Chapter Text
The Pothos Mission, and the four astronauts at the middle of it: an exclusive interview
Space has always called to humanity from the dawn of recorded time. In the time since the 1960s, when mankind first made its debut beyond our atmosphere, the growth of technology and our capabilities for exploration has increased exponentially. No longer is landing on the moon the limit to goals for humanity.
What is the Pothos Mission?
The Pothos mission is the latest in international space exploration. The goal? Placing sensors onto the far-side (commonly referred to as the 'dark side') of the surface of the moon to gather as much data as possible: data about atmosphere, light radiation, the makeup of the surface, as well as visual recording of deep space as seen from the far side. The probes that will be places on the moon will transmit back to earth for a full year, giving specialists invaluable understandings of both the moon and deeper space.
The Pothos mission is just one of several that makeup the Aphrodite program, an international series of expeditions in the name of expanding our understanding of space and venturing further into our solar system. It represents a global collaboration between several international space programs, including: the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), the Korea Aerospace Research Institute (KARI), and the Canadian Space Agency (CSA).
The spacecraft that will land on the moon in just eight days is the latest in aerospace technology. The space-launch system (or SLS) is a massive series of rockets with the spacecraft – Fortuna – at the top. We sat down with the four astronauts who will venturing on this voyage.
Bang Chan, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, and Han Jisung will be the four astronauts aboard the Fortuna. Each a proud engineer from KARI, we had the opportunity to ask them some of our questions about the Pothos mission.Q: Why Pothos?
B. Chan: Well, a lot of the missions pull from myths and legend. The god Pothos represents yearning for the unattainable, for something far away, for something out of reach–
H. Jisung [rolling his eyes]: Oh my God, just say space.
[They all laugh, including Bang Chan.]
B. Chan: Well, yeah. Space.
S. Changbin: It felt appropriate. Obviously, we're going somewhere – doing something – that has never been done before. We're setting foot on the far side. But really, when you think about it, that distance from earth to the far side is nothing compared to earth to Mars, or Pluto, or a neighboring galaxy. We're accomplishing something that would have seemed impossible eighty years ago so we can observe what feels just as impossible – if not more impossible – today.
H. Hwang: It also feels like a nod to the plant–
B Chan [in a whisper]: Of course the biologist would say that–
H. Hwang: –because the Pothos plant represents resilience and good fortune. We know that space travel carries a lot of risks. The entire Pothos Program requires us to adapt constantly. We'll be carrying that perseverance into space, and hopefully carry a little bit of good fortune with us too.
Q: Is that why you called the space craft Fortuna?
H. Jisung [laughing]: Yeah. We didn't choose the name Pothos for the mission, but we did get to choose Fortuna. A part of it was definitely for luck.
S. Changbin: Scientists hate luck. Luckiness isn't something you want to account for in an equation. But still, we're doing something that requires so many things to go right. Having luck on our side isn't the worst thing.
B. Chan: It was also a little bit Jinnie – or, Hyunjin's – idea.
H. Hwang [blushing]: Luck hasn't always been on everyone's side. When we were coming up with names, I saw Fortuna, and I thought … well, Felicette comes from the Latin word that means happy and is associated with luck, and I liked the idea of honoring every life lost to get us to where we are. Including furry lives–
H. Jisung: Please don't say 'furry lives' like that.
Q: Felicette as in the cat?
H. Hwang: Yes. She was a cat sent into space to assess the stress of … well, it's a pretty sad story, so I'll leave it there. But when I was younger, I really latched onto her story, as well as Laika's. The four of us? This is our dream, going into space. Space was never their dreams. They didn't have a choice. The information we have from their sacrifices have helped us realize our dreams. Fortuna feels like a nod to her – to Felicette. Sorry, am I rambling–?
B. Chan, S. Changbin, and H. Jisung [in unison]: Yes.
B. Chan: But we love you for it. Jinnie's right, we owe everything to those who came before us, four-legged or otherwise.
Q: What are your roles on the ship, and what do they mean?
B. Chan: In this small of a mission, we all have to be prepared to wear multiple hats, but technically speaking I'm the Commander of the Fortuna. It sounds fancy, but really it just means I make the big calls if they come up and make sure everything's running as expected and running safely.
H. Jisung: I'm the pilot!
[He salutes. The others groan.]
H. Jisung: The Fortuna mostly runs on autopilot, but it's not as easy as it sounds. All of us on board and then a lot of way smarter people in Mission Control will be keeping an eye on navigation and trajectory. I really step in during launch, splashdown, and any manual maneuvers in space – so when we land on the moon, that'll be all me, baby.
S. Changbin: First off, sorry about him, clearly NASA doesn't do very careful mental stability checks. As for my role, I'm what we call Mission Specialist, or MS. On this mission, I'm MS1. Specifically, I'm in charge of the ins and outs of the Fortuna. I know her like the back of my hand, so it's on me to make sure our operations stay, well, operational.
H. Hwang: And I'm MS2. I was brought on for the, well, the moon part. So if we need an EVA, I'm the guy. I'll also be the one setting up the probes and sensors on the moon's surface and making sure our initial readings seem stable and consistent. After all, if we get back to earth and realize a photometer is pointed at the ground and not deep space, it's not a super simple fix.
S. Changbin: But like Channie-hyung – er, Commander Chan – said, we all are prepared to wear multiple hats. Any responsibility, we share together. And any success.
Q: What does this mission mean to you?
H. Jisung: I think I speak for each of us when I say that it means more than words can realistically capture. It's an incredible honor to represent Korea in this – well, for Chan-hyung, Korea and Australia – but more than that, we get to represent the entire world. This level of international collaboration feels really important, and I'm very excited to be a part of that hope.
S. Changbin: I definitely agree with Jisung. We're being given the chance of a lifetime here – us, and everyone who's working on this mission. It means a lot of be surrounded by so many brilliant people and to know that those twenty days we spend in space will just be the beginning? It's crazy.
B. Chan: We've been given a lot of voice in this mission. Choosing the name of the spacecraft probably doesn't sound all that impressive, but it's just an example in a long list of ways our opinions have been take into consideration. Even these guys [he wraps his arms around the other three astronauts] were picked because they asked me who I'd like to have in my ship. I know it's the same with our Flight Commander at Mission Control.
H. Hwang: God, why'd you all have to go first? I mean, really, what they said is all right. I guess I'll tie it up with something a little cheesier and a little more selfish. For my entire life, I've always been looking up. Walt Whitman – Jisung stop laughing! – has a poem, about how there's so much science and math that goes into all of this, into the beauty of the stars. And we've all learned that science and that math, but before we knew how to do long division, we were just a bunch of kids looking up at the stars. The fact that I'm not just going to space, but will actually walk on the moon? Hah, I … Jisung's right. There really aren't words to describe how lucky I feel.
Q: Well, here's hoping that luck stays on your side.
H. Hwang: I think it will. Besides, we've got people down here who are going to be keeping their eyes on us. That … that really means the world.
Today's the day. Today's the day, and he gets to be in the room.
That's all Felix can think when he opens his eyes on the morning of May first.
Surely, a cosmic joke. Emphasis on the cosmic.
His phone is buzzing by his head – not the horrible grating shriek of his alarm, but the melodic, video game music he uses for a ringtone. He groans and drags it in front his eyes. Minho's contact photo stares back, all toothy smile as he holds Soonie up like Simba on Pride Rock. Felix groans again as he accepts the call, hits speaker, lets the device thud to the center of his chest.
"Time z'it?" he grunts.
"My my, Mr. FAO," Minho snorts. He sounds far too awake. "I would have thought you'd be a bit more chipper. And it's six forty-five, for your information."
"I'm not FAO," Felix grumbles. "I'm assisting FAO, there's a difference."
"Felix, Minhyuk specifically selected you to assist FAO so you can shadow him," Minho says. "You're vital to this mission, and you know it."
Another groan from Felix. This one a bit for show, but also a bit more nervous. He can hear Minho pause, in that there's absence of shuffling white noise over the line.
"Hey, you're going to be great. "
"You don't know that," Felix grumbles. Now that he remembers, sleepiness feels like a distant, unproven concept. he pushes himself upright. His back twinges cruelly – not necessarily in pain (though that's there), but in irony, as if reminding him what he's lost.
It's been two years since the injury. Two years since the light of That Dream fizzled away as quickly as it took the KARI doctor to deliver the diagnosis. Two years of intensive therapy – talk and physical alike, the former proving much more difficult – and two years of learning how to dream differently.
Space, maybe not the way he'd dreamed with That Dream, but still space. He'd been trained for this, objectively – he knew that Pothos mission, he knew the Fortuna, and he knew what it took to be an astronaut hurtling towards the stars, even if he'd never done it himself. He may never have had Flight Activities Officer in the blank of a fourth grade "When I grow up, I want to be a _____" worksheet, but frankly, he hadn't had a clue what went on in Mission Control.
When Minho told him he'd be in Mission Control for the launch and for the twenty days following, he'd been buzzing.
Now, though, that buzz feels a little bit like trembling. He wouldn't just be in the room, he'd be important. Maybe not as important as Minho or Seungmin or Innie, but even that was intentional. Minhyuk wanted Felix to learn, to watch, to study; Minhyuk wanted Felix to figure out if FAO was the job for him, or if he might be destined for–
"You there?"
Felix realizes he's been holding his breath. It expels from his lungs at Minho's question.
"Yeah," he says. He shoves a hand through his sleep-tangled hair and draws a more measured breath. "Yeah."
"Okay," Minho says softly. Felix can hear the unasked question in his voice; well, unasked right now – very much asked when he was first invited on: can you handle this? Can you watch four people living your dream and not take mental damage to match your physical damage?
The answer was a resounding, truthful yes.
"Are you already at MCC?" Felix asks. He drags himself out of bed, hearing the distant sound of the shower – Seungmin must already be up, then – and puts the call on speaker. His room in their apartment is cold. Felix likes to sleep under a mountain of blankets, loves the sensation of crawling beneath warmth and softness and away from the chill of the day. It backfires on him every morning when he's forced to emerge from his cozy cocoon and back into his self-created refrigerator.
"On my way," Minho explains. "I'm heading to get coffee first."
Felix snorts his way into a sweater, then grumbles when he realizes he's put it on backwards. "MCC has a coffee machine, you know."
"Yeah, the shittiest coffee machine in the world," Minho drawls. "Besides, I've gotten coffee from this same coffee shop every other launch I've assisted on."
"I've never taken you for superstitious, Hyung," Felix teases.
"If there's anything to be superstitious about, I think a full rocket launch is a fair enough bet," Minho hums. Felix's stomach clenches.
A full launch. Four lives. And Felix will be one of the people responsible for making sure those four astronauts come back home at the end of it all.
"Do you want me to get you something? A cup of sugar with three drops of coffee, perhaps?" Minho asks teasingly. Felix snorts into the cavern of his closet and grabs the outfit he'd chosen the night before. NASA and KARI probably wanted their personnel to lean business casual for a full internationally-organized space launch, but if that was the case, they shouldn't have asked Felix to be in the room. The slacks he chose over his preferred baggy jeans are, at least, somewhat formal. The twilight-blue knit sweater, though (with the moon phases woven in white threat across the chest and little stars stitched at the cuffs of its sleeves), though?
Well, at least it's topical.
"It's a big day, Hyung," Felix answers Minho solemnly. "Better make it a four-drops-of-coffee kind of day."
Felix hadn't not planned on living stateside, per se, but when he did consider it, he imagined New York City, or maybe San Diego.
He'd never imagined Houston, Texas.
He, Minho, Innie, and Seungmin were still getting used to the Texas of it all. They'd been together in Korea for years, in Houston for six months, and even then, Felix sometimes woke up thinking he was back in Sydney. Driving was the weirdest part. Texas did not have a metro, not in a way that made commuting by train or bus a real option, and Felix didn't have a license. Living with Seungmin had helped that (and no matter how much Seungmin complained about being Felix's unpaid Uber driver, he never said no when Felix asked.
They live as close to the Johnson Space Center as possible, a cookie-cutter apartment complex that offers little in the way of visual intrigue, but has good AC (and with the Houston summers, that's a must) as well as a pool (less of a necessity, but definitely a feature Felix has tried very hard to take advantage of). Felix showered the night before, so as soon as Seungmin vacates their single shared bathroom, he runs through his usual morning routine, though with admittedly shakier fingers. He foregoes 'fun' makeup, but he does dab a bit of concealer until his eyes to cover his already growing under eye bags.
He stares at himself and holds his breath. Pouty lips, freckles; blonde hair that he should probably cut, but mourns the notion of doing so. And his eyes. Always his eyes.
Felix is blessed and cursed with his facial features, specifically his eyes. They're huge, he knows that – fifty percent eyes, Innie always says – which is great for pouting his way into extra cuddles (and great for batting lashes at a handsome stranger in a bar); however, having eyes roughly the size of lesser planets means his resting face looks like he's a kitten in need of adoption without having to try.
And now? With nerves thrumming beneath his skin?
Felix looks like he's a walking Sarah McLachlan ad, like someone could help feed him for just ten cents a month, like he's cold and shivery and in need of cuddles.
He doesn't look like a future Mission Control. Minhyuk – he always wears a dress shirt and a tie. He looks like "Houston." Felix just needs to look … not like he's going to throw up on his console.
He exhales sharply.
"You can do this," he tells himself. "You've trained for this mission. You've trained for this role. They're counting on you."
Maybe he shouldn't have said that last part. The butterflies in his stomach swoops and frolic with newfound energy, and he thinks if he had any food in his stomach, it would fighting to escape.
"Lix, we've gotta go," Seungmin calls. Felix jumps, tucks his hair behind his ears one last time, and zips into the hallway. Seungmin is dressed more professionally than him (in that he has bypassed any space-specific sweaters and opted for khakis, a button down, and a cardigan), but his expression? Familiar and teasing. "Wow, I wonder if they'll know you like the moon."
Felix pinches his sweater as he grabs his backpack and slips on his shoes. "They should have known who they were getting by asking me."
Seungmin grins and twirls the car keys on his index finger. "One of the three youngest Mission Control employees in history. Certainly the blondest, too–"
"I really think I should have to pay less rent to compensate for the bullying you put me through," Felix bats his hand away. "Also, you say that like you're not the second youngest."
Seungmin shrugs. "At least we're not Innie. Being the baby's gotta be stressful."
It's very much dark out still when they clomp through the sticky, humid air and into Seungmin's car. It's a whopping seven minute drive from their apartment complex to the Johnson Space Center, and Felix spends each and every second of those seven minutes with his fingers pressed against his throat.
The dawn is just starting to lighten at the horizon as Seungmin smoothly pulls the car into his designated parking spot (another fun benefit of their newfound 'promotions). Innie's beat up Honda Accord joins seconds later. He hops out in slacks, like Felix, and a button down, like Seungmin, but Felix can see his beat up SNU sweatshirt poking out of his messenger bag.
"Cute," Innie nods at Felix's sweater. "You ready?"
"Given the way he was jiggling his leg the entire drive, no," Seungmin deadpans. But Felix can see his fingers shake a little as he locks the car, and Innie keeps swallowing a little too hard, like his mouth is dry.
They're nervous, too. It'd be weirder if they weren't. Minho's the only one of the four of them who's been in a Mission Control Center – MCC, Felix reminds himself, he doesn't want to sound like too formal – for a launch. It's a relief, really, that's he's Flight Control for the mission. Felix can't even imagine having that amount of responsibility – overseeing everyone within MCC, from the tiniest task to the largest. If a call needs to be made, if things go wrong, Minho's the one who will make the call.
Then again, if Minho wasn't Flight Control for the Pothos mission, Felix, Seungmin, and Innie probably wouldn't be here. His position of oversight ("his reign of dictatorship," Innie keeps saying) meant that he had significant input into hiring decisions. He swears it's not favoritism, but Felix thinks a fairer assessment would be – it's not just favoritism. They have the skills. They have the training. They're all excellent at their respective positions, and the shared language isn't just a benefit, but a necessity.
Seungmin's not nosy, per se, but he is prone to observing. That combined with a keen ability to multitask makes him a pretty damn good comms officer – INCO, his email signature will read. Innie, alternately, is fast – with decisions and with a computer. He'll be EECOM at the Flight Surgeon console, assessing real-time physiological data from the crew. They're both intense jobs, the kinds of jobs that have to be done perfectly, the kind of jobs that a journalism major or pediatric medicine student might not have expected getting years after undergrad, but whose skill-sets work perfectly.
Still, intense. Critical. Mission critical, Felix thinks. Without an Integrated Comms Officer, information upload and crew-Houston communications would fall apart, rendering the launch pointless and risking the crew's safety. Without the flight surgeon, the very lives of the astronauts would be as up in the air as the space craft.
Before The Dream fell apart, Felix was slated to be Mission Specialist on the Fortuna (MS2, technically) in charge of all things "lunar recordings" – cameras aimed into deep space, probed dug into the moon's surface, monitors to collect ambient particles and temperature readings and sound wave fluctuations.
After, though, and when asked what he wanted to do in Mission Control, all he could think of was: I want to help us get to space; I want to make sure someone succeeds. He's excitable as a person, but when it comes to space, he reaches a kind of unique zen, a clear-headed confidence that has him decisive and assured. Minhyuk must have seen that in him, so much so as to bring Felix into room to help run FAO and to have Felix shadow him. It'll be on Felix, at least in part, to ensure they're sticking to their timeline, that the sensors and scopes places on the surface of the moon are transmitting, and that every hour leading up to that moment is accounted for and successfully completed.
It wasn't what he's been trained for exactly, but it was close enough. Really, he shouldn't be this worried, nor should Seungmin or Innie. They'd all worked tirelessly on pre-launch projects, they'd sat in on meeting after meeting, but their journeys had always been short before the rockets actually launched.
And now…
Felix winds his arms through theirs and pulls them towards the employee entrance. "Come on. We've got a launch to get through."
They both respond, something teasing and sassy, but they squeeze his arms tightly. Felix feels warmth bloom in his chest.
The Johnson Space Center – namely, the operations portion of the building – is … a little soul sucking, if Felix is being honest. He knows that aesthetics is hardly the area NASA wants to priorities their budget allocation, but he'll be spending way too much time in this building than is healthy. Is it so selfish to wish that his newfound second home didn't have popcorn ceilings and florescents?
"They're going viral again," Innie tilts his phone in Felix's direction, an article with the NASA logo plastered in the header.
"Good," Felix says. "They should go viral. They're literally going to the moon."
"And we're sending them," Innie pouts. "Why aren't we going viral? Just because we'll never leave the atmosphere–"
"Ayen-ah," Seungmin hisses, belatedly thwacking Innie on the arm and nodding not at all subtly, thank you at Felix. He rolls his eyes. His back twinges.
"It's been two years, Min, I'm over it," he says. Lies? Probably lies, in some ways at least. He smiles as genuinely as he can as they push down the hall.
Minho is waiting for the both of them outside of MCC, cardboard coffee carrier in hand. He smiles at all of them and passes out the coffees, pulling Felix into a quick side hug at the last minute.
"You're very green," he says. "Please don't throw up on the terminal. At least not on your first day."
"Yeah, save it for the fourth day at least," Seungmin suggests. "Keep em on their toes."
Felix snorts, and Minho looks like he's reconsidering throwing their names into the pot. Rather than say as much, though, he just flicks Seungmin on the forehead, and then he pushes open the doors to MCC.
The launch isn't scheduled until early evening, but MCC is already a frazzle of energy and conversation. It's a large room, several rows of large desks, "consoles" at each with laptop after laptop and monitor after monitor glowing like the windows a building, which is ironic considering there are no windows here. The lighting, at least, is slightly less harsh than the hall, if only due to the hexagonal neon lights above, the oceanic blue glow of the display and projection area.
Clear signs, their labels illuminated, are propped above each station to signify which desks belong to which personnel. NASA loves their acronyms, and the signage feels more like a scrambled up alphabet: GNC; TELMU; FDO. Felix spots his desk (FAO) next to Minho's (FLIGHT) in the third row and exhales. At least he'll have a lifeline nearby, or at least just someone whose hand he can hold. The first desk, the second row, is Innie's desk (SURGEON), the third desk, Seungmin's (EECOM), and right between them both – right in the center of the room – CAPCOM glows moon-blue.
Minhyuk turns and beams. He seems to have just arrived, bag on the CAPCOM desk but not yet unpacked. He meets them by the doors.
"Hey there," he beams. "Launch day! How are you feeling?"
"Excited," Felix lies. Well, he is excited, so maybe it's not a full lie, but it's certainly omitting the whole heap of terrified he feels in tandem. Minhyuk seems to know as much and claps a hand on Felix's shoulder.
"You're all going to be great," he promises. "I'm sure Minho's told you as much, but by day three, you honestly start to get a little bored." He looks at Felix straight on. "And when that happens, I want you with me, okay? No better way to shadow CAPCOM than to, well, observe a launch. I already spoke with Chaeron and she'll be ready to take your seat so you can really catch the action."
"S-sounds good," Felix stammers. Shit, stammering probably isn't a good look for a maybe-one-day-CAPCOM, but the notion that Minhyuk specifically wants to help train Felix is still staggering.
(Personally, Felix thinks that Minhyuk feels responsible for the death of The Dream. He was the one who gave Felix the verdict, after all. But he also had a similar experience: a freak accident during training, and the next thing he knew, every goal and plan shattered. Whenever it gets close to the anniversary of the accident, Felix thinks his limp seems to get a little worse.)
"Well, it's a bit of a waiting game for now," Minhyuk tells them all. "Get your consoles booted up, make sure you're logged it and everything, and we'll run through a systems check in about an hour, okay?"
"Yes, sir," they all parrot. Minhyuk rolls his eyes at the formality.
"Please, please start calling me Hyung. You all make me feel like a grandpa."
Minho smirks. "Pretty sure that kid of yours needs to be born before you can think about grandfather status."
Minhyuk smiles, pleased as punch. His eyes flit to his desk; Felix was wrong – Minhyuk had started to unpack. A framed ultrasound is propped next to one of his four (four!) monitors.
"Three more months," he says. "Speaking of, I should go give Hana a call. She's got an appointment with her OBGYN today and I want to talk to her beforehand. Pretty sure the higher ups want to take my phone for the launch, but it'll be hell or high water before I go dark on my wife."
"Tell her we're thinking of her," Felix asks, and Minhyuk nods, already pulling out his phone as he passes them into the hallway.
Felix, Seungmin, and Innie all wordlessly turn to Minho. Minho rolls his eyes and shoves them forward. "You heard the man – go get set up. The last thing you want is to realize you forgot your passwords ten minutes before launch."
FAO isn't four monitors like CAPCOM, but it is three, plus a laptop and a keyboard. Otherwise, it's pretty barren. He glances at his bag and hopes that he'll be able to decorate the surface of his desk; he brought along a series of photos, a couple motivational quotes framed amongst them, as well as too many stress toys, his sun-and-moon plushies; he did not bring the small stuffed cat he named Felicette, if only because she's too precious. He kind of regrets it now as he thinks of her, situated back at their apartment and cozy in his bed.
Probably best to wait until the astronauts are in space before he Felix-fies MCC, he thinks.
Felix powers up his console and successfully logs in; then he checks to make sure his email is properly synced. In the time it takes for him to do that, Innie has already created a Teams chat for himself and Seungmin.
Yang Jeongin: dude people are obsessed with them !
Yang Jeongin: htttp://x.com/NASA/status/sk14z3…
The message comes seconds before a twitter link. Felix opens the link on his browser – a tweet from NASA itself, linking to an article: The Pothos Mission, and the four astronauts at the middle of it: and exclusive interview. He opens it and smiles softly, face reflected in the dimly lit laptop screen. It's a good interview. They seem like good men, and they seem like total space nerds, and yet Felix is overcome with fresh, sharp terror.
He scrolls to the end of the article and pauses, finger twitching on the down arrow of his keyboard. He's tried not to look at pictures of the Pothos astronauts. He remembers Chan well – dimpled and smiley and way too hard on himself – and though he's grown up (and gone blonde, Felix realizes), those dimples are just as deep as Felix remembers. Seo Changbin is clearly going for a professional, maybe even neutral smile, but his eyes are too sparkly – his pride and excitement unable to be held back. Han Jisung has no such qualms – he is all teeth and crinkled eyes and sun-bright joy.
And then there's Hwang Hyunjin.
Oh. He's …
Hwang Hyunjin is just too damn handsome. He's got a face that could pop up on a runway, and long, willowy limbs to match. In the photo, he's not beaming, but rather smiling softly, the kind of smile that Felix thinks would feel soothing to be on the receiving end of. His hair is long and dark; in the photo, he has it pulled half-back, leaving the devastating planes of his face bare and uncovered. He looks like he was sculpted from marble. And his lips … God, his lips–
A ping, a Teams notification.
Seungmin: lix whatever ur looking at, it's making ur face do stupid things
Felix looks up and finds Seungmin staring at him, deeply unimpressed. He regrets not putting on concealer this morning – he can feel the intensity of his blush. He backs out of the article. It returns him to NASA's twitter, and he raises a brow at the number of interactions the post already has. It already has over fifteen thousand likes and several reposts and replies. He lowers his laptop brightness even further before checking the quote tweets.
NASA 
@NASA
#Pothos, #Fortuna, and more: An exclusive interview the four astronauts aboard today's historic launch. Get the inside scoop here: www.nasa.gov/blogs/pothos/skz08 ...
strwbrrylixcake @Lex 🍓🩵🍰 · 2h
listen i know the point of this is to be excited about the mission (I AM!!) but also ??? they're all so hot?? like this is a screenshot from the interview and he LOOKS LIKE THAT??? ? WHO IS THIS HOT SPACE NERD !!!???
16 Retweets 4 Quote Tweets 213 Likes
Bay @hjnflxbay · 1h Replying to @strwbrrylixcake
HWANG HYUNJIN!! he's unfairly beautiful for real. he and the other astronauts (Seo Changbin, Han Jisugn, and Bang Chan) are all friends (cute!!) and unfairly attractive ...
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izzy @felixsunshine98 · 43m Replying to @strwbrrylixcake hjnflxbay
have you seen how he looks at the gym? 👀
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Oh. Oh, God, why. He knows that being an astronaut and being physically fit go hand in hand, but he didn't realize being a literal Greek God was a requirement. Felix zooms in on the picture. Surely, it's photo shopped, surely his arms aren't that defined–
Seungmin: dude seriously u look like ur about to whimper
Felix minimizes the screen. The afterimage of Astronaut Hwang Hyunjin's mole is burnt in the negative on the dark blue screensaver of his laptop, like the moon against a twilight sky. He presses his fingers against his throat, then hears Seungmin snort and drops his hand back in his lap.
Focus, Felix, he tells himself. There are four astronauts who deserve his attention, and not the less-than-holy kind. Including an astronaut who just so happens to be the most attractive man Felix has ever seen. Is he nervous right now too? Is he stuck in medical quarantine testing out gravity while it still weighs him down?
No, probably not. He's probably giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and ready. Felix searches for jealousy, and is supremely grateful when he doesn't find it. A little bit of mourning, but dull and distant, a tightening in his vertebrae but not a pain.
He can't help but think of Astronaut Hwangs final quote: Besides, we've got people down here who are going to be keeping their eyes on us. That … that really means the world.
Felix is scared. Scared of messing up, scared of making the wrong call, and scared of what a mistake could cost him. But he needs to be brave. He's no use to anyone scared.
Astronaut Hwang probably isn't scared. So Felix won't be either.
"I'm gonna throw up."
"Jinnie, just breathe in through your mouth–"
"I'm serious, Bin! I'm gonna throw up! I don't need to breathe–"
Changbin huffs at Hyunjin's repetition and rubs a hand up and down his spine. Jisung just looks pained from where he's squirming in the plastic chairs in the loading bay. Chan, iPad in hand, seems entirely nonplussed, not even bothering to look up.
"You're not going to throw up," he says softly. "You're just nervous, which is normal."
Personally, Hyunjin doesn't think anything about this is normal. Two years ago, when he was told he was being considered for the lunar landing of the Pothos Mission, he'd happy-cried so hard he'd gotten dizzy and had to sit down. Now, though, a mere two hours away from launch, he has no clue why past him was giddy. They're about to voluntarily lock themselves in a hunk of metal roughly the size of two and half minivans, and launch themselves into outer space.
His palms go sweaty at the thought. His stomach turns again. Chan looks up then, eyes twitching.
"Or, maybe you are–"
"Here–" Jisung shoves a wastebasket into Hyunjin's arms. It's metal, mesh, and really, the fact that Han Jisung is one of the brightest stars in aerospace piloting but thinks a mesh trashcan would be a good vomit receptacle just makes the nausea worse.
"You're not gonna puke," Changbin promises. If Jisung is the excitable, chaotic one of their group, Changbin is the pillar. It makes sense – Mission Specialist with knowledge of all things Fortuna. There's not a bolt on that spacecraft that he hasn't catalogued, not a operation or metric he's not well aware of. "You're nervous."
He doesn't ask. They're all nervous, really, in some form or fashion. Even Chan – Commander Bang, the personnel at the Kennedy Space Center call him with tones nothing short of reverent, and it keeps making the rest of them giggle – has been tippy-tapping his fingers across his knees all morning.
Hyunjin looks at his watch. One hour and fifty-six minutes. Holy shit, holy shit, holy–
The doctor emerges from the medical bay, smile soft. Dr. Elliot, Hyunjin thinks his name was; he's been the one assessing their physical conditions since they entered the Health Stabilization Program. Really, they should call it what it is – quarantine. A cold or a flu or (god forbid) a stomach bug here on earth is one thing, but up there? One man down in a four-man mission is disastrous.
The past five days have been a speedrun in testing: blood, lung, heart, brain, muscular, and more. Each result has been painstakingly recorded and communicated back to Mission Control (a Doctor Yang, who speaks both English and Korean in the same dry, slightly-sarcastic tone). Today's testing, at least, omitted blood work. No one wants a lightheaded astronaut, after all.
"Good news," Dr. Elliot says. "Vitals are still stable, and you're fully cleared for launch."
Jisung pumps his fist with a hushed Yes! Chan just smiles. He probably already knew, with his constantly-pinging email of records and documents.
"You're boarding soon, right?" he continues. Chan nods. "Did you get to relax beforehand?"
"We ran through emergency procedures before a late lunch, and then we had downtime before coming here," Chan recaps their day. "I think we're going to suit up any minute now."
Hyunjin swallows, tastes bile, and takes a careful sip of water. He tells himself not to be scared. Chan isn't scared. Changbin isn't scared. Jisung is … twitchy, but not scared.
He tells himself not be scared because, frankly, he's not been someone who gets scared before.
Hyunjin wasn't scared of a lot growing up. He wasn't scared of heights, or of bugs, or needles, not even the dark. As he grew, he ticked more potential phobias off his list. Claustrophobia? Not a problem. Fear of failure? No more than what seemed appropriate for an overachiever. Even the concept of dying didn't terrifying him – he didn't want to die, but he wasn't tiptoeing through life.
The noise thing … he didn't realize it was bigger than a personal preference. His parents were aware of it early on – how a toddler Hyunjin would scream himself hoarse, hands pressed against his ears; how, in middle school, the blaring buzzer at the end of a basketball game would make him freeze. He got older and figured he just … didn't like loud noises.
Then came his first launch simulation. He was maybe twenty-four and a little cocky. He was sure that he'd succeed. Plus, his only task was verbally confirming 'all good on his end'.
He hadn't considered how loud launch would be. He'd frozen. His mouth wouldn't move, and his chest felt shrunken – all the more so beneath the crushing weight of 3 Gs – and no matter how many times that tinny voice said Astronaut Hwang, confirm thruster engagement. I repeat, Astronaut Hwang, confirm thruster engagement, Hyunjin couldn't bring himself to speak.
When the training ended, someone had to come strap him out of his chair. It was Changbin. Hyunjin opened his mouth to apologize and, well, promptly vomited on his space suit.
Everyone assumed it was claustrophobia, or just a run-of-the-mill panic attack. But it was that rush, the deafening and endlessly-growing roar of simulated engines and atmospheric battle that robbed him of movement and intonation alike. Now, Hyunjin's run through more launch simulations than he could reasonably count. The noise doesn't get easier, but he's learnt more and more tricks to push past the paralyzing fear.
Sometimes it's trying to control his breaths. Sometimes it's trying to count beats to any music he could here. Sometimes it's reciting poetry, trying to force his internal narrative to be louder than the world around him.
His little toolkit of ways to manage, and each hint and tip feels like a lifeline laddering up to the conclusion: He can do this. He can get through a launch.
At least, that's what he thought yesterday.
"Come on," Chan claps a hand on his shoulder, "time to suit up."
And then time dilation strikes, because suddenly everything is moving very quickly.
He pulls on his space suit. Everything in aerospace is constant and timely, including sentimentality, and their onsite flight director gave them a whopping five minutes to stare upon the ship in silence, but then they're being ushered onto the onto the narrow platform from the loading bay and towards the Fortuna. A distant crowd roars as they appear, and he knows his face will be plastered across the news in a matter of hours.
The Fortuna is small, but it feels smaller as personnel usher them into the hatch. Hyunjin almost wants to ask for another moment to try to wrap his mind around what's about to happen, but Jisung pushes him forward and the next thing he knows, he's shakily lowering himself into his seat on the spacecraft.
"Holy shit," Jisung murmurs two seats over, Chan between them and Changbin on Jisung's left. "Holy shit, holy shit–"
"We've got this," Chan says. "I am so proud of – shit, I can't do the optimistic lecturing right now, I'm too excited."
That drags a huff of a laugh from Hyunjin, shaky as it may be. The suit is familiar, but it's bulky on his body. He tried tapping at the armrests of the chair, but he swears the gloves feel too thick for him to feel the contact. He tries breathing slowly, but it just makes him realize how stuffy the air is.
He closes his eyes and lets himself sink as deep into his mind as possible. He pulls that poem, that Walt Whitman poem, and lets the syllables roll through his mind.
When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room…
Someone is strapping them in now, one by one. Hyunjin is suddenly overwhelmed, picturing a younger version of himself lunched tired and anxious over a mess of astrophysics equations or biology readings, wondering if he'd ever actually have a shot of going to the stars, to the moon.
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
"T-minus one hour to launch," someone says, the words trickling through Hyunjin's mind. This part, he's been dreading: the waiting period between being locked in place and the actual launch, during which they'll have very little to do beyond confirming that, yes, the control panel is working; the fuel sensors are active and accurate; life-supporting mechanisms are prepped and ready.
Hyunjin closes his eyes again.
When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me…
He repeats the poem until all the other noise falls away.
The day moves too quickly, and before Felix can really register what's going on, everyone is going quiet and finding their seats. It's a large room, and it should be echoey, but Felix swears there's a muffled quality that hovers across all of MCC.
His monitors are too bright. He knows the software inherently, but his heart is beating fast enough that the metrics and readings (alive and vibrant in the physiological telemetry data from the astronauts, void from the not-yet-ignited rocket) blur and shift.
Minhyuk turns around an gives him a soft, encouraging smile. Felix tries to return it. Minhyuk's smile falters and he looks at Minho, some silent conversation Felix isn't privy to. A moment later, Chaeron slips next to him.
"Go shadow Minhyuk," she says quietly. Felix shakes his head.
"What? No, no, I have to–"
"Felix," Chaeron cuts him off, "this isn't me doing you a favor. You were brought on this mission to float because you … you deserve to figure out what area you're passionate in."
It's a nice way of saying because you're two years behind Seungmin and Innie; because you thought you'd be in the stratosphere, not at a desk.
Felix smiles and rises, slipping one row up and sliding into the chair Minhyuk has dragged over.
"Watch and learn," Minhyuk nudges him. They both turn. Minho's gaze is dark and focuses as he leans towards a small microphone on his desk.
"Flight controllers, give me a go/no-go for launch," Minho says smoothly. "Booster."
"Go."
"Retro."
"Go."
"FIDO–"
Each department's resounding go seems to correlate with a strong thud in Felix's chest. He swallows air, he presses his fingers to his throat, he's excited and terrified and it's a little beautiful.
"SURGEON."
"Go," Innie says with a grin.
"INCO."
"Go," Seungmin nods.
And finally, Minho glances up at Minhyuk. "CAPCOM."
Minhyuk grins. "We're go, FLIGHT."
Finally, Minho's focused facade cracks. A small smile as he leans forward, hits something on his console. "Launch control, this is Houston, we are go for launch."
Go for launch.
Oh my God. Oh my God, it's happening. Felix thinks he could explode with the exciement-fear-anticipation of it all.
"Roger that, Houston, we are go for launch," comes a voice, tinny over the speakers and several states away, where four astronauts are lying reclined in those marshmallow space suits, helpless to the wait. "T-minus sixty seconds and counting."
Minhyuk takes a deep breath. "Fortuna, Fortuna, this is Houston. We are go for launch. T-minus sixty seconds"
Oh my God, oh my God, oh –
"My God."
Minhyuk's breathless whisper makes Felix freeze. It's not the giddy joy Felix feels.
It's terror.
He's staring at his phone like it's a bomb about to be detonated. Felix has never seen someone's eyes bulge like that.
"Hana," Minhyuk whispers. "Hana went – she went into labor."
Felix stares at Minhyuk and hears the unspoken, contextual end. Hana went into labor at six months. Hana went into labor, and she wasn't meant to, and now this is a medical emergency.
Distantly, that resilient, calm voice in Felix's mind assures him that there's a backup CAPCOM. Distantly, he knows this is not the loaded gun it feels like.
But presently, Felix watches Minhyuk – assigned CAPCOM for the Pothos mission – shove the headset into his hands, shoot to his feet, and sprint out of MCC.
T-.
Minus.
Sixty.
Seconds.
They must have said it at least five seconds ago, right? Or has it been ten by now? How many seconds until that cacophonous, bone-bruising rumble explodes beneath him, until his entire skull feels like it's being spun in a rock tumbler?
"–copy, Houston," he realizes Chan is talking. Talking to Houston.
He's strapped tightly against his seat. He shouldn't be able to feel the tightness of the straps through his suit, but he does, and instead of making him feel trapped or desperate for mobility, it just makes the staticky scream in his ears all the worse.
"I love you guys," Chan says.
"Love you," Hyunjin rasps. He hears Jisung (Love you a stupid amount)and Changbin (I love you guys too), but only just. Then next voice – the launch director's – comes staticky and distant through the comms device on the control console.
"We are go for launch."
Hyunjin's head is going to explode. When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, he repeats to himself. When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room–
"T-minus fifteen, fourteen–"
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, he thinks; screams, really. His voice is a whisper, though, even in his own mind.
"–ten, nine–"
Till rising and gliding out I–
"–eight, seven, six – ignition sequence start–"
He bites his lip hard and swallows iron as the ignitions kicks, shudders like a wild living thing beneath him; around him, really, the shock of it isn't bad, but that fucking sound–
"Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself," he's murmuring it aloud now, hopefully not loud enough to be picked up by comms, but he kind of wishes he could scream it, if only to hear a sound besides the distant countdown and the screaming engines.
"–five, four–"
"In the mystical moist night-air…" Hyunjin whispers.
"–three, two–"
"…and from time to ti–"
"–one. Ignition–"
How is it getting louder? Hyunjin focuses on the violent shaking beneath his body, grounds himself in the physical jostle as everything becomes more. More, more, and then he feels it – the split-second sensation as his surroundings are propelled up, as the too-tight straps pull all the tighter around his body and he's pressed against the chair. As the roar goes past deafening, as–
"We have lift off."
He thinks, through it all, he hears Jisung whoop, or maybe scream, or more realistically a bastardized combination of both.
Is it getting quieter? Hyunjin can't tell, his heart might be just as loud as the rocket boosters.
"In the m-mystical moist n-night-" He tries to make his mouth form the words, but he can tell they're a warbled approximation of speech at best.
They get a long, stretched ten seconds of stunned helplessness as the force against their bodies increases, and then they have to do their jobs.
"Velocity, in line," Jisung's voice, a pinched gravel crunch amongst the roar. He waits for a response. It doesn't come. Hyunjin opens his eyes and turns his head; the movement is herculean against the g-force.
The roar becomes oceanic, no longer a rumbling creature but a force no man could stop.
"Fortuna, do you copy," the launch director cues. It's just this, Hyunjin tells himself. Just this response, and then the noise will even out, and he'll be able to move again. Except his tongue is heavy in his mouth, and the sheer force of sound is pressing against his ear drums like it wants to invade his skull–
"Commander Bang is go."
"Astronaut Han is a go," Jisung echoes.
"Astronaut Changbin is a go."
In the mystical moist night–
In the mystical moist night-air, and–
"Hyunjin?"
Chan's speaking to him, Hyunjin can distantly tell. He opens his mouth, but it just makes his breaths come sharper, and faster; he knows (also in that same, distant way) that his telemetry readings must be lighting up the SURGEON console.
It's so fucking loud.
In the mystical … in the–
It's chaos. And Felix may not have ever been in Mission Control before, but he's been around enough space people to know that they are notfond of chaos.
Innie's monitor is blaring, its mirror image a strobe on the main display screen. Felix watches, dismayed, as the bar labeled H. Hwang BPM stretches higher and higher, as 120 becomes 125 becomes 130–
"Get me Jiwoon," Minho yells to anyone who will listen, which is kind of everyone. "Yang, what's happening to him?"
"Heart rate is spiking, breath patterns are distressed," Innie answers quickly. "No significant change in temperature, it might be the Gs-"
Jiwoon, one of the NASA staff who first trained Felix on the nav software his first day, fights down the aisles. Minho stands and leans towards him. Felix is left still sitting at Minhyuk's desk, and he feels childlike between the two men.
"We need verbal confirmation of status," Minho says, and Felix hears the Launch Director echo as much to the Fortuna.
Jiwoon nods, glancing down at the clunky headset. His fingers have barely twitched towards it when the blaring siren peals and keens. 134 says H. Hwang BPM.
"Protocol has Launch communicating," Jiwoon presses back. "We're not supposed to engage CAPCOM until the boosters disengage–"
Protocol? Felix screams in his head, staring at Jiwoon with what he's sure is open-mouthed shock. Minho's gaze flickers down to him, then to the headset.
Felix presses one of the ear cups against his head. Astronaut Hwang's breaths are coming too fast, and that's it; only breath, no words, and Felix remembers exactly how that feels. Hell, he remembers how it felt to experience that voice-robbing terror while seated in the Fortuna itself. Remembers pressure down his spine like a knife blade, remembers trying to scream and finding no available breath with which to do so.
"He's panicking," Felix says. Jiwoon glances at him.
"It doesn't matter–"
"What?" Felix asks. Growls, really.
"There's protocol," Jiwoon says. He taps at Minhyuk's desktop, to the second-by-second breakdown of what happens when, and who talks at what moments. "Deviations are dangerous. We need to stick to the script–"
"–but he doesn't need that!" Felix snaps. "And he's the one who's in space and scared–"
"Felix," Minho says, and it might be a warning or it might be encouragement, Felix can't tell; all he knows is that his Hyung's eyes are white rimmed with fear. His fingers tighten around the headset.
It's against protocol. It's so against protocol it's stupid.
But right now, the protocol is stupid. And if Astronaut Hwang Hyunjin spirals into a full blown panic … will they abort the mission before they can even leave the stratosphere?
He thinks of the handsome astronaut with the handsome mole, with his Walt Whitman poetry and penchant for Felicette and plant lore.
Well, this'll probably get me fired, he thinks.
There are voices; maybe. Maybe Chan's and Jisung's and Changbin's; probably the Launch Director's, too.
He hears none of it. Just the rush of his blood, of gravity, and of a thousand pounds of fuel burning a synthetic comet below.
He's not scared of dying. He's not sure what he's scared of, only that he's scared in a primal way, and nothing is breaking through – not counting his breaths, nor the voices of his crewmates, nor Walt Whitman's words, In the mystical moist night-air, and, and, and what–?
"Hey, Astronaut Hwang."
The sun.
The sun made into sound. Deep and warm, resonant to his marrow – no, to his DNA. It breaks through the horrible din that otherwise surrounds him, but it does so with all the resilient comfort of a morning sunbeam over the horizon.
"Listen to my voice, okay?" Sunshine says. "You know what to do, and your body knows what to do. You can be freaking out and losing your shit, but just trust your training. Muscle memory, yeah?"
Maybe it's the sea-deep bass of the voice, or maybe it's the somewhat gravity-shifting reality of hearing CAPCOM swear, and during a launch no less, but either way, Hyunjin's next breath filters deeper into his lungs. His vision clears, and even though the gravity is so, so much more, he feels like he's back in his body.
You know what to do. Your body knows what do do. Trust your training.
"Astronaut Hwang? Do you, um, copy?"
Hyunjin swallows. His voice is steadier than he might have expected when he responds: "Copy, Sunshine. I'm a go."
"Um?" Jisung shouts. "What–?"
CAPCOM exhales in relief and cuts Jisung off. "Copy, um, Fortuna. Approaching booster separation."
It's a roar.
It's deafening and all-encompassing. It's like being torn at the atomic level, but the intensity of it – removed from hellish noise of it all – manages to stun Hyunjin in awe, just shy of aw-ful. There's no movement to be harnessed at this level of speed. There's only acceptance – of the crushing gravity, of the risks, and of the possibilities.
If there are voices, Hyunjin can't hear them. And yet, the panic doesn't return.
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself, he thinks, clear as crystal in his head, as the Fortuna shakes and shudders. In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time.
There's a moment where he thinks it will kill them all, this weight; a punitive death for dreaming too big and reaching to far. But as quickly as the thought comes, that weight it gone. The rushing, too, dampens and quiets. He breathes in, and the air seems to bubble and expand within his lungs until he feels so light.
It's a feeling he recognizes. It's not just less weight; it's the absence of it.
He lifts his head and looks out the view port, at the velvet-black expanse of space ahead and the blowing curve of distant earth below.
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
He's not sure which one of them laughs first, only that the sound is as giddy and gravity-free as their bodies, and within seconds, the other three are joining in. And they're here, they're in space, and Hyunjin freaked out, sure, but not so much to abort mission! And he can see the way that the round globe of the earth is carved and etched with land and ocean, the way the sunshine reflects on the–
"Oh my God," Hyunjin gasps. He looks at his crewmates, still crinkle-eyed and giddy. "Oh my God. I called him–"
"Yup," Changbin nods.
"You did," Jisung confirms.
Chan doesn't dignify Hyunjin with a response. He just snorts and presses the comms button on the console.
"Houston, Houston, this is Fortuna. And we did it."
A crackle. That ocean deep voice. "Copy, Fortuna, we're glad to hear. How are things looking from up there?"
Chan winks at Hyunjin. "Pretty bright, if I do say so myself."
Hyunjin grumbles and turns to look out the window. Twenty days in space is a dream; he didn't anticipate twenty days of relentless mockery.
Twenty days with that voice, though …
He didn't realize they were getting a new CAPCOM, but he can't say he's mad about it.