Chapter Text
[Location : South Pacific]
[Ship : HMAS Melbourne (R21), Operating Aircraft Carrier]
[Event : Visitation from South Korean Military Officials, ROKN]
[Host : The Royal Australian Navy, RAN]
Minho doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t working. Throughout his childhood and teen years he worked hard to be the best student he could possibly be - to understand math, science, literature. He became fluent in English early on, which added to his impressive portfolio of knowledge. But, even though he thought he had prepared himself, when he was leaving university with a bachelor's degree in political science and master's degree in international relations he didn’t know what to do. He realized he had no goals past what he had already achieved.
But then he realized there was a place where all of his talents could be put to use: the military. From the day that thought struck Minho worked without an end to secure a position as an officer for himself, and when settled there, he slowly began to climb up the ranks.
Now, at thirty-two, he’s a lieutenant commander in the South Korean navy. He’s worked on small aircraft carriers for the past several years that only held helicopters, running the communications and operations departments. He has a reputation, a good one, which has landed him a spot on the new aircraft carrier that is launching in just a few weeks, heading a new international program through the allied countries, the main idea being to secure a global network of weaponry, and in Minho’s case, the ammo is fighter jets.
Which leads him to now - visiting an Australian carrier to tour around their operations and solidify good relationships with the officers. Minho doesn’t particularly like to smile, but in this case it seems like he must. Especially when he’s being led around by a cheerful blond who has too much sincerity in his eyes to have made it to his rank.
“On this ship we have catapult assisted take-off and arrested recovery,” Christopher explains, pointing out the window at the wires that cross the short runway.
Minho squints, observing the equipment. He’s new to the world of jets on carriers, he’s worked on carriers with helicopters and he’s worked on land with jets, but never with jets on the water. He knows that the length of the average carrier's runway is nearly seven and a half times smaller than the runway of a standard airport, and the catapult assist is one of the only ways to get an aircraft to the speed it needs to take off in that short distance. “The Dokdo has the same.”
Christopher nods at the mention of South Korea’s new carrier. “Have you ever seen a fighter land on a carrier, sir?”
Minho shakes his head, “I’ve worked with jets briefly on a land base but no, I haven’t seen them land on a ship.”
“Then come with me,” Christopher says, grinning at Minho. He waves Minho into the next room, where there’s a group of people standing around a display, one with a headset on, and from what Minho can hear he’s communicating with who Minho assumes are pilots.
“The States sent over several jets last month, F-22 Raptors. Most of them are on land but we have two of the pilots coming in for the meeting tonight and they’ll stay on the carrier for a few days. As of now, they were doing a routine patrol and are running low on fuel so they’re coming down,” Christopher explains, tapping on the screen where two blinking dots grow closer and closer to the ship, the image also projected onto a screen on the wall for better viewing. “Would you like to see a Raptor land?”
Minho’s lips quirk up as he nods, as Christopher’s smile too contagious for even him to block out.
Christopher leads him to a window with a clear view of the runway. Minho hears the buzz of air control routing the jets and then the crew out on the deck clear to the sides, all having heard a transmission through their headsets that the aircrafts are coming in.
The first jet touches down, rushing down the length of the runway towards the other end of the ship so quickly that Minho’s heart picks up. But before he can blink the tailhook of the aircraft catches onto the arresting wire making the jet catch and slow immediately. “Holy shit,” Minho breathes, slipping into Korean, his eyes wide. He’s only seen a handful of fighter jet ground landings, and is nowhere used to the adrenaline rush that comes with this, even just watching. He can't imagine what it must feel like to the pilot.
“Watching this takes some getting used to,” Christopher says, having noted Minho's reaction, “for my first year working on a carrier I would tense up every time a jet landed.”
“I understand why,” Minho says, laughing a bit. He watches as the crew quickly unhooks the line and clears the jet to move. It taxis off, past the building and out of Minho’s sight.
He’s tuned out the noise of the communications behind him as he watches the second jet line up out over the ocean, touching down just like the previous aircraft. Minho winces when the tailhook catches and slows the jet, and Christopher laughs at Minho's expense from beside him. After it has been cleared the second jet taxis as well, leaving the ground crew to clean the wing of the ship.
“How many aircrafts do you currently have on this carrier?” Minho asks as they’re walking away from the window, back towards the stairs to the lower decks.
"We have ten right now,” Christopher tells him, “eight being our own and now the two American jets. So not many, but thankfully there isn’t a pressing need to have more.”
Minho nods, keeping pace with him as they descend the stairs to the first deck. “Where are you taking me now?”
Christopher pushes open the main door, leading Minho onto the deck, and when Minho looks up he can see the jets that had been mentioned are angled in a row along the airstrip.
He spots the two American aircrafts easily - the one closest to them, the one that had landed first, is swarmed by mechanics, hoses going to the fuel tank. The pilot is standing a few yards in front of his aircraft with his helmet held by one arm against his waist. He’s tall, probably taller than Minho, and holds himself with what Minho can only see as respectability.
“That’s Wonderland,” Christopher says, pointing at the pilot. “I’ve met him a few times before, nice guy.”
Minho nods, eyes moving from the pilot to the second jet, watching the canopy lift off and as the mechanics move a ladder to the side of the aircraft. A man climbs out, and as he steps down the ladder he takes off his helmet, a feat Minho wouldn't consider possible. The pilot nods to the crew chief while slipping on a pair of aviators, matching Wonderland’s, and then walks over to him, the pair falling in step with each other as they cross over to the doors.
“The second is Parker,” Christopher says, following Minho's gaze. “They’re both exceptional pilots, and a bit...bold, as well. Especially Parker. Their rank is lieutenant.” Minho observes them as they come closer, noting that the second pilot, Parker, holds himself with dignity like Wonderland, but also with a great amount of confidence. Minho fails to realize until it’s too late that he and Christopher are the only people in dress uniform on the deck, naturally making the two American pilots gravitate to them.
They come right up to Christopher and Minho and stand at attention, saluting, and then let their hands drop when Christopher nods. “Wonderland, Parker. How was your flight?”
“The flight went well, sir,” Wonderland says, sliding off his aviators and tucking them into one of his breast pockets. “As reported there were no discrepancies in our rounds.”
“Good. As you can see, the South Korean officers arrived safely.” He nods towards Minho. “Lieutenant Commander Lee Minho, ROK Navy.”
The two pilots salute Minho, Wonderland’s face blank and respectful while a tiny smile curls at the corner of Parker’s lips, his eyes still hidden by his aviators. Minho gives them a nod, though put off my Parker. “It’s good to meet you…”
Wonderland straightens further, “Lieutenant Samuel Hwang, United States Naval Aviator.”
The second pilot snaps to attention. “Lieutenant Peter Han, United States Naval Aviator.”
Minho dips his head, watching them both relax. “Lieutenant Commander Lee is the international liaison for ROK’s new aircraft carrier,” Christopher says, and the lieutenants nod. “Perhaps you’ll be seeing him again soon somewhere else in the Pacific. That will be discussed in the meeting this evening. As of now, it’s almost midday, so go eat,” Christopher says, shooing the two men. They salute and then hurry off, in the direction of the doors opposite the ones Minho and Christopher had come through.
“Are you coming, sir?” Christopher asks, making Minho snap out of his daze, where his eyes had been following the two pilots. Minho nods, following Christopher back inside.
The remainder of the day passes quickly, and all too soon it’s time for the meeting that will define the status of Minho’s job.
Minho rarely gets nervous, but as he sits in the cramped meeting hall, officers trickling in and taking their places around the table with him, he can’t help the slight tremble to his hands. He’s a junior officer by many years to most of these officials and he can’t help but feel the cultural barrier between him and the others.
Just as the meeting is about to commence the door opens one last time and the two American pilots step into the room, Parker sitting down at the table while Wonderland stands against the wall behind him. Minho frowns slightly, not expecting this show of rank, especially since both men are lieutenants. It intrigues him, but he doesn't have long to ponder before his attention is snapped away.
“Welcome,” the commander leading the meeting says, nodding to the officers. “As you’re all aware we’re meeting today to further discuss the plans for an international weaponry network. Given that the past few years all of our countries have seen attacks from an operating revolutionist group, an idea has been brought up, bringing to light the possibility of a sort of rotation of units, in our case naval fighter jets. Groups of them would be shifted around according to the danger level and would be managed by the country they fall under, though their own country has rights to veto any action they don’t want their pilots taking part in.”
“We have two pilots from the United States,” the commander continues, gesturing to Parker and Wonderland. “They’ve been sent over to monitor the development of this program, and will be going further up north eventually.” Minho hums quietly, maybe they’ll be up to South Korean airspace soon. “Lieutenant Han, could you share your view?”
“International operations are difficult,” Parker says, studying the grain of the table between making eye contact with the officers. By looking away it could appear that he is intimidated, but Minho sees through it; somehow, the action of lowering his eyes every so often is deliberate. “To pull one off successfully the whole crew needs to be in sync. Bilingual operations are harder still, if the translation team isn’t prepared everything will go downhill fast. For a rotation program like this to work a lot of time and effort must be put in, and everyone, the officers and pilots alike, have to find a middle ground, as our countries all operate differently.”
“What about international liaisons?” the commander looks over at Minho.
“I agree with Lieutenant Han,” Minho says, glancing over to the pilot who is now silently studying him. “Translators can be unreliable, that’s why the international liaison position was created. For a carrier to run without hitches while hosting international pilots, there has to be a whole team that is eligible to work in the other language, English, in our case.”
A second commander cuts in, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “And are you eligible for the job, Lieutenant Commander? You’re quite young to have such an important position.”
Minho’s temper blazes but he forces himself to stay calm. “My age, sir, has no correlation to my educational background or the work I do. I think it would be unwise to judge character just from a single trait, sir, or you would be offending several officers at this table, not just myself.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Christopher hide a laugh behind his hand while Wonderland snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, and Parker’s lips curve into an amused smile.
The man scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “You.” He gestures to Parker who raises an eyebrow at the call. “You’re young, what have you done so far in your career, Lieutenant? Why are you in this meeting at your rank?”
Minho’s mouth drops open at the gall of the officer, and to further extend his surprise, instead of telling the man off, Parker leans forward so he mirrors the commander’s position. It visibly startles the older man but he does not move back. “Nearly two years ago there was an attempted bombing over Europe, sir. I believe you would remember that time?” The officer nods, eyes narrowed. “The 27th Squadron flew that day, stopped over three aerial attacks and prevented thousands of deaths.”
“I remember that day, everyone does,” the man huffs. It's true; Minho knows the event will go down in history.
“Good. Then you can say you met the lead pilot on that squadron’s operation.” Parker stands up, adjusting his collar as if he had not flipped the equilibrium of the meeting upside-down. “Am I too young to have shot down four of the seven eliminated jets and prevented major population reductions over Europe, or should those events have been played out, so that you, sir, don’t have to worry about a fickle young pilot like me?”
The whole table is gaping at Parker by the time he turns to leave. Wonderland raps his knuckles on the table once when Parker is through the door, snapping their attention away. “It’s best not to judge someone before you know their value, and if their worth exceeds your own.” He sends the officer a grin. “You’re lucky that it’s just me here and not our squadron, sir. We don’t take kindly to people who insult our command.” With that he spins on his heel and exits the room, following Parker down the hallway.
The meeting doesn’t last long after the pilots’ exit, just a few rushed words of thanks and then Minho is finding himself alone again, going through paperwork in Christopher’s shared office that he kindly let Minho use. It gives him some peace after the hectic discussion; some peace to wonder about the pilot behind the call sign Parker.
✧
Minho has never slept particularly well. He’s a bit of an insomniac, and given that ships are quieter at night, rather than the daytime, he finds time and space to work and think without being disturbed. It gives him a sort of comfort, being able to walk around in the dimly lit halls, looking at the dark sky and sea out the windows, and only ever bumping into a handful of people.
It’s been a day since the meeting that had ended so abruptly and Minho is looking forward to his return to Korea. He has a few days left, packed with meetings for the international project, which he is itching to get through. He's desiring a speedy return; so that he can start his new adventure aboard the Dokdo.
Minho begins to feel the tingle of headache so he heads to the galley, intent on getting some water to drink to further clear his head. When he arrives the room is mostly dark, only a few lights shining in from the hallway and the glow of the exit signs casting light onto the floor and tables.
Minho makes his way to the counter and finds a paper cup to pour himself some water out of the water cooler. It's refreshing, the feel of the cold liquid sliding down his throat. In a way it feels like he hasn't had a proper sip of water in days, with the smell of salt so strong out on the ship's decks.
He’s leaning against the wall beside the water cooler when footsteps approach and enter the room. Minho looks up to see the American pilot - Parker - with his hands in his pockets and looking properly exhausted. Minho wonders if this man is also a victim of stolen sleep.
When Parker notices Minho he salutes him and then passes by, heading further into the galley. Minho deems it an interaction that will go nowhere so he downs the rest of his drink and drops the cup in the garbage bin, heading for the hallway.
“You know, you don’t have to be stingy,” Parker calls, and his voice makes Minho stop in his tracks and turn. Minho watches the man open up one of the freezers, pulling out a carton of neapolitan ice cream. He sends a coy smile to Minho as he finds a drawer, taking out two spoons and tapping them against the lid of the container. “Hm?”
Minho bites down on his bottom lip, considering.
“Stealing ice cream from an Australian ship,” Minho hisses, glaring at the pilot who is sitting in the chair opposite him.
The corner of Parker’s lips quirk up. “If you’re against the idea of eating something that has been offered up to us guests, why are you sitting across from me now, sir?”
Minho narrows his eyes as he watches Parker scoop a spoonful of ice cream out of the container. What possessed him to sit down with this American lieutenant is beyond him, but here he is in the dead of night eating ice cream with the man. “Don’t talk back, I outrank you,” Minho vaguely threatens, but digs his spoon into the strawberry section of the dessert, showing little follow-through. Parker just laughs, and though it's most likely good-naturedly, the sound makes Minho tense up.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a strawberry ice cream guy,” Parker says after a few minutes, watching Minho eat several scoops of the flavor.
“And what would you have guessed?” Minho asks, raising an eyebrow with his question. He does find it a bit interesting to figure out what this pilot thinks of him, even if it is about ice cream.
“Hm, I think I'd go with chocolate,” the pilot considers, staring hard at the almost-empty container. “Yeah.”
Minho shrugs at his words and sets down his spoon to watch Parker finish off the ice cream, rejecting the last bites the man tries to leave for him.
They clean up in silence, Parker throwing away the container while Minho cleans up the spoons. He feels Parker’s eyes on him as he washes the utensils, and can’t help but shiver at the intensity of his stare. He finds it odd that the man hadn't left already; there's nothing more for him to do.
“Why the navy?”
Minho nearly startles at the sudden question but pulls himself together and turns to dry his hands off with a paper towel. “Why did you join, Lieutenant?” He knows he's good at deflection; it's back in Korea no one truly knows his story. He doesn't want anyone to know, because keeping people away is much easier than keeping them close.
Parker huffs at his question being tossed back, and he crosses his arms over his chest as a kind of defense. “With order comes a kind of freedom. The military encompasses order, but they also have the authority to put me up in the sky, where I’m alone and free.” He looks down briefly, his dark hair shading his face as he seems to think for a moment. When he does look up once more Minho can see in the faint light how soft the brown of his eyes is. “I can’t ask for much more than that, can I?”
“I suppose not,” Minho murmurs. He considers it; freedom hidden in order.
Parker leans against the wall and his eyes lock and hold with Minho’s. “It’s lonely though, this job, isn't it? It strips away the ability to breathe and becomes the one thing I can’t ever ask to have. Air.” Parker smiles at Minho like he hasn't just switched up Minho’s world with a few simple words. “Get some sleep, sir. You look tired.”
Minho watches the lieutenant disappear into the hallway, his lips parted in shock. Lonely. Not being able to breathe. Trapped.
Who is this man that has pulled out his secrets?
✧
“Lieutenant Commander Lee.”
Minho looks up to see the pilot, Parker, standing in the doorway to the deck. It’s been a day since the meeting in the galley and Minho’s head is still reeling from Parker's words. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
Parker takes a few steps forward until he’s a few shoulders lengths down the rail from Minho and peers over the side of the ship at the dark waves lapping against the carrier. It’s night again, and Minho has found his way to one of the bridges of the ship control tower to observe the sea. It was meant to be a peaceful, solo excursion, but he's been found out again. “Australia. What do you make of it?”
Minho narrows his eyes at the man. “Why do you want to know what I think?”
Parker glances at him, and the light from the caged lamp above the stairwell door catches in his eyes like a hundred tiny fireflies. “Because I like hearing you talk.” He rests his forearm on the rail, turning to fully face Minho. “Australian accents are nice and all but I like yours more.”
Minho hardly blinks as he processes the pilot’s words. He doesn’t know what to make of this - of this flirtation that is becoming obvious. He’s been so caught up in his military life for the past several years that he hasn’t even stopped to think about any type of relationship other than those with work colleagues. It’s never been the right time for something so deeply personal. Or maybe he’s just not the right person for the emotions of a relationship.
“What do you mean to say, Lieutenant?”
Parker tips his head just slightly, peering at Minho with a tiny smile playing on his lips. He looks horribly smug and Minho almost wants to slap him. “I have no ulterior motive, sir.”
“Aish, this kid,” Minho scoffs under his breath, watching intrigue flicker in Parker’s sparked eyes. Suddenly a thought hits him and he grins a bit, wanting to tease the man as much as he has him. “You have absolutely no idea what I’m saying,” he says with perfect diction. “I could be bad-mouthing you.” He almost flinches at the deepening intensity of Parker’s gaze. “I could be, but you sit there looking at me like I’m the next wonder of the world. Why are you watching me like that?”
“Oh come on, you’re just teasing me,” the lieutenant huffs.
Minho lets himself succumb to a laugh, but furrows his brow as he sees Parker’s eyes widen and shock overtake his expression. “What?”
“You laughed,” the pilot says, somehow in awe. “I’ve only seen you smile a couple times, you like to pretend to be cold, don’t you?”
Minho scratches at the material of his pants with a fingernail, growing nervous with the intensity of this pilot. He hates any extra attentive attention directed towards him; he’s terrified of letting his personality show, to give away who he was and deep down still is. If he does he’ll be trapped again, he’ll be used again, hurt again. Icy and detached, that’s him. That’s who he has to be to keep going.
“Smile more often,” the lieutenant says and his voice is too soft and familiar, like he's known Minho for years, not days. “You look so pretty when you do.”
Minho's face falls into a frown, trying to mask how he's a bit shaken. “Lieutenant, what are you doing?”
Parker grins. “I’m trying to hit on you by being truthful, sir.”
Minho’s mouth drops open at the blatant confession. “Lieutenant!”
“Hey, even if you don’t like it, at least you’ll remember me,” he says, winking, which Minho responds to with a grimace. Who knew that a world-renowned fighter pilot could be so awfully cocky. Everyone knows about the attacks on Europe, how dangerous the operation to stop the opposing jets had been. Minho knew the stories but hadn’t realized how young the leading pilot was.
As Minho thinks more about it, perhaps Parker’s attitude is a way to deflect critique - a protection of sorts. He has to have emotional scars from that operation; killing a man, let alone men, is incomparable.
Suddenly the ship passes over a rocky set of waves and it sends Parker stumbling forward and tripping over his feet, falling against Minho. Minho barely has time to grab the pilot’s arms in an attempt to keep him upright but he’s knocked over anyhow, tumbling to the deck with the man landing on top of him, in a painful heap.
“This has progressed rather quickly,” Parker says, smirking all too slyly down at Minho and making no attempt to move with his hands grasping Minho's waist.
Minho glares at him, “Get off of me, Lieutenant.”
Parker climbs off of him and stands, offering Minho a hand up which he refuses. “Sorry about that, sir. I’m in the air for hours every day,” Parker rattles off as an explanation, “my sea legs sometimes don’t show.”
Minho focuses solely on dusting off his uniform so he doesn't make eye contact. His heart is pounding at a ridiculous speed, nearly bursting straight from his chest, and he hates himself for it.
He hears Parker sigh after a few minutes of tensioned silence. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. Wonderland and I are heading back to the States tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“Well, at least I can say I properly knocked you off your feet,” Peter adds with the flourish of another wink, much to Minho's annoyance. “Goodnight, Lieutenant Commander.”
Minho watches him walk off with his mind going wild at every second that has just passed. “I'm going crazy,” he mutters, turning around and heading down to the bunks, all the while trying to forget how warm the pilot's hands were on his waist and how pretty his brown eyes are up close.
✧
Minho doesn’t sleep. He tries desperately, he’s mentally exhausted from this whole trip, but he can’t manage to shut his brain off. Thoughts about war and work and one awful American pilot are running mad inside his head.
Eventually he gives in and around four in the morning heads to the top deck of the control tower. It's peaceful; he sits with his back against the rails and stares out to the east. He lets himself properly think about the trip to Australia, about the information he’s learned and the contacts he’s made. But no matter how he wishes to stop, he can’t help when his thoughts repeatedly turn towards the meetings with Parker.
Minho never fit in at the military academy. He tried at first but was always pushed to the side, so he focused on his studies but then found himself in a massive tangle of horrible bullying and self-hate. Ever since those days Minho has sworn to never become attached to anyone.
If he does, he’ll only end up with another broken heart.
It’s been easy to stay distant in the military. Minho is required to act a certain way and talk a certain way. There’s a rulebook for everything, and Minho follows those words perfectly. He’s alone and he likes it.
But.
But he can’t remember the last time he was hugged, or the last time he sat down and had a cup of coffee with a friend - which he doesn’t even have. Last night, when the pilot fell on him, was the first time he had been touched other than a handshake or a pat on the back in months.
Minho’s lonely and he’s known that for a very long time, but it’s funny that it has taken an American fighter pilot with an exaggerated flirtatious attitude to get him to admit it.
Lieutenant Peter Han. Parker. Minho scoffs. In all the years he’s been in the military no one has ever spoken to him the way that that man does. If Minho had the authority he would’ve had the pilot reprimanded the minute he failed to take his sunglasses off when saluting a superior officer, that first time they met. But now...now Minho somehow craves the fearlessness the man seems to have.
Minho shivers, pulling his coat tighter around him and drawing his knees to his chest. He looks up to see the sun beginning to rise and smiles, watching as oranges and pinks begin to chase away the dark blues of the night, making way for the burning yellow of the sun.
Getting to his feet, Minho stands straight and salutes the sun, watching as it oh so slowly rises past the line of the ocean.
When Minho arrives back inside his fingers and toes are numb, so he sets himself out on a mission to find something warm. He’s walking towards the galley to try and swipe a hot drink when he spots a figure coming towards him, one that is dressed in an olive-colored flight suit. One that is familiar.
“Sir.”
Minho nods, letting Parker drop his salute. “Lieutenant.”
Parker watches him for a moment without saying a word, his eyes boring into Minho’s face like he’s searching for something, something important. But he snaps himself out of it and adjusts his helmet that is resting against his hip. “Wonderland and I are leaving. We have thirty minutes until our departure.”
“Oh.” Something inside of Minho wilts; it's the strangest feeling, almost similar to one of abandonment. “Well then, you should be going then, Lieutenant.” He steps to the side of the hall, making room for Parker to pass. No matter his personal shaky feelings, he won't hold Parker back from his job. After all, who is he to?
Parker nods. “I should.” But he doesn’t move.
“Lieutenant?”
“I think we’ll see each other again,” Parker says, and he captivates Minho's gaze. “I’m not particularly sentimental or anything, but I think there’s still more to our story.” He gives Minho a half smile and his eyes are projecting a sort of warmth; slowly thawing Minho’s fingers but also the permanent chill in his chest. “I’m glad we met, Lieutenant Commander.”
Minho forces down a smile as his heart misses a beat for all the wrong reasons. Without another word the pilot nods and then passes him, walking down the hall towards the entrance to the stairwell up. Minho, needing to do anything to halt the tension in his chest lets out a breath of air and then steps forward. “Lieutenant!”
Parker turns at Minho’s call, his eyebrows raising. Minho fights down his embarrassment and hopes his cheeks don’t flush pink. “Fly safely. Godspeed.”
Parker’s lips quirk up in a familiar smile and he straightens, saluting Minho without a trace of mockery. Minho doesn't think twice before he returns the gesture and lets his eyes lock with Parker’s for a long minute, both of them holding still. It feels like maybe he's conveying his secret concern of safety, because something softening in Parker's expression makes him feel reassured. When he relaxes, hand dropping to his side, Parker nods at him once and then turns away from him to take confident steps down the corridor and out of Minho’s sight.
Minho stands frozen in the hallway, his limbs stiff from his extended stay in the cold, still staring down the hall to where Parker had stood. He stands still for many long minutes, waiting for what he doesn’t quite know.
His eyes close as he hears the roar of the first jet’s engines, the sound warping when the aircraft is launched into the air and pierces the sky. The second jet is just as loud, even down through the hangar floors, making Minho’s thoughts mix into a blur and leaving him winded when the noise fades into the distance.
And again, Minho is left all alone.