𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋! | ateez

kimchi jiggae and the art of saying sorry

OCTOBER 25TH, 2120 A.D.
—AURORA SPACECRAFT.
[129 DAYS TO MARS.]

if seonghwa was panicking about steering the ship for the first time, then he definitely did not show it.

he spots yeosang indiscreetly studying him from the corner of his sharp eyes as he busies himself with the controls. watching him curiously, as if waiting for him to show signs of anxiety. but seonghwa keeps his expression neutral and indifferent; unwavering.

and when he turns back to stare, not challenging the other- just questioning, yeosang stares back, silent, and then turns around to check their flight path again (one thing seonghwa had learnt about yeosang over the years was that he wasn't afraid to stare, and he definitely didn't care about getting caught either). seonghwa shrugs it off and keeps an eye on the outside temperature levels.

truthfully, he was shitting his pants right now- sure, they've been through a million and one simulators and worked as a team to fly ships before, and he knows how each individual works under the pressure. but this was so, so different. this wasn't a simulation, a test, an exercise. it was the real deal, and if things went haywire, then-

seonghwa doesn't want to entertain the ideas of what would happen after that.

very few words are exchanged across the room as all eight men clamber around the central bay, sixteen eyes on separate screens. the atmosphere is frantic, but not messy; nervous, but calculated. seonghwa's inky hair is slicked back to ensure none of it falls into his eyes, and hongjoong's is tied into a short tuft at the back of his head with a hair tie.

("if you're not going to shave it, then at least cut your hair shorter before the mission," some higher-up had scowled during one of their final routine checks.

hongjoong had just jutted his chin out, crossed his arms and stuck his noise in the air, resolute in keeping his hair longer. whilst he was usually obedient and efficent, he was also stubborn this way, almost rebellious. when the team had asked why he wouldn't trim his hair afterwards, he'd just shrugged and said, "don't feel like it."

seonghwa had come to learn that was a very 'hongjoong' thing to do.)

"okay, preparing to shift in five minutes! mingi, how are the fuel levels?" hongjoong shouts above the increasing whirring and firing of engines.

"stable, all according to plan so far!"

"seonghwa, temperature?" (seonghwa will choose to ignore how hongjoong's shoulders tense slightly)

"nine degrees celsius!" he hollers back, brushing off the sour taste on his tongue. he wouldn't dare let personal affairs mess up this mission so soon; not now, not ever.

san shouts coordinates and various numbers just as the thirty second countdown flashes on the main screen, red and obnoxious.

the others take a step back from the flight control deck as hongjoong, yeosang and seonghwa prepare to embark on their route to mars, with commander and second in-command ready to steer, and navigator stabilising the engines.

and then the man to seonghwa's right is yelling, "advance!", and it's gruelling work, keeping one hand on his stick shift and the other pressing a hundred buttons in the blink of an eye. it's harder than you'd imagine, flying a ship without crashing into a storm of meteors and space junk, but he supposes that's why they've got the best (san and yeosang) overseeing their route. they're turning the aurora north-east from their starting position, and they'll have to gather enough speed and distance to exit the earth's orbit before they can leave the ship on autopilot. on his left, yeosang is, for the most part, quiet, save for the occasional and mandatory calling out the engine power percentages (these are the times he's the loudest seonghwa's ever heard him speak). his eyebrows are furrowed and a pink tongue peeks out between his lips, with his glinting teeth biting it gently.