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Langa hadn’t been here since he was young, gripping his dad’s hand in his little fingers, looking around at the place his newest dream resided.
Oliver wasn’t a pilot. He worked as an officer, dispatching Jaeger’s in Canada’s Shatterdome. Langa’s fingers had gently run over the controls, his eyes wide and sparkling with potential. His dad had ruffled his hair, told him that’s not all .
And as Langa looked up at the Jaegers, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. His heart felt bigger in his chest. Almost as big, just as big as when he was snowboarding with his dad. It felt bigger than the Kaiju. Bigger than the world.
And then his actual world came crumbling down.
He didn’t remember much. A scream, then more, someone yanking him away, foundations rumbling and crashing. A hand slipping out of his, no matter how desperately he tried to hold on. Pain. Then darkness. Way too much darkness.
Langa didn’t wake up until hours later, his mom sleeping next to his hospital bed, her face red and hair a mess. And Langa was left with the feeling that something had irrevocably shifted.
The Jaegers still looked larger than life. Langa gripped his helmet, staring at the one his own dad had helped create. The one his dad had helped program. His training wasn’t done, yet, but Langa knew without a doubt that this one would be his.
It only reacts to you, they told him, puzzled. It sparked something in Langa’s brain, electric, hopeful.
If he could find someone he was compatible with, that was.
His mom had cried when he told her he was going into the pilot program. He could tell she wanted to be happy for him, really, but the idea of losing both her boys to the program was almost unthinkable. Langa could see it on her face. He swore to himself not to make her cry anymore.
Langa had hugged her back, in the first time that felt like years. He was pretty sure she cried harder.
Now he was so, so close to what he wanted. So close to stepping into a robot to save the world.
Most of his attempts had failed. Sometimes Langa lingered on the thought that maybe, in some other world, he and his dad had been drift compatible. They probably were. Probably could’ve been.
He didn’t let himself linger on the what if’s.
He had one more test for the day. He turned away from the Jaeger, facing the simulation deck instead.
They introduced him to a tan, blonde man. Langa couldn’t remember his name. He smirked at Langa, and he already felt, deep down, this wasn’t going to work. Langa wanted to try anyway.
“ Okay, ” the instructor's voice came over the comms. He was even more monotone than Langa on his worst days, and he thought that was a feat. “ Are we ready? ”
“Yep,” Langa said.
“Yessir,” the other guy said, smirk still in place. Langa didn’t like it.
The Drift went just as terribly as Langa expected. He barely got any memories through before the pain was too much, too little feeling, nothing connecting or sparking or melding like they were supposed to. Unstoppable object meeting immovable force. Sandpaper against the wind.
Langa came out from it with a pained gasp. The instructor gave him a pitying glance. Something similar to shame went down Langa’s spine, cold like sweat. He took off his helmet, gripping it so hard he thought it would dent.
Five months. Langa had been trying for five months. They let him, again and again, because of his dad, because of his potential. He had the mind to drift, he could do it, had even volunteered to pilot a Jaeger alone. But it hadn’t been done before, not long term, and they weren’t looking to start now.
So that landed Langa where he was now, grasping at straws, while pilots in training younger than him Drifted with their other half flawlessly.
The blond man looked angry. Langa just felt empty.
><><><><
“Hasegawa,” someone said.
Langa turned. At the entrance of the room stood Sakurayashiki, one half of the Jaeger Matchablossom, head officer of the program.
“Sir,” Langa replied, bowing. It still sort of hurt his back.
Sakurayashiki sighed. “You’re the last graduate from your class,” he said, like Langa didn’t know. He had a clipboard, which he tap tap tapped. Langa focused on that. The officer pursed his lips. “We’re going to start pairing you with younger students.”
Langa blinked at the other man again.
“You have promise,” he continued. “You could be amazing if you just… Let someone in.”
Langa opened his mouth to retort, to say he was trying, that it wasn’t his fault nobody clicked, that maybe if his dad–
Langa didn’t say anything.
“You wouldn’t be able to start right away. You’d have to wait for your copilot to finish their training. The next graduation period is in almost two years. Is that alright?”
One look at Sakurayashiki would tell Langa it wasn’t up for debate. It was this or nothing.
Langa pursed his lips. Contemplated it, though mostly for show. Nodded once. The officer nodded back, with a look that was maybe pity or maybe indifference, and was gone in a flurry of pink hair and robes. Langa turned back to the training dummy.
It’s this or nothing.
He hit the dummy again, like maybe it would hit back, and maybe it would slide into place next to his heart.
><><><><
The next day came with little fanfare, his normal routine, shifted a bit to wear his training gear instead of a Jaeger uniform. Tight, sleeveless black turtleneck and loose pants. He shifted his training staff from hand to hand, staring at himself in the mirror. He tied his hair up. Let it back down. Took a deep breath.
A line of kids were already waiting for him in the sparring room. Sakurayashiki was there again, clipboard in hand, along with Joe, who insisted on being called Joe because his last name was too long, unlike certain shrimp haired wannabes.
Sometimes Langa didn’t know why they were Drift compatible. Others, it was impossible to ask why they wouldn’t be.
“Langa!” Joe called, his voice boisterous. Sakuryashiki stepped on his foot, which had the opposite effect of shutting him up. Some of the kids giggled.
“Hey,” Langa responded, settling into the middle of the room. “I’m ready.”
Joe grinned at him, beckoning over the first kid. He had neat brown hair, a smug but proud face, yet nothing else stuck out to Langa. He introduced the boy, a gentle hand on his shoulder that had him preening.
“You all know the rules,” Sakurayashiki started. “First to four points. Remember, this isn’t a fight. It’s a dialogue. You and your copilot are supposed to work as one, seamlessly and–”
“Okay!” Joe interrupted. “Ready?” They both bowed. “Begin!”
The other boy was on the offensive immediately, but Langa dodged his attack with ease, stepping to the side and letting the boy almost fall on his face. Langa tapped the boys back with ease.
“One to zero,” Joe called.
The kid lunged again. Langa wanted to sigh.
He felt nothing the rest of the fight. His heart rate barely spiked, his points won easily due to the kids strategy of going on the offensive. He seemed to get more and more frantic, and Langa almost felt bad for him.
Four to zero.
The next girl up had darker, shoulder length hair. She showed more potential. But she second guessed her moves, hesitating for only a second, and a second was enough for Langa to score a hit.
Four to zero.
Next kid.
Four to zero.
And then the next.
Four to zero.
The number of students was dwindling.
Four to zero. Four to zero. Four to zero.
He risked a glance at Sakurayashiki. He was frowning at his clipboard. Even Joe’s eyes were strained, despite his painted grin. Langa gripped his training staff harder. Enough that he felt it sting his palms. He let out a deep breath, looking at his next partner.
His eyes met emerald green, and the stare was so intense Langa almost stepped back.
Joe’s grin seemed to become genuine. He stepped up, ruffling the kid’s hair. The kid hissed in retaliation, and Langa was struck with the fact he couldn’t have been older than fifteen.
“This is Miya,” Joe started. “He’s one of our younger candidates. A prodigy, if you will.” Joe’s grin was big and hopeful. It gave Langa a bit of hope too.
Joe’s hair was still in Miya’s hair, and he bristled. He reminded Langa a bit of a cat. After he glared at Joe, he turned to Langa, a smirk on his face.
Oh, yeah, definitely cat-like.
Langa gave him a small smile back.
Fighting Miya was different from fighting the other kids immediately. He was more sure of his actions, graceful in a way most of the others weren’t, graceful like Langa. He ducked while Miya jumped. Their staffs met in the middle.
There was a rush. It was small, barely there, but a rush nonetheless. Langa’s gut stirred. It was fun.
Langa got the first point, barely stopped from hitting Miya in the face. Miya scowled, but Langa was too pleased to do anything but give him a tiny grin.
One to zero.
The next point went to Miya, who managed to glide between Langa’s legs, jumping up to tap his waist. Langa wondered why he wasn’t thrown off his feet.
One to one.
They went back and forth. It reminded Langa of ocean waves. He had seen them for the first time years ago, when he first arrived in Okinawa. Large swaths of water crashing against rocks, hard and solitary things. Langa thought he was the rock, or they were both waves, slipping, slipping.
Two to two.
But rocks eroded after time. They grew slippery. The coast receded.
Three to two.
Miya was shaky.
They were close. So close.
The connection slipped from his grasp.
Four to two.
Miya was sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving, Langa having knocked him off his feet. His heartbeat slowed, but he wanted to scream.
“That was… Good,” Langa started, but Miya swatted him away.
“It wasn’t enough,” he said, and he seemed more devastated than Langa. Maybe Langa was getting used to it.
(His heart still ached. A slow pain.)
Miya accepted Langa’s hand, but immediately went for the door. Joe was giving him a sad smile. Sakurayashiki was vigorously writing something down. Miya bumped shoulders with someone in the shadows.
“You’re all dismissed,” the pink haired man said, and Joe winced, elbowing him. He glanced back up at Langa, his lips thin.
This or nothing, Langa repeated. He didn’t want to believe it.
“Stay here,” Sakurayashiki said, Joe following him out.
Langa sat with his back against the wall, hair plastered to his forehead and chugging water despite barely needing it. He felt its cold trail all the way down to his stomach. Langa was used to the cold. He didn’t shiver.
Something shifted in the shadows. Langa looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
There stood a boy with fire engine red hair.
He looked about Langa’s age, eighteen, freckles splattered like constellations over his round cheeks. He didn’t look like a candidate. Too old, too covered in motor oil, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and cargo pants.
But still, he radiated… Something. Something Langa hadn’t felt in a while.
Warmth, his brain told him, but Langa was currently dripping in sweat. Warmth, it insisted.
So Langa asked anyway.
“What?” the boy croaked. “Huh?”
“Are you a candidate?” Langa repeated.
The boy flushed the same color as his hair. Langa found it charming.
“Uh, no. I just came to watch and–”
“Spar with me anyway.”
The boy looked more bewildered than before. “ Huh ?” he spluttered. He looked a bit like a fish. Or the chipmunk he had rescued from the snow with his dad, once.
That memory was old.
“Spar with me,” Langa said, voice nonchalant, but he was bouncing on his heels. That wasn’t normal for him, really, but something like adrenaline had started pouring into his veins when he met the boy's eyes. He felt giddy, his heart pounding, and maybe it was from the little voice still in his head whispering warmth.
The boy's eyes widened. And Langa saw something, something like excitement, like anticipation, so it came as no surprise when the boy shook his head while saying “yes.”
Langa threw him a training staff, and he caught it with more efficiency than Langa would assume from a non-student. He twirled it, deftly, shooting Langa a shy grin. Langa’s smile was almost full force.
They bowed.
Then, like magnets, they collided.
The effect was different from when he had felt with Miya. The other boy had been a push and pull, a give and take. Langa had heard of pairs like that, ones who filled in missing pieces of the other. Miya wasn’t that. Neither was the boy in front of him now.
Langa stepped back. The boy met him blow for blow. Wood clashing, panting, soft giggles, those were the only sounds left in the room. No starstruck kids, or distracting whispers. It was just Langa and a boy like the sun.
Their steps fell into place. It was easy, practiced, like a slope that Langa had traveled dozens of times before. Familiar, with maybe a new bump or two, a new surprise, something that pulled the laughter from his throat before he knew it was there.
The room shrunk to just the two of them. Langa heard snow falling. He felt the sun on his face. He felt himself rolling down a snow covered hill. He tasted the briny air of the beach in the middle of summer.
His hand was small, held in gentle warm ones larger than his own. His hands were scraped and bandaged, tan and freckled, holding ones that were soft and smaller. He was laughing on a skateboard. He was snowboarding into a tree.
The boy hit his arm. Langa got him in the side.
One to one.
The boy’s hair was held up with a disastrously placed headband. Langa’s hair tie was still on his wrist. It got in both their faces. They each took advantage.
Two to two.
They breathed in sync, Langa thought, his pulse racing. He pushed forwards, and the boy ducked. Langa just laughed when his back was hit.
Two to three.
He swung again, the tip of his training staff hitting the boy square in the chest. He laughed too, not breathy like Langa’s own rasp, but bright and clear. Like the sun after a fresh snowfall.
Three to three.
They continued. No push, no pull, just malleable, gentle and strong, and the boy fell back like the ocean would be there to catch him, but not before his hand was gripped in Langa’s shirt and pulled him down.
Their weapons fell together.
Four to four.
Langa’s heart ignited.
They breathed, just for a moment, face to face and in sync, before breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. Langa’s stomach ached from it, his eyes misty, his heart trying to escape his ribcage, and he thought, what a wonderful place to be.
“I’m Langa,” he said, catching his breath, staring into amber eyes. Soft red hair settled on the mattress like licks of flame.
“Reki,” the boy replied, with a smile that was equal parts warm and sharp.
They were close. Blue strands mixed with red. His freckles were strangely shaped, not just circles, not just dots, but stars. Supernovas. Constellations made of far away planets.
“Well,” Sakurayshiki said from somewhere, and Langa jumped up. He hadn’t even known the other man was in the room.
Reki scrambled out from under him, so quick Langa didn’t know how he escaped. He mourned the heat the other boy brought with him immediately, like shade being given after basking in the sun.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, though Langa didn't know what for. “I didn’t mean to–I was really just leaving–”
Sakurayashiki held up his hand. He stared straight at Langa. Langa smiled, wide, wide, wide.
“I want him,” he said, ignoring Reki choking on air.
“What–I am a mechanic! A mechanics apprentice! I–”
“Alright,” Sakurayashiki said, stunning Reki into silence. He looked up at Reki, and Langa glanced at him too. He was gaping, again, a flush of exertion high on his cheeks. “Come with me, Kyan.”
Reki looked at Langa again, pointing at himself. Langa gave him a thumbs up. Reki looked exasperated, if not almost fond, and it kicked Langa’s heart into overdrive once again.
He wanted to say something, though. Maybe to reassure Reki. Or to inform him of… Anything. He stood up. He was taller than Reki, though just barely, and the other boy's hair more than made up for the difference.
“I haven’t been able to find someone I’m drift compatible with, yet,” Langa started. Reki’s eyes widened, as if the puzzle pieces were clicking into place. “And right now, I’m compatible with you. I felt it. ” He looked into Reki’s eyes, trying to read the emotions swirling behind them, not distracted by his long eyelashes, his strong eyebrows. Langa gulped. “Did you feel it, too?”
Wordlessly, Reki nodded.
“I felt it, too,” he whispered. Then, louder, “I felt it!”
He gripped Langa’s arm, shaking it until Langa felt it was going to pop out of its socket. “I felt it Langa! I never thought I would, you know? Oh my gosh, man! We felt it!”
Reki’s excitement was contagious. Langa’s heart kept pounding.
“The drift,” Reki said, barely above a whisper, and Langa was tempted to catch those two words in a jar, to keep their hopefulness and light like fireflies, so he could bask in its echo of true light.
“C’mon, then,” Sakurayashiki said, and this time it was Reki sending him a double thumbs up, bounding out the door.
Langa didn’t think he would ever feel the same.
><><><><
Reki had wanted to be a Jaeger pilot for as long as he could remember. It was a shared goal, a shared dream. He and his best friend would ride their skateboards, pretending to fight the Kaiju, winning every battle, always drift compatible.
It was supposed to be them.
When they were young, fresh meat in the program, there was an accident. It shook entire systems, collapsed simulators. The simulator they had both been in.
Reki came out relatively unscathed. He couldn’t say the same for his friend. He couldn’t save him. And if he couldn’t save one of the people he cared for the most, how was he going to save the rest of the world?
He never figured out if they were drift compatible. Maybe they never would’ve been, after he threw Reki away so easily. After he threw away their childhood.
Reki dropped out. He took up mechanics, deciding that if he couldn’t be in the Jaeger, he would at least be a part of them, somehow. If only a little bit of his soul was poured into saving people, into making these robots that could save the human race, it would have all been worth it.
He studied under Oka, learning all he needed to know and then some, and then some more. Oka told him he overworked. Reki just stuck his tongue out at him and kept reading under the fluorescents of the workshop.
Years went by like this, with Reki laughing and building and applying his skateboard making knowledge, ignoring the little chunk of his heart that was missing.
Until Langa Hasegawa transferred and came barreling into his life.
><><><><
The procedures Reki had to endure to reapply to the program were tedious and boring, and Langa was glad he didn’t need to figure out the brunt of the work. Langa didn’t know why he hadn’t finished the program in the first place.
He hoped Reki would tell him before the first time they drifted. He wondered if Reki dropped out before he transferred. He wondered.
But quickly, Langa found that hanging out with Reki was the highlight of his entire stay. They trained together. They ate together. They watched dumb movies. Reki enthusiastically showed him videos on skateboarding, demonstrating with his tech deck, moaning about how he couldn’t bring his own board here. They laughed until they cried. And they trained some more.
Three drops, two kills. Four drops, three kills. Four drops, four kills. They had been especially proud after the last one.
Langa found that talking to Reki was easy. He asked questions Langa had never considered before, poked and prodded the places Langa was soft, but not enough to bruise. He was as bright as his hair, a fire, candlelight, his North Star in the pitch dark sky, following him everywhere and anywhere he wanted to go. He was the burning spot of light in a deep tunnel Langa had barely managed to escape.
“ Langa! ” Reki screamed one day, when the simulator got a bit too hard, a bit too real. He was thrown to the side, barely jolted, but Reki had looked at him like a ghost.
Later, Langa learned about a childhood dream left crumpled at Reki’s feet. Langa held Reki’s hands in his own and promised never to leave, never on purpose.
Miya approached Langa again, asking for guidance, although it looked like he was tortured into doing so. Reki laughed, ruffling his hair and pulling his cheeks, cooing over the student. Miya almost bit him. They were fast friends.
Langa’s past visited him again, sometimes. The building collapse. His father nowhere to be seen. Images he couldn’t sort through, real or nightmare. The red, the smoke, the darkness that pulled him under. Sometimes he thought he heard bones.
He went to Reki’s door, those nights. Reki was awake already a lot. Langa didn’t ask. He could see the picture frame on his nightstand, the tear stained letters from home.
They would do what they always did, watch videos and giggle into the night and talk about the future, a future without Kaiju’s and fighting and war. It was wishful thinking, maybe. It kept them sane.
“I call him Cherry,” Reki snickered one night, referring to Sakurayashiki. “It matches his Jaeger. Cherry blossom.” He thought for a moment. “I dunno about Joe though. Maybe his hair?”
Langa couldn’t help but smile back.
They would call him that to themselves, on call or where he couldn’t hear. Langa slipped up, one day, calling him Cherry to his face. His face reflected the namesake. Reki hadn’t been able to hold back his howling laughter.
Time passed too quickly, yet not at all. Reki passed his training course faster than average, the need to start piloting now was too great. They doubled down on the simulators.
Their record was six drops, six kills. Reki had whooped and tackled Langa in a hug when it happened.
And, suddenly, it was the day of their first run.
Langa woke up to the sound of Reki’s alarm, one that was sounding more and more familiar than his own. The ritual was ingrained in them by now. They both got up, groggy, elbowing each other over the bathroom sink, laughing hard enough that toothpaste came out from Reki’s nose.
Reki groaned. Langa laughed harder.
Helping each other into their suits was a newer habit. The first layer went on separately, but the second was handled with care. Reki helped with Langa’s, his hands already scarred and marked and sure, warmth emanating from every touch. Langa felt like he was going to explode.
Then Reki smiled up at him, and all the energy went into not melting instead.
Langa helped Reki into his own suit. He tied Reki’s hair up with a blue bandana, instead of his usual headband, making sure any flyaways didn’t get in his face.
“Dramatic, much,” Reki muttered, but he braided Langa’s hair out of his face too. Langa smiled.
They made a quick stop for breakfast before going to their designated Jaeger.
“You’re insatiable,” Reki said, slapping Langa on the back of the neck.
Langa couldn’t reply due to the fact his face was stuffed with food. He shrugged instead, smiling at Reki, and Reki stuck his tongue out at him in disgust, mirth playing beneath his eyes.
Nerves only started to settle once they arrived. He looked up at the big, towering Jaeger. One piece of his dads soul. A piece of so many others. She was shiny, a crystal light blue, orange decals around his face, hands, and legs. Langa swallowed. He felt Reki grab his hand, a solid presence next to him. Langa relaxed as his thumb made sweeping motions across Langa’s knuckles.
“Are you ready for this?” Reki whispered, to make sure his voice didn’t echo, to keep them in their little bubble for a moment more.
Langa looked over at him. At the beautiful boy he had found by chance. The one who confessed to him why he wanted to be a pilot, why he stopped, and then why he gave Langa his last chance. His last thread of hope. How Langa weaved that strange into an intricate braid, amplifying it, without even knowing. Langa wanted to say he could feel it every time Reki did his hair, or touched the moles on his cheeks, or laughed his bright, twinkling laugh. He looked at the boy who told Langa he had given him so much, when in reality, he was sure Reki had given him much more. Reki had given him hope, and love, and security. Reki had given him a bright place to look when the world was monotonous and cruel and unjust. Reki had given him a partner.
Reki had given him late nights, a shoulder to lean on, a small crevice in his heart that felt like home. He had given Langa stories and secrets. Teaching his sisters to skateboard. What made up a Jaeger, the intricacies of its parts, how exactly it was made and how it functioned, how puzzle pieces fit together. Langa told him about his fathers Kaiju research, an officer who wanted to share his knowledge, A Kaiju’s base instincts and their motivations, ones that Langa felt he understood.
Reki had given him trust and Langa gave him his entire soul in return. Langa would never ask for it back.
This boy made of starlight and sunshine and a blazing inferno gave so much. Langa wanted him to have everything in return.
He squeezed Reki’s hand, and hoped that would be enough. Reki squeezed back, pushing forwards so that their foreheads were pressed together, soft and warm and everything Langa loved. A small and giddy grin played on his face, and Langa was sure that it was.
They each took a deep breath. Let it out together, and Langa envisioned their souls mingling, intertwining, so you couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.
It felt like a beginning.
><><><><
There was only color. And laughter. Warmth and snow and memories flashing by. Something soft. Yearning. A mothers gentle hand.
Fear like lightning. Fear like molasses.
A laugh he didn’t recognize. Another that he did. Pink hair. An orange shirt. Green eyes.
Ice blue. Blue, blue, blue. Freezing him over, thawing him out, a hand against his frantically beating chest. His freckled hands cradling a beautifully pale face. Lips on his forehead when he was homesick.
A gentle humming. A song his father sang with his mom. A lullaby that Reki knew. A bone crushing hug Langa never thought he would initiate. A shy peck on a starburst shaped freckle. A gentle press of lips on a beauty mark underneath his eye.
Home, home, home, home.
They both gasped. In sync, as if they were meant to, like they played fate right into their hands.
For Infinity was alive.