Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Soobin is already awake when the overhead lights blink on, a second before his alarm buzzes. He turns it off and sits up, scrubs a hand over tired eyes. Three hours of sleep. He can't remember the last good night he had.

He gets up anyway. He always does. 

If he'd known then what waited for him at the end of his shift, he wouldn't have moved at all.

He lets habit lead him through the motions; washing up, brushing his teeth, splashing cold water over his face until the sting pulls him fully awake. He dresses, pulling his worn overalls over his hips, tucking his t-shirt in, lacing his work boots up.

Before leaving for his shift, he checks on his plant, the only burst of color in his otherwise drab room. The leaves are a deep green, glossy and healthy. He sticks a finger in the dirt, and deems it good to go another day or two before needing to be watered. He plucks off an old, yellowing leaf and drops it in the waste chute.

He walks the same corridors he has for the past nine years, following the familiar grey stretch past the dorms and maintenance offices, passing people and nodding to anyone who nods at him first. No one stops to talk, and he doesn't expect them to. Most have been here longer than Soobin, some for decades, and routine runs deeper than conversation.

In the cantina, he grabs a tray and sits at his usual spot by the window, alone except for the handful of other early-shift workers scattered throughout the space. The food is plain: porridge and eggs, a protein paste, but the bread is always freshly baked and warm from the oven. Soobin always enjoys the bread, even if the rest is forgettable. He watches a ship launch in the distance, engines flaring bright against the black. He wonders, briefly, where it's going. Then his porridge gets cold and he stops wondering.

Once finished, he drops off his tray at the return slot and goes to work.

The Hangar is a freight depot, one of the biggest in this sector. Soobin doesn't think much about what comes through here, or where it goes. That's not his job. He grabs a datapad at the dispatch desk, checking the day's assignments. There are nineteen ships docked this morning. His work is simple: inspect cargo placement, verify manifests, confirm securing protocols.. He walks the length of the Hangar dozens of times per day, climbs ladders to check upper racks.

He breaks for lunch a while later than the others; he prefers the cantina when it's quieter, even though most of the good portions are gone by then. Breakfast is always quiet, only for those who live in the dorms. Lunch is busier, full of people who live offsite, which is most of the workers. Not Soobin, though. He doesn't see the point when this is where he spends most of his time anyway. The dorm is fine.

He eats while reading a rather dry history book he's been trying to finish for weeks.

The afternoon passes like the morning; steady, repetitive, familiar. His shift is almost over when his supervisor, Chief Lee, waves him over.

“Soobin! Last minute load and I'm short-handed. You feel up to helping out?” He checks his watch. “I would do it myself but I have to pick up the kids.”

Soobin considers it, the way his head feels a bit foggy from not enough sleep, his body heavy from the long shift. But then, why not? It shouldn't take much more than an hour. He might as well; it's not like he has plans.

“Sure, I'll take it,” he says, and Chief Lee claps him on the shoulder.

“You're a good kid,” he says as he passes him the shipping manifest. “It's you and one of the new guys. Just get it loaded and secured.”

They work together, loading a shipment onto a mid-sized freighter, its hull weathered and patched in places, the kind of ship that's seen better days but still flies. The new guy operates the grav-sled while Soobin guides placement and secures the straps. They work quickly, an unspoken agreement to push through and clock out as soon as possible.

Once all the crates are loaded, Soobin sends him off.

“I can do the final check. You go home.”

Relief flashes across the guy's face, and he places the datapad down on the loading dock console before heading off with a wave.

Soobin steps back into the cargo hold, running his hands over the secured straps, checking that nothing's come loose. That's when he spots it: one of the small crates, unsecured, perched precariously on a larger one.

He sighs. When he lifts it, the weight shifts unexpectedly, heavier than it looks, and it slips from his hands. The crack when it hits the grated floor makes him wince.

Bending to pick it back up, he sees the top has split open.

Shit, he thinks. If the contents are damaged, that'll be on him. He slides the top the rest of the way off to examine whatever's inside, and his stomach drops.

A handgun. Small enough to conceal, but the charge packs give it away as military issue.

He's seen Hangar security carry weapons like this when they make arrests. But this is a civilian ship. This is illegal. Smuggling.

His breath quickens. These weapons are restricted. The kind that end up in conflict zones, in the hands of–he doesn't let himself finish the thought. The crate rattles as he sets it down, hands shaking.

He looks around the cargo hold. There are dozens of crates.

Do they all contain...?

He has to report this. His eyes sweep around the cargo hold again. The datapad–but the new guy had left it on the loading dock.

Just as Soobin turns toward the hatch, there's a shout from outside. The ramp starts closing.

“Wait,” Soobin says, but before he can reach it, a metallic groan sounds, and the whole ship shifts. He catches himself on the crates to stay on his feet.

He makes a grab for the ramp panel to stop it from closing, but then there's another groan, louder, deeper, and the ship lurches.

He's thrown off his feet. The world pitches sideways–

–and everything goes black.

‧⋆𖦹

There's a pounding in Soobin's skull, sharp and persistent, concentrated at the side of his head. That's the first thing he notices, demanding his attention. The second thing he notices is the weight of his own body, sinking into something soft beneath him, holding his arm in place when he tries to bring it up to feel where the pain is most centered, to feel for blood.

Everything is heavy. 

He opens his eyes to darkness. He blinks, tries to make his eyes adjust, but there's nothing to adjust to.

“Hyung, we don't know that.”

Soobin doesn't recognize that voice. Is it talking to him? He lies still, the smell of old upholstery and engine oil thick in the air. Where is he? He opens his mouth to ask when another voice responds, somewhere further away.

“It doesn't matter. We're not risking it.”

Soobin doesn't know that voice either, and it comes back to him; the cargo hold, the loud crack of the crate hitting the ground, the top splitting open…

His breaths come too quick before he realizes it. A sharp gasp ripping out of him has someone shushing the room. Soobin yanks at his arm again, tries to get it out from underneath himself when he realizes it's not only his own weight keeping it where it is, but something holding his wrists together, digging into his skin with his useless tugging. 

“Hey.”

He kicks his legs out, finds some sort of leverage that lets him push upright.

“Hey,” the voice comes again, sharper, closer.

“No,” Soobin gasps, twisting. One of his feet finds the floor and he makes to stand when a hand clamps around his shoulder.

“Sit.” A different voice, gentler. “Come on, man.”

“He's freaking out,” someone else mutters. How many are there?

Soobin makes another attempt to stand, but firm hands push him back down.

“Don't,” someone says.

“Hyung.”

“He's going to hyperventilate.”

And oh, yeah, maybe he is. The air he drags into his mouth doesn't seem to reach anywhere near his lungs and he's left sucking at it desperately to no avail. Somehow, in the dark, another darkness presses at the edges of his vision.

A tug at the back of his head, the sting of some hairs being pulled from his scalp brings him a little closer to the surface. This time when he opens his eyes, the brightness makes him flinch. A face swims into focus in front of him and Soobin clamps his eyes shut and shakes his head. Don't look. If I look, I'm dead. 

The hand on his shoulder squeezes.

“Breathe. You're okay,” close to his ear. 

“I didn't see.” His voice dies on a wheeze. “You can let me go. I didn't see.” He tucks forwards, folds down towards his knees as in emphasis. 

There's a sharp inhale from somewhere, a bit further away.

"Back up." The command is clipped, and Soobin flinches, but then there's movement, footsteps retreating. Not him. They're not talking to him.

“What's your name?”

Soobin presses his forehead to his knees and doesn't answer, swallows around his shallow breaths.

“This'll be easier if you answer the questions.”

“Hyung.”

“Let him breathe for a bit.”

“I don't know anything,” Soobin says, pulse drumming frantically against his ribs. “Let me go, I have nothing to tell. I didn't see.”

“One of the crates was open,” says a careful voice, the one that had urged him to breathe.

“I didn't see. I won't tell.” 

A heavy silence stretches too long, and Soobin thinks he's going to die here. That crate–

He saw, and they know he saw. 

Footsteps cross the floor, coming closer, stopping right in front of him, then the soft rustling of fabric.  

“Look at me.”

Soobin shakes his head. Don't look, don't look at their faces. 

A long sigh rustles his hair, and then a hand on his shoulder pushes him upright, back meeting the back of the couch. He keeps his eyes stubbornly squeezed shut.

It's a trick. This is a trick, and he'll look, and then they'll–

“You're fine. Open your eyes.”

With a shaky exhale, he does.

The man crouched in front of him, elbows over his knees, is young. Suspicious, fox-like eyes look at him from under dark hair and furrowed brows. His lips are drawn into a tight frown. The man searches his face, and Soobin is frozen in place. 

“What's your name?”

He could lie. But if they find out? That could be worse. It's his name, just his name.

“Soobin.”

“Okay. Soobin.” He scrubs a hand roughly over his face. 

Movement catches Soobin's eye, a tall guy with nearly white hair bending to catch the whisper of someone slightly shorter, whose eyes are sharply on Soobin, never straying. The taller guy nods and disappears around a corner. To Soobin's right is another guy, sitting in an armchair, fingers tapping at his chin and big eyes far away in thought.

Four of them then, at least, three remaining in this room which looks to be some kind of living room when Soobin sweeps over it, screen taking up most of the wall Soobin is facing, cushions strewn on the floor. 

“Soobin,” the man in front of him says, as if he's called his name before. Soobin snaps to attention. “What were you doing in our cargo hold?”

“I–” A fierce flash of irritation cuts through him at the accusatory question. “I was loading cargo. Your cargo. Doing my job.”

There's a snort from somewhere, but the man in front of him looks unamused. He raises an eyebrow as if to say continue.

“I work at the hangar you were docked at,” Soobin says, trying to reel himself in. This is dangerous. This is real. “I received a request to load your cargo, so I did. And then you took off.” He tries to keep from sounding accusatory himself. “And now I'm here.”

The guy, who seems to be the one in charge, tilts his head.

“One of the crates just happened to be open?”

“I dropped it.”

Another snort, from the sharp, slightly shorter man against the wall. “Cargo worker dropping the cargo. Professional.”

Heat creeps up Soobin's neck. “It was heavier than I anticipated.” He hates how defensive he sounds. “It slipped. I wasn't trying to look.”

“But you did look.”

The words hang in the air. Soobin's chest tightens. His breathing picks up, words catching in his throat. He shakes his head, eyes darting.

Just then, the taller guy from earlier returns, nearly white hair slightly damp at his temples, and nods at the man crouched in front of Soobin. 

He stands with a sigh, pushing off his knees. Soobin tracks his movement, so he catches a small nod toward the guy in the armchair. He rises immediately, taking a few short strides to Soobin, hands closing around his upper arms and pulling him to a stand with ease. Soobin sways with it, eyes squeezing shut with the renewed pounding in his head.

“Sorry,” the guy mumbles, before pulling him towards where the tall guy had disappeared earlier. Soobin plants his feet instinctively.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice coming out small and shaky. They're going to throw him off the ship. His stomach drops. The floor feels like it's tilting. “Wait,” is all that's coming to him. He can fix this, he can–

“We just need to talk this over, okay?” The guy pulls him gently to get him moving. “You'll be fine.”

Soobin's feet move on their own, following after the white-haired guy from before at the urging of the hand around his arm. They go down a hallway, but Soobin doesn't see anything, vision blurred around the edges with panic.

Pain lances through his foot and he gasps.

“Careful, sorry,” the guy at his side says. Soobin looks down; a box, metal corner catching his toes. He's not wearing shoes. Where are his shoes? 

The calm guy urges him to the left at the end of the hall, past more stacked boxes, through an open door. It's a small room, empty. He guesses this is where the boxes had just been. They cleared the space for him.

The white-haired guy stands in the doorway, watching as the calm one works at the bindings around Soobin's wrists. When they fall away, calm guy gathering them up, Soobin brings his hands forward, rubbing at the red marks on his skin. The white-haired guy tries for a smile, but it appears strained around his eyes.

“Wait here for a bit.”

They turn to leave, but the calm guy stops, pointing to a small control panel next to the door.

“Press this button and we can talk through the door. This button,” he points to another, bigger one, “makes a call to the ship so we can answer wherever we are. If you need something right now, you use this.” 

Soobin tries to follow, blue button, green button, but the explanation slips away before he can hold onto it. His chest is too tight. He keeps rubbing at his wrists, the skin raw and tender.

The guy waits until Soobin nods before he disappears out the door. It seals with a hiss that sounds too final.  

‧⋆𖦹

Soobin spends long moments, trying to get his breathing under control, crouched down with his head between his knees, air whistling through his teeth. Black spots dance in front of his eyes, even with them closed. It's okay, he tells himself. It's okay it's okay it's okay. 

But it's not, because when he opens his eyes, nothing's changed.

He forces himself to a stand eventually, when the ache in his knees becomes unbearable, legs trembling beneath him. He goes about exploring his cell, too small to be anything else. The space is bare except for a launch chair bolted to the wall beside the door, harness hanging unused.

“Could've used one of those in the cargo hold,” he mutters under his breath, his voice sounding strange in his ears. 

There's another door, cracked open, and Soobin pushes it wider. It reveals a cramped bathroom, barely big enough for the rusted sink and toilet, showerhead with no curtain mounted over a small drain in the corner. The mirror above the sink is warped. He tries to see the side of his head where he'd banged it in the rough launch, but the angle is off. The mirror barely reflects anything anyway, a blurred, shadowy version of himself looking back. The pipes groan and creak when he turns the faucet but the water that washes over his shaking hands is clear. He leans down, drinks out of his cupped hands, splashes his face, before turning back to the cell.

Sitting with his back against the wall, facing the door, he waits.

His mind drifts and whirls, and Soobin tries to grab onto anything useful, anything that could help him get out of this safely. Get back home. Every second he's on this ship, he's getting further away.

They're smugglers, that much is clear. Weapons, from what he saw, but for who? Where are they taking them? The conflict zones, maybe. Probably. Does it matter? It's illegal either way. They're criminals, and he's seen their faces, heard their voices. He can identify them. Leader. Sharp Guy. White-Haired Guy. Calm Guy. He gives them names in his head, something to hold onto even though it changes nothing.

They're young. Around his age, all of them. And that living room, with cushions strewn across the floor, that huge screen like they actually watch it, the kind of comfortable mess that comes from actually living somewhere. This isn't just a smuggling run; it's their home.

It doesn't change anything. They're still going to kill him. They have to.

Soobin should have kept his eyes shut. Should have run the second he saw what was in the crate. Should have said no to his supervisor, his shift was ending, someone else could have done it. Should have stayed in bed this morning when his eyes ached from another sleepless night. 

Should have left with Sangwoo, like he'd asked, years ago.

Instead, he's here.

His head throbs.

I'll beg, he decides. When they come back, he'll beg. Promise not to tell, and mean it. It doesn't matter, as long as they let him go, he'll–

But what does that make him?

Angry, he realizes, the feeling flaring hot under his skin. This isn't fair. He'd always done as he was told, kept his head down, lived quietly, minded his own business, even when the questions with nowhere to go and no one to ask threatened to sear him alive. But he didn't ask to see what was in that crate. He was just doing his job, same as every other day, and now he's supposed to what? Have some moral stance on weapons and smuggling and conflicts he barely knows anything about?

His fingers curl into fists, nails digging into his palms. It's not his fault. 

He doesn't know how long it is before there's a perfunctory knock at the door, barely a second before it slides open. Soobin jerks to attention, bracing his hands against the cold floor to stand up, but Calm Guy with the big eyes stops him with a gesture of his hand. Soobin sinks back down, breath hitching when White-Haired Guy appears behind him, bindings held carefully in his hands.

“I won't do anything.” Soobin's voice cracks. “You don't have to…”

White-Haired Guy flicks his eyes to Calm Guy, who sighs, shaking his head. 

“It's for everyone's safety.” He holds his hands out to receive the bindings, crouching down in front of Soobin. “Hands out.”

Soobin obeys, even with everything in him screaming not to. He holds his wrists out, lets Calm Guy wrap them with warm, steady hands, fabric this time instead of the rough cord from before. Once done, he tugs at them gently. 

“That okay? Anything hurt?”

Soobin's wrists are sore from earlier, where the bindings had been tight, creating grooves in the soft skin. They're not so tight now, but not loose enough to not make the soreness felt. 

Soobin shakes his head. 

“Okay. Up, come on,” Calm Guy says, wrapping his hands around Soobin's forearms and pulling him to a stand. 

He's shorter than Soobin, he notes when they end up face to face, but then, most people are. 

White-Haired Guy, on the other hand, seems to be almost the same height, Soobin thinks when he passes by him by the doorway, Calm Guy's hand leading him by the shoulder. 

They pass the stacks of boxes again, Soobin careful with where he places his feet, bare toes still aching as he pads along the hall. The others' footsteps are loud in comparison, shoes thunking against the metal flooring. 

Back in the living room, Sharp Guy and the Leader are standing close to each other, whispered conversation too hushed to catch. Their eyes snap to him as he enters, jailers close behind. 

He's guided to the couch, the same one he'd woken up on earlier. Hours ago? Minutes? Soobin isn't sure as he sinks onto it, soft with use. He's barely seated when he opens his mouth. 

“Please,” he croaks pathetically, but the Leader shakes his head, stepping closer and readjusting the coffee table to sit on it, facing Soobin. 

He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes momentarily as if steeling himself, before letting the breath rush out. 

“Soobin,” he says, like he's testing the weight of it. “I'm Yeonjun.”

Sharp Guy jerks where he's standing against the wall again, mouth opening in protest, but a cutting look from Yeonjun has it closing with an audible click.

Yeonjun. A real name. Soobin's stomach drops. They're not supposed to tell me that. They're going to kill me. They have to now.

“Look. Whether you're telling the truth or not,” he pauses to give Soobin a warning look when he opens his mouth, “you have to understand we can't let you go.”

“I won't tell.”

“You got caught up in this doing your job. We have a job to do too. We have to make this delivery, and we can't risk you getting in the way of that. Can't risk getting caught with this cargo. You understand that?”

Soobin swallows thickly, blood rushing in his ears. 

“Yes. But I–”

“So you're gonna have to come with us. Once the delivery has been made and we're a safe distance away, we will drop you off somewhere so you can make your way home. But until then, you'll be staying here.”

Soobin's mind spins. Stay here? 

“I–” he starts. “I have to go home.”

“You will. But not yet. Just…” Another sigh. “Keep your head down. It'll be easier for all of us.”

“Easier?” He can hear how his voice pitches up. “You're going to keep me here against my will, and I'm just supposed to– You kidnapped me!”

Sharp Guy in the corner bristles. “Accidentally.” 

Soobin’s breath punches out of his chest in an incredulous laugh.

With every minute on this ship, he's getting further away. How far, once they've made this delivery? How long? He can't. 

“No,” he tries, shaky. He sits up straighter. “No,” tries again, forcing his voice steadier. “People will come looking for me. If I'm gone for long. That's more of a risk to you.” Silence. “My–my parents, they'll... They'll send for me.”

Yeonjun looks at him, something strange in his eyes Soobin can't parse. He reaches into his pocket and puts something down next to him on the coffee table. Soobin's work ID. His own face, younger and rounder, stares up at him from the plastic.

“You–”

They looked him up. They ran his information, and Soobin knows exactly what they found; nothing. No one. No living family. No emergency contacts. No one to make a fuss, to notice he's even missing.  

The Hangar won't care either. He'd seen it happen before, with workers who didn't show up one day, their names quietly removed from the roster. People moved on, got tired, left in the night. Management never asked questions. Why would they, when there was always someone else willing to take the shift?

His eyes sting, but he says nothing, locked on the card.

“You'll go home, I promise you that. And we won't hurt you if you don't make us.”

There's a painful lump in Soobin's throat when he swallows. 

“How long?” He won't cry. 

“Four months, give or take a couple of weeks, and then we will let you go. You have my word.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Four months. Four months, says this man whose words Soobin doesn't know the worth of. All the air in Soobin's lungs turns to ice, every breath stinging with sharp edges, cutting in his throat when he says, “You can't,” weak and crackling. “You can't–”

Yeonjun stands and Soobin is left blinking at his knees.

“It's how it has to be.” He sounds tired, turning to White-Haired Guy. “Kai, bring him back to the room and check him over.”

White-Haired Guy, Kai, steps closer, hands wringing when Soobin's eyes flick to him. Calm Guy steps in too. Soobin thinks he might snap, break, if anyone puts their hands on him right now. 

They don't, letting him stand on his own and motioning for him to walk. He does, feeling empty, numb, as they make their way back to the small room. There's a mattress on the floor now, taking up most of the space. A pillow rests at the top of it, halfway hidden under a bright blue comforter. 

Soobin's bed, for the coming months. His breath hitches.

“Sit down, please,” Calm Guy says gently.

Soobin turns to follow his orders. Kai stands behind Calm Guy, hand hovering like he wants to offer to help him down. Soobin sits heavily, the mattress closer to the floor than he expected, jarring his already aching joints.

“I need to check on your head. You were knocked out for a bit,” Kai says, approaching cautiously, like Soobin is trapped prey, waiting to lash out.

He reaches a careful hand out. Soobin jerks back. 

“Don't,” he says, voice raw, bound hands coming up uselessly to ward him off. “Don't touch me.” 

There's motion from the doorway, Sharp Guy appearing, face pinched, but Calm Guy steps between them, one hand on Kai's arm, the other raised toward Sharp Guy in a calming gesture.

“Okay, I won't,” Kai says softly, pulling back. He glances at Calm Guy, who nods and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping aside. Kai takes a careful breath. “I won't touch you. But I'd like you to answer my questions.”

Soobin grits his teeth but nods. He answers the questions; no, he's not dizzy. His vision is fine. He doesn't feel nauseous. It doesn't hurt.

“Are you being completely truthful?” Kai asks at last, brows pulled tight. 

Soobin clenches his jaw and looks him in the eyes when he nods. They don't need to know. There is pain, still pounding, but the dizziness had disappeared after the first hour. Kai frowns and exchanges a look with Calm Guy before stepping back with a sigh. 

“Okay,” Kai says warily. “Just–just let me know if you get any symptoms like that.”

He and Sharp Guy step outside. Calm Guy lingers, crouching down. 

“I'm going to untie you now,” he says quietly, and Soobin doesn't resist when warm fingers work at the fabric around his wrists. When it falls away, Soobin immediately brings his hands to his chest, rubbing at the sore skin. Calm Guy stands, joins the others at the door.

“Why?” Soobin should keep his mouth shut, but anger flares hot and reckless. “Why go through all this trouble? Why not toss me off the ship and be done with it?”

Sharp Guy palms the control panel. The door hisses shut just as he shrugs. 

“I was outvoted.”

‧⋆𖦹

The mattress is soft. Soobin sits with his back against the wall, cold seeping through his clothes, knees pulled up to his chest. His head pounds. He doesn't want to lie down, doesn't want to risk falling asleep, even though it feels like he couldn't possibly relax enough to. 

Four months of being on this ship with these strange smugglers, away from home, away from safety. The thought makes his eyes sting and heart drum fast. 

The door opens eventually, Calm Guy entering with a tray. He places it on the floor just inside the door, Sharp Guy peeking over his shoulder. 

“I'm Taehyun,” Calm Guy says, then looks over his shoulder where Sharp Guy is peeking over it. His mouth is pinched shut, and Taehyun sighs. “And this is Beomgyu,” he adds, pointing over his shoulder.

Soobin turns his head, placing it down on his knees so he doesn't have to face them.

“Is there anything you need?” Taehyun asks, stilted.

“I need to go home. Please.”

“We can't let you go home right now,” Taehyun says softly, apologetic. “Do you need anything else?”

Soobin says nothing.

It's silent for a moment, and then, “Okay, just let us know. We'll come. We'll have you better set up tomorrow.” Another silence where he gives space for a response, but doesn't get one. 

Soobin hears the door close. 

He lifts his head to peek at the tray; a bowl of something steaming, two bottles of water, a toothbrush and toothpaste. His stomach churns, throat convulsing at the thought of eating. He crawls over the floor to grab the bottles, chugging one quickly and bringing the other back to the mattress. 

This can't be real. An odd exhaustion prods at him, but he doesn't think sleep will come. He lies down anyway, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the ship all around him. 

Sleep must take him eventually. He doesn't sleep well, but then, he rarely does. The pounding in his skull has eased to a dull throb, but he hisses when he touches careful fingers to the injury. A tender goose egg has formed toward the back of his head, skin tight and hot to the touch.

He lies awake until someone comes, knocking before opening. It's Kai this time, Taehyun at his back. 

“Good morning,” he greets, a careful smile on his lips. “You manage to get any sleep?” There's a new tray in his hands that he goes to put down but he pauses when he notices the mostly untouched one still on the floor. Taehyun steps around him to remove it, after placing the toothbrush and paste in the launch chair. 

Soobin doesn't trust his voice, so he says nothing. 

Kai deposits the new tray on the floor, fiddling with the utensils, arranging them uselessly. 

“It's rice porridge,” he says at last, standing. “Don't worry. I didn't make it.” He laughs, too loud, and Soobin winces. Kai clears his throat. “Yeah. Okay.”

Taehyun smiles wryly, stepping back to give Kai space to leave the room.

Kai gives an awkward wave of his hand before he closes the door. 

Soobin's heart settles once they're gone. The porridge smells good, quickly filling the small space with a hearty scent. He does eat some this time, crouched over the tray. It settles his stomach and his head feels slightly less hazy after a while. 

The first couple of days pass like that; silence only interrupted by the meals they bring him, three times a day. It's always the same, always two of them, one grabbing the old tray, one placing the new one. Always in the same spot inside the door, next to the launch chair. 

Most of the time, it's Taehyun and Kai. Sometimes it's one of them, with Beomgyu hovering in the doorway. Only once is it Yeonjun. 

It doesn't seem like a two-person job, bringing him food and water, Soobin had thought, before realizing they're scared of him. Or at least cautious. Safety in numbers.

They try to make conversation. Kai asks about his head again, and Soobin says he's fine. The goose egg has gone down some, leaving behind a tender spot that still aches when he presses it. Taehyun asks if he can eat spicy food and Soobin shrugs. Beomgyu says he stinks. Kai punches him in the chest, and Soobin looks away.

He does smell, he realizes once they've left, of sweat and sleep and clothes worn too long. His hair looks greasy when he peeks at himself in the warped mirror. He cranks the shower, relieved that the water turns warm on his hand. He strips out of his work overalls and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and steps under the spray.

He tries his best to scrub the filth from his body with only his hands and the body wash they'd brought him on the second day in a box filled with a random assortment of things he might need, like towels and shampoo, and a safety razor still in its packaging. He scratches his scalp with blunt nails until it stings, shampoo burning his eyes as it runs down his face in sudsy waves. 

Steam curls around him when he steps out, and he feels human again. His reflection in the warped mirror is less ghost-like now, color returning to his cheeks. It's the best he's felt in days.

Feeling clean and new, he's reluctant to get back into the same clothes. Sniffing at the armpits of his overalls makes him wince. The t-shirt isn't any better off. He kicks his underwear into the newly abandoned shower without examining them, dumping his other clothes on top. 

He wraps himself up completely in the comforter before inspecting the control panel by the door, trying to remember the instructions Taehyun had given him on that first day. He wasn't in the right headspace to commit them to memory then, and he's reluctant to try to recall them now. There aren't a lot of buttons; he could keep pressing them until he gets a response, but then, he doesn't want to have any more contact with them than he absolutely has to. Waiting until lunch is an option; they'll come with a fresh tray of food and he can ask, then, if they can wash his clothes for him. 

What if they say no? Fingers clench around the soft fabric of the comforter, pulling it tight. What if they're content to leave him in this room only with what he has now, what he's been given, and the food they need to bring him to keep him alive?

His breathing picks up, and he shakes himself, bouncing on his toes, to try to keep calm. 

It's okay. They haven't hurt him yet, and they've made no sign that they plan to. 

Let us know if you need anything, Taehyun and Kai keep saying. Well, he does, now. 

I was outvoted, Beomgyu said, and Soobin flinches at the memory.

He sits back down on the mattress.  

When the knock comes a few hours later, he hurriedly makes sure all important parts of him are covered once the door slides open. 

It's Kai and Beomgyu this time, Beomgyu carrying the tray, Kai stepping around him with a bundle of fabric in his arms.

“Oh!” he says as he spots Soobin's bare arms and clean hair. “You showered already? I brought you clothes. Sorry, we should've gotten you clothes earlier. It completely slipped our minds. It's been a weird few days, you know?” He shakes his head, bright hair flopping with the movement. “We're not the most organized bunch even at the best of times, so you can imagine–”

“Kai,” Beomgyu snaps, but Kai ignores him, crouching down with his knees touching Soobin's bed. 

Soobin tenses at the intrusion.

“Here.” Kai dumps his armful of clothes on the mattress. “I raided everyone's closets. Most of this should fit.” He starts digging around the pile, pulling out t-shirts and hoodies and sweatpants and holding them up for Soobin to view. “And here,” he continues, pulling out a glossy package from the mess. “I found these hidden in Yeonjun-hyung's bedside table.” Grinning, he opens it up and reveals a five-pack of boxer briefs. “He hides them because he doesn't get to keep them to himself,” Kai whispers conspiratorially. “He splurges on expensive brands, so we all steal them from him. But these are brand new.”

“Kai,” Beomgyu says again, and when Soobin looks over, he's holding the old tray in his hand, an impatient look on his face. “Let's go.”

Kai nods and stands, hands on his hips as he surveys his haul. “You can hand us back anything that doesn't fit, okay?” 

“Okay.” Soobin swallows, hesitates. “Thank you,” he adds, and Kai grins. 

“Okay!” He claps his hands together, turning to leave. 

“Could you–” Soobin starts, voice rough with disuse. Kai turns at once, eyes going round. Soobin clears his throat. “My clothes. Can you wash them?”

“Of course.” Kai's gaze sweeps over the floor.

“I'll get them,” Soobin says, making to stand, but Kai waves him back down, disappearing into the bathroom. Beomgyu inhales sharply, jerking to follow, but Kai reappears before he's made it inside, clutching Soobin's clothes under an arm. He stops in the doorway.

“Anything else?” 

Soobin's eyes are locked on the bundle, familiar dark grey canvas fabric worn soft from years of work. Suddenly he has the urge to yank them back, to hold on, squirrel them away under his pillow like the last secret he has. He shakes his head instead, chest constricting, and then Kai's gone, Soobin's last belongings with him. 

He breathes through the pressure behind his ribs, focusing his attention on the messy pile of clothes in front of him. Going through them and trying them on feels like too much effort, so he picks out a soft-feeling green sweater and grey sweats, slipping them on over the slightly too-tight boxer briefs. They work, and the clothes fit fine, smelling clean and vaguely floral. Soobin folds the rest, stacking them neatly beside the mattress. He'll try things on as he needs them, see what fits.

‧⋆𖦹

Just as he's getting used to the stiff routine, they throw him off. 

This evening, there's no tray with food. Instead, it's only Taehyun, hands in his pockets, asking if Soobin would like to come eat with them.

“W-what?” Soobin sputters.

“Out in the kitchen. I made frittatas. You'd be missing out, eating here, when you could watch the spectacle that is Kai enjoying his favorite meal. It's very entertaining.”

Soobin opens his mouth but nothing comes out. The thought alone of being out there, with all of them, makes his pulse quicken. They've left him mostly alone and it's been fine, but out there, he could mess up. Could anger them, make them change their minds. Beomgyu could convince them to vote again. 

“I'd rather eat here,” he chokes out.

Taehyun regards him quietly, nodding, but he stays put. Then he smiles, small and almost teasing.

“If you want a better chance at getting out, you should get everyone on your side. Make them like you. You can't do that stuck in here, can you?”

Soobin startles. He isn't wrong. Soobin's pleading the first couple of days had resulted in nothing but pitying looks and promises of “we'll get you home after the delivery.” He'd thought of it too, whenever Kai tries to make casual conversation or Taehyun asks how the food was and waits like he wants a real answer, has thought of it then; I should talk to them, I should befriend them. It could benefit him. But the feeling every time Beomgyu's suspicious, almost disdainful eyes burns his skin keeps him from trying.

Soobin had never been good at making friends. He could count the amount he'd had in his life on one hand. Back home, he kept to himself. The workers at the Hangar were almost all much older than him, worn and hardened by years of work. The last friend he'd made was Sangwoo-hyung, and that was only because they'd been roommates. Sangwoo had cracked Soobin open and crawled inside, making himself a home in Soobin's heart even though Soobin had done nothing to make himself interesting or likeable; Sangwoo took to him anyway. Soobin doesn't know the first thing about making someone like him, but still…

He should try, shouldn't he? If they got to know him, got to trust him, maybe he'd get an opportunity to run. Or could convince them to let him go, that he really won't tell.

He's startled out of his thoughts by Taehyun clearing his throat. He smiles again, tilts his head down the hall. 

“I don't… know how to do that,” Soobin admits. “Make people like me.” 

Taehyun laughs softly. “I don't think you'll need to try all that hard.”

Soobin doesn't know what that means.

Taehyun tilts his head again, throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on. You'll be fine.” 

Something about him eases Soobin, if only a little. Something about his calm certainty, maybe, or the fact that he hasn't lied to Soobin yet. He stands stiffly and follows Taehyun out, heart in his throat. He's led down the hall, boxes gone now, to the opposite end of the hallway and into a kitchen. It's small but functional: metal counters, compact appliances built into the walls, a round table wedged in the center with five mismatched chairs. It smells of herbs and toasted bread.

The others are there, already sitting around the table. Yeonjun and Beomgyu look stiff, backs straight and faces carefully schooled, but Kai splits into a smile at their appearance. 

“Come, sit,” he says, tapping the back of the empty chair next to him. Soobin looks to Taehyun who nods encouragingly. He's barely seated, Taehyun pulling out the chair on the other side of him, when Kai starts loading food onto a plate.

“Have you ever had frittatas before?” he asks, placing the plate in front of Soobin. “It's my favorite.”

It looks odd, puffy and golden with flecks of vegetables visible, but smells good. His appetite had returned after a few days of routine, but it's gone now, nerves twisting his stomach into knots.   

It's awkward. Silent but for the soft clinking of utensils on plates, and the occasional moaning coming from Kai. Soobin eats, but doesn't taste.

Make them like me. That's the goal, but somehow he can't quite get a word out. He's too aware of the silence, of the exchanging of looks between them that he pretends he doesn't see, eyes on his plate. He wonders if Taehyun had asked before bringing Soobin out, or if he made the decision on his own. But there'd been a fifth place made up at the table, so probably not.

Kai's finished before everyone else, sneaking bites from Yeonjun's plate to the left of him while he fixes Soobin with a smile, more hesitant this time.

“So… have you worked at the Hangar long?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, cool. Cool,” Kai nods.

It's quiet again. Soobin's mouth goes dry and he puts his chopsticks down. Braces himself. Make them like me. He has to make an effort, even if it takes everything out of him.

“Since I was fifteen.”

Kai visibly straightens.

“Oh, that is long,” he says. “Wait, how old are you now?”

He knows. He must know. They looked him up, so he's only asking now to see if Soobin will be truthful, or to remind him that they know everything about him.

“I'm twenty-four.”

“Then you're my hyung! Taehyunnie's too. Do you turn twenty-five this year or next?”

“This year,” he mumbles.

Kai laughs. “You're Beomgyu-hyung's hyung too, then. Only Yeonjun-hyung is older than you.”

“Oh.”

It feels strange. They're all around the same age as Soobin. At the Hangar, he'd been one of the youngest. 

“Can we call you hyung?” Kai asks, eyes big and expectant, and Taehyun snorts when Soobin nods without thinking about it. 

“I'm not calling him hyung,” Beomgyu says, rising from his seat and starting to gather dishes from the table, bringing them over to the sink. Soobin bites back a no one asked you to, but from the look Yeonjun gives him, he thinks he might have seen it on his face. Soobin holds his breath, but Yeonjun's lips only twitch like they're fighting a smile.

Back in his room, he's exhausted like he only usually is after a twelve hour shift. His whole body aches with the tension he'd held himself in during the meal, and he groans as he stretches out on the mattress. Still, it hadn't been that bad, he thinks. If they invite him out again, he can probably do better, be a little more relaxed now that he knows what to expect. 

As it turns out, he doesn't have to wait long. 

He's just exiting the bathroom, t-shirt dampening around the neck from water dripping from his hair when a knock sounds, door sliding open. It's Kai this time, easy smile and sleep-ruffled hair, inviting him out to the kitchen for breakfast.

It marks the start of a new routine, where he comes out of his room to eat with them. 

He starts leaving his dirty clothes outside the door when he heads to the kitchen. They always come back washed, folded and waiting on the launch chair the next day. No one ever mentions it, but someone's clearly paying attention. 

Even though he'd resolved to be more active, speak more, act sweet, he finds himself clamming up once at the table, surrounded by these men who can decide his fate on a whim. The words he rehearses in his head die before reaching his mouth. 

It's all of them, most of the time, but every once in a while, one is missing. Soobin doesn't ask what they're off doing, but he wonders what kind of work a ship like theirs requires on a daily basis. At the Hangar, he'd really only ever seen the cargo holds of the ships.

They talk, the four of them, stilted at first but easing with every meal. They talk like people who've known each other for a long time, with easy words and teasing tones, but Soobin notices when they cut themselves, or each other, off with a look or too-swift change of subject. Usually it pertains to the ship, or their travels, anything too identifiable; names of planets or ports they've been, previous jobs they've done. It comforts him, to know that they're still wary of what they let him know. He clings to it as a sign that they really might let him go at the end of all this, clutches it to his chest like a lifeline. 

Four months. Yeonjun had promised.

Soobin sits quietly, only speaking when asked a direct question. He does try, then. Tries to be a version of himself that's easy to like, agreeable, harmless, forgettable enough to release. It's usually Kai aiming them his way, sometimes Taehyun. Never the other two, until about a week into the new routine.

“Do you–” Yeonjun starts, then falls silent. Soobin looks up from where he's handing his finished plate to where Taehyun is reaching for it over the table, to see what made him pause. He's surprised to find his eyes on him. Yeonjun clears his throat and starts again. “Are you… okay?”

It catches Soobin off guard, breath catching.

Except for Beomgyu, who after that first meal has gone on to pretend Soobin doesn't exist, Yeonjun has been the most guarded. Quiet, but observant. Soobin has noticed the way Yeonjun's eyes track movement around the table, how he notices when someone's plate is empty before they do, the small frown when someone doesn't take the last bite even when they want it, or the smile when they do.

A hush falls over the small kitchen. Kai stops mid-motion with a spoon halfway to his mouth, Taehyun pauses where he's stacking the plates. Even Beomgyu stills, Soobin sees out of the corner of his eye, where he's shoveling leftover food into containers. 

Soobin swallows.

“Yeah.” He fiddles with the frayed sleeves of his shirt. Kai's shirt, probably. “I–” he starts, fighting down the rising urge to just stop, stay quiet. He looks back up, meeting Yeonjun's watchful gaze. “I'm bored,” he says at last, as firm as he can manage through the nerves. 

Because it's true. Other than coming out to eat, he's stuck in his small room, alternating between little more than dozing and sleeping proper. It leaves him feeling sluggish and groggy, head aching most of the time. But that's not as bad as the overwhelming boredom.

Yeonjun nods. 

That evening, after dinner, Taehyun hands him a small stack of books before following Soobin back to his room.

He spends his time reading then. There's a memoir by some explorer who discovered bioluminescent snails on a distant moon, a guide to raising moths that's more interesting than it sounds, a collection of folktales from a planet he's never heard of. There are other books too, ones he wouldn't have been able to find in the Hangar library. There's a frank historical account of the conflict that's likely all but banned in military zones, and a romance novel that makes him blush to read, tucked under his pillow when anyone comes to the door.

Every time he finishes one, he brings it out to leave at the counter when he's out to eat, and the next time, there will be a new one waiting for him.

It's one of those times, when he's placing a newly finished book down, that he sees it; a hand-unit, sleek and black, unguarded on the counter. Soobin breathes shallowly. He looks over his shoulder, finds Yeonjun and Kai setting the table, plates and cups clinking noisily. Across the counter where Soobin is standing, hands trembling with adrenaline, Beomgyu and Taehyun have their backs turned to him, finishing up at the stove.

With a final look over his shoulder, he makes the grab. He palms the unit quickly, slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie. The breath he's holding burns his lungs, but no cracking voice calls him, no hands wrestles him to the ground. He releases the breath, and sits by the table when Kai calls him over.

The weight of the hand-unit feels like a brand against his belly throughout the meal. He spends it pushing food around his plate, barely tasting anything, hyperaware of every glance his way.

The walk back to his room feels neverending, infinitely long, Yeonjun humming an unfamiliar tune at his back, footsteps measured and unhurried.

Soobin stands, back to the door, waiting for the familiar hiss of it closing, but it doesn't come. He turns. 

Yeonjun stands there, face carefully neutral, no longer humming.

Soobin's pulse drums painfully in his veins.

“Can I have that back?”

Fuck. He knows. Soobin had hoped–but he knows. He takes a step back. Yeonjun is closer to the bathroom door than he is, so there is no way he could make it inside and lock himself in and–

“I don't–” His voice cracks, an odd, misplaced guilt seizing his throat. “I don't know what you mean.”

Yeonjun's lips twitch into a half-smile. “You do. Beomgyu's going to be insufferable if he doesn't get it back.”

Soobin squeezes his eyes shut as his hand slips into the pocket, fingers clenching around the smooth surface of the unit. It's Beomgyu's. Of course it is.

“I don't blame you for taking the opportunity. You're not in trouble. But I'm going to need it back.” Yeonjun holds his hand out, palm open and waiting. “Please.”

Soobin pulls it out after a moment of hesitation, placing it in Yeonjun's hand without meeting his eyes.

“Thank you.” He pockets it. “I know you want to reach out. I understand.” His voice is gentle, understanding in a way that makes shame burn in Soobin's chest. “But we can't risk it.” He backs away, until he's just outside the room. “Four months. I promise. And I won't tell Beomgyu,” he adds with a small laugh.

Soobin can only nod, can't look him in the eyes still.

“Get some rest,” Yeonjun says, and the door finally hisses shut, leaving Soobin alone with his shame and disappointment. There won't be a similar opportunity again, he knows. They'll be more careful. 

‧⋆𖦹

There's a knock one day, the usual useless courtesy, not long after lunch. Another surprise, a disturbance in the routine that makes Soobin tense, shoulders drawing up reflexively.

It's only Kai, carrying a box under his arm. 

“Hey, Soobin-hyung,” he says, smiling. “Are you–” He snaps his mouth closed.

“Busy?” Soobin finishes for him, shaking his head. He marks the page he's on with a bookmark he'd found in one of the books, a thin gold feather, before putting it aside.

Kai laughs, a little unsure, but approaches at Soobin's show of attention. He holds the box out for Soobin to see, a colorful collage of characters and landscapes that promises adventure.

“Have you seen this before?” he asks, handing it to Soobin, who shakes his head as he takes it, lighter than he'd anticipated based on the size. “It's this boardgame I picked up when we were on–I picked it up a while back.” He rubs the back of his neck, laughing again as he kneels on the edge of Soobin's bed. “But the guys weren't interested. They think it takes too long. But it's supposed to be fun, and you… I just thought I'd check. We could play, if you wanted to.” 

Kai looks hopeful, almost nervous, like Soobin's answer will determine the fate of the universe.

Back home at the Hangar, the men from third shift would play card games in the empty cantina at night. Soobin had joined a couple of times but he didn't quite get the rules, and he didn't want to bet any money. He also wasn't a fan of the raucous atmosphere, surrounded by people too loud and too drunk. He'd gone once with Sangwoo, and once after he'd left. Then never again. 

He might have played boardgames with his family, but he can't reach the memory easily, and he doesn't want to look for it, so he doesn't. 

“Yeah,” Soobin finds himself saying. “Yeah, okay. I don't know if I'll be any good at it, but yeah.”

Kai's grin is wide enough to crinkle his eyes into crescents.

He settles onto the bottom of the mattress, drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged. Soobin mirrors the stance across from him, watching as Kai pulls a board, cards, dice, and character tokens from the box and sets them up on the mattress between them, and they play.

The game is complicated, and Kai has to turn to the rule booklet a lot at the start, but they get into it after a while. Soobin finds himself immersed in the story that goes along with the gameplay, dragged into Kai's infectious enthusiasm as they work together to solve puzzles and defeat enemies to get to the final boss. 

“Wait, hold on,” Kai says at one point, jostling the board as he stands. He jogs out into the hall, leaving the door open as he disappears around the frame. Soobin busies himself with righting their pieces while he waits. It's not long before Kai returns, arms full of packets of snacks that he drops onto the mattress, sending the newly righted game pieces tumbling again. Soobin exhales a quiet huff.

They eat and play, and Soobin's heart feels somehow lighter than it has since he ended up on the ship.

“What are you doing?”

Soobin jolts at the voice, sudden and cracking, looking up to find Beomgyu standing in the doorway with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

Kai throws him a smile over his shoulder.

“Hyung! We're playing Starstone Quest. Oh, Soobin-hyung has never tried honey butter chips before, can you believe it?”

Beomgyu steps inside, mouth set in a firm line as he looks over Kai's shoulder to see their setup. Kai grins up at him. Beomgyu's eyebrows do a complicated little move, and Soobin focuses down on his cards to not intrude on their silent conversation. Kai shrugs eventually, turning back to the game, and Beomgyu huffs. He stays put, standing stiffly at Kai's back as Kai tries to explain the rules, pointing to this and that on the board. 

“So we need to work together to beat the boss before the corruption spreads to the main region, or we lose.”

Beomgyu's brows draw together. 

“What happens if you lose?”

“Then we lose,” Kai says cheerfully. “We'll have to start over.”

Beomgyu scoffs. “So you'll have spent hours only to have to start from the beginning? Sounds like a waste of time.”

“It's not a waste of time if it's fun, hyung.” He leans back to look at Beomgyu upside down, grinning wide. Beomgyu snorts, lips twitching as he rolls his eyes.

“Right. Fun,” he says, and turns to leave. Soobin notices him hovering in the doorway for a moment longer before disappearing. 

Soobin doesn't know what to make of it, the way Beomgyu looks at him, like Soobin is something dangerous.

“Beomgyu-hyung doesn't have the patience for games like this,” Kai whispers, rolling the dice.

They play until Taehyun comes to tell them dinner is ready. Soobin is surprised to realize time has passed so quickly. 

“But we're not done,” Kai says, and Taehyun tuts in mock sympathy. They leave the setup on Soobin's mattress, and Soobin is relieved to see Kai get up more carefully now that the board is fuller.

“Wanna finish after eating?” he asks as they head to the kitchen, and Soobin does.

After dinner, Kai brings the game to the table, setup carefully balanced on top of the box. They finish playing there, while the others clean up. 

“Soobin-hyung and I will clean tomorrow,” Kai promises when Yeonjun clears his throat pointedly as he stretches over Kai to retrieve his empty cup.

Soobin sleeps better that night, even though they lost. 

‧⋆𖦹

The next day at lunch, Taehyun asks if Soobin would like to join him for a workout later.

“Good idea,” says Kai, but Beomgyu narrows his eyes from across the table. 

“You want to buff him up? Look at the guy! He's like eight feet tall.” 

Taehyun rolls his eyes. 

“He needs to move. He's worked cargo for years, he'll lose all his muscle sitting around doing nothing.”

Beomgyu gives him a look like duh, but Taehyun doesn't falter. 

“He can't just sit around all day for months.” 

“Right, you have to exercise your pet,” Beomgyu hisses back, venomous, and Soobin keeps his eyes on his hands folded in his lap, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Pet. It's obvious that Beomgyu still thinks they should have gotten rid of Soobin while they had the chance. Maybe he's angry that he'd been overruled, stuck with this burden none of them asked for.

Or maybe he's just an asshole.

Yeonjun clears his throat, and they go quiet. 

“If Soobin wants to work out, that's a good idea,” Yeonjun says, eyebrows scrunched as he tilts his head, looking at Beomgyu with something to Soobin undecipherable in his eyes. 

Beomgyu makes a noise of protest, and Soobin bites at his lips when Taehyun ducks his head to seek his gaze. He doesn't want to get between them, doesn't want to be the cause of an argument. That's not going to do anything for his goal.

Beomgyu sighs before grumbling, “Whatever, do what you want.”

A while after lunch, Taehyun comes knocking. A pair of white sneakers dangles in his hand.

“Want to join? Kai found you these.” He holds up the shoes.

The thought of getting his body moving is enticing in a way it hadn't been back home, where work had him moving enough that he'd never had to use the Hangar gym, but the conversation at the table hadn't sat well with him. The words still sting.

Taehyun must sense his hesitation, because he leans against the doorframe, voice gentling. 

“I'd really enjoy some company.”

“Okay,” Soobin says finally. He stands, considers changing, but he's wearing a t-shirt and sweats, his new default, and he deems it good enough to work out in.

Taehyun leads him up the hallway, passing a couple of doors before entering one already open. One half of the room is piled with boxes, presumably the ones that had previously occupied Soobin's room. 

The other half is scattered with gym equipment; a treadmill, a small rack of weights, a few rolled up mats and a bench press setup. 

Soobin eyes the treadmill, and Taehyun starts it for him without question. 

“It works okay, it's just a little loud,” he warns, then he picks out weights for himself and gets to work.

Soobin walks on the treadmill, Kai's shoes slightly too big on his feet but secure enough after he pulls the laces tight. He warms up until he feels loose, and then he runs. He runs until his lungs burn and his legs ache, until sweat runs down his back, and finds that it doesn't take as long as it would have only a couple of weeks ago. He's never been particularly strong, only his thighs being muscular from years of climbing ladders and crouching to check lower cargo racks, but he had stamina. Still, it feels good to move after so long, to feel his muscles ache from something other than disuse.

“Thanks,” he mumbles after, using the towel Taehyun hands him to wipe sweat off his face. Taehyun claps him on the shoulder with a smile before going to place the weights back on the rack.

Soobin is distracted for a moment, watching the muscles in Taehyun's arm flex with every movement, sweat glistening on his skin. Soobin has height, but he's lanky. Taehyun has clearly been working out for years, all compact muscle and controlled power. Soobin is so focused on the flex and release of Taehyun's forearms that he almost misses Taehyun's words.

“Don't mind Beomgyu-hyung,” he says, straightening up. “He's just worried.” 

Soobin doesn't understand why, why is he worried when Soobin is the one ripped away from his home, his life, finding himself at the mercy of four strangers? Criminals at that. 

“What's he worried about?” Soobin asks, watching Taehyun's face carefully to see if the question crosses a line.

Taehyun hums, thinking, slinging his own towel over his shoulders.

“You're a risk to us,” he says finally, and Soobin's jaw clenches instinctively, irritation flaring. Soobin is a risk to them? “I know, I know,” Taehyun continues as if hearing his thoughts, holding his hands up placatingly, a small laugh escaping. “But we're not exactly operating a legal business here, and there are people who would be very interested in getting their hands on us. We were almost caught back at your Hangar. And then you were here.”

Soobin sucks in a sharp breath.

“Is that what happened that day?” 

Taehyun tilts his head. “Yeah. Someone tipped off security right as we were getting cleared to go. We had to launch immediately, couldn't even do a proper pre-flight check. By the time we found you, we were already running.”

“Oh,” Soobin says. Still, the unfairness of it twists in his chest. “But you looked me up, so you know I'm not–not out to get you.”

Taehyun shrugs. “Information like that can be falsified, even in official systems.”

Soobin gears up to protest, to argue that he's not a plant or working for whoever was after them that day, but Taehyun interrupts him.

“Look, whether or not you're one of them or just unlucky, the fact is that stopping to let you go would have almost definitely gotten us caught. Yeonjun-hyung carries a lot for us, keeping us safe, keeping us together. And Beomgyu-hyung…” Taehyun sighs, something fond crossing his face. “Beomgyu-hyung wants to carry Yeonjun-hyung.”  

Soobin's mouth works around the question he's thought about too many times. “So why didn't you…” He can't finish.

Taehyun's expression softens.

“We wouldn't. I know we haven't given you reason to believe that yet, but not even Beomgyu-hyung would have allowed it, despite what he tries to make you think.”

Soobin doesn't think he quite gets it, gets them, but he's gotten more out of Taehyun than he expected him to part with, so he nods anyway, following when Taehyun leads him back to his room. 

And then working out with Taehyun is another thing added to his routine. 

‧⋆𖦹

Beomgyu comes knocking one day, his usual scowl on his face when the door opens to him. 

Soobin had expected Kai so he's startled, book slipping from his fingers and landing on his lap, page lost. He sits up straighter, tension locking his hands into fists.

“It's my turn to cook,” Beomgyu says.

Soobin doesn't know what he's supposed to say to that, so he goes with the safest route and says nothing at all.

Beomgyu shifts from foot to foot, shoves his hands into the pockets of his loose shorts.

“I could use some help.”

Soobin is more confused than before. Taehyun is probably in the gym; he'd asked Soobin along a few minutes earlier, but Soobin felt too sore, thighs aching, so he'd declined. Surely he's who Beomgyu should be looking for. Instead he's here, even though he looks like he'd rather not be.

“Okay,” Soobin says, hesitant.

“Okay. So could you… help?” Beomgyu asks through gritted teeth, eyes fixed somewhere above Soobin's head.

“Oh. Yeah.” Soobin hesitates before standing, long enough to give Beomgyu the chance to take it back but he doesn't, so Soobin is left trudging after his stiff steps. That alone makes Soobin certain that someone has put him up to this. Probably Taehyun, judging by his convenient absence. 

Make them like me.

It hadn't felt as impossible those first few days as it does right this moment. If winning over the others is an uphill climb, Beomgyu is a sheer cliff face.  

Once in the kitchen, Beomgyu points to a pile of vegetables laid out on the counter. 

“Wash those.”

Soobin does, washing his hands first and getting to work, placing each freshly washed vegetable on the cutting board on the counter once he's done with it.

“You're wasting too much water,” Beomgyu grumbles after a while. 

“Sorry,” Soobin mumbles, turning the faucet until the stream of water is more of a trickle. Beomgyu huffs and sets to chopping, as far from Soobin as he can manage in the small kitchen, dumping the pieces into a pot that's already boiling on the stove. Once Soobin is out of things to wash, he turns the water off, wiping his hands dry on his hoodie.

“Peel the carrots,” Beomgyu orders, passing him a bag of them. 

Soobin looks at the carrots, then at the strangely complicated-looking peeler.

“I don't–I don't know how to do that,” he admits.

Beomgyu exhales loudly through his nose.

“I'll do it. You fill the dumplings instead.”

The thin wrapping is unfamiliar in Soobin's hand when he picks one up from the pile, scooping a small ball of filling into it before folding it closed. He doesn't think he does it right, and his fears are confirmed when Beomgyu frowns at the awkward way Soobin handles the little bundle.

“Have you never cooked before?” he asks. 

Soobin isn't sure whether it's a question or a judgment but he answers honestly anyway.

“No,” he says. “Not really.”

Beomgyu regards him, lips pursed and brows drawn, like he's not sure Soobin is joking. He must decide he isn't, because he holds a hand out for Soobin to place his leaking dumpling in.

“Here, like this. It's not hard.”

Soobin watches him do it with ease, movements practiced if slowed to allow Soobin to learn. He finishes the first two neatly, pinching around the edges, before moving, gesturing for Soobin to take his place and continue. It's not as easy as Beomgyu made it look, his own dumplings uneven and lumpy, leaking a little filling at the seams, but Beomgyu nods his approval as he steps in to look. Soobin feels his shoulders loosen with every one he finishes, repetitive movements turning almost meditative, until Beomgyu breaks the silence.

“How come you never learned?”

He's not looking at Soobin, instead focusing on whatever he's stirring into a small bowl.

Soobin shrugs even though he's not looking.

“My parents died when I was young.” The pang in his chest when he says it catches him off guard with its intensity, but he goes on. “And then I lived on a station with other kids like me.” His throat clicks. “Ones who didn't have anyone left. We were provided for. And then I came to the Hangar when I was getting too old.” He shrugs again. “I always eat in the cantina, and the onsite rooms don't have kitchens, so yeah, I just… never learned.”

He chances a glance at Beomgyu. He's still frowning, more contemplative than his usual one, stirring slowed to a stop. It's silent for a while, and Soobin goes back to filling and folding.

“My parents died when I was young too.”

Oh. Soobin hadn't expected that, hands stilling. His heart does a small twist imagining a younger, softer Beomgyu, alone. It's somehow easier to imagine than he would have thought as he watches Beomgyu now, focused and methodical in his movements.

“Do you want to?”

Soobin startles slightly, feeling like he missed a step in the conversation. Beomgyu must see it on his face, rolling his eyes. 

“Learn. Do you want to?”

And oh. 

Soobin thinks about it; the food they eat, freshly cooked or leftovers from a previous day, how different it is from what's served in the cantina, how they eat together every meal like it's the most natural thing in the world. He can't imagine getting to a point of being comfortable around a kitchen like Beomgyu seems to be, and the thought of learning is strangely appealing. But then, he thinks, he'll hopefully be back home eventually, and it'll be pointless.

He shrugs. The dumpling he's working on splits, filling spilling out, and he has to start over.

Unsatisfied with his non-answer, Beomgyu decides for him.

“Me and Taehyun do most of the cooking. Basically all of it, really. Kai and Yeonjun-hyung have other strengths, or so they claim,” Beomgyu says, sighing before wiping his hands on a towel. “Like it or not, you're on this ship now so you should pull your weight.” 

Soobin swallows down a spark of annoyance. “Yeah. Okay.”

But still, it softens something between them.

‧⋆𖦹

He still spends a lot of the days in his room, except now he comes out to help with most meals, Taehyun or Beomgyu, sometimes both, directing him. They learn Soobin has no talent for cooking. His instincts are all wrong, his timing off. He can manage the basics if someone walks him through it step by step, but left to his own devices, he's hopeless. Still, he shows up to help every time. They stick him with things like washing, peeling, stirring. Sometimes Kai comes to help, taste-testing everything and getting in the way until he's chased off or tasked with setting the table.

Beomgyu's animosity seems to have lessened with the time they've spent together in the kitchen. He doesn't strike up conversations that aren't cooking-related when it's only the two of them, but his scowl isn't as permanent, face relaxing like he forgets that Soobin is supposed to be a threat.

He works out with Taehyun too, about every other day. He prefers to run on the treadmill, but Taehyun has convinced him to let him run through some other exercises like squats and planks. Taehyun turns out to be different from Soobin's first impression of him; instead of quiet and stoic, he's kind of a chatterbox, content to prattle on about everything and nothing, unperturbed by Soobin's lack of answers. 

He plays boardgames with Kai, too. They need two more tries to win at the game Beomgyu considered a waste of time, Kai cheering loudly and reaching across the table for a celebratory high five. It's just a game, but Soobin feels a hint of pride swelling in his chest anyway. They move on to other games after that, some story-driven, but most competitive and fast-paced. The first time Soobin had laughed out loud, when Kai had thunked his head down on the kitchen table so hard it knocked over his drink after realizing he had made a move that guaranteed Soobin's victory, Kai had frozen. Then he'd smiled so bright it was nearly blinding. 

We could have been friends, Soobin thinks one day, and the realization hits like a punch to the gut. Back home, they could have been friends. When they're together, Kai animated and laughing at his own jokes, Soobin can almost forget the circumstances that have brought them together. That he's held captive here, and them being kind to him is nothing more than keeping him from rotting away, until they can be rid of him.

Beomgyu is still edgy with him, but is softening. Kai roped him into playing a game with them after dinner one day, and Soobin had seen a different side to him, competitive, and loud when it didn't go his way throughout the game. Soobin had flinched at first, jolting at a sudden outburst, but Kai had only cackled and Beomgyu was laughing too, and Soobin settled. 

Yeonjun remains the biggest mystery to him; he really only sees him at meals, and once in the gym when Taehyun had made him take turns spotting each other on the bench press. He's personable with the others, talking and joking, but towards Soobin, he's more pulled back. Polite but distanced, almost formal. 

Still, Soobin notices things now that he's not as tied to his room. Like a closeness between him and Beomgyu. And Taehyun and Kai. There's something about them. The way they seem to orbit each other, gravitational. How Beomgyu's eyes track Yeonjun across a room, how Kai leans into Taehyun's space like it's his to occupy. 

He doesn't know what to make of it. Back at the Hangar, relationships had been private, hidden. Here, it seems woven into everything they do. It makes the ship feel even smaller somehow, like he's intruding on something intimate just by existing in the same space.

Soobin places the newly finished book on the regular spot on the counter that he uses for drop-off. 

“Did you like it?” Kai asks around a mouthful of dried fruit.

Soobin yawns, rolling his neck to crack it after having been in the same position too long, propped up against the wall while he read.

“It was okay,” he says, scratching at his belly. It hadn't been his favorite, too wordy and dry. 

“Stop eating those. They're for everyone,” Taehyun scolds, smacking the back of Kai's head with a spatula as he passes to stir the sizzling pan.

“There's a movie version that's better than the book,” Kai says, grabbing another handful of the fruits before Taehyun can snatch the bag away from him. “Oh, we should start movie nights back up!”

Taehyun groans, throwing his head back.

“No, really. We never do anything all together anymore. How about tonight?” He flashes a wide, charming grin at Taehyun, tapping at his lips with a dried fruit slice. 

Taehyun folds immediately. “Only if I get to pick the movie,” he says around his own mouthful.

Kai protests, and they argue back and forth. 

Soobin feels bile rising in his throat. He doesn't eat much after Taehyun places the pan on the table, stomach twisting.

He gyms with Taehyun a while later, craving the ache of sore muscles, wanting to tire himself out to fall into sleep. He drops to the mattress after showering, damp t-shirt clinging to his shoulders under his hoodie, and stretches out until his joints pop. 

He considers reaching for the new book he's picked out, some action-filled story about a time traveling space ranger, but he's not in the mood for it. He clasps his hands over his belly instead, closing his eyes, trying to will his spinning brain to a stop.

There's a knock, door opening, and Taehyun peeks in, hair dripping from his own shower.

“We're gonna start the movie now. You feel up to watching?” 

Soobin's breath catches in his lungs, and he sits up, comforter falling to his lap.

“I… I can?” His throat clicks when he swallows, too loud, too revealing.

“Of course,” Taehyun says, like it's obvious, corners of his mouth pulling into a small frown. “Come on, Kai picked something he says everyone has to see at least once. If you don't like it, you can help me make sure that he never gets to pick again. Okay?” He stands back to make room for Soobin to pass him in the doorway. 

He takes a deep breath before he says, “Okay,” and gets up.

He'd only seen the living room on his first day. It looks different now; cleaner for one, but also less imposing. Cozy almost, with the others spread around the room, pouring snacks into bowls.

Soobin stands awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He doesn't know if they have assigned seats.

“Soobin-hyung!” Kai calls excitedly. “You'll love this movie, it's the best.” He finishes filling a bowl with bright red little balls. “What snacks do you want?” He sweeps his arm theatrically over the little buffet on the coffee table. 

“Uh,” Soobin says dumbly. He steps closer to inspect the selection. Most are things he'd never tried until Kai, who always seems to have a bag of something nearby, had introduced him to them. He flicks his eyes to Beomgyu, who's already sat back with a bowl balanced on his thighs. Soobin points to the bowl of cheesy rings that he's grown to like, salty with a sour tang at the end. Kai groans and makes a face of disgust before grabbing the bowl and pushing it to Soobin's chest, directing him to the two-seater, Soobin perching on the cushion next to Yeonjun. 

“That's the couch of shame and inferior snacks,” Taehyun says, nodding sagely as he sinks down beside Beomgyu on the other couch, leaving space for Kai to settle next to him. 

Yeonjun snorts and grabs the bowl from Soobin, placing it in the space between them before drawing his legs up and settling comfortably against the arm of the couch. 

“Good choice,” he says, so quiet only Soobin hears it. 

Soobin sits stiffly, back unnaturally straight.  

As the movie goes on, he forgets himself, leaning back, completely drawn into the movie. Soobin hasn't seen it before, but Beomgyu and Kai have, mouthing along to the lines during their favorite scenes, Taehyun muttering nerds under a fake cough.

Soobin likes it. 

The movie. 

When the credits roll, Soobin straightens. “It's over? It just ends like that?”

Kai looks absolutely delighted. “There's another part. We can watch it tomorrow.”

Soobin tries not to look too hopeful. He wants to know what happens next, if the heroes succeed in their mission.  

Taehyun groans, leaning to knock his forehead against Kai's shoulder. 

“Please,” he says, “It's so long.”

“It's essential viewing. You can't call yourself cultured until you've seen them all,” Kai says grandly, and Beomgyu nods on the other side of Taehyun.

“Sorry, Tyun-ah, but Kai is right this time. It's for your own good.”

Yeonjun says nothing, smile fond as he watches them tussle and argue. He looks almost soft like that, in the dim glow of the screen, blanket drawn to his chest and dark hair mussed from where he'd rested against the back of the couch. As if sensing Soobin's eyes on him, he turns toward him, and Soobin looks away. 

They watch the movie the next night, and the final part the night after that. Soobin cries a little at the end, trying to be subtle when he brings the edge of his sleeve up to catch the tears before they can run down his cheeks. If anyone notices, they don't say anything. 

“Admit you liked them,” Kai says in the silence afterwards, pointing to Taehyun who's sat on the two-seater. “I saw you getting all misty-eyed.”

“They're not awful,” Taehyun says, and Kai throws his arms up triumphantly while Beomgyu and Yeonjun laugh. “But they're too damn long.”

“They're as long as they need to be to pack a real punch,” Kai says, standing up and stretching, folding his arms behind his neck. “Right, Soobin-hyung?”

Soobin can only nod, still processing.

Taehyun starts gathering trash off of the table. “Next pick is mine. I'll show you real cinema.”

Soobin lies awake longer than usual, the movie playing behind his eyelids. He'd been so into it. Had forgotten, for whole stretches of minutes, where he was. What they were. The guilt sits heavy in his chest, even though he's unable to quite name what he feels guilty for.

That marks the start of regular movie nights. It's not every night, but almost. They go through everyone's favorites, arguing over who picked the best movie. It always ends in a let's hear what Soobin thinks, causing him to awkwardly cast the deciding vote.  

He'd started to notice before, during cooking and eating together, but it's even clearer now; there's something going on between these guys.

Taehyun and Kai had sat most of a movie whispering amongst themselves, tucked close under a blanket and not paying attention to the movie at all. Soobin felt like he was intruding just by looking at them, so he kept his eyes on the screen. 

Soobin also notices they pair off when he's brought back to his room, Taehyun and Kai together if Beomgyu or Yeonjun lead him back to close the door, or Yeonjun and Beomgyu if it's one of the others who walks him back, disappearing behind one of the doors they pass to get to his room. 

One of them is open as they pass one evening, Yeonjun and Beomgyu sitting close on a bed, and from the sweep of the room he gets as he passes, Soobin is certain there's only one bed in there. It makes his ears heat for some reason. The rooms don't look big, but certainly big enough for two beds. Maybe sharing is more practical, he thinks, but doesn't quite believe it.

It makes him think back to a gym session where Taehyun had mentioned that it's his old mattress that Soobin has now, and he wasn't using it anyway. Which probably means he and Kai…

But another night, during a movie, he could have sworn he heard a wet smack of lips across the room, but when he'd turned to look, Beomgyu, Kai, and Yeonjun had sat on the three-seater, no sign of any such business.  

There are other things too, small, like lingering hands in passing, soft glances, and once, the deliberate squeeze of an asscheek. 

Soobin is so sure. He can't be imagining it. 

For some inexplicable reason, it makes him feel lonely in an entirely new way. Especially when Yeonjun and Beomgyu share a quiet, private laugh, heads close together, something just for them. Soobin is an outsider here, in their home, their lives, and he's especially conscious of it in those moments. Soobin doesn't get to take part in that. He's not only surrounded by these friends and crewmates, but two couples. It's a strange feeling, and he tries to shake it off.

‧⋆𖦹

“You choose,” he's met with as he enters the living room with Kai, Yeonjun presenting the unit controller to him. 

Soobin is stunned for a moment. “Me?” 

“You haven't had a turn, have you?” Yeonjun asks.

“I don't know a lot of movies,” Soobin admits.

“That's okay. Pick one you like, or one you want to see. It doesn't matter.” He takes a seat. “Here, come.”

Soobin perches awkwardly next to Yeonjun, accepting the unit when it's passed to him. He scrolls through an overwhelming amount of choices. Back home, he'd had the same four pre-approved channels on his standard-issue wall screen, and whatever movies the Hangar library carried. He's not sure if he's flustered only from the seemingly endless choices in front of him, or also because of the heat seeping through his shorts where Yeonjun's thigh is pressed to his. 

He keeps scrolling until something catches his eye; cover of a small figure surrounded by giant, softly glowing trees. Something about it makes him pause. Not knowing if it's something the others would be interested in watching, though, he clicks back and scrolls some more before giving up.

“I don't know,” he says at last, shaking his head. “You pick.”

He hands the unit back to Yeonjun, who takes it and returns to his spot next to Kai.

“This one,” he says.

They're settling into their seats, snacks distributed, when Soobin realizes it's the movie that had caught his attention. He feels a little warm, eyes stinging strangely, then cold when he sees the other four squeezed together on the three-seater, tightly pressed into one another yet somehow looking perfectly comfortable.  

He pulls the blanket tighter around himself. 

It's a good movie.   

‧⋆𖦹