Moon Theory [BL]

“Well?” Yoo Seok questions the next morning as the First Unit gathers around to analyze a laid-out map. The heavily annotated piece of paper extends three feet long and it’s almost scrolling down the steel table. “Which person thought it’d be fantastic to send ground infantry to catch fish in negative five-degrees temperature?”

“We have done worse things,” Jae tells him while continuing to jot down notes in miniscule font. “You remember the helicopter dive last year? I thought we were done for.”

The helicopter dive and the explosion that followed – that particular event paints a very vivid memory. Halfway to the equatorial rainforest, the engine suddenly blacked out and a dozen soldiers were sent free-falling 15,000 feet, rippling through atmospheric air. The chopper blew up in flames shortly afterward in mid-air. An electronic malfunction was accounted for, but not a tornado warning which swept away half of the force and shredded their main parachutes.

The ones who’d survived had very skillfully, very luckily, maneuvered the reserve chutes and rode the wind currents. The ones who weren’t lucky, needless to say, were found with their skulls cracked below, and the ones who were ensnared by the deity of death were trapped ungeared inside the misty forest to be gorged on by hornets, rattlesnakes, leopards – all kinds of ravenous wildlife.

Yoo Seok smirks a little. “You mean when your shirt harness got stuck in between the rotor blades? It was interesting enough to watch.”

Jae wails. “My life was hanging onto a piece of metal! I’m sure I threw up four times after being twirled around that violently. Never again will I ride an aircraft.”

“A word of advice for you,” Yoo Seok tells him, the amused smirk still on his face. “Such experiences build character.”

“Hyung, could it be that you’re still upset I woke you up last night?” Jae looks wronged.

“If you know it, you should reflect on your mistakes,” the man says as he taps his fingers twice on the map. He switches back to English for clarity. “Let’s not talk anymore nonsense and focus on the task at hand. The Paramus sea spans 5,000 square miles. Assuming our patrol craft can run thirty knots, what can we estimate?”

Li Jiayun peeps up. “Conservatively… eight hours until destination?”

Yoo Seok shakes his head. “It will be at nighttime. Add an hour as margin.”

“Then we should also add another hour in case of an attack,” Jae adds helpfully.

“Good.” Yoo Seok nods. “The best-case scenario is eight and a half. The worst case is twelve and a shipwreck.”

“…Can you not say it like that?” Jae groans as he charts a route on the map. With a red pen, he draws an ‘X’ on a patch of neatly drawn trees, signaling caution. More than ten routes have been filtered out already and they’ve yet to decide between east and west. “You’re terrible at boosting team morale, hyung.”

“Not my job,” says Yoo Seok. “I’m only substituting.”

When Colonel Yang heads off on his own, the delegation goes to Yoo Seok who not only demonstrates exceptional field ability but sharp decision-making skills as well. The tall, dark-haired man has proven many times to be uncannily calm even in dire situations and it’s such that he’s fit to command – but not to lead, unfortunately, as indicated by his lack of social battery. There is improvement, however. He certainly synergizes better with the unit now than when he first joined.

Following the recent death of Hannes, the team has begun to carry extra weight by the tons. Strategic team meetings, extra practice drills, nonstop workouts – no one lazes around even if there are no urgent missions to take care of.

“The southeast allegedly has walrus-sized bears,” Jae rubs his chin in thought, “and the southwest has actual walruses. I don’t know. None of these options sound remotely attractive. What are we equipped to deal with? Maybe we can—oh!”

The door creaks open and the muted voice of a young boy drifts throughout the hall.

“I don’t think there is anything off besides your heart rate,” Ming Tang can be heard saying. “A little higher than usual but it’s settling down compared to before… Your eyes look normal, but let me check them again…”

The three soldiers temporarily halt their discussion to observe the two people entering the dining room. Noah’s footsteps are unsteady. He’s holding onto the wall as he walks, supporting his lithe frame. He silently walks forward, his head drooping down slightly, looking even more listless than usual. Furrowed temples, groggy eyes, unkempt hair – he may be alive once more after three whole days in slumber, but his appearance is no less miserable.

“Um…” Jae breaks the silence. For a reason unbeknownst, the young soldier’s ears are tinted pink as he calls him over. “Noah, you’re awake… Are you…are you alright?”

Noah, lagged, takes more than a few seconds to register someone calling him. He rubs at his eyes and hums weakly. “Mn.”

He takes one more step and instantly bonks himself on a piece of furniture. The shelf rattles as he steadies himself again, still lost in reverie, and walks like a zombie across the room. Another step and he almost trips over a stool – thankfully, Ming Tang is kind enough to guide him back.

“There is food in the pantry,” Jae says with all good conscience, watching as Noah struggles to walk even a few meters. “If you need anything, let us know.”

“Mn,” Noah murmurs again, “thanks.”

Despite their short time together, the First Unit soldiers have a rather positive image of Noah. Despite rocky first meetings, Noah is surprisingly friendly and easy to get along with, so long as he isn’t provoked – well, no one’s yet peeved him off sans the colonel, who’s as rambunctious as he is purposefully teasing. It’s unknown what their relationship is at this point, but it gets increasingly obvious that Yang Rong really enjoys riling the younger man up.

Call it a personality defect when the colonel saunters in the base at the exact same time, dragging with him three colossal strongboxes that block the narrow entranceway, and when he spots Noah clearly struggling to get through, he shoots him a smirk and goes over.

“Oh?” Yang Rong says with an amused tilt. “Came out of hibernation? No time to lose, little kitten, go and clean yourself up.”

Noah doesn’t want to deal with him.

“Ignoring me?” Yang Rong playfully slaps his bottom – Noah jolts – and says, “There are clothes in the shower room. Your Rong-ge stacked them all nice and neatly this morning, catered to your size too, so go on and get rid of those sweat rags you’re wearing.”

Nobody tells him that the black shirt and trousers, ‘the sweat rags’ as he referred them as, are his own clothes. It’s not that Noah has any belongings, really, because even the drugs he’d stuffed in the colonel’s bag aren’t in his possession. As Noah leaves in disgruntlement to the shower, Yang Rong goes to reconvene with his soldiers who have now switched to the topic of scuba gear and oxygen tanks.

“Here,” the colonel says as he tosses a speartip on the table. Yang Rong also gestures to the boxes on the floor. “Familiarize yourselves with the new equipment.”

“Equipment?” Yoo Seok takes the aluminum contraption, turning it and fiddling with the tip. There’s a small barrel embedded inside that contains a green, fluorescent liquid. “Interesting. Can we load bullets into it?”

“Attach the shaft,” Yang Rong answers. “It functions similarly to a speargun.”

“Colonel,” Li Jiayun brings up a point. “Is it really alright to take Ming Tang or even Noah with us? The Paramus territory is too dangerous for civilians and non-combatants.”

“Noah hiked up the Nordak Mountains by himself and you still think he’s a non-combatant?” Yang Rong bonks her with her own memo pad. “The brat is more daring than you are, Xiao-Yun. If we leave him here, isn’t he just going to run away again?”

“Ah… What about Ming Tang?” she says sheepishly.

Ming Tang, the precocious twelve-year-old boy, is also crouched down inspecting the tank holsters, compressors and pumps. Out of curiosity, he opens a strongbox to the side and takes out a neoprene vest.

“I have gone to the Paramus once,” the boy says truthfully. “With Noah. We went to catch fish for two days. I can tell you what I know about the terrain. The waters aren’t as radioactive but diving in sub-freezing temperatures is easy death by hypothermia.”

Yang Rong looks amused. “You two dove into the waters?”

“We didn’t. Noah can’t swim.”

A loud crash comes from the shower stalls. The sound of running water is dithered by a much more powerful pang of metal – something slamming onto the walls and then skipping down the floor tiles in collateral. The soldiers all look up, confused by the clamor. Yang Rong raises an eyebrow and pauses in the middle of sharpening a dive knife.

The shower door bangs open, then there is footfall followed by shallow breathing. Noah scales down the hallway half-naked and barefoot, stopping in front of the entranceway, looking the most frazzled he’d ever been.

“…Noah,” Yang Rong’s eyes venture down south, not respectfully ogling at his prominent collarbones, his perky chest, the still-wet skin down by his pelvic dip, “what in the world are you doing? You’re the first person to take such destructive showers—and also, do you have a thing for exhibitionism? Can you put clothes on, for fuck’s sake? You are tainting the young.”

Noah opens his mouth to refute before deciding to ignore such a trivial comment. Instead, he trudges forward and weakly tugs at the colonel’s grimy jacket. The man hadn’t washed up after coming back inside the base, so his uniform is still covered in strange liquids and unknown debris. For the mysophobic Noah, such an action is shocking. He coughs softly.

“Yang Rong.”

The colonel tries his best to keep his sight in line. “Why are you looking like that—I mean, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Yang Rong, there is…” Noah tugs on his shirt again and tentatively leans forward to whisper by his ears, unwilling to be overheard by the four others in the room. Noah looks more uncomfortable by the second and it doesn’t help his case when his cheeks are flushed slightly pink. He mouths very softly, “…Cockroach.”

Yang Rong doesn’t care to match the low volume. “What?”

“There is a cockroach,” he repeats. “On the clothes you gave me.”

“A cockroach,” Colonel Yang says slowly, pondering. “Is it some kind of radioactive terminator? A hundred kilos? Ten feet tall?”

“No,” Noah says. “It is a cockroach.”

Yang Rong slowly gets up from his seat. The room has gone completely silent, but running water is still heard in the background – yet again, Noah hadn’t shut off the valve, wasting their water supply by the gallons. With a low, drawn-out sigh, Yang Rong reaches for his holster and hands him a zinc pistol. Compact, handsome, hardened, the black diamond coating reflects thousands of battles and ten times more shots. It’s also reflective of its owner.

“Here,” the colonel says. “Use this.”

Noah scours the man’s face for any signs of jest – he finds none.

“…” After a long while, Noah clarifies, the rosiness on his cheeks fading to less prominent. He’d managed to steel his nerves to admit, albeit hesitantly, “It is a normal cockroach. I…dislike certain types of insects.”

Another lengthened silence later and Yang Rong replies, with piercing eye contact, “You dislike them so much you’d turn the shower room upside down, cause a mess, dash out and cry at the sight of one.”

“I didn’t do that.”

Yang Rong curves his lips and immediately, his tone turns aggravatingly teasing. He leans forward and puts a hand on the younger man’s bare shoulders. “So? What do you want your Rong-ge to do for you?”

Noah looks more frustrated now. It’s obvious he regrets asking the colonel, of all the ones here, to help with such a… shameful matter. He doesn’t have many options, really, because Li Jiayun and Jae are averting their eyes for mysterious reasons. While the former likely avoids him out of common decency (he is not fully clothed, after all), the latter is suspiciously pink-faced as he tinkers with the fishing equipment. Yoo Seok doesn’t seem to be the kind of person who’d bother with such things and as for Ming Tang, the boy is nearly a decade younger than him – has Noah got no pride?

Noah, completely defeated, starts to pull the colonel toward the entrance of the shower room. The fluster is all too apparent on his face.

To his ire, Yang Rong is chuckling all the way.

“Of course you’d be one to be scared of bugs,” the man muses, the twinkle in his eyes becoming more and more radiant. “It really fits your character. How did you survive that outbreak in the gene bank, Noah? Wouldn’t you be the first to be eaten up?”

“You are really annoying,” Noah says as he stands in front of the shower room, leaning purposefully on the opposite wall so he doesn’t get close. He still looks weak and groggy, though the roach incident’s shocked him quite a bit. Frazzled, disoriented and with a small frown on his face – he’s especially soft and pitiful to the eye.

Yang Rong takes the chance to tease him even more, closing the distance between them so they’re but a few inches away. He places a hand on the wall and at this height difference, the colonel has a distorted sense of superiority. He brings his face up close and says with a low chuckle, “How can I help you?”

Thankfully, his dirtied clothes aren’t in contact with Noah’s bare torso. “Help get rid of it.”

“Is that all?” Yang Rong is obviously looking for an ego boost – that, or an incentive.

“…Please.”

“Hm? Please what?”

“I have an utterly irrational fear of cockroaches, spiders, centipedes and anything that moves with more than the acceptable amount of legs,” Noah says, throwing his hands to push the colonel in exasperation. Even this slight movement makes him wince. “…Ngh, my head hurts, I feel terrible, I can’t function, so will the kind and incredible Colonel Yang please assist in pest control and perhaps clean up the atrocious, dirt-filled shower room?”

Noah, overly spent, drops his voice into a soft whisper and repeats, “Please.”

Yang Rong ponders it and just when the words may be getting through to his one braincell, he asks shamelessly, “Will you call me ‘Rong-ge’ instead? How about ‘handsome Rong-ge’?”

Noah turns away and painstakingly mutters, “…Rong-ge.”

He still sounds spiteful but at least the colonel, finally satisfied at the stroke of his ego, lets it pass. He smirks and ruffles Noah’s hair, purposefully sliding his hand on the damp, silver locks. “I will make an exception this time, since you are being quite cute.”