[FIC] #018 - Silence Speaks For Me 2/4
Title: silence speaks for me
Prompt: #135 - Pacific Rim AU
Pairing(s): Kris/Tao, background Lay/Xiumin, Chen/Suho, and Lu Han/Sehun
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, etc. etc.
Warning(s): age gap (upwards of sixteen years), age play for other members of exo, minor character death, ambiguous drug dependence, little to no knowledge of korean military ranks, criminal lack of jongin, ???
Word Count: ~20,000
Summary: "Kris pilots his first Jaeger when he is barely 18, becoming the youngest pilot in the worldwide Jaeger program. 16 years later, Tao wants that title and the glory that comes with it."
Author's Notes: shoutout to e for not even being in this fandom but holding my hand through this fic anyway, and also to my roommate who will never read this but who sat through about five different verbal versions of it ♥ also thank you to the mods for being so lovely throughout this entire process!
Kris likes the few first days of every new training cycle. Everything seems to glint a little brighter, even in the underground metal and steel and concrete of the Academy. Baekhyun and Chanyeol are on their best behavior, and Kris gets to hang on to his bad-Ranger façade in the Kwoon Combat Room for a little bit longer, before the cadets realize he’s only mean and tough on the outside.
It’s not that Kris doesn’t love what he does, but being at the academy feels like one endless cycle. Train, fight, sleep (as much as Kris can with the headaches and night terrors), start all over again. Rinse and repeat. It’s tiring. Sometimes Kris feels like he’s going through life half-asleep-though it could just be because he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a long time, jolted awake by nightmares and a throb at the base of his skull.
Kris misses the adrenaline rush that comes with piloting a Jaeger. He misses the heavy weight of the helmet, the cool touch of the spinal clamp, the way his Drivesuit flexed with him, and sometimes, when the pain is just a whisper and his body feels strong enough, Kris thinks about trying again. He’s not too old.
But he doesn’t have a pilot, doesn’t have a partner. More than that, they say the hardest part of Drifting is learning how to give up yourself entirely to another person, to be able to know that this person will catch you if you fall every time without fail. Kris doesn’t even think he can catch himself.
“You’re so cruel,” Jongdae says gleefully, after Kris sends his first group of cadets down to Joonmyun, where they’ll be subjected to a horrendous amount of Jaeger tech information. Most of them are stiff, bodies unaccustomed to the rigors of training, and Jongdae openly stares at them, a sadistic sort of delight sparkling in his eyes. Kris stoops down to grab his water bottle and a towel, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. The first weeks are always the worst, before the cadets’ soft bodies are punched into shape, molded by the program’s harsh conditions.
“You sound like you’re enjoying it though,” Liyin says to Jongdae, rolling her eyes and refastening the strap of her wrist brace. She’d injured it when she’d punched a Kaiju wrongly, but it was a minor injury at worst; Yixing had given her the green light to start doing basic, easy sparring this morning. “Who’s cruel now? At least Kris-ge isn’t delighting in it.”
Jongdae scoffs. “Please. Kris-hyung probably loves it. It’s like a power trip for him, since the rest of us know what he’s really like.”
“If you two are going to gossip about me, at least have the decency to do it behind my back,” Kris says long-sufferingly, eyeing the analog clock on the wall. He has about fifteen minutes before the next group of cadets comes in. “Also, if you’re going to use the Kwoon Combat Room, actually use it for training.”
Liyin goes a little red, embarrassed, but Jongdae doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jongdae says absentmindedly, running his hand along the weapons rack. “What are you feeling today, noona? Knives or the staff?”
Kris takes the reprieve to stretch out his muscles. They’d been tighter earlier today, before his first group, and now they burn dully from exertion. Kris is in good shape-he has to be-but it’s getting harder to keep up with the cadets now. They have so much energy, probably fueled by the rigorous process of becoming a Ranger, and Kris feels tired whenever he’s around them. It probably doesn’t help he hasn’t been able to sleep very well since… well, since eight years ago, probably. The headache he has simmering at the base of his skull reminds him of that, and Kris pops open his tin, takes two and chases them with water.
The Kwoon Combat Room of their academy is large enough to handle at least 200 people in it once, but the groups of cadets that Kris trains are small, barely over 30 at a time. Usually, off-duty Rangers come here to train, but Juno Striker and Olympus Vega are the only ones on leave in Busan right now. Other academic personnel can come too, but Kris has expressly forbidden Yixing from stepping foot into the Kwoon Combat Room after he’d almost cut off Lu Han’s fingers, and Baekhyun and Chanyeol are giving a team of last cycle’s graduated Rangers another run in the Conn-Pod control room. Hakyeon and Taekwoon still have to wait for PPDC to give them a Jaeger, and both of them are chomping at the bit for it.
Kris hears the clomping of boots and the chatter of thirty some cadets before he sees them spilling into the Kwoon Combat Room, toeing off their shoes at the door. Most of them look around in awe as they do, and one boy almost trips over his shoes as he does. Kris knows the feeling; he’d trained in the Hong Kong Academy, where the combat room stretches almost an entire floor, yards of padded mats and weapons racks.
Jongdae and Liyin training garner the most stares, and Kris watches behind a poker face as cadets murmur to each other, watching as the pair spar, wood knocking on wood and clattering filling the Kwoon Combat Room. Jongdae and Liyin have one of the highest developed Drift compatibilities of the active Jaeger teams, even if they’d entered with other partners. Watching them spar together is like watching a dance, their movements anticipated and in sync like they’re moving to an unspoken choreography.
Kris clears his throat, and the cadets swivel their heads back to him. "Welcome to the first day of training," he says, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "You'll be fighting today for rank, so I can see just how skilled all of you are." There's complete silence from the cadets, but Kris thinks he sees some anxious looks from some of the cadets.
"Don't worry," Kris adds. "Your ranking today won't really affect you too much, if you make it past the first round to Drift Testing. It's just to help the Academy know where you are, so you can improve as much as possible." He lets his gaze sweep over the faces of the cadets, and his gaze lands on a boy with more metal in his ear than skin who seems intent on burning a hole into Kris's face. Kris recognizes the boy from the day before, the one with the somber, haughty look on his face who'd lingered in the Grand Atrium with his friends.
Kris lets his eyes drift away. "You've already been randomly assigned a partner to fight," he says, gesturing at the tournament board on one of the Kwoon Combat Room's screen. It flickers blue once, twice, before each cadet's picture comes up with their opponent. Kris sees some shocked faces-friends, he assumes-and some grimly determined ones. "Fifteen minute warm-up, and then I'll call the first group forward."
Kris waits as the cadets stretch, spar with each other, and at the end of fifteen minutes, he looks up at the screen at the first two fighters.
"Im Jinah and Yoon Bomi," he reads, and two girls step up, nervous but determined. He nods for them to pick up their staffs, and when they've settled into their positions, Kris says, "Best of seven, win by two. Begin."
The fights go quickly; there are close fights-like Kim Jonghyun and Lee Jinki's, who nearly got to fifteen before Jinki had disarmed Jonghyun in a risky maneuver and pressed the end of his staff into the middle of Jonghyun's chest-and there are fights where clearly, the skill difference is too immense.
Kris takes mental notes as he watches, impassive. There are several promising cadets this round: Kim Jongin has the unerring grace of a dancer, but he's too soft, hesitant and awkward and unwilling to take opportunities when they come. Oh Sehun has an incredible arm span, but he's not strong enough to make it count, not yet. Huang Zitao is agile and deadly graceful, dispatching his opponents left and right, but he's arrogant and overconfident. Amber Li-the Academy's second American cadet, after the earlier round's Krystal Jung-isn't conditioned enough to make use of her speed.
The cadet pool dwindles from thirty, to sixteen, to eight. Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun face off against each other in the third round, and Kris watches as the two of them dance around each other, sweat making their hair stick to their temples, arms shaking with effort as they fight raggedly for a spot in the semifinals. They make it to 15-16 in Jongin's favor before Sehun missteps, probably due to fatigue. Jongin doesn't hesitate this time and knocks Sehun off his feet, putting an end to the fight. Sehun doesn't seem to mind, because Kris watches Sehun bump Jongin's shoulder as they walk back to the side together, a scrunched up smile on his face.
Zitao and Amber's fight is drawn-out, both of them favoring speed more than strength. It only ends when Zitao feints one way and strikes out another, stopping sharply before his staff can smack into Amber's side. Amber, to her credit, just laughs when Zitao bows, ninety degrees, and smacks him on the back in congratulations.
Jongin loses to a kid called Lee Taemin in the next round, and Kris watches as Zitao dispatches first Jinki, then Taemin with ease. Zitao moves with a singular grace, and Kris isn't sure where his energy comes from. Zitao hardly looks like he's tired at all-or perhaps it just looks like he's perpetually tired-when he helps Taemin up and they bow to each other.
"Well done," Kris rumbles from the side, nodding to both Taemin and Zitao. "You fought well. All of you." Kris opens his mouth to continue, to say that the rankings list will be up at breakfast tomorrow in front of the mess hall, before sending his cadets down to Joonmyun, when he's unceremoniously interrupted by awkward, stilted Korean.
"I'm not done yet," Zitao says, speaking out above Kris, and Kris freezes, turns his head to look at him. Zitao looks a little bit afraid, sweat still shining on his forehead, but there's a steely determination in his dark eyes. He shifts, muscles tensing in his arm as he grips his staff more tightly. "I want to challenge someone else."
Dimly, Kris registers that Jongdae and Liyin have stopped their practice, leaning against their staffs and watching this tiny wisp of a boy stand shoulder to shoulder with Kris. "Cadet," Kris says, warning evident in his note. "You are done when I say you're done. There is no one left to challenge. Do not interrupt me again."
The dismissal is clear, but Zitao doesn't seem to get it because he insists, "There is. There's someone I haven't challenged yet." And then, in a show of brazen foolishness, Zitao points at him, his hand steady. "You."
Kris's first instinct is scoff and brush him off, but there's something in Zitao's eyes that make Kris pause. Zitao's eyes are clear and focused, a challenge clear in them, but Kris also thinks he sees something else, something that makes the hair on the back of Kris's neck rise just slightly.
Coward, Zitao's eyes seem to say, and Kris doesn't think it's an accident he hears it in his own voice.
It's enough for Kris to flinch backward, as if Zitao had struck him, and shame coils in his stomach, an unpleasant heat that only abates when Kris steels himself and nods.
"Fine," Kris says curtly, walking over and unceremoniously snatching the staff from Taemin's hands. Taemin looks vaguely afraid, and Kris thinks, good. This will be a lesson, not just for Zitao but for the rest of the cadets too. An unplanned one, maybe, but an important one.
The wood of the staff is smooth under his calloused fingers, and the staff fits perfectly in the cradle of Kris's palm. "First to seven, win by two," Kris says, and the watching cadets who are stood in the middle of the mat scatter comically quickly, standing on the edge of the mats, as if Zitao's gall and Kris's distaste are contagious.
Zitao looks immeasurably pleased, though, when Kris turns to face him, and for some reason, that makes Kris even more incensed. The fire in his stomach is a roaring inferno, every nerve singing with anticipation. Kris has practiced this whole time-all eight years-but he'd never had something to prove before (though to who, Kris doesn't know). It feels-
It feels a little like being awake.
"Your move," Kris says, courteously giving Zitao the first move. Zitao settles into a perfect ready position, his palm delicately pressed up against the staff, and his sharp eyes flick all over Kris's face, his body, taking in and calculating the best move to make.
Zitao strikes half a second later, arcing his staff to Kris's thigh, but his foot is angled slightly to the left. Kris spots the feint before Zitao can twist, and he counters, spinning gracefully on the ball of his feet so he can block and then launch a counterstrike. Despite having fought the other cadets, Zitao's blow is strong, and the resounding crack of wood on wood echoes in the Kwoon Combat Room, the vibrations zinging up Kris's arms.
It's been too long since he's sparred with someone with the intent to beat them, but Kris still falls into the pattern easily, his muscle memory kicking in. All of his senses feel extra sharp, extra sensitive, and Kris can't help but grin, razor sharp, with all his teeth as he moves. He deflects another one of Zitao's blows and spins his staff, feinting for the right but going left, a flurry of movement that Kris had almost forgotten. His staff stops just short of Zitao's side.
"One-zero," Kris says simply, his fierce grin still on his face, and Zitao's eyes widen.
Zitao twists away from him and parries, knocks Kris's staff aside and, somehow, manages to surprise Kris on the right, leaping over Kris's ill-timed sweep and bringing his staff down inches from Kris's forehead. Kris's shock must be written all over his face, and Zitao says, quietly, "One-one."
They fight like that for what seems like ages; Kris is continually taken off-guard by just how good Zitao is, but Kris's experience wins out in the end. Kris sees Zitao misstep, just a slight shift forward, and he takes advantage, knocking Zitao to the ground. As Zitao tries vainly to get to his feet in time, Kris presses the end of his staff centimeters from Zitao's exposed throat. Not exactly a graceful end or hit, but still a valid one.
"Twenty-one, nineteen," Kris says, sweat collecting at the bottom of his throat, his breaths coming harsh and quick through his nose. "I win." The Kwoon Combat Room is dead silent.
Zitao is sweating and panting, his arms visibly trembling at the effort of keeping his torso propped up, his hair stuck damply to his forehead. His eyes are clear as ever.
"You win," Zitao says, and it sounds wondrous. It brings Kris back to his senses, and he hastily lets the staff drop from Zitao's throat, something akin to embarrassment contributing to the flush of exertion on his cheeks.
"Don't disrespect me again," Kris says, a little childishly, but he extends a hand anyway, because he's an adult, and he has a room full of wide-eyed spectators, Liyin and Jongdae included. Zitao takes it hesitantly, shyly. Zitao's palm is sweaty and warm, like Kris's, and Kris is surprised to find it only a little smaller than Kris's own. "Or the punishment will be worse next time."
"You're dismissed," Kris says to the room at large, dropping Zitao's hand and patting him briskly on the shoulder. "Baekhyun-junjang and Chanyeol-junjang will be expecting all of you in the Conn-Pod control room." The cadets file out, pulling on their shoes, and Kris catches Jongdae's curious gaze as he surreptitiously wipes his sweaty hand on his pants. He pads over to his duffel, rummaging around for his towel and a water bottle. It's not until Jongdae's laugh rings out over the last of the cadets leaving that Kris realizes he has a shadow.
"Cadet," Kris asks, raising an eyebrow at Zitao, who seems to have followed him over. "Don't you think you've done enough for today? I'm patient, but not that patient."
"Daejang," Zitao says, opening his mouth as if to say something, but although his jaw works, nothing comes out. "I-"
"Huang Zitao," Kris interrupts, tasting the name on his tongue. "Chinese, right? You're a little far from home." His Mandarin is rusty at best, his tongue too thick in his mouth for the delicate sounds of his mother tongue, but Zitao's face lights up. This way, he looks even younger.
"I wanted to come here," Zitao says, his Mandarin easy and fluent. "I needed to come here."
Kris frowns. "What for?"
Zitao considers this for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looks down at his bare feet, then up at Kris, chin raised defiantly. Even if Zitao is young, he's already nearly as tall as Kris. There are few people Kris can say outstrip him in height, but he wouldn't be surprised if Zitao did, when he gets older.
There's no hesitance in his voice when Zitao says, "I came here to beat you."
“Hyung, what are you doing here?” Joonmyun asks, looking up from his desk in surprise as Kris knocks fruitlessly on the metal door. “It’s late.”
On principle, Kris tends to stay away from the academic side of the Academy, just because he feels awkward and wrong-footed around too many books. The fear isn’t unfounded; once, Kris knocked over several stacks of carefully organized books because he’d misjudged the distance of his arm. He’d looked down at his hand in astonishment because, really, he was constantly unaware of how tall he really was.
“Sorry to bother you,” Kris says, “but I was wondering if you had the files for this cycle’s cadets?” He says it purposefully lightly, like it’s nothing, but Joonmyun smiles like he already knows. Kris makes a mental note to tell Jongdae to mind his own business and pay more attention to training.
“All of them, or just one in particular?” Joonmyun asks, mischievous, and Kris groans.
“Just get me the damn file,” he says without any heat, and Joonmyun dutifully hides his laughter as he retrieves the Holo-board from under a stack of papers and taps the screen a few times. Kris watches as Joonmyun slides through several faces-Kris recognizes Sehun and Jongin-before settling on the face that’s been plaguing Kris’s mind since earlier that morning.
“Huang Zitao,” Joonmyun reads, flashing Kris a winning smile as he hands the Holo-board over. Kris takes it and Zitao’s face looks solemnly up at him through a mess of bleached hair, mouth pressed into a solid line. He looks so young. “Sixteen years old from Qingdao. He got a black belt in wushu at the age of eleven.”
“Qingdao,” Kris says, flipping through Zitao’s history. He remembers scenic beaches stained with Kaiju blue, and then the relieved faces of the survivors when they’d clambered out of Sigma Hawk and posed for the thousands of cameras clicking their way. Kris hums noncommittally. “Nice place.”
There are photos of Zitao at competitions, tiny and swallowed up by his competitive garb. He’d had dark hair back then, and Kris wonders why Zitao had bleached it. He flips past a smiling Zitao holding a trophy, past an older Zitao with gold hanging from his neck, and goes onto recommendation letters written in Chinese. Homesickness curdles in Kris’s stomach. He hasn’t been home in a long time. Not that there’s much left for him there, anyway.
“Thanks Joonmyun,” Kris says, looking up from Zitao’s file. He waves the Holo-board a little. “I’ll bring this back to you tomorrow.”
Joonmyun’s smile is a little knowing. “Take your time, hyung,” he says. For some reason, Kris’s cheeks burn when he walks out, the Holo-board tucked under his arm and Zitao’s somber face burned into his brain.
Zitao comes from a military family, the only child of an illustrious family with roots deeply embedded in the PPDC. His father was a Fightmaster at Shanghai’s academy before it closed and relocated to Hong Kong, and he’s now working for the PPDC. His mother used to be a Psych Analyst. His parents would never have pushed Zitao to be a Ranger if he didn’t want to be, but they were supportive-even proud-of his choice. He’s wanted to be a Ranger ever since he watched a team take down a Category III near Qingdao’s famous beaches.
I must have been seven at the time, Zitao writes earnestly. I had been separated from my parents and didn’t manage to get to the bunker in time. I ran to an empty convenience store and hid in there with several other children, terrified that every moment would be my last. I felt helpless, and when the Kaiju was defeated and my parents found me with the others, watching our saviors climb out of their Jaeger, I realized then that I never wanted to feel that way again.
Kris reads until his eyes burn from exhaustion and the bright screen of the Holo-board in the dark of his room and there’s nothing left of Zitao’s file to read. Somehow, he still feels unsatisfied, his curiosity unsated, like there’s a current running under his skin. Try as he might, Kris just can’t reconcile the Zitao from his file-the boy who’d papered his walls with posters of Jaeger pilots, who’d trained until his legs gave out-with the boy from this morning, staring up at Kris with intense, focused eyes, even as Kris tossed him to the mat and pressed the end of his staff into Zitao’s throat.
I came here to beat you. Zitao’s voice rings loud and defiant in Kris’s ears, and Kris dozes off to a fitful sleep with that running on a loop in his head.
“You look like shit,” Lu Han says without preamble as Kris slides into his seat with his tray of food, ignoring Baekhyun tossing potato bits into Chanyeol’s open, snoring mouth. Lu Han looks disgustingly awake and well-rested, even for this early in the morning, with a cup of coffee in his hands, and Kris casts him a baleful glare. On his other side, Minseok is trying half-heartedly to dissuade Yixing from clinging onto him like a limpet, but Yixing is either ignoring him or asleep. It’s always hard to tell with him. He’s not moving, at least.
“Thank you,” Kris says dryly. “As always, your existence brightens my day.”
“As it should,” Lu Han says, satisfied, smiling benignly at Kris over his bao and morning coffee. He’d picked up the habit of drinking coffee when Minseok and Lu Han had done a tour in the States, and Kris looks longingly at the mug. He hasn’t had a cup of coffee in eight years.
“Is there still juice left?” Kris asks, tearing his gaze away. Lu Han hums and leans over Chanyeol to grab the pitcher. It’s still cold when Kris pours himself a glass, and Kris appreciates the way the orange juice fizzles on his mouth, just on this side of sweet enough. “Thanks.”
Lu Han inclines his head a little and goes back to his breakfast without a fuss. Kris is a lot surprised and a little wary. Lu Han looks too bright to be sleepy, and an awake Lu Han who isn’t stirring up trouble is either a) hiding the fact he’s already ruined something or b) in the middle of planning it.
“Is everything okay?” Kris asks, unable to keep the words tripping out of his mouth and definitely unable to keep the suspicion out of it his voice. “Are you feeling sick or something?”
“Why do you ask?” Lu Han asks, cocking an eyebrow and taking a huge bite into the bun.
“Usually, you’re giving me headaches by now,” Kris says bluntly, tapping the edge of the glass with his fingertips. “The fact that I’m actually enjoying your company this early is… unprecedented.” He punctuates the sentence with a gummy smile to take some of the poison out.
Lu Han, true to dramatic form, gasps and presses a hand to his chest, because he thinks he’s the heroine in a 1920s American film. He dislodges Minseok on his left, who in turn knocks into Yixing, who wakes up with an unappealing snort. “I’m shocked,” Lu Han declares.
“Be shocked in a way that’s less painful,” Minseok admonishes, mouth twisting into the beginnings of a frown before Yixing surprises him with a tiny kiss at the corner of his mouth.
Kris blinks when he sees Lu Han give Yixing a little thumbs up after Minseok’s been properly distracted by a grossly affectionate Yixing. It doesn’t really surprise Kris that they’ve decided to team up, though he’s sure that Yixing has Lu Han by the balls because of it.
“Anyway, I’m shocked,” Lu Han says over Yixing’s insistent tries to feed Minseok his own breakfast, “that you always think my kindness is because I’m covering up for something. Or that I’m sick. I am appalled that you would think so lowly of me that-”
“It’s either that, or Lu Han-hyung’s been getting some,” Baekhyun interrupts, smoothly interjecting himself into the conversation. Kris looks at Chanyeol, curious as to why Baekhyun had abandoned his favorite pastime-annoying Chanyeol comes second only to terrorizing new cadets in the Conn-Pod control room and he stifles a laugh. Chanyeol’s shoulders and chest are almost entirely flecked with potatoes, and Chanyeol is slowly regaining consciousness. He seems shocked at first at the amount of food both on his body and in his mouth and then strangely delighted.
Park Chanyeol is incredible. Baekhyun discretely wipes his greasy fingers on Kris’s pants, and Kris kicks Baekhyun away half-heartedly.
“Don’t be stupid,” Lu Han scoffs dismissively, “Where would I even be-”
“Ah, it’s that kid right?” Minseok asks guilelessly, and Lu Han immediately freezes. Baekhyun looks like Christmas has just come early, and even Chanyeol, in his just-roused state, peers curiously at Lu Han. Kris thinks he sees the payback gleaming in Minseok’s eyes. “The scrawny kid with the terribly bleached job and the nice jaw. What’s his name? Oh something. Sehyun? Sehun? What was it you said you wanted to do to him? Suck his-”
“Minseok is clearly-” Lu Han starts loudly, talking over Minseok. Kris is grateful; he really doesn’t want the image of Lu Han sucking anything this early in the morning.
“-though I don’t even know the logistics of that,” Minseok concludes thoughtfully, apparently oblivious to the way Lu Han has a hand reaching toward his neck. Yixing bats it away before it can make contact. “Like, how would that even work?” Chanyeol looks vaguely traumatized.
“Minseok-hyung,” Baekhyun says solemnly, even as Lu Han tries to wrangle with a stubborn Yixing over Minseok, “you’re my favorite.”
Minseok just smiles benignly, totally peaceful even though his boyfriend and his best friend are currently waging a war on either side of him. Kris fervently hopes he never gets on Minseok’s bad side.
Later, when everyone’s cleared out after breakfast, Kris does grab Lu Han before he leaves and he says, seriously, “About earlier-”
Lu Han goes scarlet. “For the last time,” he says hastily, “I really wasn’t being serious about the blindfolding thing, Minseok was clearly joking-”
“Ah, no,” Kris interrupts quickly, not wanting to hear anymore. These are things he didn’t need to hear about, ever. “That’s not what I meant.” He doesn’t really know how to broach this topic, and the words build up in his throat, fighting for their way out.
It’s not exactly against the rules for Jaeger pilots to date among themselves. It's uncommon-active Jaeger pilots don't have time for relationships, and ex-Jaeger pilots tend to be restless (or dead)-but it's also understandable why they would want to. Sometimes, it’s hard to find people outside of the Jaeger program who understand what it’s like in the cock-pit of a Jaeger, the hint of the Drift tying you and another person together.
That’s not the reason why Kris had stopped Lu Han.
Kris knows that Lu Han is one of the best Jaeger pilots around, and he's one of Kris's oldest and best friends. If Kris could-and Lu Han weren't listening-he would sing Lu Han's praises all night. But Lu Han is flighty, and charming, and easily amused and distracted. He's left a string of lovers all over the mainland, and every time he leaves, those lovers sell him out to tabloids, to headlines starving for news on their elusive deer. Sehun is young, with no guarantee that he'll even make it past the first round of Jaeger training; if Lu Han starts anything now, he might find himself on the nasty end of terrible rumors.
“Don’t forget that you’re leaving soon,” Kris settles on finally, saying without really saying what he means. “It’s not very nice, getting left behind.”
There’s a flash of something in Lu Han’s eyes, but it’s gone before Kris can decipher what it is and what it means. “Don’t worry so much, duizhang,” he says cheerfully, stepping back to dump his tray. “It'll give you wrinkles not even your expensive creams will fix.”
Kris keeps his face stoic, eyebrows pushed together in concern, and Lu Han relents a moment later. "I'll be fine," he says, flashing the familiar idol smile that the media loves to gobble up. It's calculated and charming, and Kris hates it. Lu Han always looks better when he smiles with his entire face, his eyes scrunching up at the ends, mouth like a gaping wound. "You're always looking out for me, duizhang."
"Well," Kris says, flubbing around for something to say, "I have to live up to my title. And you were once my student. Call it nostalgia."
"Wish fulfillment," Lu Han corrects, wrinkling his nose. His smile is more genuine now. "Kris, you were never my teacher. You were always my friend." Kris blinks, surprised, at the admission, and Lu Han flushes. "Don't tell anyone I said that."
Kris flashes a gummy smile, making a mental note to save the moment for future blackmail. "Your secret is safe with me."
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4
Prompt: #135 - Pacific Rim AU
Pairing(s): Kris/Tao, background Lay/Xiumin, Chen/Suho, and Lu Han/Sehun
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, etc. etc.
Warning(s): age gap (upwards of sixteen years), age play for other members of exo, minor character death, ambiguous drug dependence, little to no knowledge of korean military ranks, criminal lack of jongin, ???
Word Count: ~20,000
Summary: "Kris pilots his first Jaeger when he is barely 18, becoming the youngest pilot in the worldwide Jaeger program. 16 years later, Tao wants that title and the glory that comes with it."
Author's Notes: shoutout to e for not even being in this fandom but holding my hand through this fic anyway, and also to my roommate who will never read this but who sat through about five different verbal versions of it ♥ also thank you to the mods for being so lovely throughout this entire process!
Kris likes the few first days of every new training cycle. Everything seems to glint a little brighter, even in the underground metal and steel and concrete of the Academy. Baekhyun and Chanyeol are on their best behavior, and Kris gets to hang on to his bad-Ranger façade in the Kwoon Combat Room for a little bit longer, before the cadets realize he’s only mean and tough on the outside.
It’s not that Kris doesn’t love what he does, but being at the academy feels like one endless cycle. Train, fight, sleep (as much as Kris can with the headaches and night terrors), start all over again. Rinse and repeat. It’s tiring. Sometimes Kris feels like he’s going through life half-asleep-though it could just be because he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a long time, jolted awake by nightmares and a throb at the base of his skull.
Kris misses the adrenaline rush that comes with piloting a Jaeger. He misses the heavy weight of the helmet, the cool touch of the spinal clamp, the way his Drivesuit flexed with him, and sometimes, when the pain is just a whisper and his body feels strong enough, Kris thinks about trying again. He’s not too old.
But he doesn’t have a pilot, doesn’t have a partner. More than that, they say the hardest part of Drifting is learning how to give up yourself entirely to another person, to be able to know that this person will catch you if you fall every time without fail. Kris doesn’t even think he can catch himself.
“You’re so cruel,” Jongdae says gleefully, after Kris sends his first group of cadets down to Joonmyun, where they’ll be subjected to a horrendous amount of Jaeger tech information. Most of them are stiff, bodies unaccustomed to the rigors of training, and Jongdae openly stares at them, a sadistic sort of delight sparkling in his eyes. Kris stoops down to grab his water bottle and a towel, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. The first weeks are always the worst, before the cadets’ soft bodies are punched into shape, molded by the program’s harsh conditions.
“You sound like you’re enjoying it though,” Liyin says to Jongdae, rolling her eyes and refastening the strap of her wrist brace. She’d injured it when she’d punched a Kaiju wrongly, but it was a minor injury at worst; Yixing had given her the green light to start doing basic, easy sparring this morning. “Who’s cruel now? At least Kris-ge isn’t delighting in it.”
Jongdae scoffs. “Please. Kris-hyung probably loves it. It’s like a power trip for him, since the rest of us know what he’s really like.”
“If you two are going to gossip about me, at least have the decency to do it behind my back,” Kris says long-sufferingly, eyeing the analog clock on the wall. He has about fifteen minutes before the next group of cadets comes in. “Also, if you’re going to use the Kwoon Combat Room, actually use it for training.”
Liyin goes a little red, embarrassed, but Jongdae doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jongdae says absentmindedly, running his hand along the weapons rack. “What are you feeling today, noona? Knives or the staff?”
Kris takes the reprieve to stretch out his muscles. They’d been tighter earlier today, before his first group, and now they burn dully from exertion. Kris is in good shape-he has to be-but it’s getting harder to keep up with the cadets now. They have so much energy, probably fueled by the rigorous process of becoming a Ranger, and Kris feels tired whenever he’s around them. It probably doesn’t help he hasn’t been able to sleep very well since… well, since eight years ago, probably. The headache he has simmering at the base of his skull reminds him of that, and Kris pops open his tin, takes two and chases them with water.
The Kwoon Combat Room of their academy is large enough to handle at least 200 people in it once, but the groups of cadets that Kris trains are small, barely over 30 at a time. Usually, off-duty Rangers come here to train, but Juno Striker and Olympus Vega are the only ones on leave in Busan right now. Other academic personnel can come too, but Kris has expressly forbidden Yixing from stepping foot into the Kwoon Combat Room after he’d almost cut off Lu Han’s fingers, and Baekhyun and Chanyeol are giving a team of last cycle’s graduated Rangers another run in the Conn-Pod control room. Hakyeon and Taekwoon still have to wait for PPDC to give them a Jaeger, and both of them are chomping at the bit for it.
Kris hears the clomping of boots and the chatter of thirty some cadets before he sees them spilling into the Kwoon Combat Room, toeing off their shoes at the door. Most of them look around in awe as they do, and one boy almost trips over his shoes as he does. Kris knows the feeling; he’d trained in the Hong Kong Academy, where the combat room stretches almost an entire floor, yards of padded mats and weapons racks.
Jongdae and Liyin training garner the most stares, and Kris watches behind a poker face as cadets murmur to each other, watching as the pair spar, wood knocking on wood and clattering filling the Kwoon Combat Room. Jongdae and Liyin have one of the highest developed Drift compatibilities of the active Jaeger teams, even if they’d entered with other partners. Watching them spar together is like watching a dance, their movements anticipated and in sync like they’re moving to an unspoken choreography.
Kris clears his throat, and the cadets swivel their heads back to him. "Welcome to the first day of training," he says, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "You'll be fighting today for rank, so I can see just how skilled all of you are." There's complete silence from the cadets, but Kris thinks he sees some anxious looks from some of the cadets.
"Don't worry," Kris adds. "Your ranking today won't really affect you too much, if you make it past the first round to Drift Testing. It's just to help the Academy know where you are, so you can improve as much as possible." He lets his gaze sweep over the faces of the cadets, and his gaze lands on a boy with more metal in his ear than skin who seems intent on burning a hole into Kris's face. Kris recognizes the boy from the day before, the one with the somber, haughty look on his face who'd lingered in the Grand Atrium with his friends.
Kris lets his eyes drift away. "You've already been randomly assigned a partner to fight," he says, gesturing at the tournament board on one of the Kwoon Combat Room's screen. It flickers blue once, twice, before each cadet's picture comes up with their opponent. Kris sees some shocked faces-friends, he assumes-and some grimly determined ones. "Fifteen minute warm-up, and then I'll call the first group forward."
Kris waits as the cadets stretch, spar with each other, and at the end of fifteen minutes, he looks up at the screen at the first two fighters.
"Im Jinah and Yoon Bomi," he reads, and two girls step up, nervous but determined. He nods for them to pick up their staffs, and when they've settled into their positions, Kris says, "Best of seven, win by two. Begin."
The fights go quickly; there are close fights-like Kim Jonghyun and Lee Jinki's, who nearly got to fifteen before Jinki had disarmed Jonghyun in a risky maneuver and pressed the end of his staff into the middle of Jonghyun's chest-and there are fights where clearly, the skill difference is too immense.
Kris takes mental notes as he watches, impassive. There are several promising cadets this round: Kim Jongin has the unerring grace of a dancer, but he's too soft, hesitant and awkward and unwilling to take opportunities when they come. Oh Sehun has an incredible arm span, but he's not strong enough to make it count, not yet. Huang Zitao is agile and deadly graceful, dispatching his opponents left and right, but he's arrogant and overconfident. Amber Li-the Academy's second American cadet, after the earlier round's Krystal Jung-isn't conditioned enough to make use of her speed.
The cadet pool dwindles from thirty, to sixteen, to eight. Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun face off against each other in the third round, and Kris watches as the two of them dance around each other, sweat making their hair stick to their temples, arms shaking with effort as they fight raggedly for a spot in the semifinals. They make it to 15-16 in Jongin's favor before Sehun missteps, probably due to fatigue. Jongin doesn't hesitate this time and knocks Sehun off his feet, putting an end to the fight. Sehun doesn't seem to mind, because Kris watches Sehun bump Jongin's shoulder as they walk back to the side together, a scrunched up smile on his face.
Zitao and Amber's fight is drawn-out, both of them favoring speed more than strength. It only ends when Zitao feints one way and strikes out another, stopping sharply before his staff can smack into Amber's side. Amber, to her credit, just laughs when Zitao bows, ninety degrees, and smacks him on the back in congratulations.
Jongin loses to a kid called Lee Taemin in the next round, and Kris watches as Zitao dispatches first Jinki, then Taemin with ease. Zitao moves with a singular grace, and Kris isn't sure where his energy comes from. Zitao hardly looks like he's tired at all-or perhaps it just looks like he's perpetually tired-when he helps Taemin up and they bow to each other.
"Well done," Kris rumbles from the side, nodding to both Taemin and Zitao. "You fought well. All of you." Kris opens his mouth to continue, to say that the rankings list will be up at breakfast tomorrow in front of the mess hall, before sending his cadets down to Joonmyun, when he's unceremoniously interrupted by awkward, stilted Korean.
"I'm not done yet," Zitao says, speaking out above Kris, and Kris freezes, turns his head to look at him. Zitao looks a little bit afraid, sweat still shining on his forehead, but there's a steely determination in his dark eyes. He shifts, muscles tensing in his arm as he grips his staff more tightly. "I want to challenge someone else."
Dimly, Kris registers that Jongdae and Liyin have stopped their practice, leaning against their staffs and watching this tiny wisp of a boy stand shoulder to shoulder with Kris. "Cadet," Kris says, warning evident in his note. "You are done when I say you're done. There is no one left to challenge. Do not interrupt me again."
The dismissal is clear, but Zitao doesn't seem to get it because he insists, "There is. There's someone I haven't challenged yet." And then, in a show of brazen foolishness, Zitao points at him, his hand steady. "You."
Kris's first instinct is scoff and brush him off, but there's something in Zitao's eyes that make Kris pause. Zitao's eyes are clear and focused, a challenge clear in them, but Kris also thinks he sees something else, something that makes the hair on the back of Kris's neck rise just slightly.
Coward, Zitao's eyes seem to say, and Kris doesn't think it's an accident he hears it in his own voice.
It's enough for Kris to flinch backward, as if Zitao had struck him, and shame coils in his stomach, an unpleasant heat that only abates when Kris steels himself and nods.
"Fine," Kris says curtly, walking over and unceremoniously snatching the staff from Taemin's hands. Taemin looks vaguely afraid, and Kris thinks, good. This will be a lesson, not just for Zitao but for the rest of the cadets too. An unplanned one, maybe, but an important one.
The wood of the staff is smooth under his calloused fingers, and the staff fits perfectly in the cradle of Kris's palm. "First to seven, win by two," Kris says, and the watching cadets who are stood in the middle of the mat scatter comically quickly, standing on the edge of the mats, as if Zitao's gall and Kris's distaste are contagious.
Zitao looks immeasurably pleased, though, when Kris turns to face him, and for some reason, that makes Kris even more incensed. The fire in his stomach is a roaring inferno, every nerve singing with anticipation. Kris has practiced this whole time-all eight years-but he'd never had something to prove before (though to who, Kris doesn't know). It feels-
It feels a little like being awake.
"Your move," Kris says, courteously giving Zitao the first move. Zitao settles into a perfect ready position, his palm delicately pressed up against the staff, and his sharp eyes flick all over Kris's face, his body, taking in and calculating the best move to make.
Zitao strikes half a second later, arcing his staff to Kris's thigh, but his foot is angled slightly to the left. Kris spots the feint before Zitao can twist, and he counters, spinning gracefully on the ball of his feet so he can block and then launch a counterstrike. Despite having fought the other cadets, Zitao's blow is strong, and the resounding crack of wood on wood echoes in the Kwoon Combat Room, the vibrations zinging up Kris's arms.
It's been too long since he's sparred with someone with the intent to beat them, but Kris still falls into the pattern easily, his muscle memory kicking in. All of his senses feel extra sharp, extra sensitive, and Kris can't help but grin, razor sharp, with all his teeth as he moves. He deflects another one of Zitao's blows and spins his staff, feinting for the right but going left, a flurry of movement that Kris had almost forgotten. His staff stops just short of Zitao's side.
"One-zero," Kris says simply, his fierce grin still on his face, and Zitao's eyes widen.
Zitao twists away from him and parries, knocks Kris's staff aside and, somehow, manages to surprise Kris on the right, leaping over Kris's ill-timed sweep and bringing his staff down inches from Kris's forehead. Kris's shock must be written all over his face, and Zitao says, quietly, "One-one."
They fight like that for what seems like ages; Kris is continually taken off-guard by just how good Zitao is, but Kris's experience wins out in the end. Kris sees Zitao misstep, just a slight shift forward, and he takes advantage, knocking Zitao to the ground. As Zitao tries vainly to get to his feet in time, Kris presses the end of his staff centimeters from Zitao's exposed throat. Not exactly a graceful end or hit, but still a valid one.
"Twenty-one, nineteen," Kris says, sweat collecting at the bottom of his throat, his breaths coming harsh and quick through his nose. "I win." The Kwoon Combat Room is dead silent.
Zitao is sweating and panting, his arms visibly trembling at the effort of keeping his torso propped up, his hair stuck damply to his forehead. His eyes are clear as ever.
"You win," Zitao says, and it sounds wondrous. It brings Kris back to his senses, and he hastily lets the staff drop from Zitao's throat, something akin to embarrassment contributing to the flush of exertion on his cheeks.
"Don't disrespect me again," Kris says, a little childishly, but he extends a hand anyway, because he's an adult, and he has a room full of wide-eyed spectators, Liyin and Jongdae included. Zitao takes it hesitantly, shyly. Zitao's palm is sweaty and warm, like Kris's, and Kris is surprised to find it only a little smaller than Kris's own. "Or the punishment will be worse next time."
"You're dismissed," Kris says to the room at large, dropping Zitao's hand and patting him briskly on the shoulder. "Baekhyun-junjang and Chanyeol-junjang will be expecting all of you in the Conn-Pod control room." The cadets file out, pulling on their shoes, and Kris catches Jongdae's curious gaze as he surreptitiously wipes his sweaty hand on his pants. He pads over to his duffel, rummaging around for his towel and a water bottle. It's not until Jongdae's laugh rings out over the last of the cadets leaving that Kris realizes he has a shadow.
"Cadet," Kris asks, raising an eyebrow at Zitao, who seems to have followed him over. "Don't you think you've done enough for today? I'm patient, but not that patient."
"Daejang," Zitao says, opening his mouth as if to say something, but although his jaw works, nothing comes out. "I-"
"Huang Zitao," Kris interrupts, tasting the name on his tongue. "Chinese, right? You're a little far from home." His Mandarin is rusty at best, his tongue too thick in his mouth for the delicate sounds of his mother tongue, but Zitao's face lights up. This way, he looks even younger.
"I wanted to come here," Zitao says, his Mandarin easy and fluent. "I needed to come here."
Kris frowns. "What for?"
Zitao considers this for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looks down at his bare feet, then up at Kris, chin raised defiantly. Even if Zitao is young, he's already nearly as tall as Kris. There are few people Kris can say outstrip him in height, but he wouldn't be surprised if Zitao did, when he gets older.
There's no hesitance in his voice when Zitao says, "I came here to beat you."
“Hyung, what are you doing here?” Joonmyun asks, looking up from his desk in surprise as Kris knocks fruitlessly on the metal door. “It’s late.”
On principle, Kris tends to stay away from the academic side of the Academy, just because he feels awkward and wrong-footed around too many books. The fear isn’t unfounded; once, Kris knocked over several stacks of carefully organized books because he’d misjudged the distance of his arm. He’d looked down at his hand in astonishment because, really, he was constantly unaware of how tall he really was.
“Sorry to bother you,” Kris says, “but I was wondering if you had the files for this cycle’s cadets?” He says it purposefully lightly, like it’s nothing, but Joonmyun smiles like he already knows. Kris makes a mental note to tell Jongdae to mind his own business and pay more attention to training.
“All of them, or just one in particular?” Joonmyun asks, mischievous, and Kris groans.
“Just get me the damn file,” he says without any heat, and Joonmyun dutifully hides his laughter as he retrieves the Holo-board from under a stack of papers and taps the screen a few times. Kris watches as Joonmyun slides through several faces-Kris recognizes Sehun and Jongin-before settling on the face that’s been plaguing Kris’s mind since earlier that morning.
“Huang Zitao,” Joonmyun reads, flashing Kris a winning smile as he hands the Holo-board over. Kris takes it and Zitao’s face looks solemnly up at him through a mess of bleached hair, mouth pressed into a solid line. He looks so young. “Sixteen years old from Qingdao. He got a black belt in wushu at the age of eleven.”
“Qingdao,” Kris says, flipping through Zitao’s history. He remembers scenic beaches stained with Kaiju blue, and then the relieved faces of the survivors when they’d clambered out of Sigma Hawk and posed for the thousands of cameras clicking their way. Kris hums noncommittally. “Nice place.”
There are photos of Zitao at competitions, tiny and swallowed up by his competitive garb. He’d had dark hair back then, and Kris wonders why Zitao had bleached it. He flips past a smiling Zitao holding a trophy, past an older Zitao with gold hanging from his neck, and goes onto recommendation letters written in Chinese. Homesickness curdles in Kris’s stomach. He hasn’t been home in a long time. Not that there’s much left for him there, anyway.
“Thanks Joonmyun,” Kris says, looking up from Zitao’s file. He waves the Holo-board a little. “I’ll bring this back to you tomorrow.”
Joonmyun’s smile is a little knowing. “Take your time, hyung,” he says. For some reason, Kris’s cheeks burn when he walks out, the Holo-board tucked under his arm and Zitao’s somber face burned into his brain.
Zitao comes from a military family, the only child of an illustrious family with roots deeply embedded in the PPDC. His father was a Fightmaster at Shanghai’s academy before it closed and relocated to Hong Kong, and he’s now working for the PPDC. His mother used to be a Psych Analyst. His parents would never have pushed Zitao to be a Ranger if he didn’t want to be, but they were supportive-even proud-of his choice. He’s wanted to be a Ranger ever since he watched a team take down a Category III near Qingdao’s famous beaches.
I must have been seven at the time, Zitao writes earnestly. I had been separated from my parents and didn’t manage to get to the bunker in time. I ran to an empty convenience store and hid in there with several other children, terrified that every moment would be my last. I felt helpless, and when the Kaiju was defeated and my parents found me with the others, watching our saviors climb out of their Jaeger, I realized then that I never wanted to feel that way again.
Kris reads until his eyes burn from exhaustion and the bright screen of the Holo-board in the dark of his room and there’s nothing left of Zitao’s file to read. Somehow, he still feels unsatisfied, his curiosity unsated, like there’s a current running under his skin. Try as he might, Kris just can’t reconcile the Zitao from his file-the boy who’d papered his walls with posters of Jaeger pilots, who’d trained until his legs gave out-with the boy from this morning, staring up at Kris with intense, focused eyes, even as Kris tossed him to the mat and pressed the end of his staff into Zitao’s throat.
I came here to beat you. Zitao’s voice rings loud and defiant in Kris’s ears, and Kris dozes off to a fitful sleep with that running on a loop in his head.
“You look like shit,” Lu Han says without preamble as Kris slides into his seat with his tray of food, ignoring Baekhyun tossing potato bits into Chanyeol’s open, snoring mouth. Lu Han looks disgustingly awake and well-rested, even for this early in the morning, with a cup of coffee in his hands, and Kris casts him a baleful glare. On his other side, Minseok is trying half-heartedly to dissuade Yixing from clinging onto him like a limpet, but Yixing is either ignoring him or asleep. It’s always hard to tell with him. He’s not moving, at least.
“Thank you,” Kris says dryly. “As always, your existence brightens my day.”
“As it should,” Lu Han says, satisfied, smiling benignly at Kris over his bao and morning coffee. He’d picked up the habit of drinking coffee when Minseok and Lu Han had done a tour in the States, and Kris looks longingly at the mug. He hasn’t had a cup of coffee in eight years.
“Is there still juice left?” Kris asks, tearing his gaze away. Lu Han hums and leans over Chanyeol to grab the pitcher. It’s still cold when Kris pours himself a glass, and Kris appreciates the way the orange juice fizzles on his mouth, just on this side of sweet enough. “Thanks.”
Lu Han inclines his head a little and goes back to his breakfast without a fuss. Kris is a lot surprised and a little wary. Lu Han looks too bright to be sleepy, and an awake Lu Han who isn’t stirring up trouble is either a) hiding the fact he’s already ruined something or b) in the middle of planning it.
“Is everything okay?” Kris asks, unable to keep the words tripping out of his mouth and definitely unable to keep the suspicion out of it his voice. “Are you feeling sick or something?”
“Why do you ask?” Lu Han asks, cocking an eyebrow and taking a huge bite into the bun.
“Usually, you’re giving me headaches by now,” Kris says bluntly, tapping the edge of the glass with his fingertips. “The fact that I’m actually enjoying your company this early is… unprecedented.” He punctuates the sentence with a gummy smile to take some of the poison out.
Lu Han, true to dramatic form, gasps and presses a hand to his chest, because he thinks he’s the heroine in a 1920s American film. He dislodges Minseok on his left, who in turn knocks into Yixing, who wakes up with an unappealing snort. “I’m shocked,” Lu Han declares.
“Be shocked in a way that’s less painful,” Minseok admonishes, mouth twisting into the beginnings of a frown before Yixing surprises him with a tiny kiss at the corner of his mouth.
Kris blinks when he sees Lu Han give Yixing a little thumbs up after Minseok’s been properly distracted by a grossly affectionate Yixing. It doesn’t really surprise Kris that they’ve decided to team up, though he’s sure that Yixing has Lu Han by the balls because of it.
“Anyway, I’m shocked,” Lu Han says over Yixing’s insistent tries to feed Minseok his own breakfast, “that you always think my kindness is because I’m covering up for something. Or that I’m sick. I am appalled that you would think so lowly of me that-”
“It’s either that, or Lu Han-hyung’s been getting some,” Baekhyun interrupts, smoothly interjecting himself into the conversation. Kris looks at Chanyeol, curious as to why Baekhyun had abandoned his favorite pastime-annoying Chanyeol comes second only to terrorizing new cadets in the Conn-Pod control room and he stifles a laugh. Chanyeol’s shoulders and chest are almost entirely flecked with potatoes, and Chanyeol is slowly regaining consciousness. He seems shocked at first at the amount of food both on his body and in his mouth and then strangely delighted.
Park Chanyeol is incredible. Baekhyun discretely wipes his greasy fingers on Kris’s pants, and Kris kicks Baekhyun away half-heartedly.
“Don’t be stupid,” Lu Han scoffs dismissively, “Where would I even be-”
“Ah, it’s that kid right?” Minseok asks guilelessly, and Lu Han immediately freezes. Baekhyun looks like Christmas has just come early, and even Chanyeol, in his just-roused state, peers curiously at Lu Han. Kris thinks he sees the payback gleaming in Minseok’s eyes. “The scrawny kid with the terribly bleached job and the nice jaw. What’s his name? Oh something. Sehyun? Sehun? What was it you said you wanted to do to him? Suck his-”
“Minseok is clearly-” Lu Han starts loudly, talking over Minseok. Kris is grateful; he really doesn’t want the image of Lu Han sucking anything this early in the morning.
“-though I don’t even know the logistics of that,” Minseok concludes thoughtfully, apparently oblivious to the way Lu Han has a hand reaching toward his neck. Yixing bats it away before it can make contact. “Like, how would that even work?” Chanyeol looks vaguely traumatized.
“Minseok-hyung,” Baekhyun says solemnly, even as Lu Han tries to wrangle with a stubborn Yixing over Minseok, “you’re my favorite.”
Minseok just smiles benignly, totally peaceful even though his boyfriend and his best friend are currently waging a war on either side of him. Kris fervently hopes he never gets on Minseok’s bad side.
Later, when everyone’s cleared out after breakfast, Kris does grab Lu Han before he leaves and he says, seriously, “About earlier-”
Lu Han goes scarlet. “For the last time,” he says hastily, “I really wasn’t being serious about the blindfolding thing, Minseok was clearly joking-”
“Ah, no,” Kris interrupts quickly, not wanting to hear anymore. These are things he didn’t need to hear about, ever. “That’s not what I meant.” He doesn’t really know how to broach this topic, and the words build up in his throat, fighting for their way out.
It’s not exactly against the rules for Jaeger pilots to date among themselves. It's uncommon-active Jaeger pilots don't have time for relationships, and ex-Jaeger pilots tend to be restless (or dead)-but it's also understandable why they would want to. Sometimes, it’s hard to find people outside of the Jaeger program who understand what it’s like in the cock-pit of a Jaeger, the hint of the Drift tying you and another person together.
That’s not the reason why Kris had stopped Lu Han.
Kris knows that Lu Han is one of the best Jaeger pilots around, and he's one of Kris's oldest and best friends. If Kris could-and Lu Han weren't listening-he would sing Lu Han's praises all night. But Lu Han is flighty, and charming, and easily amused and distracted. He's left a string of lovers all over the mainland, and every time he leaves, those lovers sell him out to tabloids, to headlines starving for news on their elusive deer. Sehun is young, with no guarantee that he'll even make it past the first round of Jaeger training; if Lu Han starts anything now, he might find himself on the nasty end of terrible rumors.
“Don’t forget that you’re leaving soon,” Kris settles on finally, saying without really saying what he means. “It’s not very nice, getting left behind.”
There’s a flash of something in Lu Han’s eyes, but it’s gone before Kris can decipher what it is and what it means. “Don’t worry so much, duizhang,” he says cheerfully, stepping back to dump his tray. “It'll give you wrinkles not even your expensive creams will fix.”
Kris keeps his face stoic, eyebrows pushed together in concern, and Lu Han relents a moment later. "I'll be fine," he says, flashing the familiar idol smile that the media loves to gobble up. It's calculated and charming, and Kris hates it. Lu Han always looks better when he smiles with his entire face, his eyes scrunching up at the ends, mouth like a gaping wound. "You're always looking out for me, duizhang."
"Well," Kris says, flubbing around for something to say, "I have to live up to my title. And you were once my student. Call it nostalgia."
"Wish fulfillment," Lu Han corrects, wrinkling his nose. His smile is more genuine now. "Kris, you were never my teacher. You were always my friend." Kris blinks, surprised, at the admission, and Lu Han flushes. "Don't tell anyone I said that."
Kris flashes a gummy smile, making a mental note to save the moment for future blackmail. "Your secret is safe with me."
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4