Acts of Contrition (11/20)
Chapter 11
Junsu’s face is pressed against his shoulder. “Do you really think it was him?”
“If it wasn’t, it was one hell of a coincidence,” Yunho confesses, tracing a path over the other man’s arm, over the mole on his elbow, before he returns his eyes to the path.
The landspeeder shakes as they cross uneven ground, the rattling of the engine echoing powerfully in the maze of the jungle. They’re not driving blind, however, and that’s about the craft’s only virtue. A compass pointing north guides their progress through overgrown bushes and thick tree trunks.
No sign of animals or people, though, and that makes Yunho wary of what he thinks he saw. It’s possible he imagined it. It’s possible it was just wishful thinking. Either way, north is the way they’re going. If they find a rebel base of some kind, it’s possible Changmin’s fighter crashed nearby. If it did, at least that will bring some form of closure: perhaps even eternal closure.
The chances of survival would have been minimal, of course. If his engines exploded, the craft would’ve spiralled out of control and burnt to cinders on impact. If the electronics went haywire, the fighter would’ve plummeted, broken atmo without anything to reduce its speed, hurtling towards the ground until it smashed into pieces.
Either way, the odds of Changmin surviving are impossibly small.
“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Junsu scolds, his voice louder than necessary to make itself heard over the sputtering engine. “You’re not crazy. If you say you saw Changmin, I believe you.”
There was a time, not so long before, when Junsu wouldn’t have dared overstep the bounds of rank to comfort a commanding officer, no matter how much he may’ve thought he needed to. Things change and it throws Yunho off for a few seconds. He bites back his quick reprieve; it’s unnecessary and unproductive in circumstances like these.
“Thanks,” he answers instead, adjusting their course as he drives them over rough terrain. Somewhere in this dense forest is Changmin’s fighter, torn to pieces, to ashes, but still there, tangible proof that he went down. Death in the line of duty: is there anything better men like them can hope for?
Life. Changmin should have lived.
Yunho’s hand grabs Junsu’s again. At least the other man might have that much. Life. Maybe that’s enough.
“Last I remember from when we eyeballed it,” Junsu comments with a sigh, “it’ll take us a few weeks to sweep this area and we don’t exactly have any supplies of any kind…”
“Don’t worry,” Yunho interrupts, empty reassurances on the tip of his tongue like a service he must pay back. “If we can’t find anything, we’ll hole up for the night and head back to refuel in the morning.”
In the darkness of the jungle, night falls unexpectedly, too quick, too abrupt to leave room for argument. They drive on despite it, searching, looking for debris in the dense greenery.
With Junsu’s hand digging into his arm, then into his thigh, Yunho feels grounded in the moment. Enemies are closing in on them from every side, they’ve got little hope for the future, but he’s here, now, living. This is the choice he’s made.
“Any regrets?” he smirks, darting a look at his friend.
There’s no hesitation. “None. I’ve got nothing to lose.” Junsu smiles, but behind his smile there’s a trace of nostalgia. For family? Friends?
Yunho responds in kind.
“I realize I don’t know much about you.” And there’s no surprise. On the Acheron, they don’t have time to talk about their families, about their pasts. Homesickness is contagious among pilots and everyone steers clear of it as much as they can. The smallest seed can render a squadron useless.
Junsu shrugs, draws his hand away. It’s a sign of how extraordinary this question of the past is, lying between them. Unattainable, unimaginable; it’s a chasm but Junsu isn’t one to close up like a shell when prodded too deep. Unlike his captain, he gives the appearance of having nothing to hide. Everyone is welcome to a piece of his past.
“There’s not much to know. I was born on Piraeus, grew up in the Rharian Fields and enrolled into the Guard as soon as I was of age. But you know all that, since you’ve read my file, right?”
Yunho smiles, the defensiveness, the quickly delivered phrases amusing him even as he knows he should probably back off. He can’t. If he doesn’t think about this, he’ll think about Changmin’s charred remains in the rotten jungle around them. He can’t afford that.
“Were you on Piraeus when that major landslide took half a continent down?”
“Yeah. I was.”
Junsu doesn’t elaborate and Yunho doesn’t ask. Some lines, it seems, they can’t cross even away from the Acheron. Maybe they’re not supposed to.
“Can I ask you something?” Junsu asks, startling the silence, his voice level with the sounds emanating from the engine.
“Ask.”
“Did you know Changmin was in love with you?”
Some lines are there for a reason.
Yunho doesn’t answer. His right hand clenches hard on the controls, clutching the shift as he wills himself not to pay attention to the memories flooding his mind. Changmin on his back, whimpering, clutching the pillow. Changmin, on his knees, bright eyes piercing in the dark, vision blurring suddenly. Changmin, keening, parting his lips, his thighs wantonly, beckoning with warmth and temptation and sex…
Love? Never.
“Is that what you think?”
Junsu looks at him, as if Yunho’s expression is going to determine his answer.
“Yes.”
“Good on you, then.” He’s curt but he doesn’t care. They’re not here to talk about him, they’re not here to talk at all. Why are they here? Why are they here, really? He’s not looking for a body, he’s not looking for closure.
“You’re thinking again,” Junsu observes, placing his hand over Yunho’s. “About him.”
It’s not a question, or an accusation, but it feels like both.
“Do you think Changmin was in love with me?” Yunho repeats. How can he think that and have done what he did only hours before?
“Do you care?” comes the half-whispered interrogation and it might as well be coming straight from Changmin.
The jungle presses down on them from every side, the last beams of sunlight filtered out until they’ve gone completely. In the darkness, they slow down to a crawl. The engine falters, once, twice, before the landspeeder stops completely. Yunho tries to restart it. A sound not unlike a groan echoes through the forest, before it dies abruptly. Again, the same effect occurs and then: silence.
“Shit.”
Junsu looks around them nervously. “Are we stuck? What’s happening?”
“We’ve run out of fuel. Did you check the gauge before we left?” Yunho glances at him sharply. “Did you?”
“No. No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
A sigh. “Don’t be sorry. This whole thing’s my fault anyway. Figures you should be allowed to fuck something up.” He tries for levity but it comes out whispered, like a hissed-out complaint.
The jungle is undisturbed by the sound.
Junsu jumps out from the automobile, rounds the landspeeder to stand beside his former captain. “If I’m allowed to fuck up, then I should be allowed to be sorry. And I am. About everything.”
Yunho follows with a sigh. “I liked you better when you kept radio silence.” His hand on Junsu’s back belies the harshness of his words, and so do his lips when they finally kiss.
In the dark, Changmin lies like a presence between them. And when Junsu gasps, it’s his voice Yunho hears, so much that he feels he might start believing in ghosts. But Junsu is real, his hands, his lips are real. And even if this is definitely not what they’re here for, it’s something to remind them they’re alive, they’re living, breathing for now. They exist.
Junsu’s face is pressed against his shoulder. “Do you really think it was him?”
“If it wasn’t, it was one hell of a coincidence,” Yunho confesses, tracing a path over the other man’s arm, over the mole on his elbow, before he returns his eyes to the path.
The landspeeder shakes as they cross uneven ground, the rattling of the engine echoing powerfully in the maze of the jungle. They’re not driving blind, however, and that’s about the craft’s only virtue. A compass pointing north guides their progress through overgrown bushes and thick tree trunks.
No sign of animals or people, though, and that makes Yunho wary of what he thinks he saw. It’s possible he imagined it. It’s possible it was just wishful thinking. Either way, north is the way they’re going. If they find a rebel base of some kind, it’s possible Changmin’s fighter crashed nearby. If it did, at least that will bring some form of closure: perhaps even eternal closure.
The chances of survival would have been minimal, of course. If his engines exploded, the craft would’ve spiralled out of control and burnt to cinders on impact. If the electronics went haywire, the fighter would’ve plummeted, broken atmo without anything to reduce its speed, hurtling towards the ground until it smashed into pieces.
Either way, the odds of Changmin surviving are impossibly small.
“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Junsu scolds, his voice louder than necessary to make itself heard over the sputtering engine. “You’re not crazy. If you say you saw Changmin, I believe you.”
There was a time, not so long before, when Junsu wouldn’t have dared overstep the bounds of rank to comfort a commanding officer, no matter how much he may’ve thought he needed to. Things change and it throws Yunho off for a few seconds. He bites back his quick reprieve; it’s unnecessary and unproductive in circumstances like these.
“Thanks,” he answers instead, adjusting their course as he drives them over rough terrain. Somewhere in this dense forest is Changmin’s fighter, torn to pieces, to ashes, but still there, tangible proof that he went down. Death in the line of duty: is there anything better men like them can hope for?
Life. Changmin should have lived.
Yunho’s hand grabs Junsu’s again. At least the other man might have that much. Life. Maybe that’s enough.
“Last I remember from when we eyeballed it,” Junsu comments with a sigh, “it’ll take us a few weeks to sweep this area and we don’t exactly have any supplies of any kind…”
“Don’t worry,” Yunho interrupts, empty reassurances on the tip of his tongue like a service he must pay back. “If we can’t find anything, we’ll hole up for the night and head back to refuel in the morning.”
In the darkness of the jungle, night falls unexpectedly, too quick, too abrupt to leave room for argument. They drive on despite it, searching, looking for debris in the dense greenery.
With Junsu’s hand digging into his arm, then into his thigh, Yunho feels grounded in the moment. Enemies are closing in on them from every side, they’ve got little hope for the future, but he’s here, now, living. This is the choice he’s made.
“Any regrets?” he smirks, darting a look at his friend.
There’s no hesitation. “None. I’ve got nothing to lose.” Junsu smiles, but behind his smile there’s a trace of nostalgia. For family? Friends?
Yunho responds in kind.
“I realize I don’t know much about you.” And there’s no surprise. On the Acheron, they don’t have time to talk about their families, about their pasts. Homesickness is contagious among pilots and everyone steers clear of it as much as they can. The smallest seed can render a squadron useless.
Junsu shrugs, draws his hand away. It’s a sign of how extraordinary this question of the past is, lying between them. Unattainable, unimaginable; it’s a chasm but Junsu isn’t one to close up like a shell when prodded too deep. Unlike his captain, he gives the appearance of having nothing to hide. Everyone is welcome to a piece of his past.
“There’s not much to know. I was born on Piraeus, grew up in the Rharian Fields and enrolled into the Guard as soon as I was of age. But you know all that, since you’ve read my file, right?”
Yunho smiles, the defensiveness, the quickly delivered phrases amusing him even as he knows he should probably back off. He can’t. If he doesn’t think about this, he’ll think about Changmin’s charred remains in the rotten jungle around them. He can’t afford that.
“Were you on Piraeus when that major landslide took half a continent down?”
“Yeah. I was.”
Junsu doesn’t elaborate and Yunho doesn’t ask. Some lines, it seems, they can’t cross even away from the Acheron. Maybe they’re not supposed to.
“Can I ask you something?” Junsu asks, startling the silence, his voice level with the sounds emanating from the engine.
“Ask.”
“Did you know Changmin was in love with you?”
Some lines are there for a reason.
Yunho doesn’t answer. His right hand clenches hard on the controls, clutching the shift as he wills himself not to pay attention to the memories flooding his mind. Changmin on his back, whimpering, clutching the pillow. Changmin, on his knees, bright eyes piercing in the dark, vision blurring suddenly. Changmin, keening, parting his lips, his thighs wantonly, beckoning with warmth and temptation and sex…
Love? Never.
“Is that what you think?”
Junsu looks at him, as if Yunho’s expression is going to determine his answer.
“Yes.”
“Good on you, then.” He’s curt but he doesn’t care. They’re not here to talk about him, they’re not here to talk at all. Why are they here? Why are they here, really? He’s not looking for a body, he’s not looking for closure.
“You’re thinking again,” Junsu observes, placing his hand over Yunho’s. “About him.”
It’s not a question, or an accusation, but it feels like both.
“Do you think Changmin was in love with me?” Yunho repeats. How can he think that and have done what he did only hours before?
“Do you care?” comes the half-whispered interrogation and it might as well be coming straight from Changmin.
The jungle presses down on them from every side, the last beams of sunlight filtered out until they’ve gone completely. In the darkness, they slow down to a crawl. The engine falters, once, twice, before the landspeeder stops completely. Yunho tries to restart it. A sound not unlike a groan echoes through the forest, before it dies abruptly. Again, the same effect occurs and then: silence.
“Shit.”
Junsu looks around them nervously. “Are we stuck? What’s happening?”
“We’ve run out of fuel. Did you check the gauge before we left?” Yunho glances at him sharply. “Did you?”
“No. No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
A sigh. “Don’t be sorry. This whole thing’s my fault anyway. Figures you should be allowed to fuck something up.” He tries for levity but it comes out whispered, like a hissed-out complaint.
The jungle is undisturbed by the sound.
Junsu jumps out from the automobile, rounds the landspeeder to stand beside his former captain. “If I’m allowed to fuck up, then I should be allowed to be sorry. And I am. About everything.”
Yunho follows with a sigh. “I liked you better when you kept radio silence.” His hand on Junsu’s back belies the harshness of his words, and so do his lips when they finally kiss.
In the dark, Changmin lies like a presence between them. And when Junsu gasps, it’s his voice Yunho hears, so much that he feels he might start believing in ghosts. But Junsu is real, his hands, his lips are real. And even if this is definitely not what they’re here for, it’s something to remind them they’re alive, they’re living, breathing for now. They exist.