Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yeosang tenses, slotting himself beneath the starboard flank’s thruster and peeking out cautiously. ATEEZ’s loading ramp is down, and standing at the bottom of it with perturbed looks are Yunho and San. The sun’s set, and the warm lights of the dockyard cast long, inky shadows across the paths between ships. Two particularly bulky shadows pass by, and Yeo strains to hear what they’re saying.

“What’s going on here?” One of the women - a guard, Yeosang guesses - asks brusquely. He squints, and from his narrow view he just barely sees the canis placing his hands on his hips.

“What do you mean?”

“This ship is to leave the atmosphere immediately.”

“Actually,” Yunho says, “We were told we had until morning.” Yeo can’t see the guard’s face, but he imagines she’s wearing a dirty look at the patronizing tone.

“Just because you have until morning doesn’t mean you ought to wait until morning,” She responds tersely.

“We’re having ship trouble,” Yunho says. He turns to the siren who’s bent over one of the loading ramp’s hydraulic pipes. “Right, San?”

“Uh, yes. Lots of trouble. We can’t quite figure out the… Landing,” The siren adds. Yeo suppresses a groan, burying his face in his palm. They probably shouldn’t have chosen the siren of all people to participate in the charade.

After thrusting the role of petty (and pretty) thief onto Yeosang, the crew concocted a little plan to make a diversion. San and Yunho volunteered to make a show of “fixing ship troubles” while Yeosang snuck out and about. He sent out a couple of his drones via ground to scout out any weak spots in the barrier, and much to his surprise, the majority of the dockyard is cordoned off by nothing but a conventional physical fence. (Either that, or their barrier tech is undetectable by his scans - he really hopes it isn’t that.) 

Hongjoong quickly got to work, sewing miscellaneous clothes together into a surprisingly decent looking dress. It’s white - comprised of a few cottony shirts pulled from a couple of closets - with straps and a bodice that dips in at his waist, affixed to which is an a-line skirt that just barely grazes the ground. (Yeo hopes nobody notices the heavy boots under the delicate, white garment.) The captain’s work shocked the cyborg - he managed to make the white on white patchwork look like an intentional design feature as opposed to rushed splicing. His only accessories are the piercings he already has and a silky ribbon they swiped from one of Wooyoung’s shirts and tied in a bow around the cyborg’s neck.

With the outfit sorted, Yeo and Mingi played with ways to replicate a more effeminate hairstyle, Yeosang ultimately opted for a small cloaking node. He figured nobody would be touching his hair, anyway. The holographic waves dip slightly beneath his shoulder and blend in seamlessly with his real tresses. Wooyoung used makeup and a few other tricks he’d apparently picked up from friends at the bars he worked at. (“Just rub the cinnamon-oil mix for a few minutes and rinse it!” “We can make this look bigger with some glow…”) Though Yeosang thought himself a fairly adequate girl, San even opted to step in, correcting his gait and posture to have more “neutralizing, demure energy”. Yeosang didn’t assume he walked with any particular “energy” but he supposed that quantum sciences had never been his favorite. For his last bit of preparation, the cyborg crafted a replica of the Compass piece to replace the real one. Thankfully, the oblong scrap of metal slots snugly beneath the bustier of his dress. If only Hongjoong had more time to sew in some pockets, the cyborg lamented as he awkwardly slipped his comm beneath the waistband of his underwear. Feeling a smidge breezier than he’s used to, he poised himself to sneak off in lieu of his shipmates’ distraction.

“Well, you best get it sorted,” Another guard barks at the two humanoids feigning hopeless confusion at the state of the ship.

“It won’t be more than five… Maybe six hours,” Yunho responds.

“Five or six,” San nods in affirmation.

For a second, Yeosang tenses, worried they’ll see right through the canis and siren’s pitiful act. Thankfully, they  seem to know nothing about the affairs of keeping a ship afloat and simply sulk off a few minutes later. Shoulders sagging with relief, Yeosang plods in the opposite direction, clinging to shadows and weaving between ships. He constantly checks over his shoulder, heart thrumming in his chest anxiously. 

After what feels like eons, he reaches the back fence. It’s high - four and a half meters high, to be precise. Ivy twirls between the wrought, brassy posts. Each post is topped with a razor sharp pike. The soft sound of water lapping at the steep, rocky bank trickles into Yeosang’s ears. Beyond the fence there’s little else to behond than murky, black waters far as the eye can see. Yeosang figures that’s on purpose. What kind of an idiot would jump the fence? The slippery slope that recedes into the dark waters isn’t even a meter wide. With the steady upkick of the tide, all it takes is one wrong move to get dragged into the cold current. Yeosang has no idea what lurks beneath those depths - nor does he have any intention of finding out.

Yeosang hesitantly extends his left hand - his mechanical hand - toward the fence. He toggles his vision going through thermal, data and auric sensors. Nothing out of the ordinary presents itself, and he gingerly touches the metal. The cool sensation runs up his fingerprints, causing goosebumps to pock the skin covering his natural body.  He bites his lip, stepping back to do a more spatial analysis. The stylised posts of the fence curl and whirl about, and ivy leaves climb up the railings, stretching between them and draping over every floral flair carved into the artful barrier. Yeosang wonders if they’d intended to create footholds so inviting. The fence is almost too tempting, too easy. Yet none of his scans bore any information that contradicted it being anything other than ordinary.

The cyborg takes a deep breath and grasps a post with his metal hand.

Nothing happens. No shock is delivered, no explosion, no burning on contact or alarms going off. Yeosang carefully scales the fence, using his non-augmented hand to hold his skirt up and away from all the dirt, grime, and jagged edges that could possibly mar the garment that Hongjoong manically slaved over for two hours. The climb to the top rail is methodical and feels sluggish. Eventually, he reaches the top rail. Carefully, he grasps one of the pointed pikes to balance himself and eyes the path of descent. 

The cyborg takes a moment to collect himself and simply studies the landscape. Behind him sits the dockyard - row upon row of ships varying in size to speed-econ cruisers to sizable cruise vessels. ATEEZ is somewhere there, he figures, but a few too-large hulls block his view of his ship. They also block the view of the single watch tower - a short structure in the middle of the entire place - just as he’d planned. In front of him, the black depths of the water stretch to the horizon, seemingly endless. From what he’d discerned from intel, there’s another city across the water. However, given that Amagee’s sun has long finished its dip below the horizon, all Yeosang sees is black nothingness flecked with little stars. Yeosang traces his path - down the fence, along the bank to the east for about a half kilometer and then finally into an alleyway. 

He steels himself, allowing another minute of peace before starting his descent. While many would feel unsteady on the shifty pebbles of the bank, Yeosang strides confidently, more concerned with the hem of his skirt than his balance. A perk of having a cybernetic augment as opposed to flesh is the wealth of possibilities in regards to the augment’s capabilities. While Yeosang has no doubt he’s capable of outfitting his augments with extraordinary features, for this particular gig he opted to utilize something less showy. Sticking his augmented arm out, he hovers his hand above the fence’s railing, activating electromagnetic attraction in his limb to keep himself upright. It’s a trifle, really, and Yeosang wonders how the security of Tierrohada managed to make such a large oversight. Perhaps they’re haughty, he muses. Or perhaps they have little incentive to keep people out.

Yeosang ruminates on their reasoning as he sidles along the wet, pebbley bank until finally reaching solid ground. The cyborg happily hops into the alley between two neighboring buildings and toggles his vision as he ducks behind a trash recepticle. Thermal reads two small clusters of heat. Small critters, most likely. Save for that, Yeosang doesn’t detect any people, vehicles, or major machinery in the vicinity. Given that tourist curfew isn’t for another few hours, Yeo assumes that the area is likely dead. Visitors aren’t going to arrive at such a late hour nor will they be returning from their exploits quite yet.

A relieved smile lifts the edges of the cyborg’s lips, and he presses his left thumb against the ring finger of the same hand. A low buzzing signal fills his ears for a few moments, followed by a soft click.

“I’m outside,” Yeosang whispers, slowly advancing through the alley. 

“For real?” The captain’s voice filters straight into the cyborg’s ears. Yeosang had set up a connection shortcut for his comms into his fingers - another perk of being mostly mechanical.  Though his comm still needs to be in range, he can at least feed the signal into his augments and run it directly into his ears. “Holy shit, Yeo, you’re amazing.”

Yeosang’s smile widens, “Yeah, I know.”

The captain chuckles, “Shut up. Okay, where are you at, then?”

“Just touched down onto solid ground. In an alley right now. Gonna follow the beacon.”

“Alright. Stay safe and keep us updated.”

“No problem,” Yeo replies coolly, timidly sticking his head out of the alley and eyeing the street. Just as he thought - it’s deserted, nothing but dark shop windows and low amber street lights. The only place that appears to be open is the customs building, unsurprisingly. “I’m going to make my way to the estate.”

“It’s about twenty minutes walking. I don’t know what the streets are like at night, though.”

“From what you told me, it’s mostly pedestrian,” Yeosang says hushedly, entering the street. He swaps his vision field from default to data. The data view can show him a massive wealth of information at a mere glance, however given that things typically get crowded easily, he usually opts to only toggle on one or two paramters at a time. Prior to departing, Yeo linked up the ocular implants to the comm’s geolocation mechanism, making navigation seamless. He follows the virtual compass needle at the edge of his vision toward their beacon.

The cyborg speaks calmly, eyes constantly studying his surroundings, “I’m guessing things will come to life as I venture further inward.”

“Right,” Hongjoong says. “It’s a bit of a hike, though. Um- Is the dress fitting okay? It’s not too uncomfortable, is it?”

“It’s fine,” Yeosang replies with a laugh. “I feel very free. What’s important is that it’s convincing.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that. You look pretty. I bet you’ll be, like, the hottest person there.”

Yeo’s cheeks burn, “Ha ha, very funny.” He pouts.

“I’m serious!” The captain laughs. “You had me questioning my feelings about you for a sec-”

“In your dreams,” Yeosang cuts the other off bluntly.

“Wh- Wow. Okay, wow, you didn’t even think about it. I’m hurt.”

“Face it: I’m way too good for you,” Though nobody’s around to see it, Yeosang flips his holographic hair.

“Oof- Feisty,” Hongjoong growls exaggeratedly.

Yeosang winces, “Ugh. You know this is going directly into ear canals, right?”

“Wait, so you mean if I, like, make a sound really close to the mic-”

“Don’t you dare-”

“Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-” Yeosang imagines the captain’s got his mouth right to the comm as he aggressively rolls an R sound. The reaction that runs through Yeo’s body is visceral, an unpleasant twinge running up the base of his spine, shaking him up to his shoulders.

“Oh my god- Stop!” The cyborg demands a little too loudly. His head whips around, paranoid. Luckily, he hadn’t quite reached anywhere populated quite yet. Lowering his voice, Yeosang tells the other, “Okay, as fun as that was, I think I need to hang up. There’s gonna be people around eventually, and I don’t want them to think I’m crazy because I’m talking to myself.”

“-rrrrr- right- right, yeah, okay,” Hongjoong concedes.

“Alright. Like I said, I’ll keep you updated. Promise I won’t let you down.”

“Yeosang, you could never let me down.”

Embarrassed heat prickles the cyborg’s cheeks again. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to getting complimented like this. 

“Just be safe,” The captain says.

“I’ll be fine,” Yeosang replies. “Over and out.”

“Over and out,” Hongjoong responds before finally hanging up with a soft click.

Yeosang sighs. He turns a corner, and people start ambling into view. The cyborg takes a deep breath, clearing his mind of distraction and worry. He holds his head higher and pushes his shoulder out, chest forward, clasping his hands loosely in front of himself - like San told him. Gaze cast down, Yeo follows the red needle at the edge of his vision as it guides him toward their goal.

“Oh- Sorry, sugar” A broad, older woman apologizes to Yeosang upon bumping into him. 

Yeo makes a shallow, deferent bow and gives a dismissive wave. The stranger strolls away, arm in arm with a woman half her age. The flamboyant couple stride off, none the wiser to the fact that one of their party invitations had been relieved of them. Yeosang grins down at the luminescent slip of paper with twirling script outlining the place and date of “Yuqi and Lucas’s Engagement Celebration”. It’d been years since he pickpocketed anyone, but some skills never quite leave the repoirtoire. Even prior to his parents passing, Yeo had picked up the skill for passing amusement. It was something all the ruffians and urchins did at the time before the patrols and the crackdowns.

The more of Tierrohada Yeosang sees, the more the place shocks him. It so starkly contrasts from his home in the lower sectors, Yeo can scarcely believe it’s real at all. Compared to where he grew up, Tierrohada is like something out of a story book. All the pretty, quirky architecture, the gorgeous, colorful blooms everywhere - not to mention the people. Armed Coalition patrols don’t walk around with guns strapped conspicuously to their holsters. People don’t huddle around fire barrels for warmth nor is anyone pitching wares or scams on the sidewalk. When they walk, they all look so happy, so carefree - as if they don’t have a care in the world. They greet one another on the streets with smiles, hugs, and kisses. 

For some reason, the overt geniality and jubilance makes Yeosang want to meld into the walls. He didn’t mind being put in a dress, and hopping the massive, piked fence of the dockyard had been a breeze. It’s being among so many people - so many beautiful, glowing, joyful people - that makes his insides squirm. The idea that one of them may attempt to say hello to him or, even worse, give him one of those strange, hovering double kisses that appears customary, terrifies him.

Yeosang tries to remember San’s tips on postures, urging his body not to curl in on itself as he approaches the open gates of the Ambassador’s estate. It’s a grand, beauteous building, wonderfully symmetrical and glowing from within with lights. People queue at each side of the gate, invitations in hand, waiting to get waved in by the guards posted there.

Yeo makes sure to line up opposite the couple he’d pickpocketed. He takes in as much information as possible during his wait. The crowd is majority women, but a few posh men stick out here and there. One or two of them don Coalition dress uniforms - something that draws a frown out of the cyborg. Music echoes out from beyond the house, melding with the buzz of polite conversation among party guests. Yeosang doesn’t hear anything particularly interesting from the partygoers. Most of them are grateful for the young couple. They wonder about what the food is going to be like, what drinks they’ll serve, the music, and the decoration. A rather old sounding woman expresses disappointment that Yuqi was to wed a man. Some of his line neighbors comment on other peoples’ attire as well. Yeosang can’t blame them. The fashion is quite a sight to behold. Yeosang wonders if it’s always like this, or if the people of the city just really like to dress up. Garments vary from flowing and drapey to architectural and graphic. Some women don metallic numbers that fall over their body so fluidly that they appear to have been poured while others wear garments that seem to defy the laws of physics, colors popping from geometric panels. Their makeup is just as diverse and vivid, a veritable rainbow of gleaming body paints and brilliant pops of color.

Yeosang smiles to himself as he observes stunning outfit after stunning outfit. His outfit is plain due to necessity and time restraint. Knowing the captain, he’d have probably gone full out if he had the resources and time (“I wanted to be a designer for a hot minute,” Hongjoong said as he frantically turned a couple of white panels on the bias and stitched.) However, the cyborg’s plain appearance creates the ideal camouflage. Nobody’s eye will stray to the wallflower in white.

After what feels like forever, Yeosang is finally up in line. His stomach tosses as he shakily hands the buff guard his (stolen) invite. Never had Yeosang really thought of wearing a skirt - they always seemed impractical for working in the shop - but now he sees the merits of having one if only for the purpose of clutching it. Venting his nerves through his sweaty, white-knuckled grip into the fabric is actually rather soothing. And it is pleasantly airy.

He tries to suppress the sigh of relief that comes over him when he’s waved through without a second glance. Yeosang shuffles in, eager to blend in with the crowd initially. Guests are let into the main entrance of the estate and led straight back down a corridor, through wide double doors into a courtyard. Tent-tops strung with lights float over the courtyard, each massive fabric panel a different color. Ornately patterned rugs layer over one another, creating a “floor” for the festivities. Richly dressed people mill about left and right, chattering happily as a floating ampdrone hovering overhead blasts strange electronic music. While people converse in scattered clumps, a particularly large congregation of people are gathered toward the far side of the courtyard, under a sparkling purple tent-top. Yeosang guesses that the guests of honor are somewhere in the crowd, greeting guests and thanking them.

The cyborg keeps his eyes down as he advances in, constantly aware of the shifting of the needle in his peripherals. The needle turns around completely, pointing behind the cyborg, a confirmation of the captain’s information. It’s inside, in the part of the house through which all of the guests are being routed. 

Yeo surveys his surroundings, absentmindedly strolling toward a crowded bar. He presses his left thumb to his ring finger again.

“Buzz… Buzz… Buzz- click.”

“Yeosang?” Hongjoong’s voice feeds into the cyborg’s ears.

“Captain,” Yeosang murmurs quietly. “Can you hear me?”

“Perfectly. Why?”

“I’m in,” The cyborg informs his captain. “There’s music playing. A lot of people.” Yeo hears breath hit the reciever.

“Good job. Everything okay so far?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah,” Yeo replies. “Really well, actually. Kinda scary how well it’s going.”

“Don’t jinx it,” The captain half-jokes. Yeosang can hear the slight tinge of worry in the other’s voice.

“Right. Well, we got herded into the courtyard. I’m laying low. Gonna try to check for alternative entrances. Not a lot of guards visible…”

“Yeah, well, don’t let that fool you,” Hongjoong says. “That Yuqi girl is supposedly in the force or something. Assuming the party’s mostly friends or colleagues of hers-”

“They’re all trained cops,” Yeosang breathes out.

“Yup. So be careful.”

“Don’t worry, captain,” Yeosang replies. He toggles his vision to thermal. His immediate field of view is a swarm of crimson and yellow. It recedes into cool purple beyond the crowd, making it easy to spot anybody in the house. “I’ve got this.”

“Right. I- I know. Please don’t think I’m doubting you, I just- Worry-”

“I know.”

“Just get it done, okay? Then we can get the hell out of here. In and out, don’t talk to anyone.”

“Yes, captain, I know,” Yeosang whispers. “Trust me, I don’t plan on-”

“What are you drinking?” A voice loudly intonates right next to Yeosang’s ear. The cyborg jumps, releasing his fingers and gasping. Eyes wide, his head whips around, brows furrowed in pique and stress. “Whoa- Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to scare you.” The man flashes a wide, sheepish smile. 

Initially, Yeosang glances around to see who the guy’s talking to. When he realizes that the man is genuinely addressing him, it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to make an unpleasant face. He sticks with his wide-eyed expression, hoping he looks surprised and not terrified.

“So, you a champagne girl?”

Yeosang points to himself dumbly inquisitively. He’s normally not so uncouth, but his stress regarding his mission compunded with utter shock exacerbates his natural awkwardness with strangers. Yeo studies the man regarding him with a cheshire smile. The man’s classically handsome, Yeo supposes. Dark hair, light eyes that appear to be blue naturally, cutting cheekbones and a long, distinguished nose - the type that nobles in history books have. The most alarming thing the cyborg notices isn’t the way the man’s tongue flits out from between his lips or how his gaze wanders the lines of the other’s body liberally. It’s the Coalition dress uniform. An impressive amount of ribbons and rosettes adorn the breast of his jacket and shoulders. Planetary Infantry division, Yeo thinks. He’s not positive, but it’s hardly of consequence anyway. Coalition is Coalition, no matter how well tailored their uniforms may be.

Even worse: in this case, Coalition is eyeing Yeosang like he’s dinner.

“Or maybe you fancy wine? Wait- Don’t tell me,” The blue-eyed man grins, “Rosè.”

Yeosang opens his mouth to respond but clamps it shut immediately. His voice is a dead giveaway that he isn’t what he appears. Dedicated to the farce, he shakes his head adamantly instead.

“No?” The man, still grinning - why is he fucking grinning - narrows his eyes in a facsimile of playful teasing. “Don’t tell me you prefer ale?”

Yeosang shakes his head.

“Hard liquor, then? Or- Wait, what about something mixed? I think the lovely couple has a ‘signature drink’ for the night- oh!” He gasps, face lighting up. Maybe he saw someone he knows, Yeosang thinks hopefully.

“I love this song!” The guy says. He wraps hand around Yeosang’s wrist and starts dragging him toward the area that appears to be a dance floor. “Dance with me?”

Yeosang shoots the other a dirty look and shakes his head, pulling his hand. The man’s grip is steady, though, and he appears completely unshaken.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” He drags Yeosang through the crowd toward the dance floor. Yeosang’s mouth opens again, a scathing rejection at the tip of his tongue. Then, once again, he remembers his voice and his position. Telling a Coalition officer - a decorated one at that - to fuck off publically while surrounded by law enforcement is perhaps the most conspicuous way to get his ass whooped that he can think of. Yeosang grits his teeth, grasping at potential solutions to the thorn in his side.

Once under the colorful lights of the dance floor, the man pulls him close - too close. Yeosang’s skin crawls.

“Wait- I’m sorry, stranger, I never even introduced myself,” He steps back and bows exaggerattedly, extending a gloved hand, “Lieutenant Colonel Ezra Smythe. Forgive my brazen nature, I just couldn’t help myself. You are…” His eyes travel Yeosang’s body again, “Stunning. I’m here with the Mister, anyway. Don’t know the kid that well, but our families are acquainted.”

Yeosang hardly feels satiated by the half-assed “apology”. All it does is cause his guts to churn more aggressively. Yeosang doesn’t take the man’s extended hand. He wordlessly eyes the thing like it’s made of lava, praying the man’s ego takes a substantial enough hit that he fucks off.

“What’s your name?” The Coalition officer asks in a lilting tone. So much for that prayer.

The cyborg shakes his head, pointing to his throat. “I can’t talk” - he says nonverbally.

“Aw,” The older man coos. “Lose your voice? Poor thing. Are you sick?” He takes the liberty to press his palm to Yeosang’s forehead. “You feel like you’re burning up.”

With rage, Yeosang thinks.

Jongho frowns as he sees the silhouettes of the guards approaching again. He wonders if they’d been told to check up on ATEEZ every half hour or if they just did it out of boredom. The guys had been taking shifts to help Yunho “fix the ship”.

“What do we tell them now?” Jongho whispers to Yunho. The two of them had been hunched over the starboard hydraulics system of the loading ramp for the past minute.

“Tell them we need lubricant,” Yunho whispers stressedly.

“Wh- You want me to look those guards in the face and ask for lube?!”

“Wha- No, don’t ask for it, you tell them we need it, but, like we’re getting it from the ship,” Yunho huffs. “Nasty!”

“I am not nasty, I am simply conscious,” Jongho whispers back fervently.

“I think you’re a little nasty,” Yunho replies, holding his fingers up just centimeters apart. “Like, this nasty.”

Jongho smacks him, “Shut u-”

“Still working on the problem?” A voice bellows behind them.

Jongho bursts up and blurts you, “We need lube!” He flashes them a grin that he hopes does not communicate panic.

The guard’s eyes go wide, and the skinnier of the two coughs loudly. The broader one’s face wrinkles into a judgmental look. Initially, Jongho doesn’t understand why until he realizes the compromising position they’d been caught in, what with the younger standing upright with the canis bent over in front of him. His fear of seeming inappropriate realized right before his eyes.

“For the ship,” The youngest adds hastily, taking a big step away from the other to show that they had not been publically debauching one another. Yunho’s like a goofy older brother to him, and the mere thought of having such lecherous relations with the guy gives Jongho the creeps.

“How long will that take?” The broader guard asks impatiently.

“Well,” Yunho coughs, standing up, “That depends.”

The guards’ gazes shift from Jongho to Yunho, expectant. The canis’s tail sags slightly between his leg, and he coughs a couple of times.

“Depends on what?” The tall woman asks.

“Things,” Yunho says. “You know it needs to be the right- the right consistency. If it’s not slippery enough then, you know. We might have- might have problems.”

“Are you stocked with lubricant that is adequately slippery?” The broader woman deadpans.

“I’m going to check right now!” Jongho chirps, eager to escape the scrutiny of the lady guards. He bolts up the loading ramp, feeling almost no regret about leaving the humecanis behind. Yunho’s good with people, Jongho figures. He’ll be fine.

Jongho trots up the stairs and enters the living area. The second the door slides shut behind him, he lets out a loud, prolonged scream.

“They’re back,” Jongho groans, plopping on top of Wooyoung and San who’d been sitting on the couch together.

“Seriously?” Hongjoong rolls his eyes. He and Mingi sit across from one another at the kitchen table, a projection of their comm’s map projected above the table. They’d been watching Yeosang like a hawk the entire time. “What do they want?”

“The same shit they always want,” Jongho replies stretching across the siren and the older hume’s laps. “For us to go.”

The captain worries at his bottom lip, brows knit as he stares at Yeosang’s blinking beacon on the holographic map, “We’re not going anywhere until he’s back and we have our piece of the Compass.”

“How long is he gonna take, though?” San asks, a pout on his lips.

“Yeah,” Mingi adds sheepishly. “We’re running out of fake problems. Maybe we should leave him.”

Wooyoung grabs a pillow off of the couch and whips it roughly at the Venusian’s head. It strikes the target head on, eliciting a surprised yelp from the unsuspecting victim.

“I was kidding,” Mingi whines.

“You’re not funny!” Wooyoung scolds the other.

“What if one of us goes in after him?” San posits.

“Not a good idea,” Wooyoung shoots the other down swiftly. He turns to the captain, “Joong, should we call him again?”

“I dunno,” Hongjoong mutters, eyes never leaving Yeosang’s beacon on the projection. “He cut off all of a sudden, but- he’s surrounded by people. He shouldn’t be talking to us right now. Look, I’m worried, too, but we need to trust him. He’s easily the smartest out of all of us-”

“What about me?” Mingi mopes.

“ Easily the smartest out of all of us,” Hongjoong says again more loudly. Even though his worry is so immense that it’s damn near palpable, Mingi’s joke uncoils the visible tension in the captain’s body, just a bit.

(At least, Jongho thinks it was a joke. One never knows with Mingi.)

Though the youngest prides himself on his composure, even his stomach begins to knot as he watches Yeosang’s beacon blink idly above the kitchen table.

Yeosang searches the crowd. For what, he doesn’t know. An escape, perhaps. As the night ran on, the music ramped up into something more exciting. Consequently, the dance floor got denser and the Coalition officer? Clingier. At some point, shots were passed around and a striking woman - the Ambassador, it turned out - made a toast.

That was when Yeosang finally wiggled out of the Colonel’s grasp. He made a vague motion as if to excuse himself to the restroom and bolted. Thermals, on Yeosang scans the house again. All eyes are on the dance area and the lovely young couple. Even the guards, dedicated as they are, have their eyes trained on the party and not on the fringes. Yeosang notices a cool spot to the east side of the courtyard. It’s slightly askew from the direction his needle is pointing him in, but it’s the least populated in terms of guards. 

Swallowing down nausea from nerves, Yeosang presses himself into the shadows of the eastern doorway. The lock mechanism is a keypad, four characters. Easy. Given his limited time, the cyborg brute forces it. He presses his left palm against the panel, alphanumeric combinations reeling through his mind at a pace faster than the beat of a midge’s wings. 

Four seconds later, the lock clicks open. 

Yeosang slips in quietly and softly shuts the door behind himself. His vision swaps to thermal again, and he’s relieved to read cold in the immediate area. Swapping back to normal, he paces quickly through the halls, ignoring all other distractions. The Ambassador’s estate is a maze, but a logically organized one. Yeosang quickly discerns the grid-like layout. 

Sweat drops down his brow as he gets closer and closer. His stomach churns with nausea and nerves. He’s so close, he can feel it. 

He turns the corner to another hall and halts. A guard crosses in front of him from one hall to another. 

The disguised cyborg hides around a corner, pressing himself into the wall momentarily. He shifts his view to thermal again and peeks over his shoulder. The bright red shape plods onward slowly, walking through the hallway parallel to him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, a quick, steady beat as he waits. 

The red blob turns a corner and grows. It’s walking toward him. Yeosang takes a few steadying breaths, briefly assessing the situation. The guard is appears to be moving in a set formation. They’re coming toward him, and more likely than not they’re going to turn the corner and check the hallway he’s currently in. That’s his guess.

If he had somewhere to hide, the cyborg would test the theory just to be certain, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns the corner and walks quickly. He rushes, and suddenly his guidance needle whips quickly in the opposite direction.

Slowing down, Yeosang’s brows knit together, and he backtracks. The needle creeps back toward center until it’s perfectly west. Walking back even further, the guiding pointer begins shifting due north. Yeo does the awkward trot a few times, pacing back and forth until discerning that ultimately the beacon is, in fact, beyond the wall.

Yeosang steps back, toggling to normal view, and realization dawns upon him instantly when he finds himself in front of a door. It must be the way to the study Hongjoong told him about. A shadow shifts in the corner, and he instantly remembres that a guard had been due to route around rom that very direction. The cyborg bolts into the room, shutting the door behind him as quickly and quietly as possible.

Inside the study, everything is dark.

It’s dark and quiet and so, so serene compared to the boisterous party pounding outside. Yeosang takes a minute to savor the silence, heaving a relieved sigh and practically melting onto the floor. He didn’t realize just how stressed he was to be in that situation until partially removing himself from it. Though he still has a task to accomplish, simply removing himself from the bulk of the party fills him with relief.

Back in BH there were always lots of people (at least between patrols), but everyone minded their own business. They all had their own devices to tend to. Save for the street vendors people kept their eyes down. Nobody grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him places unless it was for his safety. People

“Thank god,” Yeosang whispers to himself. He wrings a hand through his hair, briefly distorting his projected locks, and picks himself up off the ground. Pressing his fingers together, he calls the ship again.

“Holy shit-! Yeosang, where are you at?” Hongjoong asks.

“I’m in the study,” The cyborg steps forward, scanning the dark room. He doesn’t want to turn on any lights and risk rousing suspicion. “Where did you say it was again?”

“Check the ceiling,” The captain tells him. 

Yeosang steps further in. He beams light from his ocular implants up above. There are patterns carved into the ceiling. Carved, golden vines twirl around recessed lighting. In the middle of it all sits a tiny fleck of wrought brass.

“There you are,” Yeosang mutters. “Found it,” He tells his captain.

“Really? Nice!” Joong beams through the line. “So, um, yeah I- I couldn’t get it out in time, but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yeosang chuckles. He scans the room for anything that might be of help. There’s a velveteen upholstered chair in the  middle of the room - likely the result of the captain’s attempt at retrieving the piece himself. He carefully climbs onto the chair and reaches his left hand out. Once again, the simple technological applications of electromagnets prove indispensible. He coaxes the charge through his fingers.

The brassy piece stirs, lurching in the direction of the cyborg’s hand. Initially it expresses reluctance as it jostles in place. It stubbornly clings to inertia until finally the provocation of magnetism is too much. Slowly, it drifts toward him, toward the glowing electromagnetic node at the tip of Yeosang’s forefinger. Yeo closes his fingers delicately around the node when it’s within reach.

Eyes trained on the piece, he toggles his vision for any initial information. 

The piece is… Mysterious. Data view simply returns “unknown” upon superficial composition discernment. Nothing about it is jarringly out of the ordinary. Sure, its carvings are strange and the shape peculiar. Yeosang can’t imagine that any sensible engineer would design a mechanism utilizing such ununiform shapes and sizes. It’s no thicker than a coin and cool to the touch.

Eager to leave, Yeosang slips it beneath his bustier, taking out his scrap replica. The carvings on it aren’t as distinct, and the shape is slightly off, but from what Yeo can gather, the study sees little use. It’s likely nobody would notice the difference, anyway.

“Okay, I’m gonna set down the replacement,” Yeosang whispers, ring and thumb still connected to voice comms. “Then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Nice,” Hongjoong heaves a sigh of relief. “Yeah, the guards are getting antsy.”

“Don’t worry,” Yeosang replies. He strides over to the displaced cloche where the original piece had been. Double checking that he is, in fact, holding his replica, he squats down and places it in the ring of clean wood where the dust hadn’t settled. “Five seconds and I’m gonna b-”

“Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-”

The door opens behind him, a large rectangle of light flooding the study from the entrance. Yeosang freezes. His blood curdles, and he collects himself, mind reeling with viable excuses and ways out.

“There’s my little wallflower,” A slurred voice lilts, tone thick and lecherous. Just the man’s voice alone exerts a heavy weight on the cyborg’s back, like a hand he wishes desperately wasn’t there. “Hm… For someone so seemingly meek your moves are bold.”

What the hell is he talking about? Yeosang stands up slowly after shakily replacing the cloche. He casts aside his veneer of politeness and gives the other an indignant look.

“The little game, wallflower,” The Coalition officer elaborates. “Nice implants, by the way. They suit you.”

Yeosang blinks confusedly for a moment before realizing that his ocular lights are still on. He turns them off, gaze darting away. The heat of anger and anxiety roil in his chest. He just needs to get out, he reminds himself. There’s only one obstacle barring him from a safe exit. Except that obstacle is a Coalition officer who refuses to respect boundaries. Amagee is an ally, and though they use their own forces domestically, one call to their good friends in the Coalition could spell ruin for ATEEZ’s crew.

Yeo keeps his head down and steps toward the door. The gentleman in the suit - Ezra, Yeosang recalls - shuts the door behind him. The room goes dark again. Yeosang’s eyes shoot up, squinting to adjust to the darkness. He internally chides himself for not having his night vision programming up to date - a mental note to be revisited later. Right now, he’s got more pressing issues.

“You’re different,” The officer remarks.

Yeah, Yeosang thinks. No shit. He moves forward, and the uniformed man takes a step toward him. The cyborg halts abruptly.

“Most of the women here are loud and obnoxious, but you...” Ezra looms closer, and Yeosang stumbles backward, reflexively repulsed. “You’re precious. Modest and quiet, like a lily of the valley.” The closer he gets, the sharper the stench of alcohol wafting off of him becomes.

Yeosang eyes the approximate position of the door and makes a break for it. He doesn’t have the time or patience to indulge the creep in front of him. The cyborg lunges for the door, but he’s caught quickly. 

In the meanwhile, the captain’s voice filters into his ears, “What’s going on?! It got quiet. Yeosang what are you doing? You need to get ba-” The feed cuts off. 

Hands grab Yeosang’s waist, swinging him around and slamming him into a nearby bookshelf. The sudden contact makes Yeosang wince, and he grits his teeth to suppress a pained groan.

“As much as I love the thrill of the chase,” Ezra says, hands fixed firmly on Yeosang’s waist, “It’s just you and me now, wallflower. You can stop playing coy, I know you led me here for a reason.”

Yeo moves, but a hand roughly grabs him by the shoulder, holding him firmly against the shelving. The cyborg’s face distorts with pain as the hardwood digs into his back. He struggles, but the officer is strong. The man closes the gap until he’s close enough for his breath to bounce off of the other’s skin. Yeosang clutches the shelves behind him in a vice, entire body tense.

He opens his mouth to mount protest but the other leans forward. Something about the proximity is arresting. Yeosang’s voice catches in his throat as the lech’s hands licentiously travel up his sides. A disconcerted shiver runs down his spine, and panic trickles into his veins.

It’s shock, he realizes. He’s in shock. He can’t fathom that this is happening. Of all the atrocities he’d experienced in his life, none had ever been so intimate in nature. They’d always been perpetrated by machines or illness, violent and surgical in their extraction of life. Faceless. This threat, though, has a face. He has a face and a voice and a gaze that is - even in the dark - so excruciatingly intense.

Yeosang freezes in place, eyes wide and mind blank. His thoughts struggle to gain traction, trickling through his mind like water through a sieve. He registers the sensation of hands pawing at him. One squeezes his shoulder while another callously paws as it pleases. Panic constricts the cyborg’s throat, pumping through the parts of his body with legitimate circulation. A hand roughly paws between his legs, and Yeosang gasps. He prays that the officer will leave him alone in lieu of the discovery, that the vile man will curse at him, throw him down and leave.

“Oh, so you’re different. That’s okay,” The man hums like a predator ready to sink its teeth into prey. “It’s no problem for me, wallflower.”

Do something!

Yeosang urges himself desperately.

Do something!

But he can’t. Shock has rendered him helpless, and his body barely feels like his own. Hot tears stream down his face as the brute pressed up against him blathers on about some nonsense. He pleads with himself, begs his body to act on its self preservation instincts. Instead it just seems to further shut down as if resigned. His chest heaves, struggling to find breaths through his constricted airways, and his vision begins to haze over.

Do something , he implores himself.

Why aren’t you moving? He asks himself. Why aren’t you doing anything?

“Craaaaaaash-!!”

Yeosang yelps, dropping onto the floor as the door to the study slams open. He cowers as the lights flicker on, straining his vision.

“Hands off of her!” A woman shouts.

“Now, hold on just a minute-”

“Zzzzzt-zzzzt!!” The distinct electric snapping of lasers cuts the air of the room. The body that’d been blocking Yeosang’s view drops to the floor, unconscious, and Yeosang scrambles away panickedly. He clamps both hands over his mouth, scarcely holding back the scream of terror that so greatly wants to rip through his lungs. Through his tear-blurred vision he makes out a cluster of forms in the doorway. Two appear to approximately match while another sticks out starkly - probably dressed for the party.

“Ugh,” The well-dressed woman scoffs, lightly kicking the now unconscious Coalition officer on the floor. When Yeosang manages to clear his vision, he sees two uniformed Tierrohada guards and a pretty woman with fringe and burgundy lipstick. She’s got a gorgeously crafted one-shoulder lace number on, but what’s more eyecatching is the hefty laser gun in her hand. “See this is why we can’t have nice things.” Her nose scrunches in disgust at Ezra. “Invite everyone, they said, she’ll get more gifts they said. Ugh . Disgusting.”

Yeosang wishes he could feel relieved, but he can hardly feel secure when he’s essentially been cornered by the three armed women. Apparently, he looks as manic as he feels, because the shooter’s expression immediately softens upon meeting Yeosang’s eyes.

“Oh- Sweetie,” Voice low and sweet, she tentatively takes a step around the felled officer and gestures to her guards. The women in uniform peel the drooling man off of the ground and drag him away, leaving Yeosang and the other alone. Yeosang gulps nervously. “Are you hurt?” 

Yeosang can’t muster a response. He merely returns with a teary-eyed expression. His mind is still reeling, struggling to catch up to the present.

“Hey,” The woman says, “Listen, my name is Minnie, and I’m Ambassador Soojin’s Secretary of Security. That guy’s gonna face harsh, harsh punishment because we take that shit seriously here. I promise: you have nothing to be afraid of anymore. You’re safe now, alright?”

Yeosang nods numbly still not quite caught up.

“Okay,” Minnie nods. “I’m gonna stay with you for a little bit. Do you need to get up and walk around? Get out of this room? Or would you prefer to stay here?”

Yeo just huddles his knees close, body very, very gradually coming down from the sharp peak of his anxiety. 

“We’ll stay here, then,” Minnie interprets the body language aptly. She picks up the billowy skirt of her gown and daintily lowers herself onto the ground, a couple meters away from the cyborg. Her gaze sweeps across the room, occasionally resting on the cyborg - subtle discernment. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence as Yeosang’s body deflates, fatigue slowly taking the place of distress. 

“God, there’s a lot of old shit in here,” Minnie mentions casually. Yeosang giddily grasps onto the distraction, following the woman’s eyes. 

There is, in fact, a lot of “old shit” in the study, as she says. Dust coats the knick knacks, making them look old enough to be artifacts. Strange art pieces and little statues intermingle with print books on the wooden shelves.

“Yeah, no wonder nobody uses this room,“ Minnie says. “No windows and all this old shit. Y’know, the Ambassador’s estate has been around for centuries. Of course they’ve added to it, remodeled and stuff, but they say the original structure’s been around for a while. Would not surprise me if some of that stuff ended up here. You can tell this room’s old- I mean, who wants to study in a place with zero natural lighting?”

It’s clear she’s prattling to distract Yeosang. It’s not entirely effective, but the effort is appreciated. Minnie gets up and walks around, tracing her hand along the spines of old books and murmuring. She makes up purposes and stories for each little bit and bob. “I think this is a two-headed cat,” She laughs, picking up a little abstract statue. “And this… This one is-” She coughs as the action kicks up a small cloud of dust. “-this one’s a dust encyclopedia.” (Yeosang very nearly stops frowning at that one.)

“Now this one right here…” Minnie bends over and squints at the cloche with the floating metal piece. For a second, the tension returns to Yeosang’s body, squeezing him from inside out. What if she somehow notices something is wrong? 

 “I- I can’t even make anything up for this one.” She snarks.

Yeo’s shoulders slacken with relief, and he sinks further toward the floor. After making up a few more exaggerated stories before finally giving up and leaning against the desk.

“Hey,” Minnie says, regarding Yeosang once more. “Are you hurt?”

Yeosang clenches his skirt tightly, tense with the limelight once again turned onto him. Nervously, he shakes his head.

“Okay, good,” The Secretary nods. “Can I get you anything? Food? Some water?”

“I just wanna leave,” Yeosang mutters. He gasps softly, pressing his lips shut tightly. Fuck. His voice is a dead giveaway.

“I can get you an escort,” Minnie responds coolly, not missing a beat.

Yeosang shakes his head fervently.

Minnie furrows her brows, “Are you sure? I mean- Trust that Tierrohada’s streets are the safest in this galaxy, but I want you to feel safe.”

Yeo nods fervently. Minnie purses her lips, contemplating the other’s answer for a moment.

“Okay,” She says finally. “If that’s what genuinely makes you most comfortable, I’ll honor it... I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“U-Uhm Yeo- Yeo...Nna- Yeonna,” Yeosang chokes out, face reddening. Surely this time, she’ll note that his voice is about three octaves deeper than it ought to be.

“Yeonna… Unusual, but cute. I like it,” Minnie comments, a kind smile blooming across her features. “You’re… Not from around here, are you Yeonna?”

Yeosang shakes his head.

“You with the Mister?”

Yeosang nods, as it seems the most likely cover. Thankfully, Minnie doesn’t demand any sort of elaboration.

“Well, Yeonna, at least let me see you to the door. May I?” Minnie gestures toward the open door of the study.

Yeosang nods, using the bookshelves to help hoist himself up. Anxiety stubbornly lingers beneath his skin, leaving an impression of ill unsettlement in his body. Even so, he huddles himself closely, clutching his bodice to assure that the thing he’d made it his mission to collect is still secure. 

Head down, he follows Minnie through the halls of the estate, back to the front door and out the front yard. Yeosang hears Minnie making smalltalk with guards and staff on their trip out, but he doesn’t really listen. All he can think of is ATEEZ. He clings to the thought of his crew with a vice, sapping every bit of comfort he can from his fondness. It does little, unfortunately, to mitigate the perpetual panic that’s now sunk into his bones.

“Alright, Yeonna,” Minnie says once they’ve reached the front gate. The city streets feel immensely quiet in contrast to the lively festivities just beyond the front of the estate. “Now, are you sure you don’t want an escort? It’s really no trouble at all.”

“I’m sure-” Yeosang starts. He coughs, quieting his voice to a whisper. “I’m sure.”

Minnie grins at him warmly and glances around before lowering her own voice, “Then I’ll bid you farewell and wish you a safe return to your ship. Though, Yeonna, I want you to know that- I don’t know where you’re from, but you are always welcome and safe here in Tierrohada. All women are. You don’t need to hide your lovely voice, so speak freely if you’re so inclined moving forward.”

“O-Okay,” Yeosang croaks out. He doesn’t really care. The sentiment is well and good, but his mind is elsewhere. Home. He wants to go home. To the ship. To familiarity and comfort. “Thank you,” He turns on his heel, just barely hearing Secretary Minnie’s genial goodbye. He waves in her general direction and power walks away.

The second that the estate is out of view, he breaks into a run, eager to put as much distance between himself and the estate as possible. A loud, ringing tone fills his ears halfway through his trip, and he yelps, ducking into an alley and folding over himself. His chest heaves with strained, panicked breaths as his head whips around in search of the source.

“Briiiing! Briiiiiing! Briiiiing-”

It takes Yeosang a shamefully long few minutes to realize that the ringing in his ears isn’t some blaring alarm or Coalition patrol siren. He hesitantly presses his thumb and ring finger together, wincing as a cacophany of voices fills his ears.

“-ere you are!” “Where have you been?!” “Are you okay?!”

Apparently, the captain is on speaker. Usually, Yeosang would be happy to indulge the antics of his shipmates, but his nerves are frayed and he wants nothing more than to be off the planet Amagee. 

“I’m on the way,” Yeosang says tersely. “I have to go.” He disconnects the line quickly.

The rest of his trip is a blur of dark alleyways and amberlit streets. The population recedes as Yeosang nears the dockyard. Even so, he’s still hyperaware of every silhouette and shadow stretching across sidewalks and flitting between the alleys. Occasionally, the acute fear spikes that he’d been followed - that a guard or a wretched Coalition officer is on his tail. Logically, he understands how silly it is. He watched the man get dragged away, and his thermal sensors pick up nothing more meaningful than a few rodents. In spite of what his rational mind understands, his intuitive imagination runs amok with worst case scenarios.

Yeosang races across the rocky bank at the back of the dockyard and scales the fence swiftly. His skirt snags, a loud ripping sound cutting through the relative silence of the night. He doesn’t care, jumping down from the top and letting his mechanical legs bear the brunt of the shock.

Finally, ATEEZ comes into view. Yeosang sprints to the silver vessel, flooded with relief when he catches sight of Yunho’s wagging, blond tail.

“Oh thank god,” Yunho says with a grin. “Wait- You-” He lowers his voice. “You got the piece?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang replies, winded from his rush to the ship. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He rushes in straight past Yunho. The confused canis scurries after the cyborg, tail wagging. Yeo beelines for the ramp control console and pounds the pad to start raising the thing.

“Yeosang?” Hongjoong’s voice echoes from the top of the stairs. “Holy shit you’re back. You got it?”

“Yes,” Yeosang replies. “Everyone’s on the ship, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yunho says.

Wooyoung follows the Captain, “Yeosang! You’re back! Good job!”

“Welcome back, Yeosang!” “Did you get the piece?” “Hi!” Jongho, San and Mingi quickly follow.

“What should we do with it?” “Do you think we can just stick it in?” “What’re we gonna do with it?” “I’m curious, too.”

Yeosang’s eyes widen at the sudden bombardment. His shipmates clamor to him, and where he felt cared for before, he starts to feel suffocated. Yeosang’s heart hammers against his chest - it’d never adequately quieted following his encounter with the disgustiong Coalition officer. 

“You did well, Yeosang!” “Seriously, you’re a life-saver.” “We owe you so much!”

“It’s- It’s really not a big deal,” Yeosang murmurs. He backs up toward his workbench.

“It is, too!” “Don’t discredit yourself!” “We missed you!” “We love you.” “What was it like at the party?”

The party. Why did they have to mention the party? Yeosang grimaces just thinking of it.

“Wait, your dress…” Hongjoong notices. He frowns. “Yeosang, are you okay? Did you fall or something?”

“It’s nothing,” Yeosang responds. He sticks his hand beneath his neckline and withdraws the piece. “I got what we needed.”

A collective gasp sounds out from the crowd, and the captain steps closer.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong’s face brightens into a wide smile.

“Yeah,” Yeosang replies. “Um, we should get going, though. You said they really want us off planet, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joong mutters, clearly distracted by the piece. Entranced, almost. He reaches out for the brassy metal fragment without warning, and Yeosang flinches, stress spiking in his chest again. His grip on the Compass piece slips, and it floats out from his grasp.

Everyone watches as the node floats up, almost lazily at first. Yet again inertia and perhaps age inhibits the thing. Its ascent is initially sluggish, and the crew simply lets it float up, mesmerised. Something within the piece awakens, though, and it suddenly zips through the air, toward the door leading up.

“Wh-” “Oh, shit!” “Uh-!” A few curses echo across the crew as they watch the Compass piece zoom away with wide eyes. Yunho is the first to give chase, followed by Mingi and Hongjoong. 

“I’ll get it!” “Oh, fuck, not again!” “Don’t worry, we’ve got it this time!” “Wait for me!” “We’ve gotta lift off, too.” “Yeah, let’s go…” Wooyoung, San and Jongho quickly follow. 

Just as quickly as the hurricane of voices had rolled in, it thunders away, captivated by its newest distraction. Though Yeosang’s fascination with the Compass is typically all consuming, he’s not in typical form.

A shower.

That’s what he needs more than anything.

A goddamn shower.

He rips the holographic node out of his hair, and the projected curls immediately fade. Just as he steps toward the stairs leading up, a voice echoes down.

“-ait, we gotta get Yeosang and go up to the bridge!”

The cyborg freezes.

The bridge is a small, tight space. That never bothered him before, but currently the thought of sharing such confined space with six other people overwhelms him. He’s still getting used to living with others after so much time in solitude. After the events of the night, the idea of being so near people - of all of them loud, raucous, yelling, touching, grasping - he simply can’t bear it. Feet appear atop the steps, and Yeosang panics, beelining for the first place he can think of to hide.

Heart pounding against his chest, he runs to the first visible door - the brig, and presses himself against the wall. No longer able to contain himself, Yeosang slides against the wall and drops onto the ground. Sobs wrack through his body violently.

It’s been so long since Yeosang cried - let alone like this. He forgot how much the sensation hurts, how sobs rake sharpened claws across the lungs and strangle a person from inside out. Fresh tears drop down his cheeks as he tries to quieten his own blubbering with a firm hand over the mouth. He can’t control them. That’s the most horrible part, he realizes. To know that no amount of meticulous engineering, no amount of logic or ration, can assure complete control.

Yeosang’s cries echo down the metal hallway until exhaustion diminishes them into muted sniffles. He remains, letting the cool draft that perpetually runs through the brig to dry his tears.

After minutes of silence, a voice finally permeates the relative silence. Not his, though.

“Y...Yeosang?” Seonghwa timidly peeks out from between the bars, eyes wide and tone concerned.

Shit.

Talk about an oversight.

Yeosang bemoans his thoughtlessness. Normally he wouldn’t make such a stupid slip-up, but his mental state is compromised. Yeo wipes his wrist roughly across his face and sniffs loudly.

“Yeosang, are you alright?” The blond asks, scooting up to his bars.

Completely and utterly defeated, Yeosang just shakes his head. He admits defeat. He admits that he isn’t alright.

Seonghwa’s brows knit together, “Your clothing… Yeosang did they do this to you?”

“H-Hm?” Yeo grunts.

“Did they- those people- did they do this to you? The crew-”

“Wh- No! I mean- N-No, it’s not like that,” Yeosang gasps. He sniffles, wiping his eyes. He picks himself up off the ground and hesitantly approaches the side of the other’s cell. The barrier of the bars provides reassurance, safety. “They dressed me up, but I-” He sighs heavily. “That’s not why I’m upset.”

Seonghwa’s visible tension relaxes, and his voice softens, “...Wanna talk about it?”

Does he?

Yeosang weighs the pros and cons. He contemplates the merits of secrecy and talking it out. Seonghwa is… Interesting. Beneath his haughty exterior, Yeosang suspects there’s a genuinely sympathetic human. Seonghwa is fairly neutral to Yeosang - neither overtly offensive nor excessively affectionate. Speaking to Seonghwa would assure an outlet without being constantly confronted by pity. Seonghwa also can’t touch him. He has no agenda save for perhaps boredom or authentic care to hear out the cyborg, and he certainly wouldn’t be motivated to tell any of his shipmates.

“Your perspectives can be quite narrow-minded,” Yeosang says frankly. “And I’m not exactly in the mood to be judged.”

“I- I won’t judge you,” Seonghwa promises.

“You don’t know that,” Yeosang says. “And you have a terrible poker face.”

The blond lets out a wry chuckle, “Whatever happened to you, it can’t be worse than what I heard from your lovely crewmates this afternoon.”

That pulls a laugh out of Yeosang. How could he forget? Seonghwa got a front row seat to Wooyoung and San’s two-person shitshow earlier that day. God, that feels so far away. Mere hours feel like weeks.

Yeosang steels himself with a sigh, sitting down again across from the other’s cell, “I had to… Infiltrate somewhere in disguise. Hence the…” He gestures to himself.

Seonghwa nods, pressing his lips together.

“Apparently I was pretty fucking convincing, ‘cause some Coalition creep took the getup as an invitation to- to-” Yeosang inhales sharply. The memory’s too fresh, and he feels stupid for having overestimated himself. He tried to reopen a wound that hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet. Tears rush to his eyes anew. Before Seonghwa’s imagination can run wild, Yeo rushes to tearfully elaborate, “He just put his nasty hands on me. Nothing- nothing to-”

“It doesn’t matter how trivial it seems. He violated your space, and that’s disgusting,” Seonghwa adds sympathetically.

“I just,” Yeosang wrings a hand through his hair, another tear dropping down his cheek, “I just-” His voice presses, his tone strained and quiet, “I froze- I fucking froze-”

“Yeosang…”

“I just- I let it happen. I just stood there and I- I let it happen-”

“You didn’t let anything happen.”

“I’ve seen so much shit, but for some reason I- I-”

“You were shocked, Yeosang.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t want to presume how you feel, but I can’t imagine otherwise.”

“I mean, maybe, but- but I shouldn’t have- I was just terrified even though I could’ve- I could’ve-”

“But nothing,” Seonghwa’s voice somehow manages to be stern yet warm. Almost paternal. “Someone violated you. It was their choice to inflict it upon you. You were victimized by a malicious individual. An individual that I hope got what’s coming to him.”

Yeosang replies, “Yeah, he, uh- the Tierrohada guard bailed me out. I’m very grateful they were- they were nice. Stunned him and dragged him god knows where.”

Seonghwa nods, “From… From what I know of this place, they’re very hard on crimes of that nature. Especially on foreigners.”

“God, I fucking hope so,” Yeosang mutters, wringing a hand down his face. His nerves haven’t dissipated - not by a long shot - but he does feel lighter after telling someone. 

The cyborg and the prisoner lapse into comfortable silence for a while. There’s nothing between them save for a few sniffles and sighs. Yeosang studies the placated platinum blond to distract himself. Seonghwa hadn’t even questioned the authenticity of his words. He listened, believed, provided sympathy and reassurances.

As uttered by a famous blond in an ancient fable: “curiouser and curiouser”.

Yeosang wonders if it’s personal or if it’s time in the cell that’s so impressively smoothed out the petty officer’s rough edges. The man had never been particularly hostile to Yeosang. However, the others can’t say the same. Is it personal, then? Or is he merely clinging to the source of his most meaningful human interaction in the past weeks? Yeo tries to recall the proper timeline of his captain’s exploits. It’s been around a month since they embarked.

Yeo’s recollection shifts to earlier in the afternoon with Wooyoung and San. Ultimately, the two did come to terms. Seonghwa regarded the moment with a fairly nonchalant tone. Is that to mean he… Didn’t mind? Was he amused by their antics as opposed to resentful? Did he help?

As they typically do, Yeosang’s thoughts once again ramp up into a busy, crowded cacophony. Normally, he’s happy to ruminate, theorize and reflect. Not now, though.

“I’m going to excuse myself,” Yeosang says with a sense of finality, hoisting himself off the ground. “Gonna take a long shower.”

“That’s a good call. I assume I won’t be seeing you for awhile, so, rest well,” Seonghwa says softly.

“You, too,” Yeosang replies. He starts toward the door but stops, turning over his shoulder to leave make one last observation. “Seonghwa?”

“Hm?” The blond grunts, scooting toward his bars again.

“I think, after all of the observations I’ve made… That they’re wrong about you.”

“What?”

“While I don’t doubt your capacity to be utterly repugnant toward my crewmates I think you’re… Kind,” It feels strange to attribute the word to Petty Officer Park Seonghwa - a name passed around with vitriol at the dinner table and across the cabins.

Seonghwa’s blue eyes widen with surprise, and his face flushes. 

He starts, a stuttered thanks, “I- Yeosang thank y-”

“You’re wrong about them, too, though,” Yeosang interjects frankly. “I think it’d be interesting if you would all give one another a chance.”

Seonghwa lets out an incredulous exhalation. He doesn’t answer that, coiling in on himself and crossing his arms. Closed off. Defensive. Resistant. 

“Goodnight, Seonghwa,” Yeosang says before disappearing through the brig door. The bottom level is quiet when he emerges. He’s grateful for the brief peace before returning to his noisy, obnoxious, excessively doting family. He feels readier now, and of all people on the ship to thank for that, he has Petty Officer Park.

“Hey,” Hongjoong flashes Yeosang a wide grin as he finally enters the bridge. After the Compass piece went rogue, it got stuck in a light fixture in the kitchen. Joong decided to keep it there until Yeosang finished. They had bigger priorities, anyway - like finally getting the fuck off of Amagee. Though they’d gotten kicked off, guns and fleets of angry police weren’t involved. That counts to Hongjoong as progress!

“Hi,” Yeosang replies. He looks tired. Joong frowns. His little recon mission probably took more out of him than the captain anticipated. The cyborg did have to climb a fence and the round trip is about six kilometers on foot.

“You enjoy your shower?” Joong laughs. “Took you long enough.”

The cyborg doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed somewhere distant yet vague.

“You alright, Yeo?” Hongjoong asks concernedly. In all the fanfare and general commotion, he hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to the cyborg one on one. He looks slightly better than he did before - fresh and clean with a post-shower glow. However, he’s uncharacteristically distracted. His gaze flits about busily and his fingers fidget.

“Huh- Wha- I’m fine,” He responds quickly. 

“You just look a little… Tired is all.”

“Probably some smudged eyeliner,” Yeo shrugs.

Hongjoong eyes the cyborg dubiously but doesn’t opt to breach further. He’s not a pushy type, and now is hardly the time. Joong takes a deep breath and tries to suppress the massive grin that wants to stretch across his face.

“So,” He turns to the cyborg, “You ready to see how the piece is gonna install?”

Yeosang brightens up at that, the gears in his head finally visibly turning. He grins and nods, looking around.

“Where’s the piece?” He asks eagerly.

“It, uh, ended up caught in a light, but Yunho’s got it down- Right Yunho!?” Joong barks down the open door to the stairs.

“Yup!” The canis shouts back up.

“You know our ship has intercom, right?” Yeosang asks with a smirk.

Joong smirks and shrugs, “What’s the fun in that?” Yeo rolls his eyes, but he’s got a smile. Good.

Yunho trots up the steps, hand clasped into a tight fist and tail wagging, “I’ve got the uh- the, um- the thingy!” He laughs.

“You can just call it a part,” Hongjonog says jovially. He gestures for the other to hand it over, and Yunho trots over happily. He opens his hand, and the piece immediately flies out.

“Wh-” “Yunho-” “Not again!” The three in the bridge shout. Yunho apologizes sheepishly as Yeosang jumps after it. It zips near Hongjoong and he grabs at it, figertips just barely grazing the engraved brass. The captain lunges after, frustration flaring in his chest.

“Clink!”

The oblong metal piece flies right into the glass globe atop the Compass. Everyone halts.  As if chasing something sentient, Hongjoong holds a finger up and mouths out “wait”. The others nod, eyeing the Compass component intently. Joong tiptoes over to the nav console upon which the Compass sits. Slowly and with as much stealth as he can muster, he reaches for the piece.

Without any physical contact, it shifts, and Joong chokes on the breath he’d been holding so as to not disturb the thing. He carefully reaches again, and as if to taunt him, the piece wiggles away. Indignant, Hongjoong huffs angrily and yet again grabs for the thing.

His jaw drops as he watches the glassy surface of the Compass’s globe glow at the point of contact. The blue light twinkles just beneath the brassy piece, and little by little, the crystal clear sphere parts ever so slightly. Though its surface had always felt solid to touch, the way the light creeps apart is remnant of a barrier or shield. The blue melts away like ice, creating a hole just big enough for the tiny oblong piece to slip through. As soon as it does, falling into the chamber, the light glimmers brightly, and just as quickly as it’d come, it fades.

Hongjoong watches the piece with rapt fascination as it floats about in the globe as if lost at first. It drifts about, reacquainting itself with its surroundings. Magnetic force draws it down into the base. The oblong piece finds its spot, flawlessly slotting into its distinct place. A ring of light surrounds the piece, and the brassy engravement melts into the base. When the light fades, the Compass still appears very similar to its previous state. There are still dozens of little slots, knicks, nooks and crannies unoccupied. However that one, miniscule portion of the base appears just a slight bit more whole, more complete.

And something about that makes Hongjoong’s heart beat faster.

“It knows exactly where it goes,” Yeosang remarks in awe.

“But what does that mean?” Yunho asks. “Like- What does it do? Does that help anything?” He squints, leaning in to inspect the Compass more closely.

“I… I don’t know,” Hongjoong replies. He leans forward, fingertips grazing the glassy surface of the Compass’s globe. It feels cool and smooth to the touch. There’s no give, no heat or indication of it being anything other than what it appears to be on the superficial level. But much like everything else about the enigmatic device, there’s more than meets the eye. The captain tilts his head, running his fingers along the glassy globe, silently asking it to tell its secrets.

“Z-zzt!” A tiny discharge sparks inside the clear chamber and Hongjoong jolts back.

The trio’s collective jaws drop, and they crane their necks to take in the vision projected before them. It’s a map all the same. Bigger than ever before, the projection takes up near half the bridge, stretching high and wide above them. They practically swim among the stars charted out before them.

A beacon blinks over toward the south side - by where Yeosang is standing.

“Yeo, do you see that?!” Hongjoong gasps, pointing to the blinking point in space.

Yeosang blinks confusedly, pupils darting around until settling where Hongjoong’s finger lands, “Wh- Oh, shit. Those are coordinates, too.”

“Wait-” Yunho points to Hongjoong, “There’s one next to you, too!”

“What?!” The captain’s eyes widen and he spins around to find the alleged point. He finds it - a shining beacon among the stars and planets, marked and labelled with a lengthy set of coordinates.

The canis gasps, “Wait- Wait is this showing us two points?”

“Hongjoong!” Yeosang says from across the Compass. “Do you see a trail extending from yours?”

“A trail?” Joong had been so awestruck that he hadn’t thought to look at anything else. His focus was more on memorizing the coordinates than anything else. He checks around, inspecting for anything resmebling a trail. “Wait, I see it!” Hongjoong extends his finger, tracing the faint, dashed line. It arcs behind him, over the Compass and back toward Yeosang. The cyborg - who’d apparently had the same idea - hesitantly touches his fingertip to Hongjoong’s. 

The points connect.

Yeosang quickly withdraws his finger, “These two connect. Wait- but there’s more.”

He’s right. Hongjoong practically goes cross-eyed trying to follow all of the little trails jutting out from each beacon. Unfortunately only the two points mapped appear in the projection. Everything else fades into nothing, unable to fit within the scope of the map.

“Fuck,” Joong breathes out. “Do you think this-” He waves to the projection, “-is all for that?” He waves his finger across the Compass, pointing out numerous other little hollows and unoccupied ports. 

Yeosang shrugs, “I- I dunno. It’s plausible. I mean- That’s what led us to Amagee, right?”

“Right,” Hongjoong nibbles on his lower lip as thoughts and ideas whir through his head. He glances at the cyborg, happy to see that he’s in full theorycrafting mode, too.

“Well, for now, we’ve got two to start with,” Yunho remarks, looking between the two. The canis raises his brows expectantly at his captain. “Any idea where we wanna start?”

“Oh- God- I don’t know,” Hongjoong utters. “I wanna get some information on them first. Let’s just get the coordinates tonight and worry about analyzing them tomorrow. We seriously need to start laying low, and we’ve also got fuel to consider. But, as of right now,” He wrings a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long day.”

“Definitely,” Yeosang nods in agreement.

“Got it, captain,” Yunho nods. “I’ll note the numbers in the PC.”

“Thanks,” Joong crosses over to pull Yunho into an affectionate half-hug. “I’m gonna go check on the other kids before turning in.”

“Right.” “Got it.”

Hongjoong gives them a wave and heads down the stairs, a smile on his face. The aformentioned “kids” are doing well. Wooyoung and San chatter on the couch while Mingi brews himself a cup of tea. When the captain asks about Jongho’s whereabouts, he’s informed that their youngest has already turned in. He laughs at that tidbit. Jongho tries so hard to come off as cool and mature. He is, naturally, of course, but even so, at the end of the day he’s the one nodding off first.

In light of the day’s whirlwind of events, a lot of things got forgotten. The stress of stalling out their time on Amagee and watching Yeosang’s beacon made something very important slip the crew’s mind: meal time. After assuring Yeosang’s safety, the majority of the crew finally sat down to have a proper meal (save for Yeo himself who decided he’d rather shower for an hour). 

One person, however, fell to the wayside. Though Hongjoong had promised himself on at least three separate occasions that he would never do this again - he finds himself filling a tray yet again with a basic meal for Petty Officer Prettyboy.  He makes a few comments about it to quell his inquisitive crew before descending the steps to the bottom level and entering the brig. The small jail block is always so eerily quiet in comparison to the rest of the ship. Hongjoong wonders if it’s purposefully insulated to create the effect. He doesn’t ruminate on the idea for long, though.

A familiar head of platinum blond hair juts out from the bars, brows raised inquisitively. The curious expression quickly squashes into displeasure upon sighting the delivery of his meal. Hongjoong supresses an eyeroll. Joong unceremoniously sets the tray with rice and chicken on the door’s slot, practically stuffing it through the opening before taking his regular post across from the cell.

The petty officer sets it on the hovertray in his cell and perches on his cot to eat. Or to stare at it - since that’s what he’s actually doing. Hongjoong glares at the other, irritated. He’s tired, and tonight is not a night in which he feels like sticking around longer than need be. The petty officer is usually eager to finish meals fast in the captain’s presence. Tonight is, apparently, different.

Hongjoong’s irritation weans the more he looks at the petty officer. Something about him is… Off. He’s distracted and in spite of how many hours it’d been since his last meal, he eats at a sluggish pace, slothfully lifting little morsels into his mouth. How could he possibly not be hungry? Is he sick?

The captain bites back the impulsive inquiry regarding the other’s state of health. He doesn’t care. What does it matter if Petty Officer Park’s body decides to shut down? It’s not like disposal of the body would be difficult. The guy’s declared MIA anyway, and the extra food would be a nice perk. No, he reminds himself. He doesn’t care one bit. And he’s probably imagining the uncharacteristic expression of dejection on the man’s face. It in no way makes his insides squirm. Hongjoong credits his lack of sleep for doing so - making his stomach coil strangely and imposing expressions that aren’t there on the other’s face.

“There a reason you’re so slow?” Hongjoong asks, subtly prying.

The blond takes a prolonged moment to acknowledge the captain with a look. Those azure eyes are piercing, and unlike most of their encounters during which they’re eager to shy away, they stare. The PO’s gaze bores into the captain relentlessly, something strange swimming behind the eyes. It’s not anger or resentment, not bitterness or even self-pity. Those eyes are… Searching, Hongjoong thinks. It’s like he wants something but is too prideful to ask. (It’s not as if the captain would grant it - whatever it may be - anyway.)

“The siren hasn’t killed his man, I presume?” Seonghwa says dryly, eyes back on his plate.

Joong chuckles wryly, “Would you give a shit either way?” He grimaces. “Why do you just assume San’s gonna kill everyone?”

“You weren’t here this afternoon,” The petty officer says dryly. “The two played out quite the drama.”

Hongjoong narrows his eyes, irritation bubbling in his gut. That’s right. Prettyboy was there. He was present for the entire thing. In fact, he probably heard everything. Sure, Joong told him to “conflict mediate” - but he was joking. Did the other take him seriously? Or was he just too damn bored to refuse the temptation to eavesdrop?

“Then you’ll know they resolved things,” Joong replies, clipped.

The blond rests an elbow on his hovertray and stares again. His gaze presses down heavily on the captain’s shoulders, making him wish he could disappear into the walls or something. Seriously, what does the other want ?

“Well, I don’t know if resolved is the most apt way to put it,” The blond shrugs. “I mean, if you heard what they said. Especially the poor siren-” He tuts his tongue.

Hongjoong grits his teeth, “You don’t give a shit about my crew, so why don’t you drop the subject?”

The platinum blond quirks an eyebrow, and his suspiciously pink, perfect lips tilt up ever so slightly. The smug expression enrages Hongjoong more. Not wishing to indulge the other, he tries his best to school his expression into something unbothered.

“ Oh . It's driving you crazy, isn’t it?” Petty Officer Prettyboy chuckles. 

“Excuse you?”

“Not knowing what they said and knowing that I do,” The blond smirks. The provocation is frustratingly effective. Heat flushes the captain’s face, creeping up his neck and across his cheeks.

“As if you would have any use for that information.”

“I’ll give you a play by play if you let me out,” The blond purrs, entirely too satisfied with his meager one-up. Hongjoong narrows his eyes at the other. He can scarcely tell when the prim blond is being serious or not anymore. He may very well be genuine, willing to leverage anything he can just to get what he wants. Hongjoong can’t fault him for that - he’d likely do the same. However, unlike the other, he’s not in the disadvantaged position. He’s by no means obligated to indulge the petty officer.

“Just eat,” Hongjoong growls. He forgot why he doesn’t come down to the brig anymore. It happens far too often, seriously. He goes a while without being in Prettyboy’s presence and then forgets why he absolutely cannot tolerate it. The two haven’t erupted into a loud argument, at least. He counts that as a sort of improvement towards the fortification of his nerves.

Thankfully, the blond doesn’t make any further comment. Hongjoong watches the other eat without a word. His paced has picked up a bit, but it’s still slow. Sullen, almost. He eats like someone who’s depressed.

Hongjoong blinks confusedly, shocked at his own meandering thoughts. He slaps his rhetorical wrist. No, he urges himself, don’t think about him like that. Don’t give him feelings. He’s a traitorous bastard who damn near got not only ATEEZ’s crew killed, but hundreds of others, too. He deserves everything that’s coming to him and more. He deserved to get shot dead in that warship. The only reason he wasn’t is because…

Because Hongjoong saved him.

The captain frowns.

The silence between them thickens into something profoundly uncomfortable - at least, Hongjoong thinks it is. Seonghwa looks the same as he did before. Glum, with a faraway look in his eyes. By the time the blond finishes, it feels like an hour has passed. It’s really only been minutes. He sets his tray onto the ledge in his door, and it slides through quickly. Hongjoong grabs it, happy to leave.

Though he means to depart, he lingers. Seonghwa’s eyes follow him. His gaze isn’t scrutinizing or scolding. Hongjoong’s lips quiver, nearly saying something. But what? He has nothing to say to the man who’s nearly gotten his crew killed multiple times. 

“What is your real goal?” A voice penetrates the silence, hushed and mum. 

Hongjoong’s eyes widen in shock, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Hesitantly, the platinum blond approaches his bars and asks again, more loudly, “What is your real goal, Kim Hongjoong?”

He used the name again. That always delivers a shock to Hongjoong’s system. The other doesn’t spit the name venomously, either. The PO’s tone is neutral if not wavering.

“My real goal?” Hongjoong huffs disdainfully. He owes the other nothing - not an explanation, not even a response.

“Yes. Your real goal,” The blond says, his cerulean eyes yet again drilling determinedly into Hongjoong’s. “You do have one, don’t you?”

“What- D’you fancy a laugh?” Hongjoong’s brows furrow. “Since that’s what you do every time I say it.”

The petty officer’s lips press into a thin line. Surprisingly, there isn’t any patronization or condescension about his demeanor. He appears stressed more than anything.

“As phony as I think your ‘mission’ is, you lead a crew of real people, captain,” There it is. The tone. The acidity. The anger dripping from the word “captain”; the syllables dropped at the other’s feet with malice.

“I’m well aware of that,” Hongjoong clutches the tray more tightly. “What I’m not aware of is why you give a shit.”

Seonghwa shudders slightly, red rising up his neck and settling on his cheeks, “Those people believe in you, you know. As- as ill-founded as that belief is, it’s genuine. They rely on you, they have faith in you. They listen to you.” He shakes his head, disappointed.

“And?” Hongjoong responds crossly. 

“Your mission may be a fantasy, but their lives real. You’re throwing them into dangerous situations for- for what?”

“I’m- I’m sorry, I’m what-?!” The captain throws his tray down angrily, trudging up to the bars and sticking his face close. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Just because they bring you food sometimes doesn’t mean you know shit about them.”

“I know a lot more than you think,” The blond says. “Learned a lot today alone thanks to your little stunt.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, backing up, “My ship, my crew, my methods.”

“Ha-” The petty officer laughs mirthlessly. “Your ship, your-” He laughs again. “That’s precisely the dangerous shit I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“You stole this ship and declared yourself fucking captain like a child playing make believe. You can call yourself whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean you know shit about being a real captain.”

“And you do? Last I checked you were a petty officer. Pretty sure that’s a few ranks below captain.”

“Oh, please-”

“No, you please. Are you bored? Attention starved? Why do you always have to- have to stir shit? Stop acting like you care about my crew when we both know you don’t.”

“And you do?”

“What?”

“Do you ? Because I’m beginning to wonder. I always knew you were full of shit. Now I’m starting to wonder if you even know half the shit that goes on between these people who look up to you. If you even care.”

The accusation drives into Hongjoong’s chest, ire drilling into his heart and dripping into his gut. It’s unfair. It’s so fucking unfair. How, he wonders, how the hell does Petty Officer Park always do this? How is he so damn observant that he manages to find the weaknesses? Is it dumb luck? Or the result of hours of alone time - too much time to contemplate just where to aim the shot?

“You don’t know anything,” Hongjoong snarls, his voice a low, angry hum. Heat rushes to his eyes, but he adamantly keeps the wetness at bay. “You’re sad and alone. You resent the fact that I’m surrounded by people who care about me and each other.”

“And you deserve none of it. What the hell have you done to prove that you’re worthy? You might call yourself yourself a captain but you don’t know the first thing about being a captain.”

“What? Because I’m not wearing a uniform? Because I don’t make my crew salute me and kiss my ass every time I walk by?”

“Why don’t you ask yourself: why does your crew feel more comfortable discussing their issues in the damn brig than they do in your presence?”

“I-” Hongjoong’s mouth snaps shut. Guilt churns in his guts. He made the decision to lock the other two up for their own good. He may be a leader, but he’s no therapist. They ended up resolving things adequately, anyway. His presence would’ve likely hindered it. But not because he’s a bad leader.

Right?

“I don’t need to listen to this,” Joong mutters weakly. He lets out a sigh, backing off and wringing a hand over his face. He starts walking away.

“Hey!” Seonghwa calls after him stubbornly. 

“I’m not listening-”

“Your crew speaks highly of you, you know!”

Hongjoong halts. What was that? A compliment?

“If you’re as fucking kind and caring as they say, then prove it,” The blond huffs. 

Joong doesn’t bother turning around, facing the door as he responds, “I’m not just gonna open that door and let you stroll out to prove how ‘nice’ I am.”

“I know,” The petty officer responds somberly. 

That makes the captain take pause. Going against his determination, he glances at the other over his shoulder. From the door, all he can see is half of the other’s face, cheek squashed against the bars. There’s a shadow cast over his eyes - be it from a trick of the light or from within the officer himself, Joong doesn’t know.

If he knows, then what’s his angle, then? Hongjoong wonders. What incentive does he have to encourage Hongjoong to be kind to his crew - a crew of people that he himself doesn’t care about one bit?

Hongjoong doesn’t have a response for that. He walks back out into the loading bay, ignoring the fact that he’d left a tray discarded on the floor. Like hell is he going to turn back to grab the dishes now. He’s too bothered, their conversation dragging up a multitude of ugly emotions. The feelings toss around in Hongjoong’s stomach - regret, inadequacy, uncertainty and irritation. 

Tired.

That’s what he is.

He’s tired.

Hongjoong chalks up the sick feelings stewing in his gut to tiredness. Not to the other getting into his head - because he doesn’t. The petty officer’s words are empty. The pathetic ramblings of a desperate man clinging onto his last hope to drag down someone he sees as better than himself. Empty words whose only origin is ignorance.

The captain drags himself up the steps and into his room. A couple more have retired to bed, and he throws out a few mumbled good nights to those who remain. His shower is quick, and he’s ready to pass out the second his head hits the pillow. 

It’s vexing, though. 

Try as he might, he can’t shake the image of the prisoner’s face out of his head. It sticks to the back of his mind as if burned there. Wet blue eyes stare into the captain’s very soul until exhaustion finally takes over, pulling him into a dreamless sleep.

Yunho wakes up in an instant, ears picking up a soft noise outside his door. His senses are just as much a burden as they are a blessing. Enhanced hearing can be a boon, but it also results in many nights of fitful sleep. He stirs at the small provocation, tossing and turning with the stubborn hope that he can fall back asleep.

But he knows himself better than that.

Busy body, busy mind - that’s how Yunho would describe himself. If he’s roused, he finds it difficult to lapse back into restfulness. Sometimes, he just stays in bed. But the noise outside his door sounded like steps, and curiosity pulls the canis out from under his sheets.

Yunho yawns, stretching languidly as he approaches his door. A shiver runs up his spine as the pads of his feet make contact with the cool metal beneath. He makes a note to - at some point - get more socks or slippers. Soft shuffling stirs in the kitchen. The activity draws the humecanis in.

As he turns the corner, familiar scents waft into his nose. Green tea. The faint smell of cleaning chemicals. The slightest hint of sweat underlining an almost floral, fresh smell. 

Mingi.

The Venusian hadn’t turned on the main lights, serving himself by the low ambers kept on only for nighttime wayfinding. Yunho frowns, descending the steps slowly. Mingi pauses, glancing up at Yunho. He gasps, jolting slightly and nearly spilling his tea in the process. A bit of hot liquid spills over the brim of his cup, and he mutters curses sheepishly under his breath.

“Sorry,” Yunho apologizes as he approaches the other’s side. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Did I wake you?” Mingi asks with a frown, head low.

“No,” Yunho lies. The sound did technically wake him up, but if it wasn’t Mingi, it could’ve been anyone. People constantly pass by, clumsily plodding to the bathroom or sneaking around to grab a late night snack. “Just couldn’t sleep. Mind if I join you?”

“You’re always welcome to join me,” Mingi replies softly. “Want a cup?” He gestures to his steaming mug of tea.

“Yeah- Wh- I can make it myself!” Yunho stutters as the Venusian turns to grab a mug for Yunho. 

“Let me,” Mingi waves the other away casually. “It’s really no trouble.”

Yunho’s face heats up, affection warming to a low simmer in his chest. He’s so cute and kind. Yunho accepts the other’s offer. Normally he’d insist on doing things himself, but he knows how important it is for Mingi to do stuff like that. As much as he likes to feel cared for, the Venusian doesn’t like to be patronized. He likes to feel like he’s being helpful. Sometimes, something as small as making a cup of tea helps him. Yunho can see it, the tiny glimmer of confidence blooming across his face, the easing of tension, the little smiles.

“Thanks,” Yunho says fondly. He leans heavily against the counter, heart pitter-pattering against his sternum. His tail swishes happily as he watches the other serve him. The giddiness falters, though, when he peeks at one of the refrigeration PCs. It’s the middle of the night. What’s Mingi doing up?

Yunho’s lips purse into a pout, “What are you doing up at this hour?” He asks the other.

Mingi’s brows raise in surprise, and he chuckles, “Just, um, kinda got up.” A dip in his tone betrays something more. Yunho concludes: he’s having the nightmares again. He’s noticed over the past weeks that they come and go. They seemed to disappear for awhile, but after breaking out of the Stray Boyz stronghold, they quickly returned.

“Is anything bothering you?” Yunho ventures, inspecting the other’s face.

Mingi shakes his head in denial, “No, nothing in particular. Just-” He shrugs, “-it’s interesting.”

“What is?” Yunho asks. He graciously takes the mug that the Venusian slides over tohim. 

“Everything,” Mingi responds. “Iunno, I just… Tierrohada… Amagee… It’s a nice place, don’t you think? Too bad we couldn’t stick around.”

“Mingi, I told you, you could’ve taken the deal-”

“That’s- That’s not what I meant,” Mingi rushes to quell the canis’s doubts. His plush lips turn down into a deeper frown, and guilt pangs in Yunho’s chest. He just wants Mingi to feel safe. Tierrohada would’ve been safe. It would’ve been more than safe. Mingi probably would’ve been happy there. He would have thrived easily. The canis’s tail sags slightly at the ruminations.

“I wouldn’t think any less of you, you know,” Yunho responds. “None of us would have.”

“It’s not that,” Mingi says. “I didn’t want to stay, but…” He nibbles on his lower lip, searching for the words to express himself. From what Yunho knows, it’s fairly new to the former prince - expressing his emotions openly and honestly. The canis gets the feeling that it’s still not quite Mingi’s forte, but he’s trying now that he’s able to. “I guess I just can’t imagine what it’s like for them.”

“Who?” Yunho asks. “The people of Tierrohada?”

“Yeah,” Mingi nods. His shoulders slump a bit. “They’re so… So open. So forward thinking. I was serious when I spoke to the Ambassador: I envy them. What a privilege it must be to have been born there.”

Yunho bites his tongue, holding back his impulsive comment on Mingi’s immense amount of privilege. The Venusian, always surprisingly astute, gasps softly.

He stutters, “Not that I- I don’t mean-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yunho shrugs. Mingi can’t help the life he was born into any more than Yunho can. In truth, Yunho’s a lot luckier than many. He’s certain that many would envy his circumstances. 

“Sorry,” Mingi says anyway. He heaves a sigh, lifting his mug to blow on the steam. Things go quiet, and Yunho can’t help feeling bad for souring the mood. He didn’t mean to! He wonders if his tail gave him away or if he had a look on his face.

“Wanna sit down?” The canis asks to cut through the awkward silence.

Mingi nods, following Yunho to the kitchen table. The two sit side by side, and Mingi takes the liberty to lean over, resting his head on Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho tries to ignore the fast swishing of his tail and continue conversation.

“It’s okay, you know,” Yunho says. “To wanna be born somewhere else. I guess I can’t imagine the hardships of being a prince, but if you say it’s shitty, then I believe it.”

Mingi worries at his lower lip, “It was far from shitty from an objective standpoint.” He keeps quiet out of consideration. “No, there were lots of nice things about it. Like…” He stares at the steam dancing up from his plain silver mug. “How, when I got out of bed late at night, I would bully the governess - like, my babysitter. She always tried to get me back to bed, but I’d just cry until she took me down to the kitchens. She’d have them make this creamy drink with eggs and cream and milk and, like cinnamon. It was warm and super yummy, and it would just, like, take me right the fuck out-” He laughs. “I’d be just gone.”

Yunho chuckles. He pictures young Mingi pouting, tugging at the skirts of some Venusian castle staff.

“Guess that’s why I just go for the tea now,” Mingi says. “Nothing like a hot beverage on a sleepless night.”

“You’ve been having quite a few of those lately,” Yunho murmurs. Mingi simply shrugs at that, squeezing his mug without actually bothering to drink its contents. “You know, you can talk about it,” The canis tries.

“It’s fine,” Mingi counters.

“Mingi, I’m serious.”

“Yunho, so am I,” The Venusian sits up, looking the canis in the eye deliberately. His face is still slightly swollen from what sleep he’d gotten, and the neat style he’d worn for their con has long since fallen, long bangs flopping into his face and waves curling erratically among the straight hair.

What a sight to behold, Yunho thinks. As much as Mingi tries to shake that princely image of his, Yunho can’t help thinking about it. Who else but royalty could possibly look so divine when they’d just risen in the middle of the night for a cup of tea? His sharp jaw and high cheeks, gorgeous, distinguished nose and plush lips, his natural luminesence catching in the low nightlight - they captivate Yunho.

He only wishes he were worthy of the other. It’s not that Yunho thinks terribly of himself. He knows he has some strong assets, some less so. But is he worthy of Mingi? That’s something he still debates inside his head. Even if he did feel good enough for the other, he thinks it would be bold to presume that Mingi would ever want him. Sure, there have been moments, but they were just that - moments. Yunho can tell the other likes attention. He thrives with it, drinks it up, basks in it as if it’s the sun, and Yunho is all too happy to give it. It’s a mutually beneficial thing. Not assurance of mutual interest, per se.

“If you didn’t know us, would you have stayed on Amagee?” Yunho blurts out the question. He isn’t sure why.

“What?” Mingi’s brows knit together, confused and surprised.

“Would you have stayed if you never knew us? If you somehow managed to escape and make it there?”

Mingi leans back, dark eyes searching the canis, “That’s… An interesting question. Why do you ask?”

Yunho wishes he knew.

“I just- Iunno maybe we can- we can someday go back when this is all past us. Maybe you can go back,” Yunho mutters. “I think you’d fit in there is all.”

“Do I not… Fit in here?” Mingi’s tone drops. Another spear of guilt pierces Yunho’s chest. He scolds himself: how dare you make things worse! Now he feels unwanted!

“That’s- that’s not what I’m saying,” Yunho sputters, face burning. He hopes the other doesn’t notice in the low light. “I just- I dunno. It seems like the people there are… Likeminded to you. You seemed to get along with everyone. Y-You and the Ambassador and all that. You really hit it off.”

“Wait- The Ambassador?” Mingi tilts his head, probably more baffled.

Yunho’s brain goes into a tizzy, struggling to recover the fragments of his thoughts into something cohesive and sensible, “I just like that for you, you know? I’m glad you got to actually talk to someone about- I dunno, things you care about. Things that matter that are all… Intellectually stimulating and stuff.” He fidgets with his mug.

“W-Well, I mean, it was mostly an act,” Mingi scratches his nape, embarrased. “To be honest, I’m just glad I was useful, to be honest. Didn’t think I’d be worth much on a ship with a noble upbringing.”

“C’mon, Mingi, you’re more than table manners and big words,” Yunho nudges him with his elbow. “I mean, shit, I’m just a pilot. Who’s tall.” He laughs at himself. “I get the captain stuff off of high shelves sometimes but with you on the ship, even that job is no longer as secure.”

Mingi’s tension finally breaks, and he lets out a snort, his face scrunching cutely, “Don’t discredit yourself. You’ve got a bit of height on me.”

“Yeah, well,” Yunho shrugs. “That’s about it.”

“Yunho, that is not it ,” The Venusian says.

“I dunno,” The canis protests. “I’ve lived with myself for, like, two decades. I’d like to think I know myself pretty well. It’s alright, I’m okay with me.”

“Yunho…”

“I’m serious, I- I’m fine. Really. Just like you should be fine with yourself. More than fine. Because you’re more than fine. You’re, like, awesome,” Embarrassment ignites another wave of heat down Yunho’s body. He doesn’t know how his fat mouth led them into an awkward place of ineloquent affirmations.

“Yeah, well, you’re more than fine, too,” Mingi says with a little grin. He knocks his shoulder into Yunho’s with a soft chuckle. Though the compliment is minor - barely a compliment, really, and more a reciprocation of kind sentiment - it affects the canis immensely. Yunho’s heart does about twenty flips in his chest before bursting into dozens of butterflies flapping around excitedly. He urges himself to calm down, schooling his voice into something cool and definitely not devastated by how hot and cute and nice his seat neighbor is.

“I mean, maybe,” Yunho tries to act nonchalant, eyes focusing on his mug like the (probably lukewarm now) liquid is the most fascinating thing in the room. “I’m no beautiful, educated Ambassador with perfect lips and twinkley eyes, though.”

Mingi chuckles, “Hmm, yeah, she was really pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Mhm,” The butterflies in Yunho’s chest promptly drop dead into his stomach at that. They shrivel up and die, turned to dust by noxious jealousy filling his guts.

“Like, super gorgeous,” Mingi adds.

“Yeah.”

“Well-spoken, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the way she smiled was… Kind of cute, wasn’t it? For someone so pretty to also have a cute side is- just, wow.”

“Yeah,” Yunho chokes out his response, grip tightening on his mug. He literally walked into this. He paved the path and invited Mingi to walk on it. Now, he feels like a complete dumbass for playing himself like that, jealousy stewing in his stomach as Mingi lavishes compliment after compliment on the gorgeous woman from before.

“She’d definitely be a dream girl, for sure.”

“Definitely,” Yunho nods.

“But… I dunno.”

“Huh?” The canis’s strained definitely-not-dying-of-jealosy expression drops in utter confusion.

Mingi shrugs with a smirk, “I mean, she was definitely great. A ten out of ten, but… She’s not my type.”

Yunho’s jaw drops. Not his type? If Ambassador Soojin - described by the Venusian as a ten out of ten - isn’t his type, then what the hell is? How high are they if she’s not enough? 

“She’s not?” Yunho asks dumbly.

Mingi shakes his head, grin wide and eyes peculiarly mischievous, “Nope.”

“Do I dare ask what is?”

The Venusian chuckles, “I guess I like… Tall.”

“Oh.” It makes sense, Yunho thinks. Mingi is tall. Of course he would want someone tall, too.

“Brunette maybe… Short hair. And, I dunno I guess all my life I’ve been around posh, scholarly types I just… Have grown tired of them. To be honest, I don’t give a shit what someone’s pedigree is or how many certificates they have. I just- I want someone nice,” He worries at his lower lip, gaze finding Yunho’s. “Someone with a good heart who may not be the most educated or regal but is- is kind and honest.”

“Oh,” Yunho’s jealousy relaxes slightly, and his heart resumes aching with want and affection. It’s so sweet. Even after all he’d been taught, how he’d been raised a certain way, what Mingi wants more than anything is the same thing everyone wants. Someone to love him, to cherish him and care for him genuinely. A kind soul to share himself with. The butterflies in Yunho’s stomach reanimate, fluttering boisterously yet again. The canis gives the other a warm smile and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Mingi I- I…” He finds the other’s eyes and takes a deep breath. Mingi leans in, rapt attention fixed on the other. 

Eyes locked on Mingi’s, tone soft, heart thrumming from the sheer proximity, Yunho tells him, “I hope you find someone like that one day.”

Mingi’s attentive expression abruptly falls into something resmbling bafflement mixed with disbelief. Yunho doesn’t understand why the other would possibly confused. Had he not been clear? Of course he wants Mingi to find happiness some day!

“Yunho, are you fucking kidding me?” Mingi asks, dead serious.

Nervous sweat collects at the canis’s nape, “Uh- Wait- What? What did I s-” A rough force tugs Yunho forward, and suddenly his lips are smashed against the other’s. 

All thought entirely ceases for a couple of seconds due to the complete shock of it.

Is Mingi… Kissing him?

Yunho takes inventory of the physical sensations he’s feeling, and he determines that, yes, the Venusian is kissing him. Those plush lips are pressing against his while an arm wraps around his shoulders. Following the establishment of those facts is the rapid onslaught of bodily reactions. Electricity crackles inside the canis’s body, igniting a flame that burns him from his chest to his toes. His heart near ceases to beat and his breath catches in his throat. When reality genuinely dawns on him, Yunho doesn’t hesitate to act. He reciprocates the gesture, kissing in earnest, all the things he so determinedly held back pouring into the other. Their kiss begins fairly chaste - lips on lips, hands wrapped around a neck, shoulders.

The two - for their many good qualities - happen to severly lack in one thing as a unit: impulse control.

It’d been so, so long since Yunho felt this way, and to have the feelings reciprocated brings him a dizzying high he isn’t sure he’s known before. Things escalate, fast. Teeth gnash and guttural sounds leak out from between their feverish lips. At some point, Mingi ends up in Yunho’s lap, thick thighs straddling the canis’s legs, keeping him pinned in place on the chair. As if he’d want to move, anyway.

Yunho’s body actually shakes from the sheer intensity as the ministrations grow more carnal. He nips and bites, sucking swollen lips between his own, prodding between them with his tongue. The little gasps and whimpers trickling out from the Venusian intoxicate the humecanis. He drinks them up eagerly, wanting for more, wanting to figure out how to get more. Mingi ruts against his thighs needily all the while, clearly just as desperate (if not moreso) than Yunho. Yunho growls following a particularly delicious little whine leaves Mingi’s mouth, and his hands start to wander down the other’s sides.

“Click.”

Without warning, bright, white light floods Yunho’s vision. He damn near hisses, eyes sensitive and sore from the sudden intrusion. He unlatches himself from Mingi, blinking furiously until the smudgy shapes in his vision clear. When he comes to, a single, sleepy figure looms by the entrance to the kitchen.

Standing with a sleepy expression of judgmental annoyance is their lovely youngest, Choi Jongho. Hair juts out from his head in every direction, and the swell of his face exaggerates his already natural pout. 

Yunho blinks at him.

Jongho blinks back.

Mingi blinks at Jongho.

Jongho blinks at Mingi.

The three of them engage in a silent stare-off, and the awkwardness rolls in like a thick fog. Jongho’s mouth open, and Yunho winces, awaiting cutting remarks of disgust.

Instead of speaking, Jongho simply closes his mouth. He turns around and leaves without so much as a syllable.

Yunho and Mingi exchange wide-eyed glances, shocked and embarrassed for a few minutes.

Mingi’s the first to break, letting out a loud snort. Yunho follows, and the two rapidly devolve into side-splitting laughter. Mingi buries his face in Yunho’s shaking shoulders, loud, mirthful laughter tickling the canis’s collarbone. Yunho tries to cover his mouth as his tail swishes rapidly.

When breathing becomes painful, Yunho finally manages to stop. Wiping a tear from his eyes, he shakily whispers, “I- I think we should go to bed.”

Mingi picks his head up off of Yunho’s shoulder and nods, “Y-Yeah.” He flashes the canis another playful grin and adds, “The question is: who’s?”