The first few days after Sunggyu leaves are the easiest. Yunho expects them to be the most difficult, but in reality, they pass almost as if the past few weeks haven’t happened at all. With the disembarking of the last group of civilians, the South Korean fleet, under Commodore Nam, heads back out into open water. And because it’ll take days to group up with the Japanese fleet they’ll be working with, it means business as usual.

For Yunho, it’s the chance to pretend like nothing is out of the ordinary. He works double shifts, takes his meals in the commissary, stops by his bunk only to grab a change of clothes once a day, and sleeps as little as possible. He keeps busy. He makes sure that things other than his little brother are on his mind.

He tells himself, this could be any day of the past year, and the absence of his brother is explained by Sunggyu being back home, attending classes, hanging out with his friends, being a normal teenager.

And when that doesn’t work, and his chest seizes with the barest hint of reality, he tells himself the reason he doesn’t see Sunggyu is because his brother is off hanging out with those friends of his in one of the ship’s rec rooms, or he’s with the commodore’s son who’s got hearts in his eyes ever time he so much as breathes the same air as Sunggyu.

He doesn’t let him think about the truth of the situation, that Sunggyu has been parted from him for likely an extremely long amount of time, placed on an island in the middle of nowhere, with strangers to keep him safe.

Eventually he has to face the truth. Eventually he has to come home to his bunk, the one he used to share with Changmin, and recognize that he’s never going to see Sunggyu in the space ever again.

“But it’s a good thing,” Suho tries to argue with him one morning almost a week after they hit open water and leave the island behind in the distance, almost like a fading memory. “I know you’re worried about him, but he’s really safer there than he would have been here.”

Yunho keeps his eyes locked to the breakfast meal in front of him, his chopsticks pushing at the fried egg in front of him, the pressure nearly popping the yoke. He tries not to play with his food, however, because what he’s eating is the last of the fresh supplies from the Japanese, and who knows how long it’ll be before he sees fresh eggs again. Maybe never again.

“Sir?” Suho prods gently.

“I know he’s safer there,” Yunho says eventually, and he doesn’t want to take his frustration out on Suho. Suho’s just a kid, really, only a handful of years older than Sunggyu is. And Suho is a kind soul in truth. He’s calm and generous, patient and the kind of person that Yunho has found easy to care fore. “But I don’t like him being out of sight.”

Suho gives a tiny hum. Then he offers, “I kind of expected him to stay on the ship, sir, if I’m being completely honest. Aren’t you two … sir, aren’t you the only two of your family who made it?”

He does his best not to imagine how his parents died. But when his self control is found to be lacking, he knows at the very least his parents died together. He’s sure of it, as much as he’s sure the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Because his parents are … were … the kind of people madly in love with each other from the moment of their first meeting, until the very end. And his father was a practical man, which meant Yunho is sure he would have recognized the end for what it was. He would have been there with his wife, holding her tightly when it came, and Yunho finds some solace in this.

And he hopes all of his aunts and uncles, cousins and extended family, have died with some kind of dignity. He hopes they’re in heaven, if such a thing exists, looking down on himself and Sunggyu, offering what little protection they can.

“Sunggyu isn’t the type of be confined to a ship,” Yunho tells Suho eventually, and it’s what he feels in his gut as the truth, so it must be so. Sunggyu is more of a free spirit than he likes to let people believe. He’s the opposite of Yunho in nearly every way.

Suho shrugs a little. “I guess you would know, sir. But you’re family. And family is so rare now.”

Yunho reaches for his now lukewarm coffee and smiles a little. “I’ll see my brother again. I have no doubt of that. But he’s not a kid anymore. He’s a man who makes his own choices and I have to respect that, even when I don’t agree. If he felt his placed was on that island, then I have to support that. Being separated doesn’t make us any less family. In fact, it only makes us stronger, because now we’re both going to fight to get back to each other.”

Before Suho can give any kind of response, a tray clatters down next to Yunho, and Sungmin drops into the nearby seat. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” Yunho says, rolling his eyes at his friend.

Sungmin smiles and nudges Yunho. “Then stop looking so depressed. If you don’t knock it off, I’ll think it’s something I can catch.”

Yunho his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suho collects his tray and stands, saying, “I’ve got to get back to my post, sir.”

Yunho gives him a small wave as Sungmin points across the room, saying, “That one looks like he’ll throw himself overboard at any second.”

As Yunho’s eyes sweep across the room he does note that it’s a somber atmosphere. Even with the world ending around them, the commissary was always a place of loud voices and bustling activity. But now there’s a quietness to the space that he’s never seen before. And the person of Sungmin’s attention is a small cadet tucked away in the corner of the room looking morose.

“Who’s that?”

Yunho … sort of recognizes him. During the last few days Sunggyu was on the ship, Yunho recalls seeing him with the same group of people. This cadet was one of them.

“Kim Myungsoo,” Sungmin says, tearing into his own breakfast like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“And why is he so depressed?”

Chewing on a mouthful of rice, Sungmin says, “That’s the guy who got himself hitched to one of your brother’s friends.”

The whole story comes out too easy from Sungmin who’s not overly talkative as a person, but exceedingly comfortable with people he considers friends. Yunho has known him since the first days of his enlistment, and they made officer around the same time. He tells Yunho being the one to put Kim Sungyeol on the ferry to the island personally, all due in part to Myungsoo’s quick marriage to the boy.

“Are they old enough to get married?” Yunho wonders. And do they know each other well enough?

“I don’t think Commodore Nam is really worried about that,” Sungmin says. “Plus, marriage is good for morale.”

Yunho nods to Myungsoo. “He doesn’t exactly look that happy.”

Sungmin shrugs. “You wouldn’t be happy either if you had to put someone you cared about on an island and leave them behind.” For a moment Sungmin is quiet, then he adds, “That could explain the long look on your face.”

Maybe Yunho should go talk to him. He’s never said a word to the cadet, never really even been the same area as him, and they certainly don’t have the same friends. But Myungsoo is married to one of Sunggyu’s friends, and if things ever improve for them, they may end up closer than expected.

Yunho’s thoughts are interrupted by Donghae sweeping by the table, leaning down to tell Yunho quietly, “The Commodore asked me to personally tell you to report to the ready room by oh-eight hundred. There’s an officer’s meeting that you should be there fore.”

Yunho asks unsurely, “That wasn’t on the agenda for today.”

Donghae says, looking a little put off, “I’m an officer and I’m not even invited. I don’t know anymore more than you do.”

Then Donghae is off, darting towards a larger group of officers, some that Yunho knows and some he doesn’t.

“A secret meeting?” Sungmin asks, eyebrows wagging. “Sounds exciting.”

“No,” Yunho says, checking his watch and then standing. “It sounds like bad news.” Because no secret meeting, at least not one where Yunho needs to be involved, can be a good one.

It is bad news.

At least it’s bad news from Yunho’s point of view. He’s something of a pacifist. He doesn’t like violence, won’t ever be the instigator, and doesn’t like the idea of harming anyone, even people who probably deserve it. This is honestly why Yunho is in the radar department. Well, he’s got a natural aptitude for it, so this certainly helps, but mostly he’s pushed to get himself into the radar department because he abhors the idea of being the one to end someone else’s life. He’s fine with monitoring the seas, keeping his people safe from threats, and recognizing them when he does catch a glimpse of something that is too close or possibly dangerous. But to be the one to push the button to launch the torpedoes? It’s nothing Yunho could ever do.

He’s always felt safe in his position, safe that he’ll never be the one to directly kill, never be the one to steal someone’s son or father or brother or uncle.

The meeting with Commodore Nam, the other captains, the Japanese, and the select, elite officers, changes this. No longer is he a defensive asset. Now suddenly he’s an offensive one, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

But it’s not like he can say no. He absolutely can not. He’s known this from the start, from the second the then Captain Nam pulled him to the side and let him know that Sunggyu’s future would be secured through his own abilities.

Sunggyu’s quality of life is dependent on Yunho.

“Stay for a second,” the commodore says when the meeting is completely finished and Yunho is trying to slip away to digest the information provided. He’s always known that safe haven for their people on Japanese soil would come at a price. But predicting this to be the price? Yunho is completely uneasy.

“Sir,” Yunho says when the commodore is lingering to shake hands with the other captains.

When there are only a few men left in the room, the commodore gives Yunho a tight lipped smile and says, “Breathe, officer. Don’t look so uneasy.”

Yunho feels panicked. Is it so obvious on his face that he’s unsure he can do what they’re asking of him?

“Sorry, sir,” Yunho says, forcing deep and even breaths from himself.

“Yunho,” the commodore says, pulling him to the side, keeping their conversation private. “Do you understand what’s being asked of you here?”

Yunho gives a shaky nod. “You want me to be …a blood hound.”

The commodore gives him an appraising look, then says, “I know what kind of soldier you are Yunho. You’re not suited for the ruthless nature of war.”

Uncertain, Yunho poses, “I didn’t know we were at war, sir.”

“We are,” the commodore says bluntly. “And as such, I want you to think of this as a preemptive strike. The lines are being drawn, son. Sides are already taken. We need to ensure that the people we care for the most are protected. You want to protect your brother, don’t you.”

The words are offered plainly, but Yunho isn’t stupid. He’s been a military man long enough now that he understands the commodore all too clearly. And the commodore has all the power in the world to punish Yunho through Sunggyu if he steps a toe out of line.

“I’m capable of doing my job,” Yunho says. “I just don’t know if I’m capable of killing innocent people.”

The commodore puts a strong hand on Yunho’s shoulder and squeezes it almost painfully. “There are no innocents left, Yunho. And I don’t think I need to remind you how the Chinese nearly sank the whole of us. And if the Japanese weren’t protecting our people on that safe island of theirs, what do you think would happen to what’s left of our nation?”

“Sir,” Yunho says with a parched mouth, “I have a very good memory. But I have a conscience, too.”

After a moment of quietness, the commodore surprises him by complimenting, “You’re the best I’ve seen in a very long time, Yunho. When you focus on the task at hand, nothing slips past you. Your instincts and ability to perceive threats before they manifest themselves is second to none. You’re better than men who’ve been at this for a decade or more. We can’t do this without you, and I want you to understand something. When you come through for me, I come through for you.”

“Sir?”

The commodore smiles more fully this time, making the lines even more pronounced on his face. “You’re very lucky to still have family left alive, Yunho. I know you’d do anything to keep it that way.”

“I would give my life to save Sunggyu,” Yunho says, but what he means is, he’ll sell his soul to provide for Sunggyu. “To keep him safe.”

“And he is safe on that island, isn’t he?” The commodore presses. “He’s safe and living a life of luxury right now that many will never even know still exists. To maintain that level of comfort, there has to be a trade off, you understand. A tit for tat.”

So it comes down to this. He hurts others, and compromises who he is as a person, to make sure Sunggyu survives and has a life that is full of happiness and comfort. He does this, ruins who he is, and Sunggyu can be with the one he loves. He can grow old and have a family and be as normal as normal is now.

“I …” Yunho hates this. He hates that this is what life is now. He hates that this is who he has to be. “I understand.”

The commodore holds out his hand. “Good.” When they’re shaking, the older man says, “You’re irreplaceable right now, Yunho. You’re the kind of resource that can’t be duplicated. Consider that I owe you a favor now. If you ever need anything, for your brother or otherwise, you just ask.”

Yunho feels as if he’s going to be sick.

He drops his hand from the commodores and wonders what Sunggyu will think of him now. What kind of man will Sunggyu think he is?

Sunggyu can never know what he’s about to do, hunt down and kill some of the last survivors of the human race for the sake of land and power and resources.

“You love your brother, officer?”

Yunho startles. “Sir?”

Instead of repeating the question, the commodore asks, “What kind of man is your brother?”

The smile that comes to Yunho’s face is completely reactionary, and he finds himself saying easily, “Sunggyu is loyal. He’s incredibly loyal. He’s strong and opinionated and full of life. He’s not easy to understand, but worth taking the time to in the end. I love him very much, sir. He’s a man with honor.”

Eyes narrowing a little, the commodore reminds, “My son left this ship to be with him. Romantically.”

Yunho holds his breath. “I didn’t see much of the two of them together, there wasn’t a lot of time. But sir, I know my brother has real feelings for you son, and your son was quite clear that he returned those feelings. This isn’t a fleeting romance. When Sunggyu cares for someone, he cares deeply, and he’ll do whatever t takes to protect and respect that person. He’ll take care of your son. You have nothing to worry about. Sunggyu always comes through in the end.”

The commodore purses his lips. “Then he’s a lot like you.”

Yunho almost laughs. It’s possible he and Sunggyu are more alike than Yunho has been giving them credit for.

“I’ll see you on the bridge,” the commodore says, apparently satisfied.

Yunho watches him go.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the meeting, not Sungmin who begs or Donghae who pesters. He doesn’t say a single word to anyone, even the other officers who were in the room. He goes about his business, manning his station, passing the days as quietly as he can, pretending he hasn’t lost a part of himself by agreeing to do what he has.

And then the first time it happens, the first time they engage the enemy, Yunho guiding them along with incredible precision, he goes to his bunk afterwards and screams into his pillow until he’s lost his voice and his eyes are burning with tears.

He tells himself not to count the lives he takes.

He lies to Suho and says the faint marks above the threshold to his cabin are him marking the days, and not the ships.

Yunho grows distant from the others. He socializes less. He has trouble sleeping. Food starts to taste bland to him. And Yunho wonders how much longer he can keep up the façade that he’s fine.

He feels like he’s a zombie himself.

He’s walking along weeks after the first time he deliberately causes the death of another man when his shoulder knocks into someone else. The hallways are narrow and he’s not exactly paying attention.

Yunho goes to apologize for his carelessness when he recognizes it’s Kim Myungsoo he’s run across.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the cadet says, bowing respectfully to him. It’s late at night, and Yunho’s been wandering the corridors for almost an hour, afraid that if he sleeps, the nightmares will come.

Yunho asks curiously, “What are you doing out so late, cadet?”

Myungsoo looks pale and even more unhappy now than he did all those weeks ago in the commissary. He looks far too tired to lie as he says, “I couldn’t sleep, sir. I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

Yunho waves the apology off. “I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”

This should be the end of their meeting. They have nothing in common and aren’t the type to be friends anyway. Yunho should keep walking in one direction and Myungsoo should go in the either.

Yunho hasn’t been one for company lately, not since he’s started feeling sullied and dirty. But something tells him not to let Myungsoo go.

So he calls out to the man turning away from him, “Congratulations on your marriage.”

Instead of looking happy at the mention, Myungsoo almost grimaces. “Thank you, sir.”

Yunho frowns. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting,” he says honestly.

Once more Myungsoo is apologizing, looking even more upset.

Yunho glances to his wrist for the time and then says, “Do you want to come with me to the commissary?”

Confused, Myungsoo asks, “I’m sorry, sir? What?”

Yunho nods towards the general direction of the room. “I can’t sleep. If I go back to my bunk, I’ll just lay there restlessly. And if I keep walking through the ship like this I’m liable to bump into Commodore Nam. So I’m going to go get a cup of what barely qualifies as coffee. If you want to join me, I’d be glad for the company.”

Myungsoo turns a finger on himself in an adorable way that makes him look too young. “Me?”

Yunho chuckles, “Your first time being invited by an officer?”

Nodding almost frantically, Myungsoo rushes to say, “But I’d love to. I could go for some coffee.”

They reach the commissary only a couple of minutes later and as expected for the incredibly early morning hour, it’s almost completely empty. There are a few night owls huddled together talking in quiet voices, but there are still plenty of places to choose to sit.

“Hi,” Yunho greets Nichkhun when he and Myungsoo reach the area where the coffee mugs are stacked. The other man is standing with a mop in his hands, leaning on it a little while he talks to his friend Wooyoung. Taecyeon is further back, behind the food

countertop waiting to see Yunho is going to want anything to eat. Yunho is quick to wave him off with a smile to let Taecyeon get back to the small book he’s got tucked to the side.

“Another late night?” Nichkhyun asks, a friendly smile on his face. He hands Yunho and Myungsoo mugs, the cadet clearly flustered to be around so many higher ranked men. “It’s a pity your brother isn’t here to nag you. You seemed to actually be a functioning human being when Sunggyu was here.”

Yunho tries to seem as if the words don’t bother him. “Sunggyu had years to learn how to make that happen.”

Nichkhun laughs and Yunho hopes his own response of laugher is passable.

When he and Myungsoo are seated at a distant table, steaming mugs of brown liquid in front of them, Yunho asks, “You were my brother’s friend?”

Myungsoo’s head dips. “I knew your brother for a couple of days, sir,” he says, “but I liked him a lot.”

Yunho recalls fondly, “I liked seeing all of you together. You looked as if you’d been friends for years, and Sunggyu looked less burdened. Thank you for that.”

Blushing a little Myungsoo says, “I’m glad your brother wanted to include me in his group. He certainly didn’t have to.”

Fingernail tapping the plastic of the mug in front of him, Yunho says, “Sunggyu is kind. He doesn’t always come across that way, but he absolutely is. And he’s been alienated and left out too many times to let that happen to other people. He’s got such a good heart.” Yunho bows his head and prays that what he’s doing is worth it. The next time he sees Sunggyu he needs to see with his own eyes that his brother is better off. Part of Yunho is ridding on it.

“Sir?” Myungsoo asks. “Are you okay?”

Yunho clears his throat. “So you’re a recent newlywed?” He changes the subject as abruptly as he can, hoping it doesn’t seem too jarring.

Myungsoo straightens up. “Yes, sir. Sungyeol … I like him.”

Yunho arches an eyebrow. “You like him? You married someone you only like?”

“I haven’t known him long enough to love him,” Myungsoo says and it sounds perfectly reasonable. “I hope I do one day, but I’d have to know him to love him.”

“Then, if you don’t mind me asking,” Yunho pries, “why did you marry him?”

Myungsoo takes a drink of his coffee, likely buying himself some time. Then finally he answers, “Because I found out that Sungyeol and his little sister Jiyeon were going to be sent into the general population on the island. Your brother and the commodore’s son were all going to the priority area, but not Sungyeol. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how it was probably going to be for them there. Jiyeon is a toddler. And Sungyeol is … too gentle for his own good. I could see them being eaten alive and I couldn’t let that happen. So I proposed us getting married to protect him. I wanted to marry someone I loved, and maybe we’ll get there some day, but at the moment it seemed better to offer what protection I could and deal with the rest later.”

Myungsoo’s words rock deep into Yunho’s mind and it’s startling that they’re in similar situations. They’re both men doing their best to protect people who are special to them, making sacrifices to do so.

“That’s honorable of you,” Yunho remarks. “Very much so.”

“I do have real feelings for Sungyeol,” Myungsoo presses. “I was … lovestruck from the moment I saw him. And he’s funny and smart and kind. He’s wonderful.”

“Then why do you look so unhappy?”

There’s sadness in Myungsoo’s gaze when he says, “Because I don’t know if I’m ever going to see Sungyeol again. More than that, I don’t know if he’s okay right now. I don’t know where he is exactly, how he’s doing, or if he and Jiyeon are well. I don’t know anything and it makes me feel like I’m failing in some way. It makes me feel … just …”

Yunho thinks for a moment, then he says, “I have no doubt that Sungyeol married you primarily to protect his sister. We do what we can to protect the people who mean the most to us. But don’t forget, I saw you two together. I remember seeing you and Sungyeol together specifically.”

“Sir?” Myungsoo inquires.

Yunho leans forward a little and says, “He most certainly returned your feelings. He cared for you, and wherever he is, he still cares for you. Distance is a test, cadet. It’s a test of your endurance and your strength and your heart. But if you come through in the end, you’ll be better for it.”

Hiding a bit behind his coffee mug as he takes another drink, Yunho hears Myungsoo mumble out, “Thank you, sir.”

Yunho taps a hand on the table. “Write him.”

Eyebrows pulled together, Myungsoo repeats, “Write him, sir?”

Yunho nods. “It’ll be a long while before anything like the mail service is up and running. And honestly, we’re more likely to be able to send things electronically before that happens, but I think you should write to Sungyeol. Write him letters. Tell him how you are. Tell him things about you. You said you like him, well, write to him and tell him why he should love you. Make him want to love you with you words. Write to him.”

Unsure, Myungsoo says, “But how would I get the letters to him?”

“Maybe you won’t ever,” Yunho says. “But you’ll get out all the things you’re feeling. It’ll be cathartic. And if we do get back to the island in a decent amount of time, you’ll be able to give him all the words you’ve written, and that’ll mean something to him. He’ll know then just how much you care for him, and it’ll give him something to read when you have to part again.”

Myungsoo muses over, “Letters. I could write him letters.”

Myungsoo is looking a lot better and Yunho tries not to feel smug as he adds, “And you might think about registering your marriage. Make it official. That’ll say something, too.”

Half an hour later when they’re parting, Myungsoo bows deeply to Yunho with grateful words and says, “Thank you so much, sir. You’ve really helped me feel better.”

Yunho grins at him and Myungsoo isn’t the only one feeling better.

So it becomes their thing. They meet every couple of days in the commissary either late at night or very early in the morning. They drink coffee and talk and Yunho feels like he has a part of Sunggyu in Myungsoo.

When word comes that the island is lost, the island that Sunggyu is on, the one that’s supposed to be worth everything Yunho is doing, the world ends for a second time. Yunho can’t talk. He can’t walk. He can’t … function. He can only gasp for air as the world darkens around him and the commodore looks overcome with his own grief.

Yunho ends up in the infirmary, trying to hold onto his sanity.

He fantasizes about killing himself and understands what it means to be a man with nothing left to live for. He is a flame going out, and he wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

So when Suho comes dashing into the infirmary, flushed and out of breath, nearly tripping over a nearby medic, Yunho doesn’t care in the least. Without Sunggyu left to keep Yunho going, what point is there to caring about anyone?

“He’s alive!” Suho barks out with wild eyes and everything changes again. “Sunggyu is alive!”

Having a favor to call in from a powerful commodore is something invaluable. It gets Yunho on a ship built for speed in under six hours, and from there he’s being flown directly to Oshima on a helicopter, the likes of which Yunho is surprised still exists. He’s got with him one change of clothes, what’s left of him as a man, and Myungsoo’s stack of letters for Sungyeol. He only knows that Sunggyu is alive, and Woohyun as well, and if they are, it’s possible Sungyeol is too.

Myungsoo begs him before he leaves, the letters clutched in his hands anxiously. “Please, sir, I know this is wrong of me to ask. I know I shouldn’t. Your brother should be your only priority. But if Sungyeol is there too, could to please deliver these to him. Please.”

Yunho could never dream of saying no.

He sweats for the entire ride to Oshima, his mind fractured and cracked, ready to shatter with the idea that it’s false hope Sunggyu is the one at the hospital they say he is. He thinks, oh god, what if they’ve got the wrong person? What if it’s not Sunggyu?

Three days after the island is lost, and two after hearing about Sunggyu being alive, Yunho sees his brother.

He sees Sunggyu in the hospital bed, white like the sheets around him, not breathing on his own, with doctors who say he’s suffered brain damage and blood poisoning and is as good as dead. He touches Sunggyu who is icy cold and unresponsive and nothing like the Sunggyu that Yunho knows.

“I’m sorry,” Woohyun cries next to him, rubbing angrily at his eyes with his palms. “I’m so sorry. I tried to protect him. I tried to do everything right. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t … I …”

Yunho presses his forehead against Sunggyu’s and for the first time he understands why he’s here. He isn’t here to be thankful for Sunggyu’s survival. He isn’t here to help his brother on the long road to recovery. He isn’t even here to spend time with his brother regardless of the state he’s in.

They’ve brought him here so he can say goodbye.

This is what being Commodore Nam’s golden boy gets him. The right to be present when the doctors shut off the ventilator and let his brother die.

Woohyun continues to cry and Yunho blocks him out completely.

Yunho broke himself for Sunggyu.

But it turns out Sunggyu is the one broken.

The irony is not lost on him, even if everything else is.