Its first memory was nothing special.

It opened its eyes, immediately scanning the surrounding area and taking note of everything within a close distance, its first reflex to find anything that had a chance of bringing harm to itself. The tiles in the ceiling, the hanging lamp above—it trailed its eyes down to see a cabinet against the adjacent wall, a locked door beside it that kept the room small and empty. It turned its head down to what it was laying on, carefully pushing against the surface to find it loose. A bed. At that moment, it heard something similar to a quick intake of air—a gasp—and raised its eyes up to see a face staring down at it.

It did not recognize the man, running over the smaller details of the face to try and see if some small facet could help it to recall—wide eyes, a thick nose, lips buried under teeth that left marks that appeared to be permanently etched in—no, it still did not recognize. When the man did nothing more than continue to stare, it turned its attention back to itself, noticing for the first time what its own hands looked like, how they were attached to arms that were connected to shoulders hidden underneath a thin garment that covered down to a pair of knees. It shifted its feet, wiggling the toes to see them move.

“Y-you,” the man said, stammering when it turned to look at him. “Do you know where you are?”

It did not answer, finding it useless when it could give nothing.

“Do you know what you are?”

Again it did not respond, though when the man began to cry, tears b at the corners of his eyes and his shoulders beginning to shake, it wondered if it should. While it had no understanding of what it was or where, as the man seemed to be asking for, it was able to tell that the man’s reaction to his silence was not positive. As it watched the man’s head fall and the tears run down his cheeks, it tried to mirror his expression, scrunching its nose and shaking its shoulders to see if it could cry as well. But at the man rubbed at his eyes and breathed loudly to stop his shaking, it found that it could not produce tears the way the man could, its face muscles laxing at the realization.

Gasping again, the man blinked his eyes furiously before looking at him, oblivious to its attempt at mirroring him. “I-I see. Then do you…do you know who you are?”

Having seen how the man cried when it did not answer, it responded immediately, “I do not.”

It listened to the sound of its voice, how it was quieter than the man’s, softer in a way the man’s thicker voice could not reproduce. It wondered if its voice was something made just for it, something to attribute to its thin arms and overall light appearance, or was only a happened coincidence that came about when it was made. The man did not look much bigger than itself, his limbs covered by clothes that hung loosely off his body in a way it could not fully tell, yet his voice was lower than its own.

A question for another time.

The man nodded, again oblivious. “I…I guess you wouldn’t, would you? They really cleaned you out…”

“I do not understand.” It again listened to the sound of its own voice, registering it as its own and comparing it to the only thing it knew. The two voices were a sound it found reasonable to listen to.

The man shook his head, letting out a long breath as he pulled his lips up into a wide smile. It tried to mirror the expression, finding it difficult to copy when there was no previous experience to compare it to. The man’s eyes widened at its attempt, his smile lessening briefly before a sharp noise left his mouth—a laugh. It tried to mimic the sound which only made the man laugh more, his eyes closing as he laughed more and more until tears ran down his cheeks and the laughs became strained, his hands moving up to cover his eyes.

Without the man’s face, it could not register what he was doing, so it waited as the man hunched over and shook, his whole body near convulsing. A part of it did want to know what he was doing, but was unsure what the correct action would be to do so. Eventually, the man sat up, his whole face covered in tears and allowing it to register that he had been crying. It wondered if its attempt to copy his laugh had caused the reaction.

“Sorry,” he said, his low voice distorted. “I’m probably just confusing you, aren’t I?”

“I do not understand.”

The man frowned. “Can you understand the things I’m saying to you?”

“Yes.”

“And can you hear the things I’m saying?”

“Yes.” Of course it could understand what the man was asking, it was just that it could not understand the type of answer he wanted or needed. It was not that it did not understand the meaning of the words he said, it was just that it did not understand how those words could help it describe why it kept its silence. It did not understand how the man could not realize this.

The man nodded again. “Okay. Sorry, I-I…” the man’s voice paused for a second, “it’s just difficult for me. Let’s just start from the basics. Your name is Y21. My name is Sang-hyuk. Can you repeat that for me?”

“Your name is Y21. My name is Sang-hyuk.”

The man frowned, shaking his head. “Ah, no, not like that. Here, repeat this—my name is Y21, your name is Sang-hyuk.” It did as told, and the man nodded, smiling again. “Yes, there, like that. So when you address me, just call me Sang-hyuk. And when I address you, I’ll call you Y21. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good,” the man said, a little louder this time, smiling so wide that his cheeks pushed up into small, little bundles. “So, what’s my name?”

“Sang-hyuk.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Y21.”

“Perfect!” It watched as the man wrote something down on a small book in his lap, smiling the whole time, and it took the time to run over the things it had noticed. Smiling happened when it had a positive interaction or reaction to the man, while frowning happened to the opposite. It rolled its eyes up to the ceiling, looking over the cracks from the tiles. Smiling—smiling was positive.

The man finished writing, putting the book down and reaching out, for the first time touching it as he took its hand in his own. It could not feel the man’s touch, could only see the action take place before it, and watched as the man held its hand loosely, running his fingers over its own. Not knowing what the man was doing or what he was looking for, it mimicked what it had seen, pulling its lips down in a frown, shifting its own fingers to see the man’s eyes widen and his hands tighten accordingly.

“Do you remember me?” the man asked quickly, leaning in so his face was only a short distance from its own, his voice so low it could barely be heard. Unable to answer something asked so quickly and under such a change in expression, it only looked down at their hands, the man having pulled them against his chest. “You can tell me if you do, please. Do you remember me?”

“I do not.”

It answered truthfully with no reservation, yet it was not the answer the man had been searching for. Refusing to meet its eye, the man dropped its hand and stood up, grabbing the book and tucking it away in his pocket. With an expression that was little more than just tight lips and narrowed eyes, the man coughed. “That’s enough for today. I don’t think we’d be able to get much more out of either of us. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Goodbye.”

The man paused, letting out a slow breath before he nodded, giving it a small smile before leaving out the locked door and shutting it behind him.