He's reminded of the person Baekhyun used to be, the person Baekhyun is now, and the somewhere-in-between he's fallen in love with.

Kyungsoo brings the back of Baekhyun's hands to his lips. "Always."