drift compatible [2pm; chansung/junho]
title: drift compatible
rating: PG-13
pairings: Chansung/Junho, implied!past!Minjun/Taecyeon
warnings: minor character death (not narrated)
word count: 3134
summary: essentially this is badly written pacific rim!au
A/N: This was my entry for Round 2 at unreal_2pm, originally posted here. I have so many headcanons for this fic. Please do ask me for them if you’re curious about backstories etc! I’m a first-time writer, so I hope this is okay! ^___^
ask me ask me and prompt me too no promises tho ok i am so new at everything i mean look at this formatting and lack of a coherent summary
--
It happened one night, while he was sleeping soundly in his bunker below his brother: the first of the Category 3 Kaiju attacks. He all but fell out of his bunk when he heard the alarm system go off overhead.
“Wake up! Hyung!” He shook Taecyeon’s shoulder repeatedly and vigorously; his brother had been known to sleep like the dead even through the noisiest alarms. Junho suspected this was why he had been assigned a shared bunker rather than his own.
“Taecyeon-hyung to the rescue,” Taecyeon mumbled sleepily as he cracked his eyes open. “Damn it, what’s happening now?”
Junho pulled on his shirt and uniform pants. “Category 3 Kaiju,” he said, eyes alight with anticipation, “biggest one yet, according to Minjun-hyung.”
That got Taecyeon up, and he stretched and climbed down, dog tags clinking against the bed frame.
The whoop-whoop of the alarm set his nerves on edge, but his body was thrumming with adrenaline, and Junho was itching for a fight, itching to take an alien piece-of-shit down.
Taecyeon finally had his uniform on, and their Jaeger’s emblem reflected light off where it was printed in glossy leather on the back of his jacket. He shot Junho a toothy grin. “Let’s go kick some Kaiju ass.”
--
It was almost 5 years later and Junho hadn’t been near a Jaeger since. He’d tried, initially, to picture himself in the drift with someone else, but every time he did he’d remember the searing pain going through his arm and the inexplicable emptiness that filled him moments before. He’d remember Taecyeon.
So Junho took odd jobs. Driving trucks back and forth across state lines in the US, even piloting the occasional airship. He was working in Ireland, with a thousand other construction workers to put up a new Wall along the coastline when Minjun found him.
“Long time no see, kid!” Minjun grinned down at him from his chopper. Junho scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Why are you here?” he asked, pulling off thick construction gloves.
Minjun chuckled, removing his shades (Ray-bans, quite unlike the usual choice for people in their line of work, but generally Minjun had always placed fashion before convention), “Is that any way to treat your commanding officer?”
“You were only my captain, and you know I’m not piloting anymore.”
“Not after I’m done talking to you.” Minjun stepped towards the building site entrance. “Well? I’m a busy man you know.” “You’re a busy man?” Junho muttered under his breath, but lead him in anyway.
--
“I won’t do it.”
Minjun merely fixed him with a look that suggested he couldn’t imagine why Junho was refusing to re-join the Jaeger program. “You know what happened,” Junho said, frowning, “I can’t let anyone inside my head again.”
Minjun stood. “I personally think it will be good for you. Moving on and all that.” He looked towards the half-built wall, craggy and out of place, unnatural, against the towering rock face behind it.
“There are no other Mark 3 pilots. There are plenty of pilots with decommissioned Jaegers, and one of them can be your co-pilot.” Junho remained silent, and Minjun heaved a little sigh. “We are the last stand. There’s no one after this that can fight them. We all die at some point, Junho.” His eyes seemed to shine momentarily at that, but his stare was hard and his voice was steady. “I’m giving you a chance to go down fighting.” He put his shades back on. “I leave in an hour,” he said, unusually brusque. “Decide before then.” With that, he turned and left.
Junho sat down heavily and glowered and the damp cement floor. He’d known in his heart he would never be able to do anything else; he belonged in a Jaeger. He supposed it was why he’d never stuck with any single job. The Wall was never going to hold, he knew that too. The Kaijus got bigger and stronger with every subsequent attack. The recent Sydney attack was a testament to the Wall’s futility. The Kaiju, a Category 4 with ridges covering the entirety of its tail, had torn a chunk out of the Wall within minutes. Had it not been for a recently decommissioned Jaeger that was piloted by the Jung siblings, the damage would have been far more catastrophic. It had inspired anger and frustration and fear amongst many of his co-workers.
But…to let someone connect that way again, to let someone risk dying on him... He thought of Taecyeon, always cheerful and always seeing the good in people. He remembered Taecyeon’s words the day they’d been selected for the Jaeger program: “This is our chance, Junho-ya. This is our time to be useful to the world, our only proper way to make a difference.”
He’d always been about that, his hyung. Always with the hero complex, always wanting to right all the wrongs in the world. They’d been good at it, together. Unbeatable, until finally a Kaiju ripped his brother from him. Literally. The worst part about the whole ordeal (other than crawling out of his Jaeger, covered in cuts and burns and miles away from base, with the horrible realisation that his brother was dead, dead) was the fact that he and Taecyeon were still connected when he died. It had been tumultuous emotions heaving, Junho’s and Taecyeon’s mixing and swirling; everything a haze of pain, fear, helplessness-and then nothing. It was like yelling into an empty room and waiting for an answering echo that would never come.
Junho gave an involuntary start and wiped his eyes. Maybe Minjun was right (though Junho would never admit it aloud). It’s about time he moved on, he thought, he needed to start to fill that nothingness. He dusted off his pants and left the building site, making a beeline for Minjun’s chopper.
--
“Welcome back to Seoul, Mr Lee,” said Minjun, gesturing to the command centre with an unnecessary flourish.
Junho stepped off the chopper and right into a puddle. As he was cursing the weather, it abruptly stopped raining and he looked up into the face of a man with an umbrella.
“Lee Junho, may I introduce one of the program’s best and brightest, Hwang Chansung.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Chansung, and while Junho nodded his head in acknowledgment, he said quietly to Minjun in English, “Is this one older or younger than me? I can’t tell.”
“Actually, I’m younger than you by a few years,” said Chansung, in smooth English, “But you can call me ‘hyung’ if you want.” His mouth quirked up on one side and though Junho narrowed his eyes at him, he knew he was going to like Chansung.
--
Chansung had a mature look to him and spoke in measured tones. He seemed to have a deep respect for Minjun, which in itself wasn’t unusual; Junho had heard many pilots wax poetic about the Marshall’s numerous strikes. But Chansung’s respect seemed deeper than admiration; something about the way his eyes softened when he spoke to him. Junho supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, it was hardly the first time someone had developed a crush on his ex-captain (his mind pulled up an unbidden memory of Minjun and Taecyeon confessing to each other; it was something Junho always used to see when he was in the drift).
Chansung had a strong build, broad in the shoulders and tall. Junho had seen him sparring with other recruits, and was itching to try him out for himself, though he knew it was for reasons other than a love of sparring…Junho couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about what it would be like to have Chansung trapped under him, sweaty and breathing hard.
Junho mentally shook himself, trying to remove from his mind his imagination’s creative rendition of himself and Chansung rolling around on the kwoon mats and poked at his potatoes instead. And then he accidentally impaled one on his chopstick when he noticed Chansung coming towards him, tray in hand.
“May I?” asked Chansung, gesturing to the empty seat in front of him. Junho nodded, surreptitiously running his tongue around his mouth trying to feel for food between his teeth. “You’re due to report to the mats for compatibility testing at 0600 hours,” said Chansung, taking a large bite out of a banana. Junho nodded and then added, “Will you be there?”
Chansung started on a second banana. “Yup.” Junho’s heart leapt (a chance to spar with him at last!) and then abruptly sank when Chansung added, “I’m monitoring the test results.”
“You’re not one of the candidates?” Junho asked despite himself.
Chansung shook his head. ‘I wanted to be. I’ve done so many practice runs. 51 drops, 51 kills,” he said, grinning, “But the Marshall said I wasn’t ready.”
“Why don’t you try out today, and prove him wrong?”
Chansung shook his head again. “He has his reasons for not wanting it.”
“Ah. You two have a special…relationship, huh?”
Chansung nodded and swallowed a mouthful of pasta. “Yes, I’ve known him since I was young. He’s like a father to me.” He paused, fork mid-way to his mouth, “Don’t tell him I said that though. He’s touchy about his age.” Junho’s eyes grew wide. Oh. Oh. He laughed. “I thought you two were…nevermind, well-good to know.”
Chansung raised an eyebrow. “You thought we were involved huh? It wouldn’t be the first time. Other than the fact I could never look at him that way, he’s really not my type.”
“And what is your type?” Junho wanted to smack himself; he usually had better control over his brain-to-mouth filter.
Chansung smiled then, knowingly, and Junho swallowed. He reached over and plucked a meatball from Junho’s tray. “I wouldn’t say I have one, but if I had to…” Junho didn’t realise he was leaning forward in anticipation until the annoying alarm on Chansung’s watch went off, and he pulled himself back at once.
“Oh, hey. It’s late, I should go now. You should get some rest too. Big day tomorrow.” Chansung stood, clapping Junho on the shoulder (the force of it nearly sent Junho sliding off his chair) and he popped the meatball into his mouth, waving back at Junho as he walked away.
And Junho was left there, half eaten potatoes and meatballs going cold on his tray.
--
Junho took down the first candidate with less ease then he would have liked, but nonetheless his opponent did not score a point and Junho won the match. But the next one was a little too easy and Junho allowed him to get hits in. After each point he scored he couldn’t help but look to Chansung, wondering what he thought of his performance, and was disappointed (and a little annoyed) to note that Chansung looked bored. After his third match (4-2, Junho), Chansung actually stifled a yawn, and Junho had had enough.
“Okay, what is it?” Junho snapped, arms akimbo. “Is this not exciting enough for you, Mr Hwang? Are the candidates not making this a thrilling enough show?”
Chansung raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised at being called out. “Well…it’s not them, to be honest,” he said, sounding a little sheepish.
Junho took two steps forward. “Excuse me?”
Minjun, who had been standing next to Chansung the entire time, met Chansung’s eyes and gave him a nod.
“It’s you. I’m bored standing here and waiting for you to win the match.” Chansung huffed, and Junho was annoyed that he found it adorable. “You could have ended all the matches several moves earlier. Instead you took your time and they got hits in.”
Junho scoffed. His ears were beginning to burn. “Alright then.” He twirled his staff once. “Let’s make it exciting for you then, Chansung-sshi.” He pointed at Chansung and crooked a finger. “You. Come down here and fight me.” There were murmurs from the crowd (consisting of command centre personnel and pilots). Clearly this was a turn of events they hadn’t been expecting.
Something akin to excitement flickered in Chansung’s eyes and he looked once more at the Marshall for approval. Minjun’s mouth had settled into a disapproving line, like he would rather not see Chansung fight, but he said “Kick his ass,” and Chansung strode onto the mat.
--
It was the first time in his entire life that losing a match hadn’t irked him. He was far too elated at the obvious outcome of the test. Out of all his opponents, Chansung was the only able to meet Junho blow-for-blow and actually get one up on him.
“You win,” Junho breathed, back flat on the ground and left leg pinned between Chansung’s arms and his staff. “It was a dial-up, there are no winners.” Chansung was panting and flushed. Junho disagreed. He felt like he had won just a little bit here.
Chansung released Junho’s leg and helped him up. His grin was small but triumphant and it was all Junho could do to keep his face from splitting in two as he wrapped an arm around Chansung’s waist and pulled him close, “He’s my co-pilot.”
Minjun blinked rapidly. “No,” he said shortly, turning and striding away from the arena. The crowd took this as their cue to disperse. “Wait-Marshall!” Junho started forward, with every intention of making Minjun see things his way, but Chansung held him back with a hand on his shoulder.
“Leave it, he won’t change his mind just because you talk to him.” Chansung’s face had fallen a little, and he offered a resigned little shrug to Junho.
They walked in silence back to their quarters and Junho wanted to say something, anything, to make the miserable air around Chansung disappear.
“Look,” he blurted out, just as Chansung had his hand on his room door, “if the Marshall chooses someone else…if it’s not you-” He cleared his throat, finding it difficult to verbalise the connection he felt with Chansung. “I’ll talk to him. Okay? Just don’t-” He gestured vaguely at Chansung’s face. “Don’t lose hope. You’ll get your chance.”
Chansung’s eyes softened and he gave a tiny chuckle. “Thanks, hyung.”
--
Junho barged into Minjun’s quarters. “You,” he began, pointing a finger accusingly at Minjun, whose only response was to sigh and close the analysis report he was scanning, “You brought me back here to fight in a Jaeger. For this planet. For the good of humanity.”
“Yes,” said Minjun, with the air of someone explaining a simple math problem to a child, “I am aware of that. However, Chansung isn’t suited to your-”
“Bullshit,” interjected Junho, throwing up his arms in frustration. “That’s bullshit! You saw the match. We felt something. He was the only one who was compatible. And he’s more than qualified! I know his simulator scores. So what’s your reason?” He glared at Minjun, waiting for him to come up with a reasonable excuse.
Minjun had begun tapping the table with his pen. It was a habit of his whenever he was agitated. “He’s too young,” he said. “Nu-uh,” Junho shook his head, “I was younger than him on my first drop, try again.”
Minjun rubbed his temples. He seemed suddenly much older to Junho; he’d taken on the look of a man who had lost much and still had much to lose.
“It’s because he’s important to you, isn’t it?” Junho spoke softly, gently. “You don’t want to lose him, not like you lost-”
“Enough,” Minjun snapped, raising his voice. “Get out, I won’t discuss this with you, Ranger. Report for the trial run at 0800 hours tomorrow, find out who your co-pilot is then.” He opened the analysis report again, and it was clear Junho was dismissed.
--
Junho lay on his bunk, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars the previous occupant had pasted on the ceiling. He had initially wanted to remove them, but he found there was a strange comfort in the childishness of the decor. He was reminded of Taecyeon, who would have loved this sort of thing. Even as a seasoned pilot, Taecyeon would still add that ridiculous cartoon cat to his signature. Junho chuckled.
A part of him wanted to leave the command centre, to tell Minjun to find someone else; if he couldn’t pilot with Chansung he wouldn’t pilot at all. But he understood Minjun’s motivations, and he didn’t want Chansung to see him as quitter.
To be perfectly honest, he was surprised as the strength of the pull he felt towards Chansung. He had been developing a crush on him since he’d laid eyes on him; granted, it had been a begrudging, annoyed sort of crush, but it was a crush all the same. After the sparring yesterday, something had sparked between them, it was stronger that just attraction. And deep down, he knew Chansung felt it too; Junho had seen it in his flushed face, when Chansung was hovering over him.
He stretched like a cat, and reached over to grab the clock. 0700 hours, it was time to prepare for the trial run. He rolled out of bed and began to get dressed.
--
“Setting harness for test mode. Waiting for second pilot,” Junho said as he hit the harness release button. As the harnesses slowly descended behind him, the automated voice announced the arrival of the second pilot. “I’m gonna stay on this side if that’s okay, my left side is a little weak,” Junho said, as he heard the pilot stride up to the harnesses.
“Sure thing,” said a familiar voice. Junho turned to find Chansung standing next to him in all his armoured glory, helmet under one arm. Junho’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “How-?” “The Marshall called me in yesterday. He said he would make his final decision based on the trial run.” He grinned, unabashed in his happiness. “So don’t screw this up for me, hyung.” Junho smiled but said nothing, and turned away to put his helmet on.
“Nothing else to say, hyung?” Chansung’s tone was lightly teasing as he put on his own helmet. “In a few seconds you’re going to be in my head, there’s no point,” Junho countered. Junho met Chansung’s eyes, and they exchanged a look. “You look good,” he said, suddenly. Chansung’s lips pulled into that knowing smile again, and Junho cleared his throat and broke eye contact.
“Standby for neural handshake in ten seconds,” the technician’s voice came through overhead, and the countdown began. Junho felt it again, the excitement, the adrenaline that always came before the drift. He hadn’t felt it in a long while. He inhaled deeply.
“Seven, six, five…”
“See you in the drift,” he said, throwing a sidelong glance at Chansung. The last thing he saw before he was pulled into the drift was Chansung’s grin.
--
rating: PG-13
pairings: Chansung/Junho, implied!past!Minjun/Taecyeon
warnings: minor character death (not narrated)
word count: 3134
summary: essentially this is badly written pacific rim!au
A/N: This was my entry for Round 2 at unreal_2pm, originally posted here. I have so many headcanons for this fic. Please do ask me for them if you’re curious about backstories etc! I’m a first-time writer, so I hope this is okay! ^___^
ask me ask me and prompt me too no promises tho ok i am so new at everything i mean look at this formatting and lack of a coherent summary
--
It happened one night, while he was sleeping soundly in his bunker below his brother: the first of the Category 3 Kaiju attacks. He all but fell out of his bunk when he heard the alarm system go off overhead.
“Wake up! Hyung!” He shook Taecyeon’s shoulder repeatedly and vigorously; his brother had been known to sleep like the dead even through the noisiest alarms. Junho suspected this was why he had been assigned a shared bunker rather than his own.
“Taecyeon-hyung to the rescue,” Taecyeon mumbled sleepily as he cracked his eyes open. “Damn it, what’s happening now?”
Junho pulled on his shirt and uniform pants. “Category 3 Kaiju,” he said, eyes alight with anticipation, “biggest one yet, according to Minjun-hyung.”
That got Taecyeon up, and he stretched and climbed down, dog tags clinking against the bed frame.
The whoop-whoop of the alarm set his nerves on edge, but his body was thrumming with adrenaline, and Junho was itching for a fight, itching to take an alien piece-of-shit down.
Taecyeon finally had his uniform on, and their Jaeger’s emblem reflected light off where it was printed in glossy leather on the back of his jacket. He shot Junho a toothy grin. “Let’s go kick some Kaiju ass.”
--
It was almost 5 years later and Junho hadn’t been near a Jaeger since. He’d tried, initially, to picture himself in the drift with someone else, but every time he did he’d remember the searing pain going through his arm and the inexplicable emptiness that filled him moments before. He’d remember Taecyeon.
So Junho took odd jobs. Driving trucks back and forth across state lines in the US, even piloting the occasional airship. He was working in Ireland, with a thousand other construction workers to put up a new Wall along the coastline when Minjun found him.
“Long time no see, kid!” Minjun grinned down at him from his chopper. Junho scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Why are you here?” he asked, pulling off thick construction gloves.
Minjun chuckled, removing his shades (Ray-bans, quite unlike the usual choice for people in their line of work, but generally Minjun had always placed fashion before convention), “Is that any way to treat your commanding officer?”
“You were only my captain, and you know I’m not piloting anymore.”
“Not after I’m done talking to you.” Minjun stepped towards the building site entrance. “Well? I’m a busy man you know.” “You’re a busy man?” Junho muttered under his breath, but lead him in anyway.
--
“I won’t do it.”
Minjun merely fixed him with a look that suggested he couldn’t imagine why Junho was refusing to re-join the Jaeger program. “You know what happened,” Junho said, frowning, “I can’t let anyone inside my head again.”
Minjun stood. “I personally think it will be good for you. Moving on and all that.” He looked towards the half-built wall, craggy and out of place, unnatural, against the towering rock face behind it.
“There are no other Mark 3 pilots. There are plenty of pilots with decommissioned Jaegers, and one of them can be your co-pilot.” Junho remained silent, and Minjun heaved a little sigh. “We are the last stand. There’s no one after this that can fight them. We all die at some point, Junho.” His eyes seemed to shine momentarily at that, but his stare was hard and his voice was steady. “I’m giving you a chance to go down fighting.” He put his shades back on. “I leave in an hour,” he said, unusually brusque. “Decide before then.” With that, he turned and left.
Junho sat down heavily and glowered and the damp cement floor. He’d known in his heart he would never be able to do anything else; he belonged in a Jaeger. He supposed it was why he’d never stuck with any single job. The Wall was never going to hold, he knew that too. The Kaijus got bigger and stronger with every subsequent attack. The recent Sydney attack was a testament to the Wall’s futility. The Kaiju, a Category 4 with ridges covering the entirety of its tail, had torn a chunk out of the Wall within minutes. Had it not been for a recently decommissioned Jaeger that was piloted by the Jung siblings, the damage would have been far more catastrophic. It had inspired anger and frustration and fear amongst many of his co-workers.
But…to let someone connect that way again, to let someone risk dying on him... He thought of Taecyeon, always cheerful and always seeing the good in people. He remembered Taecyeon’s words the day they’d been selected for the Jaeger program: “This is our chance, Junho-ya. This is our time to be useful to the world, our only proper way to make a difference.”
He’d always been about that, his hyung. Always with the hero complex, always wanting to right all the wrongs in the world. They’d been good at it, together. Unbeatable, until finally a Kaiju ripped his brother from him. Literally. The worst part about the whole ordeal (other than crawling out of his Jaeger, covered in cuts and burns and miles away from base, with the horrible realisation that his brother was dead, dead) was the fact that he and Taecyeon were still connected when he died. It had been tumultuous emotions heaving, Junho’s and Taecyeon’s mixing and swirling; everything a haze of pain, fear, helplessness-and then nothing. It was like yelling into an empty room and waiting for an answering echo that would never come.
Junho gave an involuntary start and wiped his eyes. Maybe Minjun was right (though Junho would never admit it aloud). It’s about time he moved on, he thought, he needed to start to fill that nothingness. He dusted off his pants and left the building site, making a beeline for Minjun’s chopper.
--
“Welcome back to Seoul, Mr Lee,” said Minjun, gesturing to the command centre with an unnecessary flourish.
Junho stepped off the chopper and right into a puddle. As he was cursing the weather, it abruptly stopped raining and he looked up into the face of a man with an umbrella.
“Lee Junho, may I introduce one of the program’s best and brightest, Hwang Chansung.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Chansung, and while Junho nodded his head in acknowledgment, he said quietly to Minjun in English, “Is this one older or younger than me? I can’t tell.”
“Actually, I’m younger than you by a few years,” said Chansung, in smooth English, “But you can call me ‘hyung’ if you want.” His mouth quirked up on one side and though Junho narrowed his eyes at him, he knew he was going to like Chansung.
--
Chansung had a mature look to him and spoke in measured tones. He seemed to have a deep respect for Minjun, which in itself wasn’t unusual; Junho had heard many pilots wax poetic about the Marshall’s numerous strikes. But Chansung’s respect seemed deeper than admiration; something about the way his eyes softened when he spoke to him. Junho supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, it was hardly the first time someone had developed a crush on his ex-captain (his mind pulled up an unbidden memory of Minjun and Taecyeon confessing to each other; it was something Junho always used to see when he was in the drift).
Chansung had a strong build, broad in the shoulders and tall. Junho had seen him sparring with other recruits, and was itching to try him out for himself, though he knew it was for reasons other than a love of sparring…Junho couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about what it would be like to have Chansung trapped under him, sweaty and breathing hard.
Junho mentally shook himself, trying to remove from his mind his imagination’s creative rendition of himself and Chansung rolling around on the kwoon mats and poked at his potatoes instead. And then he accidentally impaled one on his chopstick when he noticed Chansung coming towards him, tray in hand.
“May I?” asked Chansung, gesturing to the empty seat in front of him. Junho nodded, surreptitiously running his tongue around his mouth trying to feel for food between his teeth. “You’re due to report to the mats for compatibility testing at 0600 hours,” said Chansung, taking a large bite out of a banana. Junho nodded and then added, “Will you be there?”
Chansung started on a second banana. “Yup.” Junho’s heart leapt (a chance to spar with him at last!) and then abruptly sank when Chansung added, “I’m monitoring the test results.”
“You’re not one of the candidates?” Junho asked despite himself.
Chansung shook his head. ‘I wanted to be. I’ve done so many practice runs. 51 drops, 51 kills,” he said, grinning, “But the Marshall said I wasn’t ready.”
“Why don’t you try out today, and prove him wrong?”
Chansung shook his head again. “He has his reasons for not wanting it.”
“Ah. You two have a special…relationship, huh?”
Chansung nodded and swallowed a mouthful of pasta. “Yes, I’ve known him since I was young. He’s like a father to me.” He paused, fork mid-way to his mouth, “Don’t tell him I said that though. He’s touchy about his age.” Junho’s eyes grew wide. Oh. Oh. He laughed. “I thought you two were…nevermind, well-good to know.”
Chansung raised an eyebrow. “You thought we were involved huh? It wouldn’t be the first time. Other than the fact I could never look at him that way, he’s really not my type.”
“And what is your type?” Junho wanted to smack himself; he usually had better control over his brain-to-mouth filter.
Chansung smiled then, knowingly, and Junho swallowed. He reached over and plucked a meatball from Junho’s tray. “I wouldn’t say I have one, but if I had to…” Junho didn’t realise he was leaning forward in anticipation until the annoying alarm on Chansung’s watch went off, and he pulled himself back at once.
“Oh, hey. It’s late, I should go now. You should get some rest too. Big day tomorrow.” Chansung stood, clapping Junho on the shoulder (the force of it nearly sent Junho sliding off his chair) and he popped the meatball into his mouth, waving back at Junho as he walked away.
And Junho was left there, half eaten potatoes and meatballs going cold on his tray.
--
Junho took down the first candidate with less ease then he would have liked, but nonetheless his opponent did not score a point and Junho won the match. But the next one was a little too easy and Junho allowed him to get hits in. After each point he scored he couldn’t help but look to Chansung, wondering what he thought of his performance, and was disappointed (and a little annoyed) to note that Chansung looked bored. After his third match (4-2, Junho), Chansung actually stifled a yawn, and Junho had had enough.
“Okay, what is it?” Junho snapped, arms akimbo. “Is this not exciting enough for you, Mr Hwang? Are the candidates not making this a thrilling enough show?”
Chansung raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised at being called out. “Well…it’s not them, to be honest,” he said, sounding a little sheepish.
Junho took two steps forward. “Excuse me?”
Minjun, who had been standing next to Chansung the entire time, met Chansung’s eyes and gave him a nod.
“It’s you. I’m bored standing here and waiting for you to win the match.” Chansung huffed, and Junho was annoyed that he found it adorable. “You could have ended all the matches several moves earlier. Instead you took your time and they got hits in.”
Junho scoffed. His ears were beginning to burn. “Alright then.” He twirled his staff once. “Let’s make it exciting for you then, Chansung-sshi.” He pointed at Chansung and crooked a finger. “You. Come down here and fight me.” There were murmurs from the crowd (consisting of command centre personnel and pilots). Clearly this was a turn of events they hadn’t been expecting.
Something akin to excitement flickered in Chansung’s eyes and he looked once more at the Marshall for approval. Minjun’s mouth had settled into a disapproving line, like he would rather not see Chansung fight, but he said “Kick his ass,” and Chansung strode onto the mat.
--
It was the first time in his entire life that losing a match hadn’t irked him. He was far too elated at the obvious outcome of the test. Out of all his opponents, Chansung was the only able to meet Junho blow-for-blow and actually get one up on him.
“You win,” Junho breathed, back flat on the ground and left leg pinned between Chansung’s arms and his staff. “It was a dial-up, there are no winners.” Chansung was panting and flushed. Junho disagreed. He felt like he had won just a little bit here.
Chansung released Junho’s leg and helped him up. His grin was small but triumphant and it was all Junho could do to keep his face from splitting in two as he wrapped an arm around Chansung’s waist and pulled him close, “He’s my co-pilot.”
Minjun blinked rapidly. “No,” he said shortly, turning and striding away from the arena. The crowd took this as their cue to disperse. “Wait-Marshall!” Junho started forward, with every intention of making Minjun see things his way, but Chansung held him back with a hand on his shoulder.
“Leave it, he won’t change his mind just because you talk to him.” Chansung’s face had fallen a little, and he offered a resigned little shrug to Junho.
They walked in silence back to their quarters and Junho wanted to say something, anything, to make the miserable air around Chansung disappear.
“Look,” he blurted out, just as Chansung had his hand on his room door, “if the Marshall chooses someone else…if it’s not you-” He cleared his throat, finding it difficult to verbalise the connection he felt with Chansung. “I’ll talk to him. Okay? Just don’t-” He gestured vaguely at Chansung’s face. “Don’t lose hope. You’ll get your chance.”
Chansung’s eyes softened and he gave a tiny chuckle. “Thanks, hyung.”
--
Junho barged into Minjun’s quarters. “You,” he began, pointing a finger accusingly at Minjun, whose only response was to sigh and close the analysis report he was scanning, “You brought me back here to fight in a Jaeger. For this planet. For the good of humanity.”
“Yes,” said Minjun, with the air of someone explaining a simple math problem to a child, “I am aware of that. However, Chansung isn’t suited to your-”
“Bullshit,” interjected Junho, throwing up his arms in frustration. “That’s bullshit! You saw the match. We felt something. He was the only one who was compatible. And he’s more than qualified! I know his simulator scores. So what’s your reason?” He glared at Minjun, waiting for him to come up with a reasonable excuse.
Minjun had begun tapping the table with his pen. It was a habit of his whenever he was agitated. “He’s too young,” he said. “Nu-uh,” Junho shook his head, “I was younger than him on my first drop, try again.”
Minjun rubbed his temples. He seemed suddenly much older to Junho; he’d taken on the look of a man who had lost much and still had much to lose.
“It’s because he’s important to you, isn’t it?” Junho spoke softly, gently. “You don’t want to lose him, not like you lost-”
“Enough,” Minjun snapped, raising his voice. “Get out, I won’t discuss this with you, Ranger. Report for the trial run at 0800 hours tomorrow, find out who your co-pilot is then.” He opened the analysis report again, and it was clear Junho was dismissed.
--
Junho lay on his bunk, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars the previous occupant had pasted on the ceiling. He had initially wanted to remove them, but he found there was a strange comfort in the childishness of the decor. He was reminded of Taecyeon, who would have loved this sort of thing. Even as a seasoned pilot, Taecyeon would still add that ridiculous cartoon cat to his signature. Junho chuckled.
A part of him wanted to leave the command centre, to tell Minjun to find someone else; if he couldn’t pilot with Chansung he wouldn’t pilot at all. But he understood Minjun’s motivations, and he didn’t want Chansung to see him as quitter.
To be perfectly honest, he was surprised as the strength of the pull he felt towards Chansung. He had been developing a crush on him since he’d laid eyes on him; granted, it had been a begrudging, annoyed sort of crush, but it was a crush all the same. After the sparring yesterday, something had sparked between them, it was stronger that just attraction. And deep down, he knew Chansung felt it too; Junho had seen it in his flushed face, when Chansung was hovering over him.
He stretched like a cat, and reached over to grab the clock. 0700 hours, it was time to prepare for the trial run. He rolled out of bed and began to get dressed.
--
“Setting harness for test mode. Waiting for second pilot,” Junho said as he hit the harness release button. As the harnesses slowly descended behind him, the automated voice announced the arrival of the second pilot. “I’m gonna stay on this side if that’s okay, my left side is a little weak,” Junho said, as he heard the pilot stride up to the harnesses.
“Sure thing,” said a familiar voice. Junho turned to find Chansung standing next to him in all his armoured glory, helmet under one arm. Junho’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “How-?” “The Marshall called me in yesterday. He said he would make his final decision based on the trial run.” He grinned, unabashed in his happiness. “So don’t screw this up for me, hyung.” Junho smiled but said nothing, and turned away to put his helmet on.
“Nothing else to say, hyung?” Chansung’s tone was lightly teasing as he put on his own helmet. “In a few seconds you’re going to be in my head, there’s no point,” Junho countered. Junho met Chansung’s eyes, and they exchanged a look. “You look good,” he said, suddenly. Chansung’s lips pulled into that knowing smile again, and Junho cleared his throat and broke eye contact.
“Standby for neural handshake in ten seconds,” the technician’s voice came through overhead, and the countdown began. Junho felt it again, the excitement, the adrenaline that always came before the drift. He hadn’t felt it in a long while. He inhaled deeply.
“Seven, six, five…”
“See you in the drift,” he said, throwing a sidelong glance at Chansung. The last thing he saw before he was pulled into the drift was Chansung’s grin.
--