boop.

He sighed softly in relief and shyly bowed before stepping inside the apartment after Sehun let him in. It wasn’t a penthouse and it wasn’t as big as the other house he had to clean but it was still relatively spacious compared to his own. He turned to face Sehun and smiled, waiting patiently for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. It turned out being a question that Han wasn’t sure how to answer. Before he could answer, he followed Sehun with his gaze as the other walked toward the living room and Han hesitated before following him.

"I know," he blurted out and instinctively raised the sheet of paper in his hands which had Sehun’s name written on it. Then he blushed in embarrassment and tried to reformulate that better. "I mean, hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m um…Han…as you already know." His fingers played with the sheet of paper until it was folded once again and then he rapidly went to place it in his back pocket. His heart was started racing which was always happening whenever he had to talk to strangers and had to try and get their approval.

Han’s response was enough to make him feel silly for introducing himself again, surprise subtly lining his features as he parted his lips, as though to say something but only a wisp of air escaped the interstice. The sentences which followed alleviated the effects, yet discomfiture still managed to lodge itself in his chest and persisted to stay. At least with the progressing topic he felt more at ease, or so he’d expected. The discussion regarding the payment wasn’t his forte either, given that he’d had limited experiences in hiring and being hired. Twenty, however, fell below the decency according to him, given that the old lady which he’d hired had a salary far above that. He blinked in confusion, uncertain as to how to deliver this thought without sounding rude or condescending.

“Oh, no, I’m... no longer in school,” he spoke, dithering despite the certainty of the message. “Would it... um...” He stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his mind raced, attempting to find a route to approach the topic, but everything came off as a little offensive and he thought of simply paying more than the rate instead of explicitly stating it. “So, uh, would you rather for it to be transferred, or would a direct payment be better?”

If there was one thing that he’d commenced to learn from day one, it was the fact that lives meant almost nothing for them. It wasn’t that they were sick, twisted beings, but more because they couldn’t afford caring—not when they were standing at the bloodied lips of apocalypse, attempting to scavenge for the diminutive chance of survival tucked at the sleeves of steel sculpted out of despair. There was no time to mourn, nor was there ever any opportunity to celebrate anything in its justified grandiose manner. There was never any victory counted as infinitesimal considering that they were up against lethal monsters crafted out of something outside their logic, but then again, there was never any loss could be regarded as irrelevant.

And sometimes (or a lot of times, actually—Kim Jongin had witnessed a multitude of instances of this in less than two decades) bereavement and the dulcet taste of triumph coexisted, for with every win there was a defeat. It was a losing game with a thin filament left to hold onto, after all, and with such a frail hope to preserve his own life, he had to be surprised that he’d only lost two people close to him.

One being the man who had made him; the man who had made Kim Jongin, preferably known as Kai, the Jaeger pilot extraordinaire. Renowned for his aptitude in fighting at such a young age, there was this man who had always stayed at the back of his head—a man much greater than Jongin could ever be. A man concocted of dedication and pure passions.

The second and the most recent was the loss of someone who hadn’t only been a comrade for him, but also a mentor. Another man who had played his part in shaping Kim Jongin, his soul lost to a battle against a Category 4, mind barely disconnected from Jongin’s when that had befallen them.

Three days. It had been three days, and now he was standing in the combat room barefoot, knuckles wrapped in tight bandages, stick in his fist. Nine people down, none of them were eligible to be the candidate of his drift—none of them could read his movements, synchronization leaning towards critically low. All too weak for his liking—all too expectant to be his drift, knowing his reputation, but he wasn’t going to take just anyone under his wing. He wasn’t going to risk his missions (and his last name, bearing the Kim name to continue the glory that his father had started) by recklessly choosing his partner, and he wasn’t willing to squander his time and energy on someone who was clearly too novice.

Such as where she currently stands, looking in front of her at the boy called Kai. Younger than her and known to be a genius when it comes to handling the Jaeger. She admits, there’s a part of her itching to fight against him because he’s got the reputation that has everyone wondering and the last few matches only serve to further emphasize it. But she doubts her compatibility with him and she can already imagine herself reaching the same defeat as the other. She’s normal and she’s spent most of her life living as a wallflower. She doesn’t expect a sudden change.

She stares at him for a bit, wondering what he thought of her. He surely didn’t recognize her for one, even with her rather distinct features from her family, but with those eyes she wonders if he’s looking down at her. Reasonable, she supposes on one end, but at the same time there’s a small drive in her to prove to him that whatever he thought of her was wrong. She doesn’t reveal her thoughts to him, her face forever passive as she prepares herself.

Calm. Her mind is exaggeratingly clear and hyper alert, her senses tingling for every little thing. She feels strikingly alive but she doesn’t move. Not yet. She circles him for a bit, just analyzing him even further. His stance, the way he adjusts. Then there it is, like those evident marks in a computer game she sees a possible area to strike.

The biggest factor which underlay that wish was probably the fact that he’d like to stay in Seoul, alone, than having to return to Sydney where his madman of a father was. He wasn’t all that valiant to have heroic, selfless motives at the back of his mind when his chest pounded with that wish; he probably was suicidal in the first place by signing up for this, but he was more eager to live the rest of his life in peace albeit it being imminently terminated shortly after his missions commenced, if ever. He’d truly had enough of his father’s cruelty.

He held his breath as he stepped into the Drivesuit Room for the nth time—it was his first to enter Seoul Shatterdome’s, but it wasn’t all that different from the one in Sydney. Sounds of chatters surrounded him as the technicians prepared him for the first drift with the ranger, someone called Lee Hongbin, who always seemed a tad too serious and intimidating for Sehun but they were apparently drift compatible according to the combat test, and so this time he wished that he wouldn’t mess up with the process during the neural handshake or do other reckless things to cancel out the possibility of him being formally recognized as a pilot.

The biggest problem he had encountered had been to find a way for those interested to contact him because he didn’t have a cellphone and certainly didn’t have a land line in the apartment Daehyun had left him. Eventually, he had shared his dilemma to the old ahjumma who had a small store at the corner of his street and she told him he could write down the number of her shop and that she could take the message for him if he wanted. He ended up spending most of the coins he had in his pockets on a chocolate bar that he shared with her to thank her for her kindness.

In the days that followed, the phone remained silent and a week passed without phone calls. It made him worry a little but he did his best to remain optimistic. The following week turned out being better as a few people called and sometimes he would be there to talk to them which was how he had ended up getting the job to clean a single mother with two small children’s apartment twice a week and then there had been the times where he had not been in the store and the ahjumma took messages for him. He had called back everyone and had set appointments to meet in person and see if they wanted to hire him. Most of them declined when they saw that he was a guy and it’s not like he could show them references to prove that he was hardworking and most importantly honest so he never insisted.

Then there was that evening where he stepped into the store and the old lady ushered him over, telling him to sit before bringing him tea and cookies. She handed him a sheet of paper with a name and an address jotted down in an elegant writing. He had glanced up at her questioningly and she had laughed while sitting down in front of him. “A young man called. I told him that you would be free to meet him tomorrow around noon.” There was no phone number he could call back so the only thing he could do was show up to the appointment the next day.

That’s how he ended up stepping in the lobby of Daehyun’s apartment building and it confused him so much that he actually took the sheet of paper with the address written on it out of his pocket just to make sure that he was at the right place and that the name on the paper wasn’t Daehyun’s. It said Oh Sehun and as he rode the elevator up to the right floor, he tugged on his t-shirt and pressed his palms flat over his head to make sure that his hair was still okay. He was a bit nervous but mostly because he was hoping he would end up getting the job. The elevator dinged and the door slid open. He stepped out and briefly stopped as he tried to figure out which direction he needed to take but after that, it was relatively easy to find the right door. He took a deep breath and pushed the button of the doorbell. It didn’t take too long for the door to open and he was surprised to see a young face. Well, the ahjumma did tell him the one who called had been a young man but he had not expected…this.

Noticing that he’d spaced out a little and Han had probably waited for longer than he should have in front of the door, Sehun hurriedly slapped himself awake mentally and nodded at the question a bit too frantically. He blushed, for sure, discomfiture palpably showing itself across his crimson-dusted cheeks. “Yes—Yes, I did,” he stammered, before stepping aside to let Han in.

He glanced at his apartment, hoping that it wouldn’t be too heavy of a job; the old lady before this had never complained considering that his place only consisted of two bedrooms, one of which was used to store his weapon samples as well as finished blueprints and so he didn’t make it accessible—the space being the only one which he would personally clean himself although it didn’t require that much upkeep. Apart from that, his apartment only had a shared bathroom, a living room where most of his work was done (and therefore where the crumpled balls of paper typically littered the floor around the desk propped at the far end of it, along with some drained gallons of milk that he’d emptied during his stressful gaming escapades) and a kitchen along with the dining table where he sometimes did his job as well for a change of environment. At least he’d had the decency to clean his place from the scattered rubbish, tossing them into these huge plastic bags shoved at one corner of the kitchen—he just hadn’t had the time to take them out.

“Um, so,” he began again awkwardly after closing the door behind him, “about... about the payment.” He was actually at lost as to how he should tackle this subject, as when he’d hired the lady, she had stated the procedure during their phone call, while with Han he hadn’t exactly had a proper talk about it. “Do you—usually—uh... What’s the rate again?” he raised his eyebrows, a discombobulated look sitting comfortably across his demeanor as he walked back into the apartment. It was quiet—his apartment was always quiet except when he was having something turned on, or if Phoenix was being excited—that the only thing which he could hear was the subtle sounds coming from the busy road down there, along with the muted creaking noise coming from the wood as he padded towards the living room.