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Renjun’s seen the footage. Because of Yangyang, the entire base has seen the footage. 

It’s pieced together from the security cameras placed around the base and the bodycam on Hendery—the medic who makes it to the Conn-Pod first. In the footage, the right side of the capsule sports a gaping wound, with the interior half-flooded. The first responder crew tries frantically to stabilize it while not accidentally drowning the pilots inside—if there are still pilots alive to save. If Renjun didn’t already know the outcome, he would have doubted it, looking at the damage taken by Cherry Techno. 

After a tense three minutes of maneuvering the boat through unstable waters, Hendery finally gets to the edge and a light mounted to his helmet floods the interior. The sight it reveals is not pretty. 

Inside, Jaemin is still strapped into his harness, but his side—from hairline to thigh—is concealed by dark patches of blood. Renjun used to never believe blood could be that color. When he pictured violence as a child, it had always been the bright red from cartoons. He knows better than that, now. 

Somehow, Jeno has managed to haul himself out of his own seat and half on top of Jaemin, where he’s deceptively calm in performing mouth-to-mouth on his partner. It’s awkward, because Jeno can’t get Jaemin out of his seated position, so Jeno must be using his own power to hover above Jaemin without crushing him. He’s so focused he doesn’t even notice that help has arrived. Maybe he thought that no one was coming for them. Renjun’s heard around that if Jeno hadn’t been able to get to him, Jaemin probably would have been dead before the medics even got there. 

In the footage, Hendery’s flabbergasted pause plays out before he and the rest of the First Response crew springs into action. 

This is the part that brings things too close to home for Renjun—Jeno doesn’t want to let the medics get close to Jaemin. He tries to grasp onto him, but is too weak for his hold to matter much. So when that doesn’t work, he begs. Begs them not to take Jaemin away from him, as if the moment they lose contact Jaemin will be gone for good. 

Renjun can imagine it—Jeno knows that Jaemin is alive, objectively, but the shared presence in his mind has gone dark. What replaces it is panic. Honestly, Renjun is impressed Jeno’s functioning at all. It must be on adrenaline alone. Literally—Jeno’s seriously-for-emergencies-only adrenaline and morphine combo has already been used by the time the medics see to him. 

Somehow, they make it back to base. Jeno sits huddled next to Jaemin the entire way back. It’s difficult to see in the dark lighting of the footage, but looking back on it, there’s a steady stream of blood falling from Jeno’s ears. So Jeno is pale, but of course, Jaemin is the one who truly looks like he’s dying. In the background Renjun hears Kun, Jeju’s Shatterdome Commander, talking, but Hendery’s bodycam remains fixed on Jaemin, and thus, on Jeno as well. Occasionally, a medic will attempt to get an accurate reading of Jeno’s vitals, but he brushes them all off. 

Sometimes, it feels like you can will your drift partner to get better. To Renjun’s eyes, that’s what it looks like Jeno is trying to do. 

The in-take team is waiting for them with two stretchers, but of course, Jeno bypasses the one meant for him in favor of race-walking alongside Jaemin’s as far as he can go. Jeno’s limp is noticeable, but the chaos of the fight, and the shock at losing Red Roulette, the base is in a panic and no one pays Jeno much attention when it seems like there are much more pressing issues at hand. Renjun has had this opinion for a while, but he thinks the base staff gives too much deference to the pilots. Sedate him , Renjun thinks furiously the first time he watches it. Don’t you see he’s about to crash? 

Hendery ends up on the other side of the stretcher, so his bodycam catches it all. The anxious line of Jeno’s mouth, the sluggish bleeding coming from the inside of his ear, a clear sign of neuro-overload that should have been caught, if Jaemin had not presented such a pressing emergency. 

Renjun doesn’t need the footage to know what happens next—he saw it for himself, when he stepped out of the door leading to the bowels of the base only the mechanics traverse, into the hallways leading up to the med bay. He saw Jaemin’s stretcher go through a set of doors that Jeno couldn’t follow through, and saw the man get reduced to the barest components of himself, just standing there alone in the hall. And he saw Jeno drop like a stone, too. 

-

But here’s the thing: Jaemin recovers. Jeno doesn’t. 

-

The engineering team retrieves the black box from Cherry Techno and learn the full story the next day, when Jaemin is recovering from marathon surgery and Jeno is in a coma. 

Renjun sits around a screen with Yangyang and the other mechanics as they comb over the data. After this, everyone will be doing double shifts to repair Cherry Techno, despite the fact that she doesn’t have anyone to pilot her. 

Cherry Techno and her sister Red Roulette responded to what amounted to a catastrophe: a double Cat IV Kaiju attack in the East China Sea. In the dreary afternoon, the alarms had raced through the base like a wildfire, and there wasn’t a single person inside the Shatterdome that didn’t watch with their breath caught in their throats. The battle itself began as expected for Jeju’s four prodigious pilots, Joy and Yeri, and Jeno and Jaemin, up until it didn’t. Everyone involved in the Jaeger program knew what happened next was an inevitability, all just being a matter of when. 

Both Kaiju were heavily injured, but Red Roulette went down when one of the Kaiju lunged at it without warning. Renjun can imagine the crunch the Conn-Podd made when it collapsed. At least they didn’t burn up in Kaiju Blue. But that was it—both pilots dead, gone, Jaeger unsalvageable and lost to the dark, cold ocean every pilot was on a crash course with, in the end. Cherry Techno finished off one Kaiju before it came down to a one-on-one, all out scramble for survival. The Jaeger’s signature red blade entered the second Kaiju, in exchange for giving up some positioning, leaving its left side vulnerable.

The base lost contact after the Kaiju side-swiped the pilot’s capsule, but were able to confirm the Kaiju’s death moments later.  

Fortunately, the Jaeger itself isn’t damaged much beyond that. And while they comb through the status reports, news comes through from the med bay. 

Long story short, Jaemin is going to be fine. The docs even go far to say they think he’ll make a full recovery. It turns out that the alarming amount of blood on Jaemin came from two non-life threatening head wounds and being scraped down his side, though ultimately the scrapes hadn’t been bad, either. There was just a lot of blood. The blow was enough to knock him out of the drift and unconscious, however, which meant that Jeno completed the herculean task of finishing of the Kaiju and piloting the Jaeger alone , damaged, and half-drowned, close enough to the base to be rescued. And while he was at it, he climbed out of pilots chair and delivered life-saving CPR. 

Everyone speaks about the last part in whispers. No one can believe it, but that’s what happened. 

Jeno is in a coma, but it’s a miracle he’s not dead. Most people would be, after that, but no one knows what state his mind will be in when he wakes up. If he wakes up. 

And another problem: the base is still totally defenseless. 

-

“It’s fucked, man,” Renjun hears Yangyang say in between the roar of the soldering iron. The two of them are strapped into safety harnesses, hanging far above the ground off the side of Cherry Techno, doing the little detail repair work automated machines can’t. It’s been six days since the attack, and emotions are still flying every which-way. Yangyang’s processing of the situation has resulted in a ridiculous excess of nervous energy, so basically, he can’t shut up. Fortunately, Renjun needs to wear ear protection most of the time. 

Renjun mumbles something noncommittal, just enough for Yangyang to think he’s listening. Jeno and Jaemin’s situation isn’t something Renjun wants to think about too hard, lest he fall down that, well, rabbit hole. What he can do now is focus on putting this Jaeger back together to the best of his ability and to keep his hands busy so his mind stays still. 

Yangyang taps him with his shoe. At first, Renjun assumes it’s just another attempt to get him to listen to the other boy, but Yangyang is increasingly persistent. 

“ What , Yang, I’m trying to work!” Renjun snaps. He’ll feel bad about that, later, but tensions are running high around the base. But when Renjun does look over, Yangyang only points up. 

Watching them from the observation deck, waiting, is Taeyong, head of Jeju’s Ranger program and living legend. Internally, Renjun sighs. He knew this was coming. He’s been up late every night since the last attack waiting for the call to come, but with the delay Taeyong lulled him into a false sense of security. 

For a once-in-a-generation hero, Taeyong’s office is small and cozy. His features are sharp and intimidating, and so is his glare, but apparently, Taeyong at heart is a big softy in a line of work where the kind tend to be the first ones to die. 

There are pictures on his wall, one of Rangers Renjun doesn’t know and presumes are dead, of children who might be Taeyong’s siblings and landscapes that might be his home. There’s one, too, that Renjun spots out, a tiny one, of Nakamota Yuta. The two of them were still active in Japan when Renjun was in China, and people were always bringing back stories about them. How incredible in action they were, how unstoppable.

In the end, it wasn’t even a Kaiju that put in end to the greatest duo ever put into a Jaeger, but meningitis. 

“You know what this is about, I’m sure,” Taeyong starts off. Renjun nods: that much is evident. “I hate to ask this of you, but you also know I have no choice.”  

Renjun doesn’t say anything to this, because it’s nothing he doesn’t already know. Taeyong can try and soften it in any way he wants, but it’s not going to lessen the pain what’s going to happen next will bring to Renjun. There aren’t exactly an abundance of trained, un-paired pilots laying around. 

“Jaemin has been cleared by med staff to test drift partners. You’re our number one candidate.” 

All the preparation in the world couldn’t have helped Renjun when the words finally do hit. He closes his eyes and tries to ride out the wave of emotion that washes over him, not unlike the sensation at the beginning of a drift. It’s been three and a half years since he last drifted with someone, three years since his turned tail and ran off to Jeju to be an engineer instead of a Ranger. 

Three and a half years since Donghyuck’s funeral. 

In their world, three and a half years is an eternity. But for Renjun, Donghyuck’s last words still ring in his ears like it was yesterday. 

The Shatterdome is in a tough, if not impossible, position. Jeju is a tiny base in comparison to the ones in Russia, Japan, and China. They don’t train much of their own Rangers, and the ones they do often get sent off to other bases. Not that it matters, because for the moment they only have one (currently non-operational) Jaeger to pilot. Kun has almost certainly asked for backup, but the program has been underfunded for years, there’s not a lot of spare anything to go around. Not Jaegers, Jaeger teams twiddling their thumbs with nothing to do, or even freed-up pilots.

Renjun’s stomach churns. Just the idea of drifting with someone else makes him want to curl up in his bunk and never come out. But like Taeyong, Renjun doesn’t have a choice. When he became a Ranger, he swore an oath. Playing engineer for a few years doesn’t relieve him of his duty. 

“When?” he asks. 

“Now,” Taeyong replies, and motions for Renjun to stand along with him. 

On the walk to the science division, Renjun considers Jaemin. Rolls him over in his thoughts. Ever since he arrived at Jeju he’d purposefully avoided getting to know any of the Rangers beyond their Jaeger’s and preferences. Unlike Yangyang, who at times seems to know everyone on base, Renjun’s stuck mainly to himself with the exception of a few other engineers. From what he’s heard, though, Jaemin is well-liked. Personable, sweet, funny. 

It reminds Renjun of Donghyuck, so he automatically trusts nothing about it. 

Jaemin’s body is still recovering, so there will be no spar on the mats in the training hall, no dialogue with fists instead of words. They’re skipping straight to hooking their brains up to machines and watching them whirl. It’s a shame, because Renjun feels like he could really use the rush of physical violence as an opiate for his frayed nerves. He has no confidence a drift of any kind is going to come together; not only because of his past, but because of his present, and how all the emotions of the past week still feel like a dark, tangled knot rooted in the hollow cavity of his chest. 

Things are more desperate than I thought —that’s what Renjun thinks as soon as he steps into the testing room. Jaemin is already there, slumped slightly in a testing pilot chair, and he only spares Renjun an uninterested, passing glance when he enters. A bandage is wrapped around the right side of his head, where all that blood was in the bodycam footage. His skin, at least, has regained its color, but overall he looks in no shape to be drifting or piloting a Jaeger. Neither of them are in a proper emotional state to be drifting, but it probably won’t ever get much better than this. 

Taeyong and Kun must be desperate, crazy, or both. 

Jaemin doesn’t fully look at him until Renjun is practically on top of him, shoving his hand in his face so they can at least properly meet before sharing brain space. And when Jaemin’s eyes do wash over him, all the activity going on in Renjun’s brain short circuits for a second because holy shit is Jaemin cute. Renjun feels like he’s fourteen all of a sudden. Then his lizard brain jumpstarts again. 

“Taeyong,” Jaemin drawls. His lips are smiling but his eyes are frosty. Renjun knows instantly those curled lips are weapons with murderous intent. “You know I like my pilots built, not pipsqueak twinks like this one.” 

Ok, Renjun thinks, this is definitely not going to work, because I’m going to kill him before we even drift.

“One more word,” Renjun fixes the other boy with a glower, “and I’ll rig your straps to fail so you break those perfect teeth of yours.” 

This response gives Renjun the enviable opportunity to watch Jaemin go through a chain of emotions, including incredulous and pissed, before settling someplace close to his default fox grin. “I change my mind, Taeyong, you’ve brought me a delightful present. A fun-sized one.”

“Please,” Taeyong sighs. “Both of you shut up. Rangers, take your position.” 

Renjun remembers his first drift, as clear as anything. He was so nervous, and so young . The Shatterdome in China was well-funded, prestigious, and bore a hefty cadet class, only a small percentage of whom were granted the honor of becoming full-fledged Rangers and dying at sea. Somewhere inside him, he already knew that the boy strapped in next to him in the Jaeger would be the one for him. Already, Renjun was mesmerized by Donghyuck, the brightest star in the cadet class. He’d just been happy to be able to bathe in that light. 

Even with the circumstances, a small portion of Renjun’s brain has missed drifting and is looking forward to doing it again. 

As soon as the neural handshake initiates, Renjun knows, just like he’d known with Donghyuck. He races through a hundred of Jaemin’s memories at onces and sees what’s there to be seen—how Jaemin hides all of his fears and insecurities behind a carefully constructed mask, because his emotions are the one thing armor can’t protect. He sees being picked in the middle of the pack at dodgeball. He sees skirting around being bullied by laughing along with the all the—literal—punchlines. 

Of course, the drift goes two ways. Jaemin sees Donghyuck immediately—there’s no point in trying to hide it. The stronger Renjun tries to repress it, the more likely it is they’ll get a RABBIT situation on their hands. Jaemin sees his desperate need to be respected, the spark of heat that flares his temper when people fail to be serious with him. His father laughing at him when he says he wants to be an airplane pilot one day. Having no friends growing up but his childhood dog.

Jaemin’s mind is not a warm homestead inviting him in for dinner by the fire. It’s not a magnet polar to his—though some drifts are like that, different yet matching puzzles pieces. But Renjun knows at once that this partnership is going to work, because in every crevice of Jaemin’s mind, Renjun sees himself. 

And then it’s over. They’re pulled to the surface suddenly, like scuba divers who ascend too quickly. Renjun’s stomach feels about as good, too. Despite their shared vertigo, Jaemin rips the sensors off his body with a violent fury, shoving himself up and out of the seat, distress rolling off him in waves, even when Renjun can still feel him rattling around in his head. Jaemin makes a beeline to the door and is out in record time. 

But Jaemin can’t stop anything—the sensors read 100%. Handshake successful. 

-

It’s not like Jaemin can hide from him forever. Sure, the other boy refuses to give up his bunk in the room he shares (shared?) with Jeno, but really, Renjun is glad for the silence. He was a child the last time he had a room to himself, and he finally gets one when he’s reassigned from the engineering block. Besides, it’s hard to be lonely when there’s another presence in his mind again, creeping around in the back. 

Because with Jaemin, the ghost drift is strong. Stronger than he ever remembers it being with Donghyuck, even though that was a trail Renjun had eventually followed all the way into the other’s bed. There are times where he reaches for something and it doesn’t feel like his own hand at all; even worse are the times when Renjun feels an unbearable pain approach, like the neighbor next door is wailing in the night. 

When that happens, Renjun presumes Jaemin is visiting Jeno. 

Though Renjun doesn’t see Jaemin in the cafe, or the hallways, or by their soon-to-be completed Jaeger, he still is fairly certain he knows where to find his newly minted co-pilot. It’s a small base—people talk—and what they’ve been saying is that Jaemin keeps up a steadfast vigil at Jeno’s bedside, doing everything from murmuring him lullabies to updating him on the news happening half a world away. Apparently, Jeno loves movies, and has a soft spot for celebrity gossip. 

The only place Jaemin chooses to be seen by Renjun is the training hall. Taeyong and the base doctors have got him on a brutal PT regimen, because Jaemin has no choice but to be prepared when duty calls. He’s a Ranger, a soldier, and that comes with duties. Jaemin knew what he was signing up for. But because Jeno is still alive, it’s difficult for him to focus on one thing. 

Undeterred by their drift compatibility, Jaemin tries his very best to ice Renjun out. 

Poor Taeyong has to babysit their training sessions together. Otherwise, Jaemin would just sulk and do exercises on his own, instead of building teamwork with Renjun like he’s supposed to. Despite what people believe, the drift doesn’t automatically make them amazing fighters. They have to put work into it, too. 

Jaemin’s behavior is to the point where Renjun begins to wonder if he somehow wronged Jaemin in a past incident he doesn’t remember—that’s how visceral and personal his anger feels. In a testament to their compatibility, however, Renjun remains just as stubborn. No matter how annoying Jaemin is, how selfish his pain makes him, the more he’s pushed away the more determined Renjun becomes. 

When they take up their sparring staffs, Jaemin looks at him like he’s not there. The first time, Renjun takes advantage of this and shamelessly beats Jaemin’s ass, accidentally hitting him for real a few times. Hey, he’s experienced! He knows how to not break anything. The effect is that at least when they’re facing off against each other, Jaemin is forced to actually acknowledge his presence, instead of trying to pretend that he’s Jeno. It’s pretty obvious that’s what Jaemin is trying to do, because most of the time Jaemin’s focus is a head above Renjun.

Sometimes, Renjubn doubts the test readouts. It seems impossible that they could be drift compatible. But then Renjun will have a moment where he knows exactly where Jaemin is going to strike, and know the exact insult Jaemin’s going to hurl at him before it comes out of his mouth. 

As soon as his official obligations are done, Jaemin hightails it out of there without another word.

Things continue on like that for three days, until one morning Renjun wakes up with a message from Yangyang: she’s done.  

Since his official reassignment to Ranger status, Renjun’s barely seen Yangyang or the rest of the engineering team as they work around the clock to get the Jaeger back online. She’ll need a different name now, her Cherry Techno days being behind her. Seeing the Jaeger is the first thing in days he’s genuinely excited about. 

He wants to go straight to the loading dock, to take the familiar routes, but he knows he can’t do this alone. Renjun makes a perfunctory stop at Jaemin’s room, finds he’s not there, and continues on to medical. Sure enough, the nurses direct him to exactly where he thought Jaemin would be. 

Jeno looks terrible—he’s only gotten worse, it seems, since the night Renjun watched him pass out in the hallway after the fight. He has a faint yellow hue to him, and his chest barely moves when he breathes. He’s hooked up to all sorts of machines, sensors, and tubes. Jaemin sits at his bedside, one hand clutching Jeno’s. 

It’s not hard to see that Jaemin is torturing himself by being here. Renjun can hardly blame him, however. If it was Donghyuck, he’d do the exact same thing.

You’ve been in my head! Renjun wants to scream, I know exactly what you’re going through! Let me help.

Evidently, Renjun’s anger is strong enough to reverberate through the ghost drift, because Jaemin swivels around to look at him immediately. The look on his face says he thinks Renjun is trespassing on something Jaemin has no interest in sharing. 

“What?” he snaps. 

“The Jaeger is ready,” Renjun tells him. When Jaemin’s expression doesn’t move, he continues, “we should go see it. You know, familiarize ourselves?” 

“No thanks,” Jaemin sniffs. Renjun huffs out an exasperated sigh. 

“Listen—” Renjun starts. He’s trying to navigate a minefield here. “I know this is hard on you. You know I know it’s hard on you. And trust me, if I could have the option of not being in there with you, I’d take it. But there’s only you and me here protecting all these people, and all of Korea. Your country—fuck it, the world—is calling on you. So get the fuck in the Jaeger.” 

Ok, not the most delicate of deliveries. But something in Renjun’s diatribe seems to get through to Jaemin nonetheless, because he does release his grip on Jeno’s hand. 

“Didn’t peg you as the sappy type, shortstacks.” Jaemin’s voice is deceptively light. Renjun can at least tell now that Jaemin’s too-cool-to-care attitude is all a ruse. He can’t fight Renjun on this, though, because he knows he’s right. “Fine, let’s get in the fucking Jaeger.” 

-

Their first official trip out in Neo Dream (Jaemin’s suggestion: Cotton-candy Cocktail) brings them face to face with Caaio, a small but deceptively fast Cat II. Neo Dream starts off a little stiff, but the drift stabilizes without a hitch. This time, Renjun is prepared to handle Jaemin’s pain, in part because of how familiar it feels. Jaemin is reluctant to even speak to Renjun, but already his head and emotions feel like solid ground for Renjun to lay his mental anchor.

The fight itself is not all that eventful. The Shatterdome staff gives them a hero’s welcome, likely thrilled to not be doomed at the first sign of an attack. But it’s the change in Jaemin that’s most significant. 

If Renjun thought Jaemin was suddenly going to be all sunshine and rainbows after their first Kaiju kill, well, he was being too optimistic. 

Jaemin is a sickly sweet lollipop, with a bright smile hiding shark teeth, dipped in poison. What tastes delicious will kill you before you even know it. He insults Renjun would a pearly-white grin and seems to delight when Renjun scowls. He speaks to Renjun like he wants him to choke on his own saliva or drown him in syrup; he treats Renjun like he’d push him off a bridge at laugh as he fell. 

He is blatantly, defiantly, toying with Renjun. 

He’ll do things like: sit with him in the cafe and bring him food, only to drop it on the floor in front of his face. It’s a war of attrition—when that happens, Renjun leans right over the table and snatches Jaemin’s bread roll right under his nose. Jaemin’s face contorts into a snarl, the only expression he has that’s not pretty. He’ll throw backhanded compliments around his confetti just to decorate his sentences. 

Yangyang, the asshole best friend he is, finds the whole thing incredibly amusing. In the evenings he and Renjun sit together on the high catwalks circling the Shatterdome, the hustle and bustle below filtering up as sunlight does through the trees. They’ve been coming up here for ages, because it’s one of the only places where Renjun feels like he can actually think . 

When Renjun complains about how immature at petty Jaemin is, Yangyang just says—

“Injunnie... you’re petty, too.” 

Renjun squacks indignantly and shoves Yangyang’s shoulder, hard. “I am not!” 

“ Bro , you like, enlisted me in helping you sabotage Doyoung’s bunk when he used your blowtorch without permission last month.”

“Doyoung used all the gas and didn’t replace it,” Renjun defends. Yangyang, used to these antics, just rolls his eyes. “People shouldn’t think they can take advantage of me because I’m nice.” 

That makes Yangyang laugh. “Injunnie, you’re really not nice. No one even thinks that. It’s cool though, I still like you. I’m glad I’m never on your bad-side, though, yeesh. Got any other plans for getting back at Jaemin? You could do something really big, like when you catfished that one ops guy.” 

Renjun plays with his thumbs, twists his mouth awkwardly. “No, not really. It just seems so... cruel to do something when he’s going through a hard time. The petty shit is annoying but you can’t really blame him. It’s not like it’s affecting our drift or anything. I could tamper with his shampoo and dye his hair pink, though. I bet he wouldn’t even look that bad.” 

It’s not just prior experience talking—at night, Renjun can feel Jaemin’s agony, his uselessness, as they breathe at the same time in separate bunks. 

“Renjun being the bigger man! You’ve got a heart after all,” Yangyang smiles. “Or.... you’re enjoying this more than you want to admit. You’re def right, by the way. Jaemin would look fire with pink hair.”

Righteous indignation and shame boils up in Renjun. More than Renjun ever cares to admit, Yangyang is right—he enjoys this distorted push and pull with Jaemin. It’s fun, and more than that, it’s cathartic. Renjun just needs to be careful not to step over the invisible line, and doing something to really fuck with Jaemin’s emotions would be that. For the most part, Jaemin can give just as good as he gets, and it’s not a sensation that Renjun has experience since, well, Donghyuck. 

Somewhere inside of him, Jaemin likes Renjun, too—he’s felt it. The exact emotion is hard to pinpoint, but maybe he thinks Renjun is cute (like, yes, Renjun thinks of Jaemin), or that his jokes are funny (ditto). It’s almost as if Jaemin’s subconsciously made peace with Renjun, but topside he just can’t make himself see what he’s already accepted in his body. 

Talk about repression. Hey, takes one to know one. 

Taeyong’s noticed, obviously, but although he’s the Base Commander, he doesn’t like to interfere with the dynamics of his pilots. Unless their results are affected, but Renjun and Jaemin’s drift readings are just as strong and steady as they’ve ever been.

Renjun also wonders how he himself can keep this going. He’s pretending to be the strong one in the pair, but the truth is, he fears he’s just as fragile as Jaemin is. Everytime he goes down into the drift, he’s terrified that a stray memory of Donghyuck will catch him, and he’ll be carried away down the rabbit hole. 

If anything, the only thing keeping them together is this needling of each other. A competition of who cracks first, who slips up and gets the other annoyed enough for things to become serious. Perhaps they’re candles alight, a wick burning at both ends.

-

Jaemin doesn’t need a dramatic scene of Yangyang bursting into the room, the words Jeno’s awake on his breathless lips. Jaemin knows the exact moment Jeno wakes up, because despite the weeks of silence and despite drifting with Renjun, Jeno is still in his head. One second they’re together in the sparring room, putting down hard work and sweat onto the mats, and the next Jaemin’s taking off at a desperate sprint down the hallways, faster than when he ran when the base was under attack. 

Renjun follows, as close to Jaemin’s heels as he can get. He has no choice. 

There’s no time to ask the med staff how Jeno is doing, because the second Jaemin gets in Jeno’s private room, Jaemin stops dead in his tracks. Anyone besides Jeno or Jaemin breaking the silence is unfathomable. 

All at once the ghost drift is flooded with relief so palpable it makes Renjun feel a little lightheaded, but churned in with a gnawing anxiety. 

“Jaemin,” Jeno whispers, and that’s all it takes. Jaemin’s tears come freely—although Renjun is standing behind Jaemin, he can tell he;s crying by the way the other boy’s shoulders shake. Jeno reaches for him and Jaemin goes, until he’s half-sitting on the bed and half-draped over Jeno, in almost the perfect inverse of how they were first discovered all those weeks ago in the wreckage of Cherry Techno. 

Jeno will never pilot again. His left hip cracked under the strain of piloting the damaged jaeger, and was only exacerbated by walking on it afterwards. He’ll be able to walk again, probably, but always with a cane and a limp. 

But he’ll never drift again, either. The real toll of the battle wasn’t Jeno’s body, but rather, his mind. For nearly the longest time on record, he piloted a damaged Jaeger in a fight, alone. The fact of the matter is, no matter how compatible he is, Jeno doesn’t have the mental fortitude left to hold a stable drift.

Jaemin is stuck with Renjun. That’s that. 

-

With Jeno awake, nothing changes, and everything does. 

For one, Jeno is more readily able to accept his Ranger career is over than Jaemin is. He still has his moments where he forgets that this is his new forever, but his method of coping is smiling through it all. 

Much like how he had avoided meeting Jaemin, the first time Renjun formally meets Jeno is in the med bay.

“I wish it was under better circumstances,” Renjun tells him. It’s the second day since Jeno has been awake, and he’s endured a gauntlet of tests both medical and military. Apparently, Jeno specifically requested to meet Renjun, which is completely believable, telling by the jealous pout Jaemin sported when he came to fetch Renjun. 

It’s only natural to want to meet the person now drifting with the person you love. 

On the other side of the bed, Jaemin is fussing with his pillows. He seems unsure of what to do with himself now that Jeno is actually awake. It must be a strange feeling, and one that churns heavy at the bottom of Renjun’s stomach, to have your greatest desire come true in the worst possible way. 

“It is what it is,” Jeno replies easily. Considering the circumstances, the mood is light. Jeno has a puppy-dog smile that still looks good despite having terribly cracked lips from the dry hospital air, and oh god Renjun is blushing, just from a show of teeth. He looks away quickly, and fortunately, Jaemin is too preoccupied with Jeno’s sheets to pay any attention to the flush of heat running through the ghost drift. 

This, this , is why he’s tried to stay away from the Rangers. Attachment. How on earth is Renjun going to hide a crush from Jaemin? His only hope is that Jaemin mistakes the feelings of Renjun’s little crush for his own. Everyone knows that pilots end up together more often than not—Jeno and Jaemin having been no exception. 

“Taeyong told me you’re a good pilot,” Jeno offers, more seriously. “And that, you know, you’ve been through some stuff. I’m glad Jaem has you with him, not some cadet pulled out of Ranger school.” 

Jeno’s confidence in him has a strange effect on Renjun. It bolsters him, and for once he actually feels good about the whole situation. Jeno doesn’t appear jealous or bitter, which are all valid feelings Renjun would fully forgive him for, and Jeno doesn’t strike him as the kind of person who’s good at hiding their emotions. Those kinds of charades are Jaemin’s forte—Jeno is a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of hero. 

“I have a duty to,” Renjun tells him. “It was time for me to step up. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I let someone go out there unprepared when it could have been me.” 

Jeno beams at him. Figures he likes the self-sacrificing attitude. Renjun finds himself mesmerized by Jeno’s calm aura, though maybe that’s something to do with the drug cocktail they’ve got trickling through the IV.

Jaemin needles his way back into the conversation by putting on an exaggerated pout and getting up close in Jeno’s face with it. “Why are you talking to Renjun when I’m right here being cute? He’s lucky to be out there with me and this cute smile.” 

Renjun personally finds this act (that Jaemin does constantly) to be insufferable, but watching Jeno laugh at it now puts it in a new light. Jaemin knows that people find him acting cutesy annoying, or stupid, and that’s exactly why he does it. There’s something a little devious to it, which Jaemin would be naturally attracted to, and a bit unselfish, too. With it, the attention is always on Jaemin, not his co-pilot. And because it’s an inside-joke with Jeno, it has the added benefit of always making them laugh. 

Renjun thinks of the piece of a memory he saw in the drift. Jaemin, in childhood, playing peekaboo with a little girl in a crowded indoor gym turned shelter somewhere. Sticking his tongue out, singing silly songs in silly voices. He wasn’t much older than the girl in that memory, but he was still trying to take care of her in the only way he knew how. 

Na Jaemin , Renjun thinks, how many layers are there to you?

How strange to have been inside someone’s head and not know them at all. 

“You’re always cute, one, and two, I want to talk to Renjun because you’ve been hiding him from me,” Jeno teases. He puts his hand ( big hands, know what that means, Renjun’s idiot brain supplies) over Jaemin’s face and pushes him away playfully. Then he turns back to Renjun and pretends their conversation was never interrupted. 

That was one of Renjun and Donghyuck’s favorite party tricks—holding two conversations at once. Watching Sicheng’s brow crinkle in annoyance never got old. 

Jaemin’s behavior towards Renjun does marginally improve once Jeno is awake. Renjun suspects this is actually because of something Jeno has said, and is no mindful effort on Jaemin’s part besides the general boost in his happiness now that Jeno isn’t on the verge of death. They train together everyday, doing conditioning and different tests for the science division, and while Jaemin still slides in a snide remark at any opportunity (“Oh Renjun, you look taller today, are you still going through puberty?”), there’s something different about the tone. 

Like Jaemin wants Renjun to be in on the joke, too. The pieces with him are beginning to really click. Their subconscious always knew, and now Jaemin and Renjun are finally catching up. 

-

Renjun expects to find Jeno unnerving. He expects to find some kind of resentment, or even wrath. But to his surprise, Jeno is sweet, and not in the way that Jaemin’s sweetness is dipped in battery acid. What’s more, he seems to be genuinely invested in Renjun and Jaemin’s partnership, as if he himself is part of it. In a very real sense, he is. He spends more time and effort in learning about Renjun than Jaemin ever has. 

Of all things, Jeno takes the most amount of interest in Renjun’s work as a mechanic. 

They sit together while Jaemin undergoes medical examinations and the myriad of tests the science divisions like to put the Rangers through. Instead of Jeno’s company being awkward, Renjun finds himself lulled into an easy back and forth with Jeno, talking about the intricacies of the Jaegers they put their lives on the line to pilot. Renjun finds Jeno sweet, and funny, though Jaemin has always had the reputation as the quote-unquote “fun” one. 

The more time Renjun spends with Jeno, the more intense his crush gets. 

“How do you repair the Jaegers after a fight?” Jeno asks. Of course, he notices Renjun’s very obvious uncertain pause. For a moment Renjun thinks he feels something through the ghost drift, not from Jaemin, but from Jeno . A sense of cold water and blinking red emergency lights against darkness. 

“If the interior monitoring systems aren’t broken, it’s pretty easy,” Renjun explains, deciding to forge ahead. Jeno didn’t become a successful Ranger by being weak-willed. There’s no reason for Renjun to try and protect time, besides the fact that he selfishly wants to. “If they are, we start at the head to find the black box and fan outwards.” Sicheng, the lead mechanic at Jeju, taught Renjun everything he knows. How to go through all parts of the Jaeger piece by piece, starting from the Conn-Podd, where all the power of the mech extends. Still, that’s not even the worst scenario. Worst case, they’re fishing pieces out of the ocean like they’re doing with Red Roulette. 

There are hardly any conversation topics around base that don’t have some kind of bad memory attached to them. 

“Being inside the Jaegers like that is a completely different experience. It’s like you’re swimming around in someone’s guts, not at all like when you’re piloting and you feel part of it. You know—” Renjun freezes, his words caught choked halfway up his throat. Jeno’s expression doesn’t change from his half-moon smile. “Sorry,” Renjun finishes lamely. 

Jeno’s hand covers his, touch light. They’re large and defined, and as far as hands go, Renjun thinks they’re quite beautiful. 

“It’s cool,” he says. “I have to be able to let it go. Can’t go chasing the rabbit, right?” 

It’s sad—how Jeno talks like he’s still a Ranger. 

“No, I should know better,” Renjun says, because he really, really should. Jeno sends him a questioning look, and Renjun can feel the way the words bubble up inside of him. It’s not like it’s a secret—Jaemin knows, obviously, but it’s one thing for Jaemin to see the memories of Donghyuck and another for Renjun to talk about them. But there’s something about Jeno, something entirely disarming that makes Renjun want to spill his whole soul. He knows about Jeno’s trauma, so it’s only fair Renjun shares some of his. “I was trained to be a Ranger, clearly, but I only became a mechanic when my original copilot d—died. So I know what it’s like to want to find a distraction.” 

Jeno isn’t able to hide his surprise—which in itself is surprising. Renjun assumed that Jaemin would have told him, or Taeyong. But instead, Jeno’s eyes open into wide orbs, his teeth peeking out from the gap in his pretty lips. 

“His name was Donghyuck,” Renjun continues. The only logical direction to go is down. “He died at sea, off the coast of China. Afterwards I... he was from here, Jeju. I came here because of him. It’s someplace that was important to him, so I can feel close to him here without bumping into any bad memories.” 

Jeno doesn’t say he’s sorry. Instead, his hand on Renjun’s tightens. It’s a comforting weight. He knows immediately they’ve done something they can’t go back on. It’s not just the physical barrier that Jeno has breached, but the emotional one, too. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jeno repeats. Renjun musters up a smile. They don’t talk after that, but they don’t have to. It’s good just to be there. 

-  

Of course, once things are actually going well, they go pear-shaped just as quickly. 

Renjun should have known how things would turn out the moment he sees Jeno in the Shatterdome. He looks so diminished standing alone, still in his medical scrubs and leaning on one crutch. The world around him is alive in a flurry of organized chaos and he’ll always be this, an observer, and never part of the action again. 

It’s written in every crevice on Jeno’s face, how much it pains him to not be able to go out there with Jaemin. Jeno is one of those Rangers who views themselves as a hero, the protector, the kind that Renjun has always secretly derided, but now that he has to stay behind Renjun pities him. 

Jaemin is pulled him towards like a moth to Jeno’s flickering flame, and they grip each other tightly around the shoulders. Jaemin shudders in the other boy’s hold, and Renjun can practically feel it himself, the persisting strength of their bond leaking through the ghost drift he has with Jaemin. Renjun already knows this will be at the top of Jaemin’s mind during their drift.

They were terrifying in action, those two. Renjun can see why. 

For him and Jaemin, their compatibility lies in the ways they are similar; Renjun’s drift with Donghyuck was founded on the same principle. But with Jaemin and Jeno, it was in the ways they contrasted. They’re equations with different variables but end with the same results. 

It’s an intimate moment—too intimate, really, for such a public setting with practically the entire base staff watching them. But it doesn’t stop Jaemin from reaching a hand up and curling his fingers into the short buzz of Jeno’s undercut behind his ear. Jaemin says something low, too low for anyone but Jeno—and Renjun—to hear.

“I dare the world to try and take me from you again. Those Kaiju bastards can try, but they won’t. I swear to you they won’t.” Then he kisses him, short but intense. 

Renjun can feel the difference in the drift immediately. There’s an anxiety thrumming through the current, jittery, like there’s too much caffeine in the system. Jaemin isn’t as focused as he normally is—images of Jeno shuffle through in rapid succession. 

Jeno as a young cadet, eyes too big for his face. Jeno pressing an equally tiny Jaemin against grimy, sweat-slicked pads, victory making him hot and bashful compared to his intensity when fighting. Bonding over videogames, Jaemin letting Jeno win just to see the warmth of his blush against his porcelain cheeks that makes Jaemin’s chest burn with jealousy, no, not jealousy, with an emotion he doesn’t yet know how to place. 

Get it together, Na, Renjun commands. Jaemin does manage to pull himself away before they tumble too deep and into Renjun’s waiting grasp for the neural handshake, but still, Renjun has a bad feeling about this. They hover well under 100%. Renjun dreads the churning darkness of the sea, and stepping out there feels like stepping into the cold embrace of a nightmare. 

The mission is rocky, more so than even Renjun’s first outing with Donghyuck, where they stumbled around like fawns on newborn legs. The Cat III requires all of their attention, yet Jaemin’s keeps flitting back to the Shatterdome, and having one eye there and one eye on the fight isn’t working. 

By the time the Kaiju is dead, Neo Dream is going to need repairs again, and Renjun’s vision is practically whiting out with the force of his fury. The anger is only doubled back at him, Jaemin furious that Renjun is mad. By the time they’re making their way to base, they can hardly coordinate putting one foot in front of the other.

When they come out of the Conn-Pod, Renjun’s first instinct is to punch Jaemin in the face and hopefully break his nose. He’s incensed, not just at Jaemin, but at Taeyong and the rest of the base that somehow thought this would be ok, that Jaemin was ok to go out there. Taeyong isn’t within an arm’s reach, however, so Jaemin will just have to settle with being the object of Renjun’s wrath. It’s a joke. The whole thing is a sick joke, and they should just fly in another Jaeger, because there’s no way Renjun is getting back in there with Jaemin anytime soon. 

Before he can’t get to Jaemin, however, he’s being enveloped in a crushing hug. It’s Jeno, arms wrapped around Renjun’s slim shoulders and head bent to tuck into Renjun’s neck, just like how he’d held Jaemin before.

“ Thank you ,” Jeno says, hoarse. His voice sounds wrecked, the same as Renjun feels, like he spent the last thirty minutes screaming his lungs out, or crying, or both. “Thank you so much for taking care of him out there.” 

“I—” Renjun stutters. Faced with Jeno’s intense gratitude, the bulk of his anger flees from his body. In its place floods a new emotion, and before he can get a grip Renjun finds himself sobbing, wet and heavy, into Jeno’s shirt. Not every emotion coursing through his veins belongs to him. 

Over Jeno’s shoulder Renjun can see Jaemin, hovering awkwardly and looking terrible. He’s as pale as the reflection of moonlight on the waves, and shakes like he’d just jumped in them. Though he tries to focus on Renjun, he can’t quite maintain the eye contact. Every few seconds he opens his mouth to say something, but fails to actually get the words out. 

It’s hard to be angry at someone when their guilt is so palpable. It’s burrowed in between Renjun’s ribs as if it’s his own. 

“Ok,” Taeyong clasps his hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, appearing at last. Renjun’s been under that grip before, and knows that his fingers are digging into the sore flesh of Jaemin’s shoulder hard enough to sting. Real pain to distract from the emotional pain. Taeyong has arrived at precisely the right moment. If he hadn’t cut through the tension, Renjun doesn’t know what would have happened. The fate of Jeju’s only Jaeger team teeters on a knife’s edge, one side being an all-out fight gone to blows, the other a complete emotional breakdown. “Ok. It’s over.” 

Renjun wants to laugh, and an exhausted, sad laugh actually does escape from Jaemin. They are so, so far from ok. Ok drowned in the sea a few weeks ago. 

-

“You’re both grounded for the moment. Only for a few days,” Taeyong says. Renjun sits like a child being reprimanded in the Commander’s office. Jaemin went in before him, and he knows it didn’t go well. The selfish part of him blames no one but Jaemin for this mess, but the reality is always more complicated than that. Jaemin isn’t the only person in the partnership who’s unstable. 

“What about the base?” 

“We’ll figure it out. Neo Culture needs repairs, anyways.” 

Renjun nods affirmative. He sits there in silence, hands twisted in his lap. He fears that if he looks at Taeyong, something bad will happen, so he keeps his eyes cast firmly downward in his lap. 

“I know you want to say something,” Taeyong coaxes gently. He doesn’t need a ghost drift to understand his Rangers. “So say it.” 

“Why—” he hates that he can’t get it out without stumbling. Hot tears burn at the corners of his eyes. “Why did you send us out there? Neither of us were ready.” 

He hears Taeyong sigh. “I’m sure you’ve realized it, but you two share a lot of similarities. When you first came here, Renjun, I knew you were different from other Rangers who have lost their partners. I saw a path back up to the surface for you. All it would take was the right partner.” 

“You were wrong,” Renjun croaks. His misses Donghyuck more than ever. He hates, viscerally, that he was ever around to drift with Jaemin in the first place. The pain is right there, consuming everything. Jaemin must be able to feel it, too. Good. “Jaemin isn’t the right partner. Fuck what the drift compatibility reading says.” 

“Right partner, wrong circumstances. But we don’t live in a world where we get to pick and choose, do we?” Taeyong replies. Then, he completely changes directions. “How’s Jeno? I heard you two get along.” 

The question shocks Renjun into looking up. He wishes he hadn’t, because he sees Taeyong’s terrible, gentle expression. “He’s—what? He’s nice, I like him, I guess.” 

Like him is an understatement. Jeno has been one of the few things buoying him and Jaemin’s partnership, one of the very few good and easy things they share. Though he supposes Taeyong must know that.  

Taeyong rests his chin thoughtfully on his loosely wrapped fist. “You know, they just finished making a three-person Jaeger in Japan. Before all this,” and doesn’t Taeyong sound so, so much older than his years? These weeks can’t have been easy on him, “I had requested it to be sent here. I wanted to try it out with two pilots and a troublesome mechanic of mine.” 

Renjun’s breath comes out harsh. This—this is too much. 

“It’s as I said: the circumstances are never what I wanted, but don’t think for a moment you’re here just because there are no other options. Jaemin is waiting for you in his bunk. Go find him, and do some healing. Listen to what the drift is telling you. Separate, you’re weak, but together, I know you can be strong.” 

-

“It’s open,” Jaemin calls. The door slides open with a screech that rattles through Renjun’s bones. Compared to Renjun’s sparse bunk, Jaemin’s feels downright homey. The bunk-bed has been disassembled and the two twin mattresses pushed together in the corner. It’s good for when there’s two people, but looks awfully lonely if it’s just one, like it has been for Jaemin for weeks. 

Memories line the wall, but Renjun doesn’t need to look to know their stories. Part of him has lived them, inhabited them, himself. It’s the same basic rooms as Renjun’s, but it’s completely different in feeling and warmth. This has been home for Jaemin and Jeno since they became co-pilots barely out of teenagerdom. Under the bed, there are dust bunnies that have been there for years. 

There are things he doesn’t recognize, however. Parts of Jeno’s life that have been cut off from Renjun—shoulders of an older sister a toddler-Jeno sits on, three insanely cute and fluffy dogs. Jaemin’s family, Renjun knows, is long gone. Is Jeno’s? What happened to the sister, the dogs? Is Jeno one of those Rangers that every week makes satellite calls to the mainland family he’s protecting? 

Jaemin sits on the edge of the bunk, head hanging low. He looks so small, miles from the magnetic, confident boy who can fill up a room with his energy. “Hey. Hi,” he says weakly. 

Renjun wants nothing more than to turn around and flee straight out the door, and he knows Jaemin wants to do the same. He looks like he’s constipated, and Renjun feels like he wants to vomit. 

He doesn’t do that. “Hey,” he says as neutrally as he can. He feels awkward standing, but there’s nowhere else to sit besides next to Jaemin, and at the moment that’s untenable. They endure a minute of aborted starts and stops before words are just ripped from Jaemin’s throat. “I know I’ve been absolute shit. Trust me, I know. Even Jeno’s noticed. That’s one thing, but what I did out there today there’s no excuse for. No bullshit, I almost killed you out there.” 

Jaemin doesn’t apologize, and for that Renjun is thankful. The situation is far beyond I’m sorry.  

“You feel guilty,” Renjun states. Jaemin opens his mouth to reply, but Renjun interrupts him before he gets the chance. “Not just about today, but about being able to pilot at all. Why do you get to go on while Jeno never gets to pilot again?” 

A flush of shame travels its way up Jaemin’s neck. He can’t deny it, not with the drift.  In sync, Jaemin and Renjun both run an exhausted hand through their hair. He’s seen this thought in Jaemin’s head, and know what he’s going to say before he does. It’s another thing entirely, however, to hear Jaemin give voice to it. 

“Sometimes I wish we had both died out there.” 

Renjun snaps. “If Jeno hadn’t done what he did, you would be dead. You’d both be dead! But instead, you’re both alive, and that’s not a gift you can just take for granted.” 

Renjun thinks of Donghyuck. The thought of his name brings a pain that cuts sharp like a deep knife, but along with that comes the memory of his smile, of his laugh, of how he would sing Renjun lullabies at night, and would always tease him about the one time Renjun’s voice cracked when they were cadets. He thinks of how, after, he couldn’t even imagine even living , much less drifting again. 

He thinks of how Donghyuck is dead, and gone, but because of him Renjun gets to live, breath, and fight another day. For Donghyuck, both of their deaths hadn’t been an acceptable outcome. He chose life—Renjun’s life. 

It’s always better to be alive.

Once the first tear falls, Renjun is powerless to stop the cascade. The emotions he’d bottled up for so long come out in a torrent. “I wish I was in your position. I would do anything to have Donghyuck back but you know what? That’s impossible! But you still get to hold Jeno and talk to him and kiss him, and what do I get? A shitty partner who almost killed me!”

At some point, Renjun’s clarity falls away and he’s unsure if he even says half of these things out loud. But Jaemin hears them either way. As soon as Renjun finishes his tirade he’s pulling them tightly together, pressed close all the way up and down their bodies. Jaemin walks them backwards until his knees catch the back of the bed and they tumble down onto the stiff mattress. 

Renjun sobs unabashedly into his chest. Saying he misses Donghyuck like a limb is an understatement—he’d easily give an arm, a leg, and an eye to have him back. But Jaemin’s embrace is warm and soothing, and although it’s not Donghyuck, it’s something. 

“I’ve been so selfish,” Jaemin mutters through his own tears. Renjun can only imagine the amount of snot that’s gotten in his hair, but he doesn’t care. “You’ve been suffering and I’ve done nothing but ignore it. Even when I can feel it in the drift.” 

“No.” Renjun struggles to get enough freedom to hoist himself up onto his elbows. Below him, Jaemin’s face is blotchy and red from his tears, and down to his chin is slick with mucus. His eyes are puffy, and he looks a complete, pathetic mess. Renjun assumes he looks exactly the same. “Listen to me. It is not your job to fix me, or take care of me. Just—I don’t know, just be present. Just be here with me when I need you.” 

“Ok,” Jaemin says in a whisper. Something fuzzy and wonderful rushes through the ghost drift. “Ok. I can do that.” 

“Good.” Renjun is so, so relieved. He feels whatever chains have wrapped themselves around his heart have finally loosened. 

“Get back down here.” Jaemin tugs him back down into the embrace. “I need to snuggle my co-pilot more.” 

-

In between being professional soldiers and part-time science experiments, they find time to hang out. The three of them—Renjun, Jaemin, and Jeno. 

Somewhere along the line, Renjun becomes aware of the possibility that he may be dreaming. It seems to be the only rational explanation, despite being not rational in the least. 

As the only pilots on base, Renjun and Jaemin have to stay inside a strict perimeter, only a small sliver of which is actually outside the base. Not that there’s many other places to go. The Jeju Shatterdome almost entirely emcompasses the tiny island of Morado. There’s only a sliver of grass left on the entire island and it’s down by the shore, a part known as the Southernmost Memorial Stone, the history of which has been lost in the disasters of the past decades. When they look out onto the sea from there, it’s all foreign territory. 

These days, it belongs to the Kaiju. 

While a depressing notion, that spot is where the three of them find themselves in the slices of spare time they carve out. It takes a while for Jeno to get down there, with both Jaemin and Renjun’s support. And then there’s the unspoken fact that if their beepers went off, Jeno would be stuck making his way back up to the base alone with a Kaiju attack bearing down on them. 

Jeno easily dismisses all of this worry. “If I worry about everything that might happen to us, I’m never going to stop, so I might as well not bother in the first place.” 

Renjun is stupefied by how simple a solution that is. 

But there’s another issue with these outings—Renjun becomes a power third wheel. It’s even worse than normally tagging along with a couple, however, because Renjun is telepathically connected with one of the parties involved. 

And he just so happens to have a burgeoning crush on the other one. Fortunately (and thank god ), Jaemin hasn’t been able to distinguish Renjun’s feelings to Jeno from his own. 

Liking Jeno was a complete accident. If Renjun had a choice, he definitely wouldn’t have chosen whatever this fucked up situation was. He’s sorted things out with Jaemin, and now he has a whole new problem to deal with. The thing is, however, is that Jeno is just so damn likable . Developing feelings for him is one of the easiest things in the world, and that’s even without a drift. 

Though he can’t be ignorant to the effect Jaemin’s having on him. He’s heard of this kind of thing happening before—pilots developing romantic feelings for another pilot’s significant other. Love is a strong emotion, and Jaemin’s love for Jeno is one of the strongest things to come through in the drift.

But Renjun can’t blame everything on Jaemin. Looking at Jeno, and the scrunch of his nose and the gentle curve of his eyes when he smiles, Renjun thinks he would feel this way no matter what. That’s Jeno’s effect. 

One of Jeno’s favorite topics is dramas. The only problem is, since the accident, he can’t watch screens like that without kickstarting a blinding migraine. As a work around, Rejnun’s learned that he and Jaemin curl up in bed together, Jeno with a face-mask on, while Jaemin watches and describes what’s going on alongside the audio. Frankly, it’s adorable, and Renjun has started watching dramas just to talk about them with Jeno. 

“Oh man,” Jeno is saying. Renjun isn’t paying attention to what he’s saying, exactly, but to the tones and rhythm of his voice. It feels like it syncs up with the lapping waves of the ocean. “When he turned out to be her cousin? That was incredible.” 

Jaemin, Renjun notices, doesn’t look like he’s paying attention to Jeno’s words, either. Curled into Jeno’s side on the rocky shore, the entirety of Jaemin’s attention is fixated on watching the way Jeno’s face moves when he speaks, when he’s excited. He treats this time like an absolute privilege. 

“Yeah, wild,” Jaemin answers vaguely. Jeno twirls a strand of Jaemin’s hair lazily—technically, Rangers are supposed to keep their hair short, but Jaemin has a good relationship with everyone on base and skirts by with keeping it longer. No one asked Renjun to cut his from when he was an engineer, so he hasn’t. Jeno still trims his undercut every few days. 

“Would you... yanno, fuck your clone?” Jeno asks. Coming from his mouth is almost sounds innocent. Almost, if it weren’t such a ridiculous question. 

“What?” Renjun splutters. Jaemin just starts cackling. 

“Of course I would!” He says. “And if they’re an evil clone, all the better.” Jaemin stands and picks his way through the rocks down to the shore, eyes searching for stones to skip. 

“You are the evil clone,” Renjun calls after him. Now that he’s sitting alone with Jeno, he feels a bit bashful. “Is that from another drama?” he asks. 

Jeno shrugs. “Maybe. What about you?” 

“Uh, yeah, don’t see why not.” 

“You do have a proven attraction to people similar to you,” Jeno agrees. “I bet you both would look really good.” 

Um.

What? 

Renjun feels himself blushing. “Are we still talking about the clone thing, or something else?” 

Jeno ignores his question completely. “Personally, I wouldn’t get anywhere near my clone. People too like me I find kind of boring. Differences add some flavor. Having a clone would just be like talking to a mirror.” Jeno tries to push himself up into standing, and Renjun gives him an arm to help. Together, they waddle down to the shore to join Jaemin. Jeno doesn’t drop his arm.

They watch as Jaemin sends clunker after clunker into the ocean. He’s terrible at skipping rocks, and both Jeno and Renjun tease him until he’s huffing. 

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?” Jaemin accuses Renjun. Jeno, of course, gets a pass. 

The stone Renjun finds is flat and oval, smooth in every direction. It fits perfectly in his hand, like it’s meant to be there. When he flicks his wrist, it goes jumping across the top of the waves three times before settling into the surf. 

Gone again, off somewhere new. 

-

In his dreams, Donghyuck is still alive, and they pilot Neo Culture together. Of course he’s alive—that’s Renjun’s greatest wish, isn’t it? They’re the kinds of dreams Renjun never wants to wake up from, because the press of Donghyuck’s perpetually chapped lips against his wrist feels so warm and real. But when he wakes up, he’s always freezing. 

Jaemin and Jeno are the promise of warmth.

Instead of trying to go back to sleep, Renjun pulls himself out of bed and pokes his head into the hallway. No sign of life. Quickly, he bounds the couple of steps into the shower room and closes himself in a stall. Burning his skin with hot water is a much better alternative than writhing around more in his bunk feeling the rub of the sheets.

The shower goes far beyond regulation times, but as a Ranger, Renjun is afforded this luxury. The time is 3:30am, anyways, so Renjun has the added bonus of privacy in the bathroom. 

When he finally steps out of the shower, there’s no Donghyuck, or Jeno, or Jaemin in his head. Nothing more than the ambient, white-noise of something in the drift. He settles down on his bunk, and flicks through the video options on his phone until he finds a drama he thinks Jeno would like hearing about. 

At some point, he doses off into the morning. When he wakes up, a notification is waiting for him. 

Wanna come hang while I’m getting tests done?  

Renjun stares at Jeno’s message for a good twenty seconds before he even begins to process what it says. 

With you and Na? Sure , Renjun replies.

Nah, just us, comes Jeno’s response. Dunno where Jaem is. 

That’s—that’s an outright lie. Jaemin is awake, somewhere, so either Jeno genuinely doesn’t know where he is despite sharing a room with him, or does know and is purposefully lying to Renjun about it. Both of those options are suspicious in their own way. It’s strange, but Renjun is struggling to parse out any potential motivations. 

Be there soon , he tells Jeno. 

“You look like total shit, my dude,” Yangyang says as soon as Renjun walks in the door. They’re not in one of the science division labs, where they’re normally stuck, but in one of the engineering ones instead. The sight that greets Renjun is on the stranger side—Yangyang is straddling Jeno’s back as the other lies on an examination table, head pooled on his crossed arms. Yangyang appears to be attempting to affix a strange-looking metal corset to Jeno’s lower back. 

“Thanks, dickhead,” Renjun replies. Because Yangyang is right when he says that he’s petty, Renjun pushes some of Yangyang’s styluses off a table and clattering to the floor to make room for him to sit there. Yangyang shoots him an expression that says he knows exactly what Renjun is trying to do and it’s not going to affect him, except that it totally does succeed in being annoying. 

It’s probably not an unfair appraisal, though. Renjun never fully fell back asleep after his dream, so he scarfed down some caffeine supplements before coming over to the lab. They’re potentially addicting and unadvised by the med staff, technically only supposed to be used when Rangers are woken up in the middle of the night for Kaiju attacks, but every cadet learns their other benefits in their first few weeks. 

The metal corset looks as uncomfortable as the Conn-podd, but Jeno is handling it in stride. Renjun doesn’t even have to ask for an explanation for Yangyang to start doing so. “It’s to combat structural compromises in the human body. Like an exoskeleton that bugs have, but to like, support bad inside bones from the outside. Pretty cool, huh?” 

Jeno winces when Yangyang tightens something. “Yeah, cool,” Renjun says. He hops from the desk to come and stand in front of Jeno, who gratefully grasps Renjun’s hand when he offers it to be squeezed. Unfortunately to work, Yangyang’s machine needs to interface with pressure points and nerves, or something. That can’t feel great. 

On second thought, maybe he should stand a little to Jeno’s side—he’s suddenly painfully aware that Jeno is eye-level with his crotch.

“It’d be nice to walk normally,” Jeno says quietly. “Even if it doesn’t stop hurting—the cane is just really a pain.” 

It’s the first time Renjun has heard Jeno complain about what’s happened to him. That in itself is an amazing feat. He flushes with shame just thinking about how thought they had a bad deal, when all this time Jeno’s been suffering through twice as much. 

“Maybe we could spar,” Renjun suggests, when they both are well aware that they’ll be doing no such thing, whether Yangyang’s exoskeleton works or not. “I could kick both Jaemin’s and your ass.” 

Jeno laughs, and Renjun is mesmerized by the way his shoulders jump tremble with his breath. “I bet you could,” he says, a bit too fondly for Renjun’s sanity. Jeno’s voice goes down like warm honey and it’s doing uncomfortable things to his body. Jeno’s kindness is entirely too debilitating, and Renjun feels like he’d do anything if Jeno asked with a pout. 

They shoot the shit some more. Renjun tries to keep the conversation light, for Jeno’s sake, just to be an easy distraction while he’s poked and prodded. Eventually Yangyang disentangles him, and Renjun helps the other boy up with two firm hands on his shoulders. Jeno looks a little pale, but says nothing. 

“I’m going to go get you some apple juice,” Yangyang says. “Stay put! Injunnie, make sure he doesn’t pass out on me, ok?” 

Renjun nods. It gives him an excuse to stick close to Jeno, anyways. He catches himself thinking about how just being in his presence is one of the nicest things in the world, which is so sappy it’s disgusting. Is this really how Jaemin feels all the time? 

“Everything good?” Renjun asks carefully. He digs one of his hands into the flesh of Jeno’s shoulders. His muscle mass was depleted almost entirely during the coma, and when Renjun looks at him he gets the sense that Jeno isn’t quite sure what to do with his body anymore. He doesn’t know how to inhabit his own bones. 

“Yeah,” Jeno mumbles, entirely unconvincing. His voice is strained with pain to Renjun’s ears, even without the benefit of a ghost drift to tune him in to Jeno’s emotions. He leans into Renjun’s touch all the way, until he fully tilts into Renjun’s side. He laughs harshly. “Pain is temporary, right?” 

“Hey—” Renjun starts. He tries to adjust his grip on Jeno to get a look on his pupils, because maybe Jeno is in worse shape than he thought, but before he can, Jeno is leaning even further into his space. Before Renjun can register what’s happening, Jeno is kissing him. 

It’s soft, relaxed, but definitely intentional from the way Jeno grasps at Renjun’s back. Renjun kisses back—he can’t help it—but he’s also not really thinking when he does it either. The kiss is everything he’s imagined kissing Jeno would be like, which is to say, it’s perfect. It’s only when Yangyang charges back into the room and Renjun flings himself away like he’s trying to escape a Kaiju does the reality of what just happened catch up with him. 

Fortunately, like most of the time, Yangyang is in his own world and shows no sign of having seen anything. He hands Jeno a juice box and starts rambling about the new girl who just started in the research department who he saw in the cafe.

Renjun tries very hard not to look at Jeno, blush working furiously to ingrain itself into his cheeks, but he can’t help himself. From where he stands awkwardly to the side, fists clenched, he risks a glance in the other’s direction. 

Jeno is studying him calmly, with all the focus of a trained soldier, a hunter. His composure makes Renjun feel like all his training has gone to dust. Renjun’s never kissed someone who he couldn't also feel their emotions (so, he’s never kissed anyone besides Donghyuck), and he—

Loves it. 

Looking at Jeno, he might as well be staring at a wall, and he has no idea what to do. It’s exhilarating. With Donghyuck, he always knew what the other wanted—when he was just searching out comfort or was feeling frisky. Renjun has two thoughts when he and Jeno make eye-contact: one, what the fuck are you doing, Renjun; and two, go over there and find out what Jeno wants . 

Somewhere in his mind, Jaemin’s presence rears its head, precisely at the wrong moment. And Renjun remembers that, oh yeah, this is Jaemin’s Jeno he was just kissing. 

He is so fucked. 

So, so fucked.

So he runs away, not even sparing either Yangyang or Jeno a goodbye. 

For a few hours, Renjun considers throwing himself off the top of the Shatterdome. Death seems like a preferable alternative to having to drift with Jaemin and the other finding out about him and Jeno kissing. Jaemin would probably just throttle him in the Conn-podd, anyways, so why not just skip to the natural conclusion of this whole scenario? 

But there’s also the lingering fact that Jeno kissed Renjun, not the other way around, no matter how much Renjun himself had wanted it. And Jeno knows that this will be impossible to keep from Jaemin, so what does that mean? 

Just when Renjun was good with Jaemin, it’s all falling apart again. In this world, everything good slips straight through your fingers. 

Having a romantic relationship with your co-pilot comes naturally to most people. It’s not definite—there are plenty of pilots related to each other, or are married to other people, but for many, it’s hard not to develop some kinds of feelings. Being drift compatible implies some kind of base-level compatibility, romantic or otherwise, after all. 

And sometimes, those feelings persist when the Jaeger isn’t in play. This is a situation that has less empirical evidence—the sad truth is, most pilot pairs don’t survive long enough to mutually retire and live in romantic harmony outside of the Shatterdome. That all being said, it’s very clear to Renjun that Jaemin and Jeno are still very much together . 

None of this bodes well for Renjun’s future. 

He only has a few options, none of which are good: do nothing and wait for Jaemin to find out through the drift (or Jeno), or talk to Jaemin now. Or , he could talk to Jeno, but just the thought of looking Jeno is the face at the moment is more than Renjun can bear. 

He’d love to do nothing. Too bad the fate of Korea is kind of resting on his shoulders right now. 

So Renjun digs deep into the ghost drift to search out Jaemin, who has still been MIA for most of the day. Jaemin’s giving him practically nothing so his best guess is that he’s meditating in his bunk, and that’s where Renjun decides to start. 

His guess is correct straight off the bat. Unfortunately, however, Jaemin isn’t alone. From down the hallway he hears the soft murmur of voices coming from inside, and it makes his stomach drop. He creeps up as quietly as he can until he’s right outside and all that’s between them is the door. Inside talking to Jaemin is Jeno. 

Renjun has never considered himself a coward, but today he might be. 

“I’m just saying that it could have been thought-out better,” Jaemin is saying. Renjun can imagine the shrug Jeno gives him in response. Jeno uses his innocence, his inoffensive nature, to get away with things like that. 

“It felt right,” Jeno says. He laughs a little, and Renjun knows he’s teasing Jaemin from the sudden rush of fondness that comes through the drift. In his mind’s eye he sees Jeno pinch at Jaemin’s cheeks, which he always does when he’s needling the other boy. “Are you jealous?” 

A dark, heated emotion flows in through Jaemin, one that Renjun can’t place precisely. After an entire day of nothing, it’s disorienting to be getting so many different emotions at once. Jaemin is vulnerable now, talking with Jeno, in a way he purposefully wasn’t before. Although Renjun has seen every crevice of Jaemin’s mind, somehow this conversation seems too intimate to be listening in on. That doesn’t stop him. 

“No! Maybe—yes. Fuck Jeno, I don’t know.” Confusion swirls in their bond and in Renjun’s gut. Oftentimes, people who don’t fully understands drifts assume that because they’re bonded, pilots can ready their partners perfectly. They can, in some sense—Renjun knows where Jaemin’s staff is headed before he even twitches his wrist—but emotions are entirely different. While he gets a lot of emotional input from Jaemin, at the best of times Renjun struggles to untangle his own emotions. Jaemin’s presence within him doesn’t automatically equate understanding. 

From behind the door, Jeno snorts. “You do,” he insists. “You don’t want to admit it, just like how you didn’t want to admit you liked him at all. Admit it—he’s so cute.” 

Realization crashes through Renjun’s system. They’re talking about him. Jaemin already knows that Renjun’s kissed Jeno, because Jeno himself told him. Fuck he’s so embarrased. Jaemin definitely feels Renjun’s reacction, too. He needs to hightail it out of there before he connects the dots and finds Renjun standing in the hallway with his proverbial dick in his hand. 

Blush lighting up his cheeks and the beginning of tears straining his eyes, Renjun does exactly that. He doesn’t even try to be quiet, just focuses on getting down the hallway and away from there as quickly as possible. He’s so focused on that he doesn’t notice the door behind him open anyways, and two concerned heads poking out of it to watch his back retreating. 

-

Renjun has already run away from Yangyang once today, so he finds himself hiding out in Sicheng’s office instead of going to find his friend. The Head of Engineering says nothing when he unlocks his office and finds Renjun already curled up in a chair in the corner, poking through the Jaeger archives he probably shouldn’t have access to. Anything to keep his mind away from Jaemin and Jeno. 

He and Sicheng aren’t friends, exactly, but their shared trauma is a stronger bond than companionship. Sicheng, too, is partly the reason Renjun is at Jeju in the first place. When Renjun was a cadet in China, in that huge, fathomless base, Sicheng was rising rapidly through the Engineering corps. By the time Renjun and Donghyuck had a Jaeger of their own, Sicheng was the Lead Engineer working on it. He got promoted and reassigned to Jeju a year before Donghyuck’s death, and they fell out of touch, but apparently Sicheng never forgot about him. When Renjun requested a transfer to Jeju, it was Sicheng who vouched for him and said he was willing to apprentice him. 

Still, if Jaemin really wants to find him, there’s a good chance he’ll check here. Renjun’s only hope is that his partner is, like him, too chicken. Renjun has never been partial to inaction, but these familiar emotions of love and lust and loss choke him. 

Sicheng drops a pile of tech in his lap. “If you’re going to be here, you might as well help me,” is all the elder says. 

This is good—this is something familiar for Renjun to occupy his head with. It puts Renjun back into the headspace of his second life as a mechanic, not as a Ranger, which despite being his current role feels like another life entirely. The way the magnifying glasses pinch his nose, the gentle hum and whirl and machinery under his finger’s ministrations—that’s the territory of Renjun the Mechanic. 

For the first thirty minutes, he and Sicheng sit in complete silence, Renjun with his gears and Sicheng with his paperwork. Eventually, the elder sighs heavily and tilts back in his chair.

“No one told me being Head of Engineering would involve so much administration ,” he sighs. Coming from his mouth, administration sounds like a dirty word, and Renjun snorts a laugh. Sicheng glares at him. “I’m trying to vent here, didi.”

Mandarin is warm and familiar in his ears. “Sorry,” Renjun tries to stifle himself. “But even I could have told you that. Be careful about your expressions, ge, or else you’re bound to get wrinkles.” 

Sicheng whips a pen at him, and as it whizzes by it clips the tip of Renjun’s ear. The pain lights up the ghost drift, and Jaemin’s concern is instantly palpable, questioning. Renjun stamps it down. 

“You look like you’re constipated when you do that,” Sicheng states. Then his expression softens. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Renjun vehemently shakes his head. “No, I don’t even want to think right now. Come on, give me some more work to do.” 

By the time he leaves Sicheng’s office, it’s well past dinner, and Renjun has to shame himself in begging the cafeteria staff for some leftovers. His neck and shoulders ache with being hunched over his work, even the tips of his fingers prickling with rawness. Eventually Sicheng made him leave, stating that he outright refused to be an accomplice to Renjun’s own self-destruction. He still feels better, though, like the edge of his worry has been shaved off by hard, mentally demanding work. 

Renjun’s looking forward to getting a long night’s sleep, and he even allows himself the vain hope that when he wakes up, his problems will be gone. He’s shocked from his pleasant fantasy, however, when he returns to his bunk to a single tupperware of dinner laying on his neatly made bed. A note is taped to the top. 

Sorry 

— J. 

Which J, Renjun isn’t sure. 

-

The hands on his waist are burning hot as they leave a trail of fire across Renjun’s belly. He gasps and arches without thought into the touch, searching out even more contact. A voice above him teases gently, laughing and shushing him in one breathy exhale. 

When that pair of lips meet his it’s a burst of emotion, exactly what Renjun has been waiting for. Their lips move heated against each other and it’s a push-and-pull battle of control, just like sparring is. He knows the next move before its made and counters it. The lips are deliciously wet, mouth warm. But Renjun is greedy—he wants more. 

His hand slides into the hair of the boy on top of his, too long for regulation but no one ever says anything. He expects to see Jeno above him but—

It’s Jaemin’s dark eyes staring hungrily down.

The boy’s trademarked devilish grin spreads across his face and it somehow makes Renjun feel even hotter , to be the subject of that gaze. Jaemin looks like he’s going to give Renjun exactly what he wants when he reaches down to grasp him through his shorts and—

Renjun jerks awake all at once. His sits up in a flash, narrowly avoiding a heavy collision with the bunk above his. In the darkness of his room, his chest rises and falls in heavy pants. His skin feels hot and his shorts uncomfortably tight. 

Jaemin. He was having a wet dream about Jaemin. 

The dreams about Jeno, those he’s come to expect. Embrace, even, because they’re pleasurable in the way that all naughty things are. But he’s never before crossed into that territory with Jaemin before. There’s always been ambient attraction between them, but nothing like this. This is a suckerpunch. And what’s more, by what’s coming through to him through the ghost drift, he’s not the only one awake and feeling flush at this hour. 

Great. As if things couldn't get worse for Renjun, he has a sparring session with Jaemin scheduled in another hour. 

Renjun spends forty of the next minutes just laying in bed stewing in his own misery. No party like a pity party at the crack of dawn, after all. In the next ten, he devises a plan—clearly, Jeno has told Jaemin everything. Renjun is just going to march into the training room and apologize, and then probably let Jaemin beat the shit out of him. They might go all the way back to square one, but this way their drift (probably) won’t disintegrate the moment they get in the Jaeger. 

“You look like shit,” Jaemin says the moment he lays eyes on him. From a quick glance, Jeno is nowhere in sight. Fortunately, they’re alone, without even Taeyong to observe them. 

“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” Renjun grumbles. Jaemin shrugs—he gives nothing away to Renjun, and his side of the ghost drift is carefully calibrated to neutral. 

“It suits you. You’re always so perfect, you’re cute with your feathers a little ruffled up.” 

Against his will, Renjun feels his face flush. He doesn’t know what to make of Jaemin’s comments until he feels the creep of mischief coming from Jaemin’s side of the drift. He teasing him, taking advantage of Renjun’s dream about him. Fire lights up his gut—back to this shit. He should have guessed that Jaemin wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity. 

Renjun snatches up a sparring staff and grips it with renewed vigor. “Let’s get started,” he snaps. Jaemin giggles in response, which just serves to infuriate Renjun further. 

He opens the drift wide open, letting Jaemin feel all of Renjun’s confusion, lust, anger, guilt—everything. It has the intended result of leaving the other completely vulnerable, and Renjun takes advantage by taking two quick points. Both times he hits Jaemin for real “accidentally.” 

For once, Jaemin appears genuinely offended and confused. But he controls himself quickly and when he does, the grin Jaemin gives him when he pulls himself off the mats the second time is absolutely feral. “If that’s how you want to do it, then give me your best.” 

“Seriously, just shut the fuck up for once.” 

They dance. The drift works with and against them. Renjun knows exactly what Jaemin is going to do, and thus how to counter it, but Jaemin knows the counter to the counter . After Renjun’s early lead, they trade points equally. 

“Make me,” Jaemin dares. 

Their pace is rapid-fire, and it doesn’t take long until Renjun’s shoulders and lungs are aching with exertion. The staff feels loose in his sweaty grip, and it keeps dripping off his forehead into his eyes, but today there’s no chance Renjun’s giving in first. All codes of conduct in spars are abandoned—they hit to hurt. Jaemin rips at his hair and Renjun spits in his face. They go so fast he doesn’t even have an opportunity to think, just feel.

And what he feels is confusing. 

Jaemin is disarmed. He’s raw and open in a way he never is outside their Jaeger. And the emotional feedback Renjun is getting mirrors his own, desire being the most poignant. 

What is it? Bloodlust? 

Despite knowing that Jaemin is going to just drop his staff and lunge at him, by the time Renjun knows what’s about to happen, his body is so exhausted he can’t physically force himself get out of the way, and Jaemin sends them toppling down to the mats. But Renjun wraps his ankle around Jaemin’s calf to flip them before he can be wrestled into a hold. Jaemin counters again, and they tumble into a series of rolls, flipping constantly between which one of them is in control. 

“You’re so—” Jaemin grunts when Renjun knees him in the solar plexus. “Stubborn!”

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun hisses. Jaemin chunk of his hair out by the root. 

“Why are you mad? ” Jaemin cries. “I know all about it!” 

“I know you know!” Renjun retorts. “And you’re using it to—to make fun of me! Hate me but don’t—ugh—fucking mock me!” 

Jaemin stills. He’s ended up on top of Renjun, straddling him, hands pressed painfully into Renjun’s slim, unpadded shoulders. His eyes are wide and everything about him exudes confusion. 

“Wait...” he says slowly. “Are we talking about the same thing?” 

“We’re talking about everything!” Renjun pushes against Jaemin but it’s weak—he has barely anything left. “The dream, Jeno, everything! I came here to apologize and you just want to rub every good thing you have and I don’t in my face!” 

“Injun, I—” 

“Don’t call me that! Let go!” Renjun cries. Tears burn at his eyes. Hearing Donghyuck’s nickname for him, something Jaemin surely picked up through the drift, is more than Renjun can stand. Jaemin is trying to get something through to him but Renjun ignores it. He just wants to get out of here and up to Taeyong’s office, where he’ll tell him that he tried, but this partnership isn’t working out after all. 

And then Jaemin’s lips are on his. 

There’s no space for confusion. Connected like this, everything Jaemin thinks and feels is open for Renjun to see. It’s a startling moment of clarity, when streams of consciousness in the drift are often so blurred and tangled. Jaemin’s feelings for Jeno, and more importantly, Jaemin’s feelings for Renjun are all laid out plain for him to see. He understands that it’s Jaemin’s first time seeing it all clearly, too. 

Jaemin breaks away from him. He has the audacity to laugh. “We’re really made for each other, huh? Two idiots who can’t communicate their way out of a paper bag. Even when we can read each other’s minds.”

When Renjun pants, his breath mingles with Jaemin’s. It’s gross but then again, not gross at all. They’ve shared far more intimate things than air.  

“Kiss me again,” Renjun demands, pulling at Jaemin’s sweat-soaked shirt. He wants, he wants, he wants. The other obliges, ducking down to suck Renjun’s lower lip with his teeth. It’s electric, being kissed by your drift partner. Outsiders mistake it for kissing yourself, but it’s not that at all. For Renjun, it’s being kissed in every way he wants without having to say a word. What he craves, Jaemin gives to him. And Jaemin wants to give it to him—Renjun can feel that, too. 

Like this, Renjun wonders how he ever could have thought Jaemin wouldn’t want him, would be mad at him for being with Jeno when Jaemin wants Renjun so badly himself. 

“You’re right,” Renjun gasps. “We’re fucking idiots.” 

“For the record, I didn’t know what I felt,” Jaemin admits. He tucks his head into the crook of Renjun’s neck like he did when they first cuddled together on Jaemin’s bed. “I couldn’t see myself clearly. Jeno helped me sort myself out.” At the mention of Jeno, Renjun feels a sharp pang of regret and guilt in his chest. Jaemin physically rubs the spot with the pads of his fingers, rough from years of training. “It’s ok. He knows.” 

“He—”

“—knows us better than we know us. How is that even possible with the drift and everything? We’re a scientific mystery,” Jaemin laughs. It comes out breathless and feathery. Music to Renjun’s ears. It does wonders to release the rest of the tension between them, and Renjun smiles back at his co-pilot. “He’s waiting for us to figure this mess up, you know. Do you want to go to him?” 

“Yeah,” Renjun nods. As Jaemin already knows, he wants nothing more. 

-

Just as promised, Jeno is waiting patiently on Jaemin and Jeno’s shared bed. The space looks different with Jeno inhabiting it—not that anyone but Renjun would be able to notice. Jaemin is quite neat, but Jeno leaves his cane and shoes in a messy pile the door, and it seems, along with random knick knacks picked up from around base. Renjun’s not surprised by Jeno’s instinct to collect—it’s a habit he’s seen in other Rangers. Material permanency in a world that is absolutely not. 

He gives Renjun a gentle smile when he enters. Peace and comfort flows around him, and Renjun is glad that he has Jaemin at his back, a sure and steady vote of confidence that yes, this is ok. You can have this.

And isn’t that in itself a revelation? 

“Hey,” he says, still shaky. He draws as much confidence and encouragement from Jaemin as he can. The other even goes so far as to place a sure hand between Renjun’s shoulder blades. Jeno gives him a little wave just as Jaemin takes matters into his own hands—literally—and pushes Renjun in past the doorway so he can close the door. 

This is really happening. 

“I wanted to apologize,” Renjun blurts out. Jeno’s face contorts in confusion, and Jaemin lets out a little sigh. 

“For what?” Jeno asks. Renjun himself isn’t entirely sure, but an apology feels right. “I kissed you, like,  pretty much out of nowhere.” 

“Yeah, you did. Why did you do that?” Renjun responds. 

“Um... did you not want me to?” Jeno shoots Jaemin a puzzled twisting of his eyebrows, and a silent conversation happens over Renjun’s shoulders. That’s when Jaemin intervenes. 

“He did, he definitely wanted to kiss you a lot. He still does,” Jaemin tells Jeno. “But he’s confused as to why you would want to kiss him.” 

“Renjun...” Jeno says slowly. “You’re so cute. And fun. And... understanding. Jaemin and I talked about you for a long time before I kissed you, so no hard feelings there.” 

“Maybe not hard feelings ...” Jaemin smirks. 

“I love Jaemin,” Jeno says plainly. “And I’m interested in you. But it’s not just because you’re drifting with Jaem. It’s because you’re you . And I don’t know if you’re aware, but you kind of kick ass.” 

“And I was being stupid, as we’ve covered,” Jaemin adds. His hand migrates upwards to stroke the back of Renjun’s neck. It’s a solid and comforting touch. “Jeno could tell way before I could that you were right for us. With us.” Jaemin’s lips brush against the shell of Renjun’s ear and a full-body shudder runs through him. “Doesn’t this just feel right?” 

It takes a minute for their words to sink in for Renjun. Jaemin is right, being here with the two of them feels exactly like where Renjun needs to be. He couldn’t even imagine being with just Jeno, or even just Jaemin. It’s all three that makes them complete. 

Taeyong was right after all. What could they have been like, together? 

“Of course I kick ass,” Renjun says, feigning nonchalance. “I’m the best pilot here with two good legs.” 

Jeno bursts into laughter as Jaemin pinches mercilessly at Renjun’s sides. It sends him forward, diving into Jeno’s open arms for protection. Jaemin follows on his heels, and the three of them end up in a pile of limbs on the bed, where Renjun finds himself sandwiched between the two other boys. Their arms criss-cross over Renjun’s stomach and torso. It’s been years since he felt this secure. 

“Do you believe in fate?” Jeno asks softly. In his left ear, Jaemin groans. This must be a recurring conversation of theirs. 

“No, never before,” Renjun says. “But I believe in ghosts. And aliens.” 

This comment sends Jaemin and Jeno hurtling back into laughter. “No shit dude,” Jaemin giggles. “We fight aliens in giant robots all the time. You better believe in aliens.” 

“Either way, you’re here,” Jeno says. Renjun becomes suddenly very aware of their proximity, specifically that of their lips. It’s just too tempting to glance down at the alluring curve of them. 

This time, Renjun does the kissing, and it’s just as good as he remembers. The ghost drift purrs. 

“My turn,” Jaemin says, using two fingers to turn Renjun’s chin towards him and connecting their lips. 

“Always so greedy for sweet things,” Jeno says. 

Everything in this world is so impermanent , Renjun thinks as Jaemin kisses up one side of his neck and Jeno down the other. We’re all just hanging on to a fraying line. Thank you, whoever is out there, for this.  

Later, in the liminal hours between night and dawn where time crawls to molasses, their fantasy is cracked by the hammering of the alarm. The three of them are awake instantly, jerking out of the tangled stack they’d managed to fall asleep in. Jeno pulls on Jaemin’s shirt—too small and too tight—over his bare chest. Jaemin doesn’t even bother getting fully dressed. He’s up and pulling Renjun out of bed in a matter of seconds. 

Both of them peck Jeno on the lips. “Happy hunting, Rangers,” he tells them. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

The briefing comes as they jog to the preparation room, though Renjun only catches the barest details of it and just hopes Jaemin absorbs more than he does. 

“Hey,” Jaemin stops him with two hands cupped around his jaw. The question hanging there is redundant—Jaemin is too self-assured to think Renjun could regret yesterday. The gesture is just to focus him, narrow his world down to nothing more besides Jaemin and their Jaeger. As if Jaemin isn’t already the focus of everything. “You ready?” 

Renjun is ready. He feels at equilibrium, for the first time in an unknowable amount of seconds, hours, days, years. Maybe since the first time he looked across the training mat as a cadet and locked eyes with Donghyuck. Through the ghost drift, he can feel Jaemin’s excitement, his happiness, and something underlying it all. Some one. Renjun knows who, because it’s the same for him.

“Yeah,” Renjun nods firmly.  

Strapped into his seat, Renjun looks up as the timer to the drift counts down. There on the observation deck is Jeno, hair still mused from sleep. He smiles at them, and places his hand over his heart in a silent good luck or maybe I love you . Somewhere in his own body, Renjun feels the gesture. 

Today, there will be no Donghyuck or Red Roulette waiting for them in the drift. Today, they have a shore to stand on. 

“Let’s go kick some Kaiju ass.”