Chapter Text
It’s exactly what he’s become used to. From the pattern of the far-off, surrounding stars, to the distinctive, yellow-orange paint job of the enemy plane he’s chasing away; from the intermittent, kind of eerie stretches of quiet noise coming in over the radio, to the garbled talk frequently interrupting it. (He mentally tunes the conversation out, though, unless he explicitly hears his callsign mentioned. He knows what they’re saying.)
All his senses are on high alert, which is necessary — and no matter what he sees or hears, he needs to be ready to react, to switch tasks at a moment’s notice: to accelerate in a new direction, to dodge an attack, to rescue a teammate… anything . Anything, because while he has a set of scenarios in mind, there’s no guarantee, and the middle of a dogfight is always going to be intensely unpredictable.
(He doesn’t know who decided to call it that — dogfight — or if the name is accurate. To be fair, there’s a lot of stuff Seokjin doesn’t know.
He does know, thankfully, how to fly, aim, and shoot.)
The yellow plane — phantom of sunshine, the squad calls it, riffing on both its color scheme and the spine-chilling level of destruction its pilot leaves behind when they feel like it — diverts from its straight line path, circling back around, apparently ready to make another attempt at the transport convoy. Another futile attempt — the sort of obvious futility that used to puzzle him, although he knows to expect it by now — because Seokjin is still right here.
With his left foot, Seokjin lets up on the thrust lever, preparing to make a sharp turn if needed; and he lets off a careful volley of warning shots into what should be Sunshine’s direct line of sight. The deterrent does its job, as usual, the other veering away again, although now retreating in a slightly different direction, which may possibly have been their intention all along. (A clever bastard, Sunshine is.)
The idiot who’s been trailing behind Sunshine for the last couple of minutes doesn’t seem to get the memo, though, approaching too close for comfort, and too eagerly. Seokjin fires towards them again, and when one of the shots hits home, it’s obvious in the way their plane gets knocked off course, the slow but uncontrolled rotation, the brief burst of orange flame as the cockpit’s oxygen is consumed. He doesn’t know whether the buzzing sensation that rushes quickly through him, that makes his palms sweat in their gloves, is satisfaction, exactly — but, well, he objectively knows he did well. He protected the convoy, he did his job, which is good, and important. Obviously.
He blinks, breathes in deeply, appreciating the canned air in his suit despite its thinness and its diesel-y smell — again, it’s what he’s accustomed to. Everything is. Besides some whoops of victory over the radio, no one congratulates him; but soon he’ll be able to let up on his alertness a little, which is enough of a reward. The enemy has limited resources and a predictable threshold for acceptable risk, so the fight usually dies down after their first casualty, no matter its severity (and Seokjin has no idea what level of damage he just inflicted).
Still slowing down, he watches for another half-minute as most of the opposing force try to extricate themselves from individual engagements and flee the scene. Following the wrecked fighter’s unintentional course, though, Sunshine and one other hang back, circling at a safe distance as they inspect for what might or might not be salvaged, seemingly no longer paying attention to Seokjin's presence, as if confident he won’t hurt them any further — which they’d be right about, of course. He’s done his job here.
When he’s comfortable rejoining the convoy, which has continued moving this whole time, he’s one of the last to do so, and he tries to fit himself in where the security cover seems most sparse. This is the point at which he can relax a little, and the flurry of thoughts and calculations and commentary going through his mind can silence themselves.
Not that he's got anything to think about in the first place. Because sure, the fight was familiar enough, but this is the part he does every day, sometimes even twice. The transport vehicles they're protecting change, of course, as does the moon's exact rotation, but that daily variation doesn't mean much to him. It's the same moon. The same destination and the same assignment, the same people and the same plane and the same handful of maneuvers.
He doesn't tune out totally, of course. There are multiple factors to be monitored: the indicators on his dashboard, but especially the clock, because despite the disruption injected by the fight, the passing minutes still give him a pretty good idea of their progress; his own position in relation to everyone else, understanding from experience that he can't automatically trust the cargo pilots to not fall out of line; and the blanket of dark sky now orthogonal to their direction of movement as the moon's surface starts to make up more and more of the view and they begin to imitate orbit, to follow its curvature, the sun barely peeking out from the horizon.
"Grandpa." Ah. And the radio. Always monitoring the radio, for that unshakeable nickname especially. He holds back a sigh and starts paying closer attention. "I can stay with your group if you want backup, over."
Seokjin does sigh, aloud this time, and he considers. If, heavens forbid, something else were to happen on this mission, Sooyoung's presence would be an advantage — but what are the odds of that? He thinks they're low, and she must think so, too, or she's got something pressing to take care of back at the station. When the squad leader wants to accompany the section of the convoy headed for the surface, she just goes, without asking.
Reaching for his radio control panel, he holds down the button to talk. "No, sir, we'll be fine. Over."
Seokjin waits for Sooyoung to finish rattling off instructions to the whole group, the same instructions as always, and then waits another minute or two, enough time for himself and everyone else to switch radio frequencies, before giving the all-clear to peel off from the lucky ones headed to the station directly. He has six fighters, a dozen or more transports, and about another uneventful hour of flying ahead of him — but it’s fine, it’s part of the job, and doing this now means they’ll be the ones going back to the station first next time.
(While nobody seems to mind giving Seokjin the short end of the stick — he’s never complained, anyway, so why should they hesitate — the other five stuck in his subgroup would inevitably kick up a fuss.)
They might be designated as the group ‘going to the surface,’ but they don’t actually accompany the transports all the way down. Attempting to land each time would be an unnecessary risk, and they can protect against incoming attackers just as well from here, circling above the dark outline of the mine complex, still watching every possible angle, his five teammates bantering over the radio now that the transports have changed their comm channel a second time.
As the de facto authority in Sooyoung's absence, deciding when exactly to turn around and leave really comes down to his own prerogative. They don’t need to wait for all the vehicles to land — the surface staff have their own perfectly capable security contingent, including anti-aircraft weapons — so Seokjin doesn’t. He gives signal to head back as soon as the ships are no longer visible to the naked eye, and the team responds automatically, but without real acknowledgement.
Just like the rest, Seokjin slows to a cautious crawl as the station’s glittering atrium comes into view, an immaculate, bright spot of green, enclosed in decorative glass which would be a disaster to crash into; they steer clear as they circle around to the hangar. As the team filters through the external airlock hatch, mostly one by one with a couple who insist it's big enough for two, Seokjin idles outside. Absently, he gazes up at the surface of the hull above him. Scratched and battered, repaired and re-repaired, it bears the evidence of wayward debris from mining activities, unintentional collisions with visiting ships, intentional machine gun fire, and likely plenty of other sources of degradation, a collection of marks built up over ten years of existence in this environment.
He only enters the airlock once he’s certain everyone else is safely inside.
It’s not like he can feel the repressurization of his surroundings from the isolated space of his cockpit, and it’s not like he’s actively afraid of flying around in the vacuum of interplanetary space — that’s his job — but he can’t deny the relief he feels as the inner hatch unseals with a jolt and spins open the rest of the way, signaling that the process is complete. (Signaling to his brain, Jieun theorized when he told her about this, that he’s safe now. That whatever scenario led to his accident, even if he can’t consciously remember it, hasn’t occurred again.)
Once he’s identified an acceptable empty spot and his landing gear is interlocked with the parking tether, then he can kill the engine, unbuckle himself from his seat, unhook his pressure suit and unseal its restrictive but necessary helmet; he can stretch a little, mechanically unseal the cockpit itself, and, pushing himself up to kneel on the seat, lift open the metal-and-glass access canopy separating him from the hangar outside.
It’s not like the air in here smells particularly nice, but there’s so much of it. Seokjin takes a second to breathe it in before continuing. Technically he’s accustomed to missions like this one, featuring constant high-alert and a generous helping of violence, but still. It’s draining.
(He shouldn’t think about it, though — it’ll just reinforce how tired he is, probably. But his subconscious paints a series of pictures for him anyway: once he’s done here he’ll go eat, and that’s good, that will help. Strong tea will help. But then he’s got his on-call shift starting soon after… if he’s lucky, if he hasn’t been assigned too many extra tasks and the break room isn’t too rowdy, he’ll be able to sneak a nap in then…)
Come on, Seokjin, get up. This is pathetic.
No nonessential magnets are permitted here, and the hangar is a vast space, so he’s mindful not to lose his grip — already compromised by the thick insulation on his gloves — as he pushes and pulls himself around. Sailing from handhold to handhold, he completes his usual post-flight inspection of the ship, doing it in a less cursory manner than he would if the mission saw no action, although overall the pre-flight is more important — or, at least, that’s the common attitude.
Satisfied, he makes his way over to the center of the hangar, passing the cargo transports that have just arrived, still waiting to get unloaded while their staff take a break after such a long voyage. Ignoring the airlock control booth and the elevator set aside for guests and important people to use, he descends the ladder to the next level and scoots across the hall to the equipment room where his other teammates have started dismantling their pressure suits and returning them to storage.
(The mission record posted by the door has already been updated. Marked yes — there was an altercation. Marked no — the team suffered loss or damage. Marked yes — the team inflicted loss or damage. One casualty, attributed to Junghwan — which is wrong, but it’s expected, and it’s fine. As long as Sooyoung and the General understand what actually happened, there’s no problem. Seokjin takes the pen and adds a mark to indicate the whole team has safely returned.)
“Oh, Seokjin — someone was just in here looking for you,” Eunji informs him as he makes his way towards the bank of storage shelves. She’s one of the ones who actually speak to him respectfully when Junghwan isn’t around, and if that’s her small way of apologizing, he does appreciate it. “I don’t know where he went…”
Oh, huh. He doesn’t know what to make of that, what it could possibly mean, so he picks up the pace a little, resigned to finding out. “All right. Thanks.”
He isn’t even finished removing his outermost layer, let alone changing from his flight suit into his regular uniform, when a station staff member, flushed, sweating, clearly a little pissed off, storms into the room, his eyes searching for and locating their target right away. “Seokjin! Here you are. General’s been asking for you more than half an hour now.”
Ah. That's — he still doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing (although it may have already turned into a bad thing with how long he’s made the boss wait.) “Okay, sorry. I’m on my way.”
Ignoring the curious looks his teammates are surely giving him, Seokjin doesn’t even bother with the snaps, just forces the pressure suit’s bottom third off his legs and feet, shoves it into a cubby, and, leaving the flight suit on, wedges his feet into the closest pair of shoes he thinks belong to him. Then he’s rushing back into the hallway, opening and closing a sliding door — movements more controlled but also more limited now that he does have shoes on — and lowering himself through the hole cut into the floor, down the ladder again. The staff member, having successfully come to fetch him, doesn’t seem interested in following along, which is fine.
The general’s office is just off of the atrium, all the way on the other side of the station; it’s not a place his daily routine usually takes him, although he does find himself there every week or so. He knows the journey doesn’t take long if he ignores the sensible safety advice that staff maintain one or two points of contact with the ladder at all times and instead, once his feet are out of the way of the floor’s magnetic pull, he allows himself to hurtle through the access tunnel headfirst, as he does now, using the rungs of the ladder to give himself the occasional speed boost. As long as he’s ready to quickly bring himself to a halt, it’s fine — and he makes it to the floor opposite the hangar without incident.
Sliding open the lightweight door in front of him, Seokjin is first greeted with the beautiful sight of the atrium garden, and then by the glass dome surrounding the artificial greenery. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to see the stars on the other side at this time of day, when the dome is mainly lit up from the inside; either way, though, he doesn’t linger. Sooyoung, who’s evidently had time to change into her proper, presentable station-side uniform, paces back and forth in front of the General’s office with her arms crossed, halting when she spots Seokjin jogging over to her.
“Sorry, I—” he starts to explain, but she makes a face and cuts him off.
“You couldn’t have known.” She quickly looks him up and down, as if assessing his presentability and deciding it’s good enough. “Come on.”
Ah, so he’s getting ushered into the office just like that? No information, no expectations… well, presumably Sooyoung knows the context, so he follows along. Keeps his eyes downcast as he enters, unsure of the mood, and bows immediately, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but wary of what sort of guests he’ll find when he looks up.
“Seokjin!” The General’s jovial tone, whether it’s authentic or just a performance, does set him more at ease. “Come in, come all the way in.”
“Apologies if I kept you waiting,” he says, just to cover all of his propriety bases; at that point, then, he feels comfortable glancing over the entire room — briefly, and only once, but he desperately wants some idea of what’s going on.
It’s not a very large space, and the dimness, the deep blue fabric drawn most of the way over the expansive, occasionally beautiful, often less-than-practical wall and ceiling of windows makes it feel even smaller. In the combined light of the desk lamp, floor lamp, and doorway, at least, he’s fairly confident he can identify multiple staff members standing off to the left, including two from Medical; but no one particularly high-ranking is here, and none of the other department heads. Somewhat surprisingly, there’s only one man he doesn’t recognize — or, maybe he should be surprised there’s any stranger at all, given that the usual protocol, the correct procedure, dictates the escort team be briefed on the transport convoy’s expected load. There were no guests on the digest today.
“Oh, none of that.” Seokjin's attention snaps firmly back into place, and with an encouraging nudge from Sooyoung he approaches the desk. “I understand that as the man of the hour, you have a whole slate of important duties to attend to.” (Ah, the acknowledgement feels good, doesn’t it. Because it’s true, actually — out defending the convoy and the station, Seokjin is the one who did the main part of the job, isn’t he?) “I’m sorry I have to add to it, but I don’t know who better to entrust with this matter.”
“I’m pleased to take on whatever responsibilities are required,” Seokjin replies obediently, but — add to his duties? What does he mean by that? And if he’s the man of the hour, then who is this? Seokjin sneaks another sidelong glance at the stranger, a young man who already differs hugely from their usual guests in his apparent age, the seeming lack of a larger group, and the puzzlingly nonchalant way he’s sitting on… no, Seokjin's eyes aren’t deceiving him, he’s really perched himself on the corner of the General’s desk.
“I’d like you to meet my son,” the General continues — and oh, sure, that already explains just about everything, doesn’t it. Having finally been prompted, Seokjin feels permitted to look at the newcomer — the son — more directly.
His hair is nothing remarkable, nothing extraordinarily long, but it’s certainly longer than that of anyone who lives on the station full time, and his head is surrounded by these uncontrolled, seaweed-like tendrils stretching out in the absence of gravity. The guy is even younger-looking than he appeared at first glance, younger than Junghwan — or maybe Seokjin's perception is just getting skewed by the big eyes, the casual attire, and the awkward, goofy sitting position… In zero-G, surely he’s less comfortable wedged up against the corner of the table like that, his shoes tucked between a duffel bag and the magnetized floor, than he would be just standing normally — so either it’s an intentional choice, or he genuinely has no idea what to do.
And his clothes — well, Seokjin has no fucking idea what informal civilian fashion is like right now, but the guy looks like he’s thought about the impression he’s trying to make. The almost jarring blue and white, expensive-looking fabric strongly dyed, the fine silver jewelry floating around his neck: he’s put in effort to say something, and it’s probably paying off, whatever it is. He looks good, at least.
“Jungkook, this is Kim Seokjin; he’s a highly accomplished pilot with our group.” The General, looking towards his son now, gestures towards Seokjin, and the son in turn levels Seokjin with an intentionally bland, maybe analytical, searching gaze. (Seokjin's not sure what this guy is seeing, or what he’d even be looking for, but his own expression is probably something similar.) “Along with Sooyoung, he’ll be in charge of getting you up to speed.”
“It’s nice to meet you…” The newcomer, Jungkook, extends almost exactly the bare minimum level of politeness in his greeting so as to not come across as rude, and Seokjin automatically reciprocates, mirroring his gestures, rote. At least this is a more civil interaction than Junghwan would be giving him — but to be fair, in front of their father, anybody would be liable to act differently.
The General forges ahead, ignoring the slight tension — that he honestly might have imagined, anyway — or simply diffusing it by continuing the discussion. “You know how we’re always searching for more candidates, qualified pilots, to flesh out our ranks.” He’s addressing Seokjin again, but he isn’t expecting a response. “My son easily meets the criteria — he’s been flying for a long time — and I finally… He decided he wanted to join!”
Given his mechanical politeness just a couple of seconds ago, Seokjin is honestly taken aback by the unmistakable venom contained in the look Jungkook tosses over his shoulder at his father. It’s — there’s something else going on here, then, right? And it’s going right over Seokjin's head. Maybe the General simply said something disagreeable — that ‘finally’ he seemed to walk back; maybe the son wanted to come up earlier but there’d been some delay, or the son hadn’t been taken seriously at first after coming to a decision…
Or it could be nothing. Sure, the attack on the convoy was over an hour ago now, but the close brush with danger might very well explain if Jungkook's in a strange mood. (If he’s staying here, he ought to get used to that quickly… really, though, it’s none of Seokjin's concern.)
“He’ll be able to fill you in on what he does and doesn’t know,” the General says, ignoring Jungkook's glance completely, although Seokjin is certain he saw it, certain that everyone in the room must have noticed. “Sooyoung will assist with scheduling, planning, evaluation; but, Seokjin, I hope you understand I’m trusting you specifically with this. You have just the right combination of experience and skill, and responsibility, to move our new addition here from training to active participation. And to get it done as quickly as possible — that’s the goal. Okay?”
I’m trusting you specifically… just right... skill… responsibility… Yeah. Yeah, Seokjin manages a nod — acknowledging what was said, because of course he’s not going to dissent. Never in a million years. (Especially if he’s going to be subjected to such kind words. It shouldn’t feel this overwhelmingly satisfying to be praised, but, well, he can’t help the way he reacts, the rare surge of warmth and gratitude, the redness he hopes isn’t too obvious at the tips of his ears.)
“I will be checking in with the three of you periodically, but of course you can come to me with any big problems along the way… Understood?”
“Understood!” It’s Sooyoung who responds — Seokjin has almost forgotten her standing there beside him. He gives another nod.
Jungkook, meanwhile, comes down from the desk, a little clumsy, overly forceful, obviously not yet adjusted to the gravity, and he picks up his duffel bag, holding it securely under his arm as if afraid it’s going to fly away. It seems premature, but “you’re dismissed,” are the next words out of the General’s mouth. “I’m sure you three all have things you need to be doing.”
Seokjin doesn’t dare confirm or deny — he doesn’t have to come up with anything deferential to say himself, though, with Sooyoung already tugging him backwards by the sleeve of his flight suit. “Thank you, sir! We’ll do our best.”
As soon as they’ve turned the awkward ninety degrees to fully step out of the office, and Sooyoung's let go of him, he’s searching her face — she knows how to read the General far better than he does — for some indication of how well or poorly they handled that. Self-congratulatory, or maybe even sensing his uncertainty, the leader shoots him a grin and a quick thumbs-up — they did okay.
This is good. No, whatever tension he felt in the office had nothing to do with him — for Seokjin, this is something good, at least an indication of good things. Crossing the atrium almost painfully slowly, allowing Jungkook to follow without falling behind, the picture, the significance of this, becomes clearer and clearer in his mind. The fact that Seokjin was chosen, out of the entire squad, all twenty pilots and each of them having been here for longer than him — the General selected Seokjin… he feels honored, in a way.
He certainly feels special. To be trusted, not just with the safe and constructive training of a random new member, but being trusted with the safety of the General’s own son? To have his skills simultaneously called out, recognized, valued? It all goes to show that his hard work and diligent efforts, his constant striving to prove his usefulness despite everything, to portray himself as added-value despite his unfortunately timed accident and the subsequent costs of keeping him around — basically, it’s paying off.
So who cares if he’s suddenly getting an increased workload piled onto his shoulders, if it’s analogous with his success? (Well, he might care, later. But for now, no. He feels good.)
Probably cognizant of Jungkook's unsteadiness, Sooyoung forgoes the usual ladder and calls the elevator instead, which opens for them immediately. She pulls the lever to head in the direction of the hangar, and the three of them begin their gentle descent, Sooyoung quickly moving to break the silence before it can become too awkward. “So, how was the journey?”
Jungkook clears his throat before responding, and he avoids looking at her, seemingly fixated on the slow-changing array of floor indicator lights above the door. “It was torture, sir. You know.”
“I do know!” Sooyoung grins wide, and she chuckles, playing into what she must think is just banter. (Somehow, Seokjin doesn’t think he was joking.) “We only get into skirmishes once every week or so, wouldn’t you say, Jin?”
“Yes, sir, that’s accurate.” The enemy tries to remain unpredictable, but on average, one attack per week is basically correct. Jungkook does glance at him then, sidelong, curious. Did he not expect Seokjin and Sooyoung to have the same hierarchical relationship? Maybe he’d mistaken them for equals. Well.
Marked by a bright yellow cautionary sign that lights up when the elevator passes the adjacent floor, Sooyoung eases up on the lever near the station’s midpoint, the dividing threshold where surface magnetization switches directions and the floor becomes the ceiling. Jungkook must have gone through this on the way to the General’s office, because he grips the wooden hand railing tightly, knuckles going pale, understanding what to expect; and while his expression remains stoic through the cabin’s 180-degree rotation, Seokjin is too close in this space not to miss the way the other exhales when they thunk back into place and the elevator starts lowering itself again — although of course it feels like ascending now that they’ve flipped.
Unsurprisingly, she lets them off on the second-to-last floor, ‘hangar 2,’ where Sooyoung's office (and all the security team’s other most relevant compartments) is situated, as close to the planes as possible in case of an emergency. As she leads them down the corridor, Jungkook in the middle still clutching his bag and Seokjin bringing up the rear, she makes a point of naming each room they pass and giving a sentence or so of context. Jungkook follows her monologue at least with his eyes, but Seokjin suspects his primary focus might still be on putting one foot in front of the other.
It must be hard, adjusting to zero gravity for the first time — that’s something that would have to be difficult for anybody, right? An equalizing factor. Seokjin can still sympathize, even if he can’t remember.
(Despite whatever ‘skill and responsibility’ combination the higher-ups seem to think he has, will it be an issue? The fact that, subject to what Jungkook does or doesn’t already know, they’re expecting Seokjin to teach subjects he doesn’t personally recall the process of learning? With no complete memory of instruction he can fall back on? He’ll have to think about that. Strategize. Talk to Sooyoung maybe.)
Inside Sooyoung's office, today’s on-call leader from his group is already collecting inspection reports, training checklists, and drill spreadsheets for their upcoming shift; as she does so, she graciously refrains from gawking too openly at the stranger, but her presence effectively reminds Seokjin that he ought to wrap up here quickly so he’s able to eat something before heading to join the others. Mindful of the cramped space available in the utilitarian room, he squeezes himself into the gap between the meeting table and the wall, leaving the area in front of the door for Jungkook to occupy alone.
At the file cabinet, Sooyoung pulls out a thin drawer and starts shuffling through the stack of papers it contains, pressing in a bit closer when their other teammate slips past, quickly and anonymously seeing herself out. Only a few seconds later, the leader steps back with a satisfied ‘ah!’ and a sheaf of paper in her hands, which she passes over to Seokjin immediately.
“This is for you,” she says, ‘this’ being a loosely paperclipped together, typewritten document, perhaps twenty pages long, with cramped annotations handwritten in bold ink intermittently scrawled beside the thin lines of the original text. “We haven’t had to use it for a while, so I believe it’s still the most up-to-date set of our official training guidelines.”
Right. That makes sense. Seokjin scans the front page — it features the mine logo, ‘Orbiting Station Security Standards and Training Guidelines’ underlined for emphasis, and a list of contents, some of which do sound potentially quite helpful. Example training schedule. List of proficiencies. Minimum requirements.
“We aren’t expecting you guys to follow this to the letter, but we wanted to let you know it exists,” Sooyoung continues. “At the very least, it explains the qualification standards we’re obligated to abide by.”
Looking up from the paper, he meets Sooyoung's expectant, even slightly impatient gaze before glancing quickly at Jungkook who, still making eye contact with neither of them, doesn’t seem inclined to respond. “All right. This will be a good resource.”
“And obviously it’ll be best if you two just proceed by communicating and following whatever course of action seems most logical…”
“Right, agreed. Thanks for the latitude, sir.” Honestly, he wouldn’t mind if she was more prescriptive about it, handing down strict deadlines and commands from above, but this should be enough. He’ll take what he can get.
“So… I hate to disappear so suddenly, but there’s actually some business I have to go take care of real quick.” The apologetic line between her eyebrows would suggest she is regretful, although Seokjin isn’t completely buying into it. She’d find a way to get around the obligation if she actually wanted to — but he ensures his expression is neutral as she addresses him directly. “You can take it from here, right? And you’ll show him the dorm, too. I’ll check back in with you when I’m done, but…”
“Sure. Yes.”
Jungkook steps to the side until he bumps into the table, and Sooyoung offers a semi-reassuring smile as she squeezes past, leaving the two of them alone in the office. It’s not comfortable, really, but it’s interesting that Jungkook reacts positively to her absence, lifting his head, looking around at the room’s few decorative elements, spots of color, with apparent curiosity. Seokjin, meanwhile, flips through the pages of the document, trying to appear purposeful while he grasps for an idea of what he should be doing or saying.
Honest disclosure is the best option he comes up with. “I’m afraid I have a tight schedule as well. I should be reporting for my on-call shift before too long…”
“What is that? ‘On call?’” Jungkook asks. The thought strikes Seokjin that perhaps this is the sort of thing Jungkook should already know, given he signed up to be here — but, well, it’s not as if Seokjin knew, either. And the question certainly seems genuine. (Anything could be made to seem genuine by those big, sparkling eyes, to be fair —) Seokjin clears his throat.
“That refers to time we have to spend at the ready in case there’s a sudden attack. We switch off throughout the day,” he explains. “There are certain restrictions on what we can be doing then…”
“Oh.” Jungkook turns sheepish, looking away again. “I’m sorry they’re giving you more work to do, on my account.”
It’s surprising, but in a good way. Very good. Junghwan provides his baseline for what behavior to expect from the General’s children, and this is infinitely preferable. Junghwan has never apologized to him for anything, and won’t be doing so anytime soon. “Don’t worry about it,” Seokjin says firmly. “It wasn’t your decision. Anyway, we’ll work diligently and get you qualified in no time.” Get it done as quickly as possible, the General said. That’s the goal. “Your father seemed to suggest you were already very close to the threshold, so…”
The way Jungkook pokes his tongue into his cheek and frowns makes Seokjin wonder if one of his comments touched on an unwelcome topic. He’s really not sure, but Jungkook's next question is enough to bring that train of thought to an astonished stop. “Does he really make you call him 'the General?'”
“Sorry — what?” Because while the literal meaning of what Jungkook asked is neutral enough, just another inquiry, his tone , on the other hand… Didn’t Seokjin just learn what a genuine question from Jungkook looks like? The two don’t match, and the sudden disappointment is almost sickening.
“I mean, it’s so…” Jungkook starts emphatic, but trails off when he seems to recognize that the confusion Seokjin's expression is not from lack of comprehension, but rather disbelief.
“Why wouldn’t I? That’s… it’s his title,” Seokjin says, aware that he’s pushing back somewhat but not sure how else to respond.
And it’s fascinating to see, in just a fraction of a second, the way Jungkook's earnest attitude completely switches, his relaxation reverses itself, and he closes himself off again. “I’m sorry; I guess I just misunderstood.”
He didn’t misunderstand. That much is clear. He did make severely faulty assumptions, though — because what sort of a foundation for camaraderie is that? Mutual disrespect? How awful — but Jungkook thought he could make it work, right off the bat, and against one of the most distinguished members of the station staff, no less, the same man who decided to give Seokjin a chance to prove his worth despite the expense and the baggage everything else?
Jungkook may not be a carbon copy of his brother, but that doesn’t mean he can’t still be disrespectful, or just generally an asshole. It definitely doesn’t mean he and Seokjin are suddenly going to become friends, or even get along.
At least, if Seokjin knows anything, it’s how to stay professional in this type of situation. “Okay,” he allows. “It happens. Anyway, should we get going? Whether or not you’d like to rest after your journey, I’m sure you’d like to stash your belongings… More in-depth planning can wait until later.”
He thinks it ought to be Sooyoung's job rather than his, but Seokjin escorts Jungkook to their dorm nevertheless, getting a very small but undeniable measure of satisfaction from observing the other’s subtle disappointment when the door to the room slides open. By Seokjin's (admittedly under-informed) standards, this place is pretty nice — individual storage, more bunks than people, with curtains, and reading lights, and even enough headroom to sit upright. But Jungkook's coming directly from Earth — not only that, but whatever posh version of Earth he as access to, given his family and their status.
Of course he’ll only see what he’s losing. Not how much worse it could be.
After standing there in the threshold for a few seconds, the two of them just observing, Seokjin points to an array of cubbies next to the entrance and whispers, aware that there are likely people in here trying to sleep, “Shoes go here. No shoes inside.”
Jungkook regards the cubbies with skepticism, which is understandable — he’s not even comfortable getting around with the help of magnetized shoes, much less without — but the rules are the rules. “Oh.” He copies Seokjin's quiet tone. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“This…” Gaze sweeping around the room again, he momentarily forgets to whisper. “This is where we live?”
“Yes?” Four bunks on either side, stacked two high. Room for sixteen, at least, although occupied by only ten. “Well, the other half of the team is in the next room over. It’s the same.” He gestures to the left and right. “Help yourself to any of the open beds. And that door back there leads to the washroom. I’m sure she’ll show you the rest later.”
Seokjin isn’t so heartless as to not offer to hold Jungkook's bag as he takes off his shoes and gets his bearings, and Jungkook isn’t foolish enough to turn him down. Somehow, after so much travel, the luggage now under his arm has the audacity to smell good, vaguely floral, jasmine and… and whatever else.
He doesn’t know what to think. He stands there, trying not to appear too impatient as Jungkook floats across the room, seeming to adjust to the new mode of movement rather quickly but still taking his time looking around everywhere, visually inspecting every open bunk before apparently choosing a low one in the back.
Even after Seokjin hands back over the bag, he lingers for a moment in the hallway, watching, considering. Does he really not know what to think? Maybe he does, actually.
The fact that Jungkook is handsome, or that he dresses well, or that his stuff smells good — it’s irrelevant. It means nothing, and he can’t allow meaningless details to confuse or sidetrack him.
He’s been given a job to do, something that’s new and outside of his comfort zone, something that isn’t going to be easy. Jungkook's character, based on the couple of glimpses he’s been afforded in the last fifteen minutes, will only make it more difficult.
He’s still planning on trying his best, of course, and getting it done. If he becomes overly invested in this, though — this duty, this process, this stranger, really ‘this’ through any possible lens — he’ll only end up getting himself hurt.