Chapter Text
2 Hours Before:
The sky itself seemed to mock Seongjae on the first day of his reassignment. Bitter clouds swirled above the jeep, threatening to pour down and add pathetic fallacy to the air surrounding it. In the rear of the vehicle, Seongjae grappled with the weight of his eyelids and the sweet drag of slumber, gripped his trousers in trembling fists to force himself into the present.
The ground beneath them could barely be considered a road, every ten seconds of the journey on this offshoot was marked by a sharp dip and the clang of gear knocking together. It made the tension in Seongjae’s shoulders wind impossibly tighter.
At the hour mark, a break in the almost-silence pulled up alongside the jeep, having emerged from an even more twisted route. The truck kept pace with the speeding cage Seongjae resigned himself to 45 minutes ago, giving him enough time to notice a soldier sloping confidently over the edge of the truck bed. The other soldiers’ heads bobbled with every bump of the truck, but this soldier was firmly draped against the flow - as though he alone remained free from moral constraints that would otherwise bend and slacken his figure in that moment.
Seongjae’s sleep-addled eyes focused on where the soldier’s dangling hand toyed with a lighter, flick, flick, flicking as the flame licked into the darkness. Seongjae moved his eyes up fractionally to the camouflaged face of the man, the black and red smeared across his features serving only to highlight the startlingly focused gaze he already had on Seongjae.
Can he even see past the glare on the windows? He swallowed uncomfortably but couldn’t bring himself to look away, to look anywhere but into the shadowy embers burning in those eyes outside, even as uneven ground jostled his vision.
The speed of the truck whipped the smoke of the soldier’s lit cigarette away as soon as he puffed it past a tilted smirk. He rolled the cigarette between his teeth with his tongue as he stared. Seongjae’s heart jumped in time with a swift dart of it to the side. In the corner of his vision, he saw a second soldier lean in. He must have whispered something amusing to the man who had rendered his breathing shallow, as the smirk ticked upwards.
The soldier’s other hand came up to the cigarette, took one last drag, then flicked it at the jeep with practiced ease. The truck jerked and picked up speed the moment the cigarette kissed the glass between the two, careening down an overgrown road leading up to the demilitarised zone.
Seongjae was now completely alert, he felt the impact of the cigarette against the window acutely despite the droning of tyres against gravel - he felt the scorched end of it burning clean into his chest, stinging all the way down to the pit sitting in his core.
———
Now:
At the outpost, Seongjae is led by Sergeant Park Jaeyoung to fill out forms in one of the stuffy, cramped offices.
Sergeant Park is overly relaxed, as one of the highest-ranking soldiers stationed out in Ganglim. He lazes on the couch as Seongjae sits stiffly at the monitor and scrolls through the questions.
He fills out the questionnaire carefully, tries not to slouch in the chair as his mind wanders. This is weird, he thinks, In the car they mentioned me being an “S Class” - when are they planning on explaining that?
The next question he scrolls to gives him pause. Family Situation? He wills himself not to think about it, to reign in the sadness he senses seeping from his eyes every time that is mentioned.
The private sitting adjacent lifts his head at the stilling of Seongjae’s hands on the keyboard. He swallows. Single mother, younger sister. Enter.
He rushes the rest of the questions before his thoughts can catch up to him.
A few moments later, the private stands to retrieve the results from the printer. The words on the paper must gather to form a giant middle finger to Seongjae because both the private and Sergeant Park look from it to him with barely concealed vexation.
“Private,” Sergeant Park sits heavily behind his desk and rubs the corner of an eye.
“Private Kang Seongjae!”
“This- ” He starts, then considers his words again, “Keep this in clear view at all times, it tells the other soldiers that you need some extra…understanding.”
He pushes a canary yellow pin across the desk, adorned with a smiley face so joyful it’s almost menacing.
“Yes, Sir!”
Seongjae picks it up and pins the beacon on the left chest pocket of his uniform. Might as well have a neon sign flashing ‘kick me’ on my back. He clenches his hands at his sides when he’s done to prevent himself from fiddling with it further. The sergeant is already looking at him with something between pity and contempt in his eyes.
“Private Tak here will escort you to the barracks,” he sighs, dismissing the two with a wave of his hand, mumbling about his own consistent military misfortune.
———
“What the hell are you looking at?”
Seongjae startles out of his midday daze and whips his head towards Sergeant Yoon Donghyeon’s voice.
“Private Kang Seongjae! Nothing, Sir!”
Donghyeon gives him a skeptical sidelong look but allows it. He thinks the new recruit is having some kind of agonisingly slow mental break - manifesting in the form of bouts of empty staring into ‘nothing’, often accompanied by Seongjae talking to himself like a little creep. He doesn’t particularly want to get involved when his discharge is finally becoming something tangible. He returns to mixing a pot of something he believes is seaweed soup once he sees Seongjae return to himself.
That cannot be seaweed soup. Seongjae peeks at the boiling, bubbling mess the outpost cook is planning on serving and cringes. How am I gonna fix that?
For the past two weeks, Seongjae has been experiencing what he first thought were side effects of grief. As it turns out, however, grief does not make you grind like a madman to level up your cooking skills so you can become a ‘legendary’ chef. He’s also decided that it doesn’t make you hear an omnipresent voice chiming Level Up! every time he completes enough tasks. Enthusiasm? Here? He doesn’t think his mind is capable of conjuring up something that absurd. The overly bright voice bothers him even when he’s trying to fall asleep after a long day of peeling potatoes and trying to prevent mealtime disaster at Donghyeon’s hands.
As he ponders recipe options to rectify Donghyeon’s seaweed soup for the damned, a message pops out of the ether. ‘New Quest!’ dances in front of him. He darts his eyes to where the sergeant is doing bicep curls with a bag of flour, then quickly motions for the message to open.
‘New Quest: Likability Challenge’
Huh. That’s new.
‘An important figure is heading your way! Raise the Likability Level with them to progress on your journey to becoming a legendary kitchen soldier!’
Seongjae’s scans the text until he reaches the final, heart-halting sentence:
‘Failure in achieving a sufficient Likability Level will result in termination of the legendary kitchen soldier journey.’
This is ridiculous, what does a single person’s likability meter have to do with large-scale cooking?
After eventually saving the soldiers’ lunch from certain bottom-of-a-barrel doom, Seongjae allows himself to check the meter floating above Donghyeon’s unsuspecting meathead. 32% blinks back at him. A respectable number for two weeks’ worth of humble buttering-up. Seongjae elects to ignore this quest until the ‘important figure’ makes themselves known.
———
Another week flies by before the figure appears out of the shadows. Seongjae’s mind is filled with new knife skills, high star ingredients, and the 4-day leave rewarded by Captain Hwang as he makes his way down to the mess hall for breakfast duty. He wonders how his mom will react to his newfound cooking abilities while he prepares a soup base, smiling to himself in the dim morning glow of the kitchen.
“Yah. You. Kang Seongjae,” a rough voice shatters the gentleness of the morning.
“Private Kang Seongjae!” Turning from the stove, Seongjae stands at attention before he realises who spoke to him.
His eyes catch on the ‘Sgt. Shin Ahwi’ embroidered on the soldier’s pressed uniform shirt, then the sleeves that are firmly pulled down to his wrists despite the warming weather.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Seongjae’s eyes flit up obediently to the face that’s been neatly folded, packed and unpacked for the past three weeks in his mind. The absence of face paint is akin to the cold-water shock he experienced during basic training, leaving his lungs sinking while his head attempts to float right out the singular open window in the room. The face tilts, showing golden skin indicative of a coastal soldier – the sun is harsh on a good day. He must have gotten back from an assignment.
A tanned hand - the same one that hung over the side of the truck that day, Seongjae realises – drags through cropped black hair as Ahwi looks him up and down lazily.
He clamps his mouth shut for fear of what unintelligent comment he might make, gulps the wave until only stillness remains.
Ahwi considers him for a moment, a mean edge to his roaming eyes until they land on the physical culmination of Seongjae’s chagrin.
“Hm? What’s this, a smile button?”
Ahwi stalks towards him while Seongjae steels himself for a downpour, in spite of the cloudless sky. The sergeant towers over him, looks down with half-lidded eyes.
From this distance, he can see that Ahwi is several years older and the confidence he carries across the room solidifies his guess. Seongjae studies him even though he’s afraid - he just cannot tear his eyes away. He looks young, younger than Sergeant Park, for sure. Maybe 28? 30?
A finger reaches towards him, pressing the pin without much force. The roots around Seongjae’s ankles evaporate regardless, he stumbles a little before righting himself immediately.
“Private Kang Seongjae!”
“Why aren’t you smiling, Private? I pressed the button,” Ahwi leans in and stabs his finger into the pin again. “I want my prize.”
“Private Kang Seongjae!” He attempts to will his mouth into anything but the straight line it has become, to no avail. His heart thumps lamely.
“What’s your problem, huh?” Sergeant Shin spits out, the wild glint in his eye reflecting Seongjae’s fears in flames. The coiling dread in his gut is starting to constrict his throat, too.
He’d messed up by not shrinking into the background, again. His mind goes back to his previous post, from right after basic training. He was pushed around and around by the other privates for the feeble fire in his gaze, at once too much for a newbie and not enough for a toughened soldier.
A shove lands harshly on his right shoulder.
“Private Kang Seongjae!” Seongjae grits out faithfully, assuming position again.
A tilt of the sergeant’s head reveals the amusement accompanying his glare. He pushes into Seongjae’s space then, each sentence punctuated by a jab of his pointer finger directly into the smiley face beaming from the private’s fatigues.
“You, with your stupid little yellow badge. Did you really buy that shit Sergeant Park fed you? That you’ll be shielded because that head of yours is a little fucked up?”
“No, Sir!”
Sergeant Shin’s eyes glint again as he suddenly shoves Seongjae harder than before, hard enough to make him lose his footing entirely. He’s tipping sideways onto the mess hall’s tiled floor, eyes locked forwards in surprise.
“Get this into that thick skull of yours, Private,” Sergeant Shin peers down at Seongjae’s hunched form, enunciating carefully, “We’re all fucked in the head, just look around.” This is where a loyal dog is more valuable than an old friend, we’re all suffocating each other just to prove ourselves, he doesn’t say.
Before Seongjae can pick himself up from his point of impact, his superior has already turned on his heel, stalking away in measured stomps. He stops abruptly and looks over his shoulder, right into the flames in the other’s pupils, with one corner of his mouth curving upwards.
“You better smile next time.”
The mess hall’s double doors swing in time with the blood thumping in Seongjae’s head. He blinks and shakes it slightly in disbelief. Next time.
He eyes the door. The image of the sergeant’s wrath is overshadowed by the glaring meter that floated out the room with him. The words Likability Level: 30% sear straight into Seongjae’s retinas. That can’t be right, how-
The shrill wake-up bugle rings out around the outpost and the dread in his gut gives a half-hearted lurch at the sound.
———
The rest of the day goes by mind-numbingly slowly. While Seongjae relishes the satisfaction of his cooking being a hit with the other soldiers, he feels on edge underneath it all. One particular sergeant is missing from his sight. He leaves a rough-edged gap in the day that prickles his skin uncomfortably.
Why make a fuss and then disappear again? Seongjae grumbles internally when he catches himself scanning the line of soldiers queuing for dinner, searching for someone that’s not there.
Metal trays clank together noisily onto the counter. Washing up after meals is probably more laborious than cooking itself, and Seongjae hates it with a burning passion – it’s nothing like when he helped his dad after closing at the restaurant, gentle conversation always enveloped them and softened the task into something almost enjoyable. His eyes sting.
Ding!
He lifts his head to the system panel floating before him. What now?
‘Warning: threat incoming!’
He huffs a disbelieving laugh. The system alerts to threats now? What about all the other times I got pushed or pulled by the guys in the barracks? In the hall? A warning would’ve been nice. Seongjae grits his teeth in irritation at the thought.
The kitchen door bursts open, heavy black boots kicking in, already pointing towards Seongjae’s back where he hunches over the sink. He doesn’t have to see the two men before he feels the aforementioned threat closing in on him, the boots beat down onto the frayed nerves behind his fatigued eyes.
“Private. Kang. Seong. Jae,” Sergeant Han’s gaze bores into Seongjae’s yellow pin while Private First-Class Jo smirks grossly over Han’s shoulder.
“Private Kang Seongjae!” He is seriously beginning to tire of this.
“Where’s your guardian, huh? He tie you to a post so he can get his reps in?” Sergeant Han moves towards him, boots streaking black onto the tiles Seongjae had painstakingly scrubbed on his hands and knees.
“I’m asking you where he went, Private, answer me.” Jo follows Han to crowd Seongjae, his back against the cold edge of the sink.
It’s Han’s turn to smirk, now, as he suddenly wraps an arm around Seongjae’s neck and pulls until his breath is hitting the side of Seongjae’s face, revelling in his helplessness.
“Not gonna say anything?”
Seongjae doesn’t get the chance to answer.
“Are you guys pack animals or something? Only feel confident when you’ve got backup? Freaks.”
Another silhouette appears in the doorway, head cocked to the side, hands tucked in trouser pockets. Observing.
The pink flash of the Likability meter above the man’s head warns Seongjae of his identity before he even steps out of the hallway’s dim backlight. That 30% looms ominously.
Next to the meter, he notices a new message.
‘System Update: You may now view the target’s likability towards others!’
Great. He had already forgotten about the quest handed down by the system earlier. Each menial task in and around the mess hall pushed it to the back of his mind until the memory was uncertain.
Seongjae glances up again, to the grey meter that is now over Jo’s head.
‘Likability Level: -20%’
He blinks. He doesn’t disagree with that rating. Twisting in Han’s grasp, he tries to see what the new man in the room thinks of his fellow sergeant.
Minus sixty. Minus sixty-five? It’s going down? Why?
Shin Ahwi rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck, never taking his eyes off the arm trapping Seongjae against Han’s chest, narrowing them almost imperceptibly.
“Yah. You should answer when someone asks you a question,” he drawls.
Han releases Seongjae from his hold as though he’s been prodded with a fire-stoke. Maybe he has been; the blaze held in Ahwi’s glowering eyes is smouldering, Seongjae can feel the heat fanning towards himself.
“Shin, what’re you doing back? I thought you were out in- “
“That has nothing to do with you, Han,” Ahwi looks like this conversation is boring him into an early grave. He lingers on the red bloom rubbed into Seongjae’s neck by the other sergeant’s rough uniform.
“Right,” Sergeant Han backtracks, clearly uneasy in the presence of Ganglim’s own volatile shadow.
Seongjae had heard from Private Tak, over their first shared meal, that there was one soldier he should absolutely avoid by any means necessary. Tak had stressed one reason very pointedly: he’s insane. According to Tak, not even the commanding officers at his last station could control this guy - he swung bloodied fists at anyone who tried. He was eventually sent to Ganglim Outpost to be silenced, to become someone else’s problem entirely.
Though Tak never mentioned the soldier’s name, only his erratic nature, Seongjae is starting to realise that Sergeant Shin Ahwi is the man he meant, if Han and Jo’s reactions are anything to go by. The two hesitate, then salute and make themselves scarce, boots scuffing back down the hall, once they understand that Ahwi has business in the kitchen, and he’s not budging.
Alone with a supposed maniac, Seongjae gulps, reaches up to rub his neck, and drops his arm to stand a little straighter. His kitchen uniform is messed up, the cap on his head at an odd angle. He tries not to shuffle.
“Private Kang Seongjae! Can I help you, Sir?”
Ahwi’s eyes curve as he turns his body fully to him, leaning on the opposite counter.
“Can you help me?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Help…help…” he tests the word on his tongue, humming in thought.
Seongjae tips his chin down a fraction. There’s a puzzled look easing onto his face the longer the silence between them stretches and he senses his eyebrows arching up without his permission. Unbeknownst to him, the cool light emitting from the ceiling is sparkling brilliantly in the pooling brown of his eyes, accentuating every minuscule motion they make as he fails to understand this interaction.
Ahwi suddenly grins, baring sharp white teeth.
Likability Level: 35%
“Just keep looking at me like that, Kang Seongjae.”
Seongjae falters. “Sorry, Sir? Wha- ”
Ahwi pushes off the counter and is in front of him in two strides. He catches the collar of Seongjae’s uniform, yanking roughly until Seongjae suddenly finds himself flattened against the wall beside the fridge. If anyone were to stumble into the kitchen now, the pair would be hidden from sight. Stepping closer still, Ahwi removes Seongjae’s cap and brushes the short hair from his forehead with one hand before gripping it at the top of his head, then pulling it slightly. Ah. The motion forces their eyes to lock, breath mingling between them.
“Don’t worry so much about that, hm?”
Seongjae struggles to keep his mind afloat, he’s drifting straight into the depths of Ahwi’s staggeringly warm gaze, even though the strength in the grip tipping his head back, keeping his neck taut and open, should be grounding. His throat works around a ragged inhale. His mind is wiped of everything except for this moment; the fridge’s whirring melts into the tick, tick, tick of the clock and the faint bustle of training in the courtyard trickling through the window. Ahwi’s cologne is a woody petrichor, metallic on its opening note. A thunderstorm.
Ahwi’s other hand comes up to grasp his chin as he leans down further. He turns Seongjae’s head from left to right slowly while the fingers in his hair keep their hold, sending sparks down his scalp to where his ears are steadily reddening.
“Tell me, Seongjae-ah, how old are you?” He practically purrs into his ear, voice gravel under tyre - or perhaps it’s tyre on gravel; smooth in delivery with an underlying grit. Seongjae feels the goosebumps raising on his arms.
‘Seongjae-ah?’ What is happening right now? He’s- We’re-
A firm tug on his chin brings their faces closer, Ahwi is holding eye contact unabashedly as his thumb grazes the corner of Seongjae’s parted lips.
“I’m twenty-two, Sir.”
“Got someone waiting for you at home, Seongjae-ah?”
“Um, no, Sir.”
Likability Level: 38%
The hand in his hair releases and smooths down an ear, coming to rest at the base of his neck, fingers flexing.
This is bad. Really, really bad. He’s gonna feel my heart leaping out of my chest at this rate.
“Seongjae-ah.” Please stop calling my name like that.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Do you remember what I told you?”
Seongjae’s eyes trail away from Ahwi’s for a moment as he retrieves the memory. They snap back when the wayward thumb brushes against his bottom lip, then pushes in to follow the ridges of his teeth there, running side to side.
I can’t breathe.
His eyes water a little, all the air stolen from his lungs. Ahwi’s smirk morphs into a darker animal at the wetness making Seongjae’s eyelashes into shining inky streaks.
The pressure in his mouth lifts all of a sudden. It finds a new station squarely on the ever-bright yellow circle attached to Seongjae like a parasite. A firm jab into the pin’s face.
“Smile, Seongjae-ah.”
The hesitation drives Ahwi’s fingers to Seongjae’s cheeks. He pulls. Hard.
“I said smile.”
Seongjae’s eyebrows knit together with the effort of the awkward tilt of his lips. It looks more like a grimace than an actual smile but the sergeant in front of him seems satisfied all the same.
Likability Level: 43%
Ahwi pats his cheek once, twice, then forces the cap back over his wild hair. Leaning in a final time, his lips ghost the flaming red shell of Seongjae’s ear to say:
“Good boy.”
Ahwi smacks the brim of the cap down before stalking out of the kitchen in that measured manner of his, like he has all the time in the world and nobody to challenge him about it.
The dread lodged in Seongjae’s gut makes space for a sliver of something else as he watches the broad back retreat; a molten heat burning so deep it makes him shiver.
Maybe I’m the one who’s really insane.