The man had been gone for a while, but still the nap he’d wanted so much earlier seemed unattainable. Sleep wouldn't come to him, and instead a feeling he hadn't felt in longer than he could remember nagged at him: guilt.

It didn't make sense to him, since he was decidedly against trusting the man, but still he felt guilty for not trusting him to return the blanket to him now that he'd kept his promise. It was ridiculous, and he shook his head at himself again, burying his face in his hands and the blanket.

He couldn't trust the man; he couldn't. Even if he wanted to. Despite everything he said, he must have a reason, a motive to be doing all this for him. And until he knew what that really was, he couldn't trust him, and he shouldn't feel guilty for not doing it.

He flinched to himself; he didn't want to be at war with himself, denying what he felt, denying what he wanted. The whole world was his enemy; he didn't need to be his own enemy as well.

He needed to fight for himself, not against himself. He needed to take care of himself, keep himself safe. And that included finding out for sure what the man he was stuck with wanted from him. He needed to get himself together for good and brave talking to the man. It was the only way to find out more about him.

He sighed, deflating a little.

It was scary, really scary. He had no idea what he would find out in the end, but there was that insistent spark in the back of his mind -that somehow had become a little brighter after the blanket had been returned to him- that kept piping up, whispering insistently that yes, the man most likely had a motive to be doing all this for him; but, it was possible that the motive didn't necessarily mean something bad for him.

He hated that little spark, but he couldn't shut it up. And if he was being really honest, he thought he probably couldn't live without that spark.

Slowly, he finally drifted off to sleep, at least a light one, until the sound of keys in the lock of the front door woke him again. He blinked himself awake quickly, immediately mindful of his resolution to finally talk to the man. Properly.

The man didn't come to the room, though, like he’d expected. He could hear him rummage around a little, and then there was silence.

He frowned. How could he talk to the man if the man wasn't coming over?

The answer was as obvious as it was frightening: he would have to be the one going out there to talk to the man.

His heartbeat sped up at the thought and his hands curled into tight fists. Talking in the first place would be hard enough, how could he do it if he had to do it somewhere where he didn't feel safe?!

His thought process came to a screeching halt. Wait a minute; by that logic, if outside of this room was not safe, did that mean that while in this room… had he really…

He exhaled slowly, acknowledging what he could hardly wrap his mind around.

He felt safe in this room.

Well, as safe as he could ever feel, but still. More than anywhere else.

Considering he didn't feel safe, ever, anywhere, didn't even really know what that meant, it wasn't much, but… As far as he could tell, he did feel safe in this room.

He swallowed, as that was neither here nor there right now. He needed to talk to the man, as soon as possible, before his courage left him; not that he had much to begin with, but if he kept dragging it out it would soon leave him completely again.

Before he could get distracted once more, he got up and, without making any sound, approached the door. He could hear a very faint, arrhythmic clicking and tapping coming from somewhere on the other side of the apartment, probably the living room. Other than that, there was nothing.

He took a deep breath, holding onto the edge of the doorframe tightly.

It couldn't be that hard; he just had to open the door and walk over to the living room. And talk.

He winced at himself. 'Just’. That was a very big 'just’!

Then again, he had left the room with the man there in the apartment before. Earlier that day, even.

Granted, he’d never actively sought out the man then, but when the man found him out of his room, there had been no bad consequences for him. It didn't look like leaving the room would get him in trouble.

But what if interrupting the man in whatever he was doing would get him into trouble?

Again, he winced, gripping the doorframe so hard he heard the wood crack softly, complaining about the harsh treatment. His grip loosened instantly, but his fear didn't.

But what choice did he have, except waiting until the man came to his room again? And would he dare speak up then? What if the man reacted harshly to him addressing him directly, without prompting, about a topic of his choice? What if he punished him for it?

It would be better if he punished him outside of the room; it would help maintaining the slight feeling of security it provided him with if nothing bad happened to him while in the room. So, in a way, it was better to talk to the man somewhere else.

His stomach locked into a tight knot, he forced himself to stop thinking and start acting, and opened the door as quietly as possible. He held his breath again, listening out for any change of the sounds in the apartment, but there was only the steady incessant clicking and tapping, definitely coming from the living room. That must be where the man was.

He exhaled slowly, taking a deep breath and rushing down the hallway without making a sound and coming to a halt just next to the open door. Now he could hear the man's soft, calm breathing, too.

He closed his eyes shortly, taking another deep breath, and then peeked around the edge, into the room.

The man was half sitting half lying on the couch, a device propped up on his stomach which he kept tapping continuously, producing the clicking sounds. A laptop, he knew it was called, though he had only a vague idea what it was good for.

What was more interesting to him, though, was knowing that the man wouldn't be able to get up from where he was quickly, giving him enough time to run if he needed to. It helped reassure him even if just a little, encouraging him to take a step into the doorway, where the man could see him.

Except the man didn't.

The man kept his gaze fixed on the device in front of him, failing to see him standing in the doorway.

Biting his lip, he debated what to do. Should he make some noise to attract the man's attention? But how did one do that? He only knew how to not make any noises, so that no one noticed him…

Maybe he should just blurt what he came to talk about-...

He tensed; in his urgency to force himself to leave the room and come here, he had completely forgotten to think about what he should try to talk about with the man!

Panic welled up inside him, and he didn't know what to do. Should he just run back to his room before the man noticed his presence and come back when he’d come up with a topic?

No, that was a bad idea. He knew that once he returned to his room, he wouldn't find the courage to come back out again. It was now or never!

But what to talk about?!

He needed to come up with something quickly, before the man saw him standing there, unprepared…! What was something he could talk about, something he could say, or address, something that could interest the man? Something… maybe something he had asked once and he hadn't been able to answer then…

“I don't have a name.”

His eyes widened and he clamped his hands over his mouth, realizing he had just said that out loud.

Of all the things, how did he remember that right now? And why did he have to say it out loud?!

Ok, maybe not really loud, but loud enough for the man to hear and look past the laptop to where he was standing, petrified, in the doorway.

He cocked his head as he saw him there, surprise in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn't get that… What did you just say?”

He could barely hear the man over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, and when the man started to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, he hastily retreated a few steps, until his back bumped into the wall of the hallway behind him.

The man halted his actions, lifting his hands slowly and sitting back again, but without leaving him out of his sight.

“Sorry… sorry. I’ll stay here. Now… can you… can you repeat what you said? I'm sorry I didn't get it the first time; I was distracted…”

He took a couple of deep breaths, then crossed the hallway until he was standing in the doorway again. He swallowed thickly.

“You… you asked me for my name… A few days ago. But I… I don't have a… a name. That's why… why I couldn't… couldn't tell you… I’m sorry…”

He bowed his head, biting his lip again while his heart still raced, but still made sure to monitor every little movement of the man.

A small 'oh’ sound came from the man, and he had no idea how to place that sound. Was it good? Was it bad? Should he run?

“How come that you don't have a name? If you don't mind me asking; you don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

He shook his head a little, signaling it was ok. He didn't know when he had reached out to the doorframe for support, but again his fingers held onto the wood they found tightly.

“I… I forgot. No one ever used it, so I just… forgot.”

He heard the man inhale deeply, and looked up a little to gauge what his reaction was. The man’s expression was one of surprise, but also confusion.

“No one? But… people talked to you, right? They must have called you, too…”

He shifted in his spot, restless. Why did he have to choose this topic, of all topics?! It was too late now, though.

Eventually he nodded lightly.

“They did… But… they didn't use my name when I gave it… so I stopped giving it.”

The man hummed.

“What did they use instead?”

He flinched slightly.

“Numbers… nine… three… nine… two… nine… the fifth.”

The man scowled.

“Where did they call you that?”

Again, he shifted, once again hearing the faint cracking of the wood under his hand. He retracted it quickly, cradling it to his chest as if he'd burned himself.

“A-at-... The… the place I… where I came from…”

“The shelter?”

He shook his head vigorously.

“A long, long time ago…”

Understanding flashed in the man’s eyes.

“Ah… I see… but you left that place long ago, right? What did people call you since then?”

He wanted to go back to his room and curl up under his blanket, so, so bad; but he stayed. His lip already hurt from biting it so much, and it trembled as he let it go from between his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he started listing what he was tired of hearing.

“Animal… creature… maggot… worm… monster… aberration… k-ki-… kit-...” He trailed off, voice failing him as the term made him feel nauseous, bringing back wretched memories, and he swayed on his feet.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the man sit up again, gripping the edge of the couch but not getting up; he could tell he wanted to, though.

“Stop. Don't go on. You don't need to. I… You should never have been called those things. I'm sorry you were, but I won't ever call you anything like that, ok?”

He hadn't noticed how hard he was gripping onto his own hand until then, but he loosened his grip when the man's voice cut through the memories threatening to flood in and blend out reality.

“I'm sorry for prodding. For me, it is ok if you don't have a name. I don't need you to have a name, if you don't want one. Actually…” The man trailed off for a second, tilting his head curiously. “Do you? Would you like to have a name?”

His eyes widened and he looked up, accidentally meeting the man's gaze for a moment before looking elsewhere, startled and waiting if making eye contact got him into trouble. The man didn't move, though, and he didn't say anything, waiting patiently.

Eventually, he exhaled slowly.

“I… don't know…” He whispered. How was he supposed to? What good was a name? Should he want one?

A hum from the man caught his attention again.

“You don't need to decide right now. You have all the time in the world, ok?”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, just once, while his whole being screamed at him to stop this, to go back to his room, to give himself a break. He forced himself to stay where he was, though, despite the slight shaking that was slowly taking over his whole body, unsure if he could just leave like that.

In the end, it was the man who helped him with the decision.

“Alright… So. I was going to make dinner soon… You can stay, if you want, of course, or go rest for a bit until it's done.”

A little of the tension that had overcome him left, and he could barely contain a sigh of relief.

“I’ll… rest.” He declared quietly, and the man nodded in acknowledgement.

“That's fine.”

The man didn't get up from his seat yet, and he started to retreat slowly. When there was no other reaction from the man than him starting to put the laptop aside properly and gather some papers, completely ignoring him, he eventually dared to turn away and hurry back to his room.

As soon as he reached his corner, he all but collapsed onto his blanket, taking deep breaths.

That conversation had entirely not gone the way he’d expected it to. Well, first of all he had chosen an unfortunate topic in his hurry, but aside from that…

He still couldn't understand the man's interest in his name or anything revolving around it. On the other hand, he thought that maybe… maybe he appreciated it. Because the man had also said he wouldn't call him the insults he was used to hearing. Of course, only time would tell if he would keep that promise, and he wasn't too afraid of him breaking that promise. At least that wouldn't result in physical harm.

But if the man wasn't going to use insults, he should have something else to call him. And for that a name would have been handy.

He sighed.

Never before had he cared that he’d forgotten his name, he hadn't even thought about it; hence why he forgot it. But now he wished he still remembered it. It would have been… interesting, to see if the man would really use it, instead of the many, many other things that he had been called in his life.

With another sigh, he curled up in his blanket, listening to the noises the man was making in the kitchen.

The man…

The man had a name, too. He’d told him his name before, and yet… he wasn't using it, not even in his thoughts. Should he start calling the man by his name when he thought about him?

It didn't feel right, since the man couldn't call him by his name in turn.

Maybe…

Maybe he should have a name.

He flinched.

He didn't want just any name, though. He wished he could have his own name back…

His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, and he man opening it seconds later peeking in before pushing the door open far enough to step inside and put the tray with dinner on the chair.

“There you go. It's pasta again, nothing special, but I'm going to make something better tomorrow; I promise.”

The man was about to leave when he took a deep breath, ready to say something. He didn't expect the man to notice, but he did, stopping in the doorway and turning back around.

He fidgeted for a moment before he could get the words out.

“I… would like a name…” It was just a whisper, too afraid to admit he wanted or liked something out loud, but the man heard it.

While he clutched the blanket tighter, tensing further with every moment that passed, the man eventually nodded.

“I’ll think of something…”

*#*#*#*

Monday came with an inevitability that had Taekwoon loathe the whole world. The weekend had, as always, not been anywhere near long enough. As promised he’d spent a good portion of his Sunday with Hakyeon, both to keep the other company and to give the boy some time to himself.

After he’d admitted he wanted a name, he had retreated into himself completely again, and it seemed as if he regretted his wish already.

Taekwoon didn’t let it go, though. He didn’t mention it to the hybrid in any way again, not wanting to put him any more on edge, but there was hardly anything else on his mind. He’d made the mistake to tell Hakyeon about it, and the older had immediately come up with a vast array of names that he could give the boy, but it didn’t feel right to Taekwoon.

Closing his eyes, Taekwoon leaned his forehead against his arm that was propped against the coffee vending machine while he waited for his coffee to brew. It was at the very least his fifth that morning, and still, he didn’t feel any more awake than when his alarm had sounded a couple of hours ago.

He’d barely slept that night, his mind too occupied with questions and possibilities and wild theories to allow him to rest. Now, he regretted it deeply, for he wasn’t able to focus at all on work. He might as well give up…

“Good morning, hyung!”

A cheery voice sounded next to him, and Taekwoon stood up again, opening his eyes.

“Morning, Sungjae.”

The hybrid cocked his head, giving him a questioning look.

“Is something wrong, hyung? Are you alright?”

Taekwoon hummed, then stopped himself, his gaze fully focusing on Sungjae.

“Hmm, I just… Actually-… Can I ask you something? It’s just…” He looked around himself, finding the hallway empty except for the two of them. “It has nothing to do with work…” He added meaningfully and the younger’s expression flashed with understanding as he nodded.

“Shall we go to your office?”

Taekwoon nodded as he took his coffee out of the machine and went ahead to lead the way, sipping on the brew. He grimaced a little, just like with all the cups he’d gotten before. The coffee from those vending machines was really horrible…

Reaching his office, he held the door open for Sungjae to enter and invited him to take a seat quietly.

Sungjae waited patiently while Taekwoon rounded his desk to sit down himself, sipping on his coffee. He had long learned it was useless to push that hyung, and to just wait until he’d sorted his thoughts and started talking by himself.

“He came to talk to me this weekend, for the first time…” He started quietly, and Sungjae didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “And now… I’ve been thinking about something, but…” Taekwoon sighed, stopping again before taking a deep breath and picking up again but from a completely different angle.

“I don’t want to be intrusive and of course you don’t have to answer, but… Do you remember anything from the time before… Before you came to stay with Eunkwang?”

Sungjae’s eyes widened.

“You mean from the lab?”

Taekwoon flinched slightly, then nodded.

Sungjae shook his head.

“No, not really. I was barely four years old when they closed them. Everything I know is what others, older ones, have told me.”

Taekwoon sat back a little dejectedly.

“Oh…” He deflated visibly, but Sungjae wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Why, though, hyung? You know, I might know what you want to know anyway.”

Taekwoon sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.

“He said-… We were talking about his name, and he said he couldn’t remember his; that back at the… the… uhm, when he was still little, where-…”

“At the lab?” Sungjae supplied tentatively at Taekwoon’s stuttering and the older nodded, averting his gaze.

“Yes, at the lab, I guess. Anyway, that there they only called him by a number. And that number… It’s the same as the one on the… adoption papers I got at the shelter for him. How is that possible?”

Sungjae nodded once.

“It’s pretty simple. We were all implanted microchips at the lab, for identification. If he hasn’t dug that out of his body it should still be working and any facility with chip readers can scan it and access all information about him.”

Taekwoon’s eyes widened.

“What?” He gasped.

Sungjae turned a little, tugging the collar of his shirt aside a little, exposing a small scar at the back of his neck, near the base.

“I had mine removed, but they usually sit somewhere in this area.”

Taekwoon shook his head.

“That’s… barbaric!”

Sungjae sighed softly.

“We were lab experiments, hyung. Lab experiments that were supposed to become weapons for the government. Compared to all the rest, the chips are the least barbaric thing about it all.”

Taekwoon’s expression could only be describe as pained, and Sungjae decided to stray from that topic.

“You had something in mind when you found out about that number, though, right?”

Taekwoon shook himself out of his thoughts and focused on Sungjae’s question.

“Uhm, yes, I… I was wondering… Well, at the shelter they could find out the number… And now, knowing where it’s from… What other information comes along with it?”

Sungjae frowned a little.

“Mostly, individual data, test scores, experiment results…”

Taekwoon flinched at the mention of experiments and Sungjae was quick to carry on.

“Though you said he was still little when he left the labs, right? They only experimented with older hybrids there, not with the young ones. There shouldn’t be more than records about his health and growth in his files then.”

A small, hopeful glimmer flashed in Taekwoon’s eyes.

“Is there a way… Would it be considered rude to check his files? I mean, I don’t want to pry, it’s just… I was wondering… Since he said he can’t remember his name…”

Sungjae hummed.

“I see what you’re trying to get at… If you don’t mind giving me the number… It’s not entirely legal, so I won’t tell you more than necessary, but I have my ways…”

Taekwoon frowned.

“Will you get yourself in trouble if I ask you to do this for me? Because that’s the last thing I want, and not just because Eunkwang is going to have my head on a platter if something happens to you…!”

Sungjae shook his head with a laugh.

“No, hyung, I won’t get in trouble. There’s no way anyone will find out about what I did; least of all Eunkwangie-hyung!”

Taekwoon wasn’t appeased at all.

“And why not him?”

Sungjae rolled his eyes.

“Because he wouldn’t be happy at all if he found out half the things I do if there is even the tiniest potential possibility of me getting into trouble, but I can’t just sit back and do nothing when I have the possibility to do something… if you know what I mean.”

Taekwoon shook his head.

“I have no idea and I don’t want to have any idea. But I trust you to know what the hell you’re doing…”

Sungjae grinned.

“See, that’s why you’re one of my favourite hyungs! Do you trust me with your friend’s number, too, or would you rather not…?”

Taekwoon shook his head with a sigh, then picked up a stack of post-its and scribbled the number on the top one before tearing it off and handing it to Sungjae. He didn’t let go immediately when the younger took hold of the small orange piece of paper, tugging at it slightly.

“Sungjae… I’m really thankful that you’re offering to do this, but really, don’t do it if it puts you in any kind of danger, ok? It’s not worth it.”

Sungjae’s expression softened.

“I promise, hyung. You have nothing to worry about, though. Except catching up on the workload you’ve been slacking off at all morning and getting home in time for lunch.”

Taekwoon groaned as he let go of the small paper and leaned back in his desk chair.

“Don’t remind me…! I can’t wait for lunch… Bloody Mondays…”

Sungjae chuckled, getting up.

“Good luck, hyung!” He waved, post-it still in hand, and slipped out of the office.

Taekwoon sighed into the silence the younger left behind, leaning his head into his hands after glancing at the blank pages around him that needed to be filled.

He really couldn’t wait for lunch break.

*#*#*#*

Technically, he knew there was no need for him to be as quiet as he was, but he just couldn’t bring himself to make any noise that could be avoided as he made his way down the hallway and to the bathroom. The tiny ‘click’ sound of the lock was almost enough to make him jump, but it actually relaxed him, reassuring him the door couldn’t be opened by anyone other than him now.

Still, he flinched at the sound of the toilet flush breaking the quietness of the apartment. He hated that part, really; As much as he hated anything else involving water.

He sighed, his gaze catching his reflection in the mirror. Getting into contact with water would soon be inevitable again, though. His hair… It was still such a mess, he really needed to clean it. And he’d need water for that.

Slowly, he approached the mirror hanging over the sink to inspect his reflection in more detail.

He looked better now than when he’d first arrived, his eyes not quite as sunken in, skin rosier… and cleaner. The only thing that remained as catastrophic as before was his hair.

Taking a deep breath, he took a look around. There was a hairbrush, and a comb, but both belonged to the man. He couldn’t use those. But what he could do was wash his hair. Well. Kind of. He could try getting it clean with a towel again. Or wet it just enough to untangle it, but not enough for the water to actually wet the skin of his scalp.

His resolve quickly set, he retrieved one of the blue towels and pushed the sleeves of his jumper up to his elbows. His jaw set firmly, he gave his reflection a firm, decided look before turning on the water.

He flinched at the sound of it running alone, but forced himself to ignore that sound.

Trying not to get his fingers wet just yet, he held a corner of the towel under the steady stream, soaking it, before parting a strand of his hair away and trying to clean it.

With the first strand, it actually seemed to work. Thus encouraged, he quickly parted off a second strand, this one with more difficulty. And with this one, the cleaning didn’t work out quite as well, either, as the strand was pretty tangled in itself.

He sighed again, biting his lip in thought. Maybe if he held it under the stream from the tap that would help…

It worked moderately well, and the same went for the next two strands. Then, though, he realized how quickly time was passing, and he wasn’t ready to face the man anywhere else but in his room again just yet. He had to hurry!

Bunching up a thicker strand of his matted hair, he turned his head and leant forward to hold it under the stream of water; it might have worked if his already wet strands hadn’t slipped and brushed over his bare forearm, startling him into jumping back without even remotely drying the current, thicker strand.

He shuddered at the feeling of the water seeping out of his hair and pearling over his neck and back, and he squirmed uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than to quit this whole thing. He could always continue this at another time, but right now… He couldn’t take it. He had gotten too much water all over himself to be able to handle it. His hands, his forearm, his neck, his back, and yes, his scalp, too, were wet. He hated it.

And then he froze.

His neck.

Hesitantly, he reached up, feeling along the bandage, and winced.

The bandage; it had gotten wet. And he knew all too well why that was bad. He had no choice but to take it off.

Biting his lip, he carefully searched the drawers for the scissors the man had used, remembering him telling him they were in the bathroom.

Eventually, he found them, and made quick work of the bandage. To his relief, it was only wet, and nothing else marred the soft white.

Taking a deep breath, he removed it from his skin, tugging it out from under the collar first and then away completely.

Of course, the collar immediately slipped into place, and a cold shudder ran down his back. It wasn’t just that the collar was cold, but also… It was so heavy…! And it rubbed against his skin like…

He couldn’t describe it, only that the feeling made him incredibly itchy.

He pushed the collar away from where it settled over the freshly healed wound it had previously left, too cold, too rough, too heavy against the bright pink flesh of the scar. He couldn’t stand it. There was no way he could. He had to get it away from there.

Luckily, the drawer that held the scissors also held fresh bandages, and he pushed the collar out of the way again after choosing one of the white gauze rolls.

He huffed as it kept slipping into the way of his hands as he wrapped the gauze around his neck, trying and failing to make the bandage as light and slim as the man managed to always make it.

In the end, it was slightly too tight, but he could manage. But it was also too thick, and the collar stayed pushed up to the top of his neck, biting uncomfortably into his skin when he moved his head.

Maybe he could pull it down over the gauze so it was out of the way…

He flinched hard, hissing as the pain of hair being pulled shot through the back of his head. Carefully, he felt for the source, finding a couple of hairs from the strand he’d tried to wash last had caught in the collar somehow. It was at the very back of his neck and head, though, and no matter how he turned in front of the mirror, he couldn’t see it.

Clenching his teeth, his fingers closed around the collar and the couple of hairs, and he tugged on both ends. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable, and eventually the tangled hairs snapped and the collar came free; at least free of his hair.

Now all he had to do was pick the hair that had gotten stuck in the collar off it and settle it over the bandage neatly. To do that, he turned the metallic cord on his neck, the place the hair had gotten tangled up in facing front now. It was the part with the rings for the code, and between the first two a particularly large bunch of hair had caught.

Determinedly, he picked out the ripped off hair from in between the other rings first, but eventually had to move to the last one.

One tiny tug was enough though, and his stomach almost hit the floor in dread at the ‘click’ sound that echoed almost deafeningly in his ears because of the meaning as the hair came free. He almost didn’t dare check, but he also couldn’t not check: and yes, really, one of the rings had turned. The code read 0-1-0-0-2 now.

He wanted to puke.

His hair was long forgotten, and the towel fell limply to the ground, where it stayed as he made his way to the door, unlocking it mechanically before walking stiffly back to his own room, his corner, to the comfort of his blanket, which he wrapped so tightly around him he almost had trouble breathing. He didn’t care, though.

The code had been changed. Two more changes and he would be electrocuted again.

He whimpered, closing his eyes tightly, and wished he wasn’t alone with this right now.

*#*#*#*

Focusing on his work seemed even harder for Taekwoon that afternoon. He’d come home to find the boy thoroughly distressed, curled up in his room, but couldn’t find out what had caused that distress. Eventually he’d noticed the towel on the ground in the bathroom, and then the haphazard bandage around the boy’s neck, but given his behavior he refrained from asking. He assumed it had gotten wet as the boy had been washing himself and he’d tried to replace it, but he couldn’t tell for sure; especially since the boy wasn’t telling him anything.

He had to focus, though. He had work to do. He couldn’t slack off; others were relying on him.

And so he forced himself through whatever he could do; which wasn’t anywhere near enough for his own standards, and when the day came to an end, he was extremely dissatisfied, and if it hadn’t been for the hybrid boy he’d have stayed over-time to at least try to finish his work. As it was, he was merely one of the last to lock up his office and leave.

“Hyung! Taekwoon-hyung!”

He blinked at the voice calling out for him from the other end of the lobby just as the doors fell close behind him. He turned around to wait up, and just a few seconds later the doors flew open and Sungjae burst through them, panting slightly but with a grin on his face.

“Ah, I thought I had missed you leaving! I waited down here but you weren’t coming out, so I headed up to see if you were still here but your office was closed-… Anyway, never mind, I caught you! Here…!”

He extended a folded piece of paper towards Taekwoon, shielding his mouth with his other hand as he leaned in and stage whispered dramatically.

“I got what you asked for…”

He couldn’t uphold the act any longer, though, breaking out into a happy smile again.

“I just got you the name and didn’t pry, but I could see there wasn’t much to see anyway. He must have been pretty young when the labs closed, too.”

It felt as if a weight he hadn’t known had been there was lifted off Taekwoon’s chest.

“Oh… Thank you, Sungjae! Thank you so much!”

Sungjae shook his head.

“All good, hyung. If you need anything else, you know where to find me!”

“What would Taekwoonie need from you?” A cheery voice chimed in, and Hakyeon appeared at Sungjae’s side, having just stepped out of the door behind him.

Sungjae’s eyes widened.

“Hakyeon-hyung! Ah~ nothing! Can we go to the movies?”

Hakyeon looked from Sungjae to Taekwoon and back suspiciously.

“You’re hiding something from me…?”

Taekwoon shook his head.

“Sungjae found out something for me, that’s all.”

“Ooh, what is it?!”

Taekwoon only rolled his eyes, turning around.

“Good night, you two. See you tomorrow.” He waved over his shoulder, heading towards the car park.

“Good night, hyung!” Sungjae shouted after him, almost drowned out by Hakyeon’s louder call.

“Yah, Taekwoon! Sungjae, what did you find out?”

“If Taekwoon-hyung isn’t telling you, it’s not my place to tell you, either, hyung. Now, can we go to the movies?”

“I’ll take you to the movies if you tell me what you found out for Taekwoon.”

“Aish… guess I’m going home then… Bye, hyung!”

“Yaaah~ Why is everyone so rude to me?!”

Taekwoon smiled lightly as he got to his car, hearing Sungjae and Hakyeon bicker in the background all the way there.

Unlocking the vehicle, he threw his briefcase onto the passenger seat, then slipped in behind the wheel and closed the door, welcoming the silence in the confined space. A street lantern not far away illuminated the inside of the car enough to see properly, and Taekwoon lifted the folded piece of paper Sungjae had given him.

He stared at the blank outside for at least a minute before unfolding it with slightly trembling hands.

A single word -or name, rather- was scribbled on the paper, but despite messy, the letters were still unmistakable.

Almost reverently, Taekwoon read it out to himself in barely more than a whisper. It was a beautiful name; very fitting, too.

The stress of the day seemed to fall off him by the seconds as they ticked by, and eventually, he turned the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life and drove off, finally heading home.

*#*#*#*

He lifted his head from his arms when he heard the key in the lock of the door. It was a little later than usual for the man to come home, and he felt a little hungry already. Attentively, he listened to the man’s footsteps to determine if he was alone, and where he was going. To his surprise they were coming closer almost immediately, and he tensed as the knocks sounded on the door, and a few seconds later, the man peeked inside.

“Hi… Sorry I’m late…” He apologized, but then trailed off as he directed a questioning look at him.

“Are you alright? You looked troubled at lunch already, and still don’t look well now… Did something happen?”

The man sounded genuinely concerned enough, but he shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, unable to avoid tugging at the too tight bandage on his neck.

“Did the bandage get wet? Is your wound hurting again?”

He frowned, wanting to both nod and shake his head. In the end, he had to answer verbally.

“It got wet… but it doesn’t hurt.”

The man looked at him pensively.

“Hmm… Did you change the bandage?”

He nodded.

“But… it’s too tight…”

“Aah~!” Understanding flashed in the man’s expression. “You still can’t stand the collar on your skin, though, hm?”

He shook his head, picking at the bandage again.

“Can I help you with the bandage?”

His eyes flew up, even though he didn’t meet the man’s gaze. His heart jumped at the prospect of having the man so close again, but it wasn’t as painful as in the beginning anymore. The man wouldn’t hurt him when fixing the bandage… right? He hadn’t ever hurt him on purpose before while doing that. He’d always just helped him. Surely he wouldn’t hurt him now, either, right?

Slowly, he nodded, and the man approached him carefully, kneeling down next to him. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his hand and dropped his shoulders, allowing the man access to the bandage around his neck.

As always, the man’s hands were gentle as he unwound the messy bandage he’d wrapped around his neck himself. The brushes of his fingers were soft against his skin, there were no tugs on the fabric that choked him or upset the scar, and when he finished unwrapping the bandage, he was careful with the collar as he let it settle around the base of his neck, away from the scar.

To his surprise, the man didn’t start wrapping the bandage around his neck again right away, giving him a contemplative look.

“The bandage bothers you, too, doesn’t it? Even when it’s light.”

He took a quiet, shaky breath, averting his eyes to the floor before nodding just once.

“I think I have an idea how to get you rid of the bandage but without you having to endure the collar on your skin… Can I go take a look at your clothes?”

His eyes widened, and he wanted to ask why, but he didn’t dare. The man was too close. So instead, after hesitating for a moment, he just nodded again.

The man got up slowly, approaching his dresser and looking for something in particular, which he seemed to find in the drawer holding the shirts.

With a little triumphant smile, he pulled one shirt out and closed the drawer.

“Ah, here… See, this shirt… The collar of this shirt covers your neck when you wear it. I should be thin enough to let that collar slip over it when you wear it. Do you want to try it?”

He came closer again slowly, holding up the shirt so he could see the turtleneck collar and eventually extended it for him to take it. He did so warily and slowly, but the man didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll leave you to change… It’s a pretty thin shirt, so maybe wear a thicker jumper over it. And let me know what you think. If it doesn’t work, I’ll help you with the bandage again.” The man smiled at him, taking a couple of steps back before turning to leave and give him the privacy to change.

He could hear him walk to the kitchen, where he started rummaging around; it didn’t sound as if he would come back all of a sudden.

Curious, he examined the shirt the man had chosen, enjoying especially the scent that came from it: clean. He wrinkled his nose; the clothes he was currently wearing had already lost that clean scent. They didn’t smell nearly as bad as his old clothes had, but they didn’t smell nice anymore, either.

He sighed, shuddering a little as he realized what that meant: more water, more washing… and frequently, if he wanted to maintain the clean smell on himself and his clothes.

He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts and set to strip off the clothes he was wearing to replace them with the shirt. It was thin indeed, but just like the man had suggested, the collar slipped over the raised fabric now covering his neck. It really helped! The shirt collar didn’t bother him like the bandage did, but it did keep him from feeling the metallic collar. It was bliss, even if it was thin…

He hurried to the dresser, pulling out a thick jumper to put on over the shirt, enjoying how it seemed to swallow him whole, warming him instantly. Like this, he could live, he thought. No more bandages… He liked that.

He lowered his head to bury his nose in the fabric of the clean jumper, pulling it up slightly until it covered his nose and closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

A knock on the door had him jump, startled out of his blissful moment, and dart back to his corner.

“Are you done changing? Can I come in?”

The man’s voice sounded, and he clutched at his heart, which beat frantically after being startled like this. He waited for the door to open, but it didn’t. He frowned a little.

“Please tell me when I can come in…” The man tried again, and his frown deepened for a moment. He would really have to answer the man…

He cleared his throat quietly, taking a deep breath.

“It’s… It’s ok!” He hoped his voice carried far enough for the man to hear, he doubted he could speak louder than that.

Thankfully, the man heard him, and the door opened. The man tilted his head, giving him a quick once over.

“Does it work? Or do you prefer the bandage?”

Quickly, he shook his head, then stopped himself.

“Ah~ It’s-… It works…” He corrected himself, swallowing thickly.

The man smiled.

“That’s great. Can I take the old bandage with me?”

He nodded, pushing the bandage away from him and taking a step back as the man approached and picked it up.

“What about your clothes? Do you want them washed?”

His eyes flitted nervously to the heap on the floor, and he chewed on his lip.

“You can just put your dirty clothes in the hamper in the bathroom as well when you want them washed. When it’s full, I’ll wash them. And dry and fold them, and then you can have them back.”

He was still indecisive, chewing on his lip harder and wrapping his arms around his torso in the process, his eyes flitting nervously between the man and the clothes.

How long would it take for the hamper to be full and for him to get his clothes back? What if he wanted them in the meantime? What if they disappeared from the hamper, and he never got them back?

“If you don’t want to leave your clothes in the bathroom, you can have your own hamper… I still have one I don’t use. Would you rather have your own hamper, in here?”

He took another step back, surprised by the offer, and almost, almost his eyes met the man’s as he lifted them to him.

He could have his own clothes hamper? Why? Could he accept that?

He guessed it would be nice, if he could keep an eye on the clothes and make sure they didn’t disappear, but what would that cost him?

The man sighed softly.

“You look so spooked… I’m not asking anything from you. I’m just offering you a clothes hamper that I have left over. You can accept it or refuse it, and neither decision will have any consequences for you; other than that you either get or don’t get the hamper.”

He felt almost ashamed as he trained his eyes on the floor between his feet.

“I’d… like it…” He breathed, almost inaudible, but clamped his mouth shut tightly immediately afterwards, his heart beating in his throat.

He had to stop accepting everything the man offered. He couldn’t accept more. It was too much, everything was too much. He’d be too indebted to the man very soon, and then he’d make him pay, and he-

His eyes roamed the room, finding it empty except for himself. The man had left.

He took a shaky breath, leaning against the wall behind him. What could he do? It was too late anyway. He could only accept what would come for him stoically, and might as well enjoy all the comfort he could get until then. It couldn’t last that much longer, anyway, so what was the harm?

He scoffed quietly, knowing full well he couldn’t do that even if he tried, but he was too tired. Of everything. And so he just sat down on the floor, back leaned against the wall, and waited, for whatever would come.

The man didn’t return immediately; he could hear him in the hallway, but then he hurried over to the kitchen and rummaged around there.

Eventually, after quite a while, the man came back with a tray of food and placed it on the chair, and then skipped out quickly just to bring in a clothes hamper. It was smaller than the one in the bathroom, but it was perfect, as it fit neatly next to the dresser, blending in with the rest of the furniture.

The man hesitated for a moment, then shook his head and left, only expressing his hopes that he’d enjoy the meal quietly before he did so.

He sighed as he eventually got up from his spot, approaching the tray with deliciously smelling food. It tasted deliciously, too, and he savored it thoroughly. It made him sad, though, because he couldn’t help his thoughts wandering and making him wonder how much longer he would have to enjoy such delicious food, before he went back to no food at all or dry bread and water, if he was lucky.

He returned to his corner once more, waiting for the man to pick up the tray, like he always did. It took quite a while before he returned, but that was normal, too. What wasn’t really normal was for him to completely ignore the empty tray and instead shifting quite nervously on his feet before sitting down on the floor, facing him.

“Uhm, there is something I want to talk to you about… But I’m not sure how to do this.”

Confused, he blinked at the man, trying to gauge his mood without looking at him directly. He couldn’t find anything too unsettling, except the nervousness. Which was bad enough, and he drew his legs up closer to his chest, hiding behind them as he waited for the man to elaborate.

“So, I have a friend at work… His name is Sungjae, and he is like you… He’s a cat hybrid, too, and he helped me find out something today. But, I’m… I need to make sure, first… I don’t want to accidentally hurt you, or remind you of something bad… So, I would like to know… Do you remember anything from the time before… before the place where you were born shut down?”

Of all the questions he would have expected the man to ever ask him, that wasn’t one of them. He blinked confusedly, then tried hard to think of that time. He remembered vividly the day he’d left the lab, how scared he’d been of what awaited him outside. But from before that… Only flashes, nothing special.

He shrugged lightly.

“The numbers…” He answered quietly. “And… bright hallways. Everything was always bright…”

The man listened patiently, letting him remember as he traced the floor with his eyes, unseeingly.

“I remember… I played with others, but… I don’t remember them…”

He blinked up, out of his memories to the present.

“Other than that, I can’t think of anything…”

The man looked relieved, a small smile on his lips.

“So you don’t have bad memories from that place?”

Slowly, he shook his head.

The man’s smile softened more.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, what we found out today… Do you know the name Hongbin?”