Chapter Text
Have you ever drowned in a dream?
Have you ever felt the murky water pooling around your ankles? It caresses, the way a lover would. Gently sweeping against your skin, its touch meant for comfort. Until you realize that it is steadily rising, swallowing you bit by bit, like you’re its last meal to be savored.
“Sleep,” it whispers. “You are safe with me.”
The void loves you, and wants you the same way a lover does. Every part of you. Down to your very bones.
It wants you all for itself.
“...Min…”
But you are not theirs. You belong elsewhere, in someone else's embrace. The voice that keeps calling out to you from above. Echoes beyond the rippling of the tide, beyond the emptiness itself.
“Jaemin…”
You shouldn't be here.
“Please, Jaemin…”
But then, where should you be?
You open your mouth, yet the water drowns your scream. You kick against the abyss, but its whirlpool is relentless as it claws you back. In one last desperate attempt, you reach out, struggling against the current—
“I'm sorry.”
—and is surprised when something grasps at you back.
The rushing of water explodes into a myriad of sounds. Yelling, shrieking, crying, laughter, prayers. They grate against your ears. It hurts. It hurts.
Above all—
“I'm so sorry.”
The same words, repeated until they have no meaning behind them anymore.
You gasp as the death grip on you loosens. This time, when you kick back against it, it screeches its protest as it lets you go. The invisible grip on your wrist hurts, but you let it lead you. Somewhere. To the voice that you call home. To the embrace of sunlight.
At last, everything blurs into white.
“...Nana?”
Beep.
“Nana? Hey…”
Beep. Beep.
“Oh my God… Nana!”
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Doctor, he's—!”
Jaemin remembers the hand holding his own. The stories softly confessed into the night, of guilt and sorrow, but also of love and protection. The voice he quietly clings onto.
He remembers the blurry figure moving about in his peripheral vision. The broad back he sees, seemingly standing between Jaemin and the world. The presence is familiar, soothing. It gives Jaemin the comfort he didn’t know he needed.
He remembers the little world his brother made for him.
Then he wakes up, and discovers that he doesn’t know the outside world at all.
“What’s your name?”
—Is the first question asked by the doctor upon his first checkup. Jaemin blinks, taken aback by the silly question. Of course he knows his name. “Jaemin.”
The doctor raises his eyebrows. “Full name?”
Full name. Something in Jaemin’s brain disconnects. “N… Nana, Jaemin?”
The doctor hums as he writes down something on his clipboard. Behind him, Jaehyun stares at Jaemin; a mix of dumbfounded and confused.
“Close,” the doctor deems. “Your name is Na Jaemin. What year is this?”
Year?
Half a year has passed since… since…
Since when?
“I…” Jaemin croaks out. “2014?” he guesses, because that was the last number he remembered living in—between all the debris and dust and destruction.
If Jaehyun was concerned before, he's horrified now. “Nana…”
“I see,” the doctor cuts in before Jaemin can ask what's wrong. “What is the last thing you remember?”
Jaemin's mind draws blank. Then, flashes of pictures blind him. Of a port torn in half, of a city destroyed, of the scattered limbs amongst the destruction. Of the vivid blue fluid pooling around the shore as he tries to find familiar faces somewhere between the pile of debris.
“Busan,” Jaemin says, fighting a wince as headache assaults his temple. “The Kaiju attacked Busan. I, I tried to find Mom and Dad, but—”
But they'd been missing. Dead. And Jaehyun had been the one to retrieve the child they left behind.
“I see.” The doctor's voice softens. “What else do you remember?”
Jaemin stares at his hands, tangled in the sheets as he tries to recollect more details. It doesn't feel right. Something is missing, and judging by the condemning silence in the room, it’s something major.
Yet nothing comes to mind.
“...I don't remember anything else.”
Nail in the coffin.
“Okay,” the doctor says, pen scratching against the paper frantically. “That's alright. Forcing yourself to remember might induce unwanted effects. Perhaps you'll recall more details later.”
Jaehyun starts, “Doctor—”
“When?”
Jaemin startles at his own question. It had come out without thinking. When will I be able to remember?
The doctor, though, interprets it differently.
“You were describing the Busan Invasion. That was 2014; it’s 2024 now.”
Jaemin blanks out.
“What?”
“The results show that he likely has focal retrograde amnesia.”
—Were the words uttered by the doctor after the myriad of examinations. Jaemin knows he isn't supposed to hear them, but the hospital corridors have always been quiet. Makes it easier for whispers and murmurs to ricochet between the walls.
“Will he recover?”
“We can't be certain. Recovery differs from person to person, after all. However, we can ensure it goes well by performing physical and cognitive therapies…”
Jaemin opts to stop listening. The thought of going through multiple procedures exhaust him enough. He wants to stay oblivious, at least for a while.
Which is why when the doctor finally breaks the news to him, he takes it with ease.
Apparently, sleeping for a month and a half is more than enough to make his body stop functioning properly. With muscles as weak as jelly, mobility issues are bound to happen. Jaemin can't do something as simple as balancing a cup in his hand, and it drives him to the edge.
He wants to get better. Knows he can. But the process takes time, and the effort he has to spend on it simply makes it unbearable.
Falling, knowing he has to grit his teeth and stand up again. Walking with quivering legs, feeling like a toddler all over again. It isn’t that the pain feels unbearable; it is the absence of pain that makes him unease. Something about the numbness on the soles of his feet doesn’t feel right in his head.
By the first week, he was deemed stable enough to go home. Wheelchair-bound.
“I cleaned up as best as I could, but it’s still pretty dusty,” Jaehyun says upon opening their apartment door, switching the lights on. “Welcome home, Nana.”
Jaemin peers into the hallway. It’s spacious, the kind of apartment unit reserved for the rich, providing enough space for him to move around in the wheelchair. He supposes it checks out; Jaehyun had worked in the Jaeger Global Defense League. He’s a well-known expert when it comes to Jaeger engineering.
Yet the interior feels… untouched. Cold. There’s a coat rack near the door, but no piece of clothing can be found on it. A cabinet sits in the hallway with no decoration, save for the lone framed picture atop of it. A wilted house plant fills the space beside the cabinet. It’s as if Jaehyun spends minimal time here, even if calls this vast space “home.”
It’s far from the childhood home Jaemin misses.
Then he sees the ramp between the entrance floor and the elevated inner floor, wooden and clearly handmade. It’s the perfect size for his wheelchair to cross over smoothly.
It’s enough.
“I’m home, hyung.”
The dusk painted over the sky, bright orange and violet mixing into a whimsical hue. The gray clouds underneath swayed side to side as they admired its beauty, sitting in the lull of tranquility, letting the wind take them wherever it wanted. The birds, too, seemed to sing along. Their wings flapped past Jaemin’s ears, and he looked up to see dark shadows flying over him, heading towards the blue ocean.
It was merely a respite. An illusion of peace, some might say. Out there on the horizon, a conflict might be brewing. The Kaiju might come through tonight, tomorrow, or next week. The path to amity was long and harsh, and its trials unforgiving.
But for now, the heroes rest, and so Jaemin leans on the railing, eyelids fluttering shut.
“You’ll fall if you do that, Jaeminie.”
Amusement tugged at the corner of Jaemin’s lips. He didn’t open his eyes, instead saying, “Good evening to you, too.”
There was a bark of laughter, echoing behind him in the vast, open sky. The footsteps fell short beside him, and Jaemin enjoyed the person’s warmth, leaning into him subconsciously in place of the railing.
“The sky looks good today. At least take a little peek at it.”
“No,” Jaemin murmured. “It’s better to keep my eyes closed.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll dream of a better world if I do.”
The person huffed, holding him steady by the hip. The motion was clumsy, but gentle. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It’s taken the people I love,” Jaemin countered. Despite the sentiment, his tone was light, resigned. “In a better world, they’d be alive, watching the same sunset with me.”
There was no use trapping himself in a delusion, not in such a bleak world.
For a while, only quietude remained. The gentle breeze nearly hushed Jaemin to sleep, and he would have, if not for the way the person was rocking him, the heartbeat thudding against his ear. Serenity was seldom found in the ruins of a calamity. Jaemin kept the moment tucked away somewhere in his heart.
“Jaemin.”
“Mmh?”
“Are you really going to be a paramedic in the future…?”
Something tugged at Jaemin’s soul, and so he stirred. He peered from under his eyelashes and craned his neck towards the person, but only his shadow could be seen, the rest hidden away by the brilliance of the sun.
“I mean, I did sign up, so… I hope so?” Jaemin said, uncertain. “Why did you ask?”
There was an odd pause as the arms around Jaemin tightened their hold. The tug on his soul got harsher and harsher. Something akin to determination flared in his chest, but it wasn't Jaemin’s. He could only stare in worry as the figure tips their chin up, finally ridding his face of shadows.
“...███?”
The figure finally opened his mouth.
“I think… I w█nt t█ be a J█e█████████.”
Jaemin wakes up with a start. He grapples his chest, digs his fingers into them, trying desperately to lessen the vice around his lungs. When that doesn’t work, he stumbles out of bed, but doesn’t have the strength to get to his wheelchair.
Something bubbles in the back of his throat. Jaemin crawls over to the trash can and heaves, even if there’s nothing to be spat out other than saliva. He covers his face with his trembling hands, pushing his palms into his eye sockets until red stars explode in his vision. He wishes it could hurt more.
Frustration bubbles over his gut, but he doesn’t know what to be mad about. Everything is fine. The clock is ticking, the night air feels cold, and Jaehyun is snoozing in the room across from his. Just another night in their apartment.
But—
“Who are you?” Jaemin gasps, staring at the standing mirror across from him. If he imagines it hard enough, he can see the violet skies, the figure in the penumbra, hear the laughter in the air— “Who are you?”
He shifts back to lean on the bed, breath shaky. For reasons unknown, his gaze drifts towards his hand, particularly the pinky finger. In a flash, he sees a coil around it, and feels a harsh tug.
Should there be something there? Is he missing something?
Fuck. Of course he’s missing something. He always is.
Jaemin laughs, shaky and unraveling around the edges. The sound resembles more of a gasp strangled out of a desperate man.
He’s going insane. He has to be. He’s sitting on the bedroom floor at an ungodly hour, desperately reaching for something, anything that resembles a memory in his mind. A trace of who he used to be. The Na Jaemin everyone knew, the Na Jaemin his brother grew up with, not— not the fucked-up caricature he is. Not the Na Jaemin with legs that cannot feel and a mind that cannot remember.
Jaemin thinks about how the doctors said that his recovery was a miracle. How he had barely survived a brush with death.
No, Jaemin thinks warily. Perhaps he hadn’t come out of the tragedy alive. Perhaps Na Jaemin had died since then, and now a stranger walks around wearing his face, bearing the scars from a time unknown to him.
Na Jaemin is dead.
…Then who is the figure staring back at him in the damn mirror?
The hospital doors open automatically as Jaehyun wheels him into the lobby. While he waits for his name to be called, Jaehyun wanders to the canteen, getting them both breakfast even though Jaemin doesn’t have much appetite at the moment. He never does, nowadays.
Jaemin fidgets with his hospital check-in receipt. The hospital isn’t as crowded as usual, as they are earlier than how they usually arrive, but there is still nothing to do. His hand brushes over his pocketed phone, though he hesitates. The migraines have been relentless, and the bright screen makes his head throb. He doesn’t dare trigger another bad episode just because of his boredom.
“Um, excuse me.”
The voice startles him out of his misery. Jaemin looks over to see a boy leaning down towards him, a tight smile on his lips. “May I sit next to you?”
Jaemin furrows his eyebrows. It’s a public space, there’s no need to ask. Still, he nods, and the boy awkwardly sits beside his wheelchair, though he seems nervous for whatever reason.
“Ah… Sorry if I’m disturbing you, but you’re, erm, Na Jaemin, right?” the boy asks, and Jaemin jumps at the mention of his name. “I’m Park Jisung. It’s nice to meet you.”
Blinking rapidly, Jaemin shifts so he can properly have a look at the boy. He’s young, probably around eighteen years old, with wide eyes and an air of cluelessness around him. Somehow, he looks just as uncomfortable as Jaemin is currently feeling.
Jaemin tugs his face mask up. “Do I know you?”
“O-oh! So it is you! I knew the rumors weren’t true, you’re not one to go down so easily, after all!” Jisung exclaims, going on a tangent, making Jaemin’s mind spin. “No, we haven’t, um, formally met, but I know you. Remember the Zhongshan Invasion around three years ago? You probably don’t remember, but you saved me back then.”
As if things couldn’t get even more confusing. “I saved you?”
“Yeah? Of course you did. That’s what you do best, right, saving people?” Jisung ponders innocently. “I was visiting my friend at the time when the Kaiju wreaked havoc in the city. Then you came in and kicked its ass! It was so cool! I've wanted to meet you ever since, but I haven’t had the chance, so…”
Invasion. Kaiju. He kicked its ass? Jaemin massages the bridge of his nose slowly, the headache inbound. “Sorry. My memory is a little fuzzy, so I don’t remember much…”
“That’s okay. I-I should apologize, too, for bothering you like this,” Jisung says, rubbing the back of his neck, bashful. “You’re probably busy, so here. I bought this for you. I, um, I know it’s nothing grand, but without you, I wouldn’t be standing here today. So, seriously, thank you.”
Jaemin tilts his head as he observes the plastic bag Jisung offers him. It’s small, probably containing snacks and the like, but his heart warms nonetheless. Someone thought of him and bought him gifts. A lot of questions are on his mind, but…
“Thank you, too,” Jaemin says softly, receiving the gift, much to Jisung’s delight. “I’m honored.”
“Great!” Jisung beams. Just then, one of the receptionists calls for the number ‘33’, and Jisung stands up so swiftly that it makes Jaemin dizzy. “That’s my grandma’s number. I’ll be going now, Mr. Na. Thank you for all your hard work!”
Wait! Jaemin wants to shout, but the sound is trapped in his throat as Jisung goes on his merry way, as if he hadn’t just shattered Jaemin’s perception of himself.
Left to his own devices once more, Jaemin resigns himself to open the plastic bag. He would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about it. He peeks inside, and is pleasantly surprised to see a lot of snacks he actually enjoys. Peach jellies, a bar of chocolate, and a can of coffee. Huh.
Jaemin can't help but wonder from where Jisung knows his preferences. The way he speaks to Jaemin is nervous, almost reverent. How he phrased things, too, fished the curiosity out of him.
You saved us. You kicked its ass.
There’s only one profession that comes to mind when Jisung said that. But… it can’t be, can it? After all, Jaeger pilots require a soulmate to co-pilot, and Jaemin has no soulmark on him.
His hand ghosts over his hoodie pocket, where his phone lies. He considers pushing aside his migraine to try and search himself up in the internet, but then overly saturated colors invade his vision, and Jaemin winces as he tries to tough out the overstimulation.
Right, then. Maybe later.
When he comes back to his senses, he realizes that he'd been cradling a peach jelly in his hand, pressing it into his skin so hard it leaves indents. Despite his appetite, Jaemin decides to open the pack. The lid twists and breaks off with a sharp snap, and the floral aroma has nostalgia flooding into his senses. So it isn’t tampered, then. Given with genuine intentions.
He takes a slurp. The jelly settles nicely in his stomach, as it is not too heavy, and he hums, pleased with the gift.
Maybe breakfast isn't so bad this time around. He should ask Jaehyun for lighter meals next time.
“You wish to remember your past memories?”
His cognitive therapist enunciates from across him, skepticism in her voice. Jaemin tries not to squirm as he says, “Yes. Is there any way…?”
His therapist adjusts her glasses. “That's something amnesiac patients often ask,” she says, hiding her grimace and failing terribly. “The truth is no, not really. I know you'd like to fully recall your memories, but that sort of recovery is nearly unheard of. Most of the time, your memories come back naturally. Our main goal is still to rebuild your cognitive functions, not restore your recollections.”
Jaemin swallows the lump in his throat. The dejection leaves him flailing, panicking on the inside. Yet, he can only mutter, “oh,” much like a kicked puppy.
His therapist shoots him a pitying look. She tries to offer some comfort by laying her hand on top of his, light and gentle.
It doesn't go through him. She feels too cold, all bones and wrinkles. It feels wrong.
“The past is the past, and the present is now. The details will come to you later, I'm sure.” Jaemin stifles an unamused huff; he wishes he had her confidence. “You shouldn't focus on what has already passed.”
He doesn't think he can.
“You don't get it.”
The therapist stares at him, a concerned frown crinkling in between her eyebrows. “What don't I get, Jaemin-ssi?”
Jaemin thinks of the dusk. The whispers of his dreams. The echo of his memories.
“...Everything.”
He thinks of Jaehyun's hopeful stare as he finally realizes that Jaemin might actually remember something. He remembers Jisung's reverence towards him, how he had stared at him in such awe that it made Jaemin feel stronger than he actually was. Made him feel like someone.
He remembers, and for once, he thinks he'd rather forget, if only to lessen the weight on his heart.
“I lost myself. I lost everything. I feel like nothing, but the world demands that I have to resemble something, and…” Jaemin is saying, though his voice sounds strangely distant. As though it isn’t his own mouth moving to say them. “You don't understand how that feels.”
Nobody else seems to.
Car rides with Jaehyun are often quiet, the only exception being the music playing in the background, followed by Jaehyun’s idle humming. Not that Jaemin minds. Being comfortable with someone without having to talk to them is a luxury. A brief respite is needed after an exhausting day of checkups and therapy.
Today, however.
“Hyung.”
“Hmm?” Jaehyun glances at him. “Something up, Nana?”
“...Do I have a soulmate?”
Apparently, asking the question during a red light is the right time, because Jaehyun takes his eyes off the road so fast it might’ve caused a crash otherwise. Under Jaehyun’s befuddled stare, Jaemin shrinks. He fidgets with the hem of his hoodie, internally begging Jaehyun to say something already.
After a moment, Jaehyun sputters out, “You don’t have your soulmark?”
This time, the confusion is reflected on Jaemin’s face. “No?” he answers. “Should I have one?”
“You—” Jaehyun curses under his breath as a honk echoes from behind them. He maneuvers the gear shift and steps on the gas, more than distracted as he says, “It should be on your left pinky finger. You don’t have it?”
Something clicks in Jaemin’s mind. He cradles said limb, recalls the dream, and shakes his head. “No.”
“You sure? It should be shaped like a line, wrapped around your pinky.”
A string, Jaemin thinks idly as he observes the finger. It should be a string, a cord—a line that once connected him to someone, now severed for reasons unknown.
The dream hadn’t been just a dream, after all.
The frustration that has been brewing in his gut finally settles down. It’s not enough to quell the fire, not enough to quench his thirst for knowledge, but it dwindles the flame somewhat, and Jaemin should make do with that for now.
He rakes in a deep breath, the cold air harsh against his trachea. He welcomes it nonetheless.
“There’s nothing there.”
For all his disbelief, Jaehyun stays oddly silent. Jaemin steals a glance and sees the frown etched into his face, drowning in his thoughts. Jaemin lets him.
He opts to look out the window instead, watches as raindrops splat onto the window and rolls down, entwining with its own kind. It’s been raining a lot nowadays, with winter shifting into early spring. Mom would’ve fussed over him, telling him to wear his coat to avoid getting sick. Maybe even cook him his favorite dishes to push him to eat more.
…He misses her rice cake soup. He misses her more than words can offer. He misses his life, before… before.
“You had a soulmate.”
Jaehyun’s words are quiet, engulfed by the pitter-patter of the rain. Nonetheless, Jaemin hears it clearly, as loud as a gunshot. Just to make sure, “I did?”
“Yes. You did.” Jaehyun’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he practically spits out, “Bonded soulmate.”
Jaemin’s breath holds.
He sees why Jaehyun was speechless for a while. It’s easier to think that Jaemin had a soulmate that he had forgotten. Easier to think that the soulmark faded away because of his amnesia. Most people have soulmates, but the chances of meeting them are low and the mark is volatile, easy to erase. If one passes away, the mark ceases to be, too. If one simply decides to not be with their soulmate, it will go away. Its disappearance is to be expected at some point of one’s life. In this day and age, a soulmark is merely a suggestion, not a destiny to chase after.
But bonded soulmates, they have met. They have met and decided to devote themselves to each other for a lifetime. Their soulmark isn’t supposed to fade. It’s supposed to last an eternity, even in death it will prevail.
It doesn’t make sense.
“Why would I sever my bonded soulmark?”
The question weighs heavily in the air. Jaemin stares, long and hard, at his pinky finger. As if it would make the mark magically reappear.
“It’s not you,” Jaehyun states fiercely. Jaemin wonders why he said it like it’s an undeniable fact. “It’s not you, Nana. I don’t think you would do anything to hurt your soulmate, let alone commit a severance.”
Jaemin doesn’t think he would either. Hurting, sure, everyone can hurt anyone, be it intentionally or not. But a severance?
From the tidbits of his childhood, he remembers being fascinated at the concept—who wouldn’t be interested in the premise of a fated someone? A perfect pair made for each other is a pipe dream to many, as well as a perfect children’s bedtime story.
To Jaemin, soulmates are venerated. It’s a dream he’s harbored for decades. Just thinking about cutting the bond feels sacrilegious.
But did Jaemin of the past—who lived a life unknown—still think like that?
“I don’t…” Jaemin trails off. “I don’t know.”
Of course he fucking doesn’t. The Na Jaemin everyone knew was a stranger to him. How ironic is that, not knowing someone you should know better than anyone?
I don’t know who I am anymore. Who I used to be.
Maybe it would’ve been better if he stayed in the grave.
(“I know you'd like to fully recall your memories, but that sort of recovery is nearly unheard of.”)
The ringing in his ears gets stronger as his therapist’s voice echoes in his mind. The invisible shackles on his chest weigh on his lungs, dragging them down. All of a sudden, the air is too cold to breathe in. He scratches at his chest, finding the seat belt and unbuckling it, ignoring the shout of warning from Jaehyun.
Breathe. Breathe. The first step to calming down is to breathe.
(“The past is past, and the present is now. The details will come to you later, I'm sure. You shouldn't focus on what has already passed.”)
“Shut the fuck up,” Jaemin whispers. Everything is too loud—the siren in his ears, the laughter echoing in the dusk, Jisung’s stuttered thanks, the music on the radio, Jaehyun’s ceaseless mutters, his therapist’s advice— “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
They don’t know anything. They don’t know the lengths he went through just to fucking remember something.
They don’t know how it feels to not know. Your favorite food, drinks, person, place, hobbies—basic questions everyone knows the answer to, but you don’t, because you lost any sentiments attached to them. They don’t know about the names on the tip of your tongue, the sceneries you recognize, but can’t quite put a finger on. They don’t know about the frustration that’ll drive you off the edge of the cliff someday.
No, they only know about you in the past, and hope you will become him someday, even if the memories are already buried in an avalanche.
Jaemin is tired. He’s wrung out of his own sanity and is so, so tired. If he could go back to the endless sea he had trapped himself in back then, he would, without hesitation.
It feels as though he’s been running towards an oasis in the desert, only to find an endless mirage. Even if he crawls to the finish line, it won’t feel worth it. It would end a pyrrhic victory, the bitter overwhelming the sweet.
Useless. What’s the point of living if I can’t live on as the “me” people loved?!
Heat grasps at his flailing hands—
“I STILL LOVE YOU!”
—The shout pierces through the noises in Jaemin’s mind. Jaemin freezes, lifting his head up to see Jaehyun staring at him helplessly, desolation vividly painted over his face.
It’s then Jaemin realizes the position they’re in. Jaehyun is leaning over the gear stick, nails digging into his wrist, desperate to stop Jaemin from whatever he attempted to do. The pitter-patter of the rain is steady as ever, the radio drones on, and the distinct tick-tack of the indicator is palpable, alongside the system alerting them of their unbuckled seat belts. He shifts his eyes towards the window and sees that they’ve parked in an empty road he doesn’t recognize.
Everything is normal. Everything is fine.
Jaemin’s eyes flicker towards the rise and fall of Jaehyun’s chest. It’s erratic, but it’s better than nothing. Jaemin’s breath sputters, the air grates more than ever. Still, he mimics it the best he can. Noticing this, Jaehyun regulates his breathing better, reining in his fear in favor of composure.
When the storm inside both their minds calms, Jaehyun unbuckles his seatbelt to pull Jaemin close. His breath is warm on Jaemin’s skin. It reminds Jaemin that he’s still here. Present. Alive.
“I still love you,” Jaehyun murmurs, cupping the back of Jaemin’s neck, tender. “You’re not useless, or broken, or anything like that. Please don’t say that again. I love you because you’re you. No matter who you feel you are, you’re Na Jaemin. You’re my brother. You’re still here. That’s all that matters to me, Nana.”
A teardrop rolls down Jaemin’s cheek, a hot contrast to his cold skin. “But—”
“But nothing,” Jaehyun cuts in harshly. “I won’t let you talk about yourself like that. You’re a fighter, Nana. Always has been. We’ll get through this together, alright? You and I.”
In the mercy of Jaehyun’s kindness, Jaemin feels fourteen again, searching for his parents in the rubbles that used to be a city, even if he knew what had become of them. Hopeless in the wake of tragedy, knowing that he can only scrounge through the remains of a disaster to find what really matters to him. What’s left of his life.
Jaehyun was there to pick up the pieces then, and he’s here now. Jaemin clutches at the back of Jaehyun’s sweater. Maybe if he holds onto him hard enough, he’ll get to keep him, even as time gnaws at everything around them.
“Hyung,” he all but sobs into Jaehyun’s shoulder, and Jaehyun shushes him.
“I’m here,” Jaehyun promises. ”I’m not going anywhere anymore, Nana.”
Jaemin loosens his grip. Just a little.
With how messy his life seems to turn out, it shouldn't be a surprise that Jaemin stumbles upon the answer after a quick shopping trip, of all things.
It's on accident. The street where the nearest convenience store stands is a maze, but the neighborhood is otherwise quiet. The kind you'd find old shops run by locals in their own homes. That particular day, Jaemin decides to venture into a path he seldom walks through, and makes the mistake of glancing at a thrift shop.
There, displayed on the storefront window, is none other than a figurine of himself.
Jaemin has to do a double-take just to prove to himself that he isn't hallucinating. He's not.
Upon closer inspection, he realizes that the toy has scratches, and its paint is faded. It’s sold for a cheap price of 1,500 won. Not bad, but one can do better than this. He can see why it's been collecting dust. It's clearly well-loved, but a worn toy is bound to be abandoned someday. And seeing where he ended up now, it wouldn't be a surprise if most people had forgotten about him.
Yet at the same time, it isn’t him. The Na Jaemin reflected on the window stands slouched, cane in hand, grocery bags in the other. His legs shake as though it might buckle if the wind breezes too strong. The dead look in his eyes doesn't lie—he feels like a walking corpse. He might even be one, in a wicked sense.
His caricature doesn’t reflect that same deep exhaustion. He stands tall on the shelf, wearing a bright grin, holding a helmet in a suit that resembles armor, though modernized.
It's too distinguishable to be anything else other than a Jaeger pilot's battle suit.
Jaemin swallows thickly. Jisung's voice seems to echo in his mind all over again. You saved us. You saved us. You saved us.
“I saved you,” Jaemin mumbles, in a trance as he brings up a hand to reach out to the figurine. “I… saved you?”
He was a Jaeger pilot. He was on the frontlines. His job was to save people.
“Oh,” Jaemin whispers. “I was one of them.”
Jaemin feels like his breath has been knocked out of his lungs. He’s discovered a major part of the puzzle—the root of what man he turned out to be, the traces of the past that led him to his injury. Why hasn't Jaehyun mentioned any of this? If he'd known, then…
Then his gaze darts toward the figurine behind his own, and his breath stops.
(Vibrant orange bleeding through violet, the whisper of wind as it carries an unforgettable message:
“I think… I want to be a Jaeger pilot.”
The betrayal coursing through his veins. The anger. The confusion. Everything.
“You said we'd live happily ever after.”
An accusation, one that hangs in the air. Nobody dares to break the stillness. And so the moment wanes, the dusk covering them with its veil.)
The figurine behind his own wears the exact same clothes and stands in the exact same pose. The difference is in their faces, and though Jaemin had forgotten who he is, his muscle memories refuse to.
“...Je… Jen…?”
The whisper of a name is spoken in a hush, stumbling out of Jaemin's mouth without much thought. It doesn't sound right. He tries it again. Adds syllables to the sound. It still doesn't roll off his tongue correctly, and it drives him off the edge.
The figure in the dusk. His co-pilot. His…
(“You have a soulmate. Bonded soulmate.)
“Soulmate?” Jaemin murmurs. “Yes, I… have a soulmate… I…”
Do you?
In a daze, Jaemin glances towards his reflection on the glass window, then focuses back on the figurine.
Do you think you have a soulmate? You, who wears the face of someone lost to a tragedy?
His gaze darts towards his pinky finger. To the string that should have been there.
Not a trace is found on his skin.
You don’t have a soulmate; Pilot Na Jaemin did. You don’t even know who you are. A ghost doesn’t deserve a soulmate.
Jaemin's breath quickens as he traces a hand over his face. The tips of his fingers feel itchy, and if he could, he would dig his nails into his own skin and flesh. Unveil who's really behind the mask. Maybe, just maybe, if he tears this pathetic skin of his—
“Sir?”
With a blink, Jaemin turns towards the source of voice. He finds a woman standing in front of the store, staring at him in concern. The apron fastened around her waist tells him that she may indeed be the store owner.
“Are you okay?” she asks, stepping closer to assess him. “You seem very out of it.”
The words sound rather muffled. As if he were underwater, sinking deeper and deeper by the second. His chest feels heavy. It hurts to breathe. Everything is wrong, wrong, wrong. He shouldn't be here. He should've been—
“Sir?”
A light touch upon his shoulder. Jaemin practically leaps away from it, stumbling onto the wall. His cane falls to the ground with a clatter.
“Ah,” Jaemin manages to exclaim. “I'm… ‘m okay. Just tired. Thank you for your concern.”
As the situation starts to dawn on him, he turns away from her, hoping that she wouldn't recognize him. He's in no condition to deal with that right now.
The clerk picks up his cane. Her movements are slow, and her gaze is more worried than wary. She’s approaching him the way someone would approach a scared, wounded animal, Jaemin realizes.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you without consent,” the clerk says, bowing deeply before handing the cane to him. “Pardon me, but you don’t seem alright, sir. Do you want to come inside and sit for a minute?”
“Um, thank you, but no thanks,” Jaemin says stiltedly, but he accepts the cane with a grateful nod. “I was just… looking around, I guess.”
The clerk hums nonsensically. She glances at the display and smiles, apparently knowing what he was staring at. “I see. Did the figurines catch your attention?”
Jaemin hopes the mask hides his features enough. It’d be narcissistic for someone to gawk at their own figurine. “Sort of.”
“They're quite old. My nephew was growing out his toys and asked if I could sell it because, ‘It'd be disrespectful to throw the heroes out.’ They've been there ever since.”
Jaemin clears his throat. “That's… that's sweet of him.”
“Do you want it? The children around here have grown up, anyway. None of them care for toys anymore.”
Shifting on the balls of his feet, Jaemin stares at the figurines. He doesn't want it, not really—it's rather useless for a man his age who has no younger relatives left—but there's something about them that makes him yearn to have his hands on them.
(Perhaps it's because they allow a glimpse into his old life. A puzzle piece he can physically grasp.)
“...May I really?” Jaemin asks, voice small. Like a child sheepishly asking for a candy or two.
“Sure! Stay here, I'll be right back,” the clerk announces, a skip in her steps as she goes back into the store and packs his order. She comes back faster than Jaemin expected. “Here you go, sir!”
Jaemin gingerly takes the paper bag from her. He digs around his pocket for his wallet, only to be stopped by a gentle touch on his wrist, courtesy of the woman’s soft hand. She smiles at him reassuringly.
“It’s on us,” she says, quiet as a feather, but her gaze is firm as she stares into Jaemin’s eyes. “Thank you for everything, Pilot Na.”
Oh.
The clerk bows politely as she scurries off, waving at him before disappearing inside the shop. In Jaemin’s perspective, time seems to stand still as he freezes on the spot, replaying the words in his head until it doesn’t sound coherent anymore.
It isn’t until he looks down that he realizes the lone stalk of white rose she had slipped into his bag. It’s a little wilted on the ends, but his chest warms nevertheless.
He lifts his head and dares himself to stare upon his reflection once more.
Who are you?
“I…”
Jaemin still doesn’t know, but what he knows is this—
“I’m someone worth remembering again,” Jaemin whispers, the bag clutched tightly between his fingers, “and that’s… That has to be enough.”
It has to be.
The first thing Jaehyun says upon entering the living room is, “What’s the deal with those?”
Jaemin looks up from his phone, inquiring Jaehyun further with a tilt of his head. Jaehyun nods toward the TV, and all attention falls naturally upon the figurines by it.
“Oh,” Jaemin says, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. “I bought those from the secondhand store down the road. Do you like it?”
Jaehyun frowns. “I think you're avoiding the topic, Nana.”
Jaemin inhales sharply, pursing his lips. He stares at the twin figurines, long and hard, until he eventually blurts out, “I remembered parts of it.”
“You do?”
“They're a little blurry, but…” Jaemin fidgets with the edge of his sweater. “But they're something.”
Jaehyun strides toward him in measured steps, yet his touch is unsure as he hovers a hand over his shoulder. Eventually, he squeezes his brother’s shoulder with a heavy sigh.
“I'm sorry,” he says quietly. “If there's anything you want to ask…”
Jaemin thinks about the sunset that burned down his spirit. About the looming figure, the wishes scattered in the wind. The lies and truths, where to find them, how to unravel them.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him sooner?”
They both know who Jaemin is referring to.
“I didn’t…” Jaehyun trails off, struggling to find the correct words. “I thought you’d ask about him eventually, and it didn’t feel right to bring him up when you’re obviously torn about your amnesia. You’re dealing with a lot already. I didn’t want you to feel any more pressured.”
Ah, Jaehyun’s kindness. Always a double-edged sword.
Jaemin nods slowly, somewhat numb. “I think I’ll go to bed early today.”
“I understand.” Jaehyun pats his shoulder twice before letting it drop. “Good night, Nana.”
“...Night, hyung.”
Jaemin doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night.
Summer comes in a wave of scorching heat that reminds everyone of the end of times.
The news repeats the same tragedy every day. The heroes let their masks slip, their bruises having no time to heal before the next battle comes. Prices skyrocket as more and more Jaegers are felled and mended. In response to their failing performance, the UN announces that they will formally dissolve the Jaeger Global Defense League next week. They ignored any sort of public outcry, and began a plan to build anti-Kaiju walls instead.
Amidst the chaos, the cicadas sing loudly, uncaring of the state of the world.
All Jaemin can do is drown in their sound.
Jaemin is lounging on the sofa when, out of the blue, Jaehyun drops a book into his lap.
Jaemin blinks, unsure of what to do with the book. Its cover is rather plain, with black leather and an embossed album branded on it. He traces a finger lightly over the word, and the texture alone makes him tingle with nostalgia.
“Hyung...?”
“I found it while cleaning the storage room.” Jaehyun says as he plops onto the sofa, an unreadable, knowing glint in his eyes. “Open it. It used to be yours.”
Not knowing what to expect, Jaemin does as he's told, and the breath immediately gets knocked out of him as he sees the first page.
“Oh,” he breathes out in wonder. “This is…”
It's a polaroid picture of his soulmate and him, standing side-by-side, twin grins stretched over their lips. Judging by the crowded room, it seemed to be a party of sorts, the ones that are usually held by a group of teenagers. His soulmate's arm was wound around his waist, and Jaemin's over his shoulder. They seemed to be talking to each other, unaware of the camera, loving gazes pinned on each other.
Though the image is a little blurry, Jaemin knows why this is attached on the front of the album—they looked happy, content in their own world.
Jaemin traces the contours of his own face, then his soulmate’s. An odd sense of nostalgia rushes through his veins, though he doesn't know its origins—as though his brain remembers the feelings he harbored at that exact moment, yet lacks context for it.
“Lee Jeno,” Jaehyun offers quietly. “His name is Lee Jeno.”
Oh. Jaemin parts his lips to try out how the syllables feel around his tongue. What comes out is a low whisper: “Lee Jeno…”
It doesn't sound foreign. It doesn't sound foreign at all. Of course it doesn't; the name had been carved into his heart. The brain might forget, but muscle memories don't. The way his tongue curves over the letters feels like it's a prayer he's said every night before sleep, just pushed into the back of his mind until he's reminded to say it again.
“You used to like photography,” Jaehyun says, ruffling his hair, gentler than usual. “You said you liked preserving your favorite things in an image, because they stay that way for a long time. This was a compilation of your favorite shots, taken by you and your friends.”
Jaemin nods, swallowing thickly. He inhales deeply and steels himself as he flips through the album.
The first few pages were amateurish. Shaky shots and blurriness on the wrong things. Yet, as the dates below each picture progresses, the images gradually improve in quality. It took time, but the effort paid well in the end.
Some shots are of silly little things. Stray cats, dogs in the park, and sunsets. Others are of his important people. His fellow Jaeger pilots, singing along to a karaoke, having fun together. Jaehyun, surrounded by blueprints and important documents, eyebrows furrowed as he brainstorms. A picture of a wedding under the summer sun, and even if he doesn’t recognize anyone else, Jaemin can spot Jaehyun attending the ceremony in the crowd, smiling widely.
Most of them, however, are notably pictures of his soulmate.
A shaky portrait of a serene moment. A silhouette under the dusk. Photos of matching bags and accessories. Two toothbrushes in a cup, with a blurry shot of a man's bare, broad shoulders in the background. A polaroid of a mirror selfie in the morning, though the surface of the mirror is cracked in the corner, resembling a spider web. Little pieces of their life—once taken out of boredom, now valued beyond belief.
Then, he catches it.
Two pinky fingers, entangled into one, with a line across each one. Like a string.
A soulmark.
“Oh,” Jaemin whispers, the finger in question twitching as he looks over it. Now, his skin is unmarred, the mark undone.
“I remember the day you found out about your soulmate,” Jaehyun says, breaking Jaemin out of his trance. “You seemed so happy from the other side of the phone. It's like you were a kid again.”
Jaemin frowns. “I told you on the phone?”
“I was working on a project in German. You were in Seoul, interning for the Korean branch of the Defense League.” A gospel of guilt echoes in Jaehyun's voice. “We couldn't meet often back then. My work demanded attention.”
Jaemin nods slowly. It does make sense—Jaeger engineering was a new territory back then. Nobody knew what to do, what to expect, besides failure. Insignia One's success, too, was a miracle at first. Back then, a giant robot fighting an otherworldly monster was merely the premise of a children’s movie.
Now, there had been twenty-five of them deployed, and most of them had fallen.
“It's weird,” Jaemin says as his gaze lands on another polaroid. An intentionally blurry picture of someone biking on the riverside, under the warm blanket of the spring's sunset.
“What is?”
“It's much different than I expected.” He flips another page, trying to seek each and every one of its origins from his mind, only to draw blank. “I don’t… I don’t think I know anything about myself.”
It’s true. Jaemin still stands by his words—the Na Jaemin now and then are two different people. The Na Jaemin in the photos seemed charming and kind, the public’s sweetheart. The Na Jaemin staring at his old self, though, is anything but. He has no one but his brother, and doesn't even have a soulmate anymore. The pride in his eyes have long since faded.
That’s the key difference, he thinks: Na Jaemin then felt alive in every way, but Na Jaemin now is a shell of his old self.
This time, the lack of memory hurts. He wants to remember so, so badly, but there's a roadblock ahead in his mind, and he can't see anything other than the dead end. Even months after he woke up, he still hasn’t figured out how to destroy the roadblock.
Desperate to fill in the gaps, Jaemin asks, “What was Lee Jeno like?”
Jaehyun's stare flickers towards the man in question. He taps the photo as he says, “I didn't spend as much time as I wish I had with him, sadly. My first impression was that he was a shy, quiet boy. It didn't change much afterwards.”
“Quiet and composed…” Jaemin scrunches his face. “He sounds like the opposite of me.”
“Well, kind of—that's what makes soulmates compatible, no?”
“...I suppose.”
Jaehyun smiles at him, the kind that lets you know he knows more than he lets on. “You liked him from the get-go. First love, I’d say.” He pauses, thins his lips, then, “Lee Jeno was quiet, but he revolved around you. You were his gravity, Nana.”
Jaemin's eyebrows shoot up to his fringe. “You sound like a down-bad poet. What happened to the pragmatic engineer I know?”
“Rude. Being a singer was my dream at some point, you know,” Jaehyun complains as he nudges him on the arm. “What kind of singer would I be if I couldn't write good lyrics?”
Inadvertently, Jaemin averts his eyes towards Jaehyun's office, where his guitar lies in the corner of the room. Now that he thinks about it, he's never seen it dusty. Perhaps a part of his brother nurtures his dream by singing alone in the room, plucking the strings whenever he feels like it.
“Why did you become an engineer?”
Jaehyun blinks at him. “Dad wanted me to. He saw me arrange IKEA furniture by myself when I was, what, in middle school? He thought I had a talent for engineering ever since then.”
The answer takes Jaemin aback so much that he chokes on air as he laughs. “I— how does that even work?”
“I dunno, but it sounds like him, no?” Jaehyun smiles, shrugging helplessly. “Besides, it turned out for the better. Never doubt a parent’s instinct, I guess.”
“The better?” Jaemin wonders, then thinks back to the beginning of the apocalypse, when life started to fall apart. He sobers up immediately. “Ah.”
Jaemin thinks back on the achievements hung on Jaehyun’s office. The two medals of honor he had received for his contribution to humanity: the Soulmate Cooperation System, better known as the Drift Connection.
“I’m glad you did,” Jaemin admits quietly. “Without you, we wouldn’t have the Jaegers working.”
Something in Jaehyun’s gaze hardens. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, bitter and dejected, “that makes one of us.”
Jaemin tilts his head slightly, frowning. “You… I thought you’d be more proud of it.”
“I was, at the time.” Jaehyun exhales slowly, leaning back on the sofa. “It seemed like a necessary evil at the time, you know? We needed a weapon other than the nuclear bombs to clear the Kaiju, and after Taey— Marshall Lee’s success on piloting Insignia One, I thought that the Jaeger had a chance. If we could lower the chances of neuron overload, it could work.”
“That’s when you came up with the Drift.”
“Yeah. It was— it wasn’t supposed to work. I just pitched in the idea, but then we actually got to work on it, and beyond everyone's expectations, we succeeded. The Jaeger needed two people that are compatible with each other. Unfortunately, soulmates are guaranteed to have a successful Drift Connection.”
A moment ticks away in quietude. Eventually, Jaehyun sighs, his body deflating like a balloon.
“I just wish,” he starts, voice below a whisper, “that it hadn’t been soulmates who have to fight on the frontlines.”
(“...Have you ever dreamed of having a soulmate, hyung?”
“That’s a silly question, Nana. Of course I have. Everyone has.”)
Jaemin blinks. His mind seems to stutter; a broken record trying to reload a recording from a time unknown.
“You’ve always liked the idea of soulmates,” Jaemin blurts out.
Jaehyun glances at him with a dim amusement. “So do you,” he says softly. “You were lucky enough to have one. But look where you are now.”
For a moment, Jaemin observes the circle under Jaehyun's eyes, the weariness that shows in the way his back hunches forward, those dark pupils that can't focus without the help of prescription glasses anymore. He recalls the guitar in Jaehyun’s room, clearly well-cared for. He can't help but wonder…
“Was it worth giving up your dream for?”
Jaehyun stiffens. The same tired pupils glance towards his office, and stay there for a couple seconds. His expression is mellow, as if looking at something Jaemin can't see. Perhaps a fragment of the past, or a what-if.
Eventually, he turns back to Jaemin, and smiles as he ruffles Jaemin's hair fondly.
“We’re here now,” Jaehyun answers as he walks away, signaling the end of the conversation.
Jaemin swallows, the sound harsh in the lull. It still feels surreal. He never thought he'd be the type to go on the frontlines. Jaemin is barely competitive; he's not one to try-hard, much less go beyond by aiming to become a Jaeger pilot.
Was it another situation akin to Jaehyun, where he had to give up his dreams for the better?
He glances at the twin figurines by the TV.
How did you end up who you were, Pilot Na?
Jaemin saw a destroyed city below the sunset. Once upon a time, the same sun had eclipsed his grief, and he had felt despaired underneath its shadows.
Yet this time, he was the one standing atop a Jaeger. Everything seemed so small below them. Even the Kaiju bleeding out on the ground seemed miniscule in comparison to the giant machinery.
There was a hand on his shoulder. Jaemin didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing.
“You see now, Jaeminie?” a familiar voice asked, solemn, but prideful. “This is what we’re for. This is why we fight.”
To prevent a catastrophe. To save people from the same fate Jaemin had suffered.
Yes, Jaemin thought, squeezing his eyes shut. This was what the heroes are for—the last fortress of humanity, standing tall between the storm and the people.
“Yeah,” Jaemin admitted. “I see it now.”
He ignored the way those words tasted like ash on his tongue.
Morning comes, and Jaemin stumbles into the dining room with the grace of a waddling toddler.
Jaehyun, being the early riser he is, is already up and about. He’s singing along to some Western song in the kitchen, shuffling about as he cooks. From the smell alone, breakfast will be toast and eggs, per usual. Jaemin opts to set the table in the meantime.
“Morning, Nana,” Jaehyun greets as Jaemin takes out the cutleries. “I bought you some peach jelly…”
He trails off, the sentence left unfinished. The pause falls odd to Jaemin’s ears. Blearily, he looks up to see Jaehyun staring at him, nothing short of baffled.
“What?” Jaemin asks. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No. It’s just, you look terrible,” Jaehyun blurts out, the surprise morphing into concern. “Are you alright?”
Oh. Must be the dark circles over his eyes, Jaemin thinks as he ghosts a finger over the area.
“‘M fine,” Jaemin mumbles, suppressing a yawn. “Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
“Nightmares again?”
“Mhm. It’s nothing to worry about, though. I’ll be fine.”
Jaehyun eyes him for a second longer before relenting with a hesitant nod.
“Alright,” Jaehyun settles, turning around to flip the egg. “Breakfast will be ready soon. Go sit, okay?”
Jaemin murmurs an agreement, hobbling into the dining room and placing the utensils in the right places. He pours himself a cup of coffee, fresh from the pot, and fetches a peach jelly out of the fridge as an appetizer, before turning on the TV to fill in his boredom.
The newscaster's monotone drawl merely makes Jaemin all the more sleepy. He sips his coffee—Jaehyun makes it way too light for his liking, so it won't do much, but it'll shake him awake at least for breakfast, then he can go to sleep again. There's nothing on the agenda today, anyway. He plans to sleep the remainder of his migraines off. Hopefully, it'll pass before tomorrow's visit to the hospital.
He wonders when his last visit is going to be. Three months in, and he still has a long way to go.
“Here you go,” Jaemin cracks an eye open to see Jaehyun sliding a plate of toast and eggs towards him. “Added a little too much salt, but the toast will mellow it out. Probably.”
“Mm. Thank you, hyung.”
“No problem,” Jaehyun replies, sitting across from him. “Don't fall asleep yet.”
Jaemin grumbles non-coherently and picks up the toast. Lazily, he takes a bite, and hums at the saltiness that spreads on his tongue. It is a little saltier than usual, but he doesn't mind.
“‘S good,” Jaemin says, and Jaehyun scrunches his nose.
“Swallow first before you say anything, Nana.”
Jaemin huffs. Any other day, he would've cared for his manners. Today, though, he's feeling lax, so he doesn't particularly care about anything except a good rest.
Then he looks up, and sees the way Jaehyun's eyes are pinned on the news, wide and horrified. It's enough to bait Jaemin's curiosity, too.
“...Two Kaiju have attacked the Philippines this morning at 3 AM PHT, or 4 AM in Korean time…”
…There goes his plans for relaxing today.
Jaemin watches with rapt attention as a Kaiju bursts through the Philippines’ walls without difficulty. So much for being anti-Kaiju, he thinks resignedly. Maybe they should’ve thought of a better solution before dissolving the Defense League.
“...While the walls failed to stop it, Aegis Steel and Medan Five soon came to the rescue. The Kaiju, now nicknamed Clawback and Storm Chaser, have been classified as Category-3 and 4 respectively.”
Jaemin drops his toast back on the plate. Did he hear that right? Two…?
“…Thanks to their quick collaboration, Aegis Steel and Medan Five clutched victory in their hands. However, one of Medan Five's pilots, Kun, has been heavily wounded. He is currently being monitored at a hospital nearby. For now, this phenomenon has been dubbed ‘Double Event’…”
“Double Event,” Jaemin repeats, a little dazed. “Double Event…”
A single Category-4 has already taken down plenty of Jaegers as it is, and now, there can be multiple of them? How is humanity meant to survive?
The screen flashes and displays the aftermath of the invasion, right in the heart of the city. There are plenty of volunteers rescuing people from the debris and paramedics treating the injured. Amongst them, Aegis Steel pilots, Mark Lee and Haechan, can be found having their injuries treated near their Jaeger. It doesn't seem like their wounds are grave enough to warrant a hospital visit.
The same cannot be said for the Medan Five pilots, however.
There, in the backdrop, Jaemin can see a team of medic pushing a gurney into an ambulance, with pilot Ten hot on their tail. From the context clues alone, Jaemin can sum up that the person being wheeled into the hospital is his co-pilot, Kun. He doesn't know much about them, but he knows that they are more than capable, considering their streak of six Kaiju takedowns. Seven, if he counts today’s close call.
Two of the world's most prestigious Jaegers, nearly defeated by the Kaiju in combat together. The situation has turned for the worst, that much is clear.
Without warning, Jaehyun stood up and fumbled with his phone. He threw Jaemin a look that said, I'll be right back and dialed somebody, walking back into the kitchen for some privacy.
Jaemin raises his eyebrow, but lets him have his peace. When he pays attention to the TV again, it has changed to an old professor ranting about the Kaiju.
“...Clearly the Kaiju has developed into worse creatures than before,” he argues, his calm façade clearly cracking around the seams. Nobody can fault him—everyone is just as scared, too. “The invasions happen twice a month now, and this time, there are two Kaiju in a single attack. I'm afraid that it will worsen overtime.”
Jaemin scrunches his nose at the same time the reporter asks him to elaborate.
“Recent discoveries have shown that the Kaiju attack in a pattern. Back in 2011 and 2012, it was once a year. Then, in 2013 to 2014, it happened every eight months. 2015 to 2016, it happened every six months. On and on, the frequency keeps increasing. And here we are in 2025, expecting the attacks to happen every week. Turns out, the pattern has been broken.
“Instead of four invasions in a month, they decided to send two Kaiju at the same time. This pattern will continue until there are multiple Kaiju invading Earth and appearing every hour.”
Silence rings louder than any of the words spoken. In the pause, Jaemin's breathing gets heavier, his hands gripping the utensils like it's his lifeline. The news reporter looks just as shocked and flabbergasted as he is—Jaemin can't blame her, this news is certainly enough to send people all over the world into a panic.
“This is a warning to humanity,” the professor speaks again, this time heavy with sorrow. “This is a race against time, and we are losing. We need a plan. Not just a mere wall to delay the Kaiju, but a real plan to end the invasions. That is all I can say.”
The call ends, and the news reporter flails as she tries to regain control of the situation. Clearly, the information-dump hasn't been debriefed beforehand. Jaemin appreciates her for trying nonetheless.
Jaehyun's voice has gotten frantic over the call, ricocheting off the kitchen. Jaemin mutes it out. Instead, he stares at his own reflection on the edge of the plate, dazed. He's only taken a couple of bites, but he doesn't think he can finish breakfast with his appetite gone.
Outside, the cicadas scream louder than ever.
Jaemin remembers reading one of Jaehyun’s book that had said something like this:
Humans are like ants. We settle into a pattern easily, organized and many, but disrupt us with even the slightest blow of the wind, and we'll scatter into a disorderly mess. We're volatile. Unpredictable. That is our double-edged blade.
Jaemin thinks he gets it now, watching people fall into disorder not even a few days after the news broadcast. Some are stockpiling their daily necessities, for whatever reason. Others are using “the end of the world” as a reason for living recklessly, checking their bucket list. The reasonable ones are down in city halls, demanding the Jaeger Global Defense League to be reformed again. Not as a Resistance, but as a government-supported organization, with proper funding and all.
The plea for peace from the researchers went ignored in the mass hysteria.
And, in the middle of all this dystopian-esque situation, what does Jaemin do? That's right. Go to fucking therapy, as if it all still matters in the threat of a global extinction. He wonders if his therapists have an existential crisis at night.
Jaehyun, too, has received a lot of calls nowadays. It's not rare to have him excuse himself during lunch or dinner, only to yell at the person on the other end in his office. Jaemin has caught a glimpse of their arguments and, after hearing the engineering jargons said in the conversation, he chooses not to listen in anymore. He was the Jaeger pilot, not the mechanic.
Not like he’d remember anything about it, anyway.
Then, three nights after the initial panic, someone rings their doorbell.
Jaemin glances at Jaehyun, tilting his head in a silent question. Apparently, Jaehyun isn't expecting anyone either, because he looks as clueless as Jaemin is as he rises from the couch to answer it.
Jaemin pays it no mind. Maybe it's a package delivery. It's none of his business.
That is, until he hears Jaehyun's voice dripping with disbelief.
“Mark?”