Sang-hyuk and Sung-jae stood together as they stared through a dark window that did nothing more than let them look into an empty room, their reflections shining from the dull light above them. They were both somber, the mood subdued by the reason they were there, and the longer they waited the heavier the atmosphere became. Sang-hyuk stole a glance to his friend to see Sung-jae staring resolutely at the window, waiting, and he felt a part of himself break at the sight.

He had always been jealous of how Sung-jae managed to smile even when staring at the motionless bodies he helped kill, how he was able to stay sane even when watching people sign their lives away. He had made it seem so effortless, and Sang-hyuk had always thought himself incapable. But to know that it was never like that, that everything was forced and Sung-jae was in just as much pain as himself—Sang-hyuk hated it.

His eyes flickered back over when Sung-jae let out a long sigh, his body shuddering and exuding the faint scent of alcohol. He could see Sung-jae’s head drop from his reflection.

“Thank you, Sang-hyuk.”

Sang-hyuk stuffed his hands in his pockets, unable to even attempt to smile. “How long?”

“…it started a few months ago. I…Hyun-sik invited me out. Just to let off some steam. I didn’t drink that much at first, but it felt good. I started to go back every once in a while, and it just kinda…spiraled out of control.” He looked up pleadingly, the sight so pathetic it was as if staring into a mirror. “I promise I don’t drink like that all the time. I’m sorry I lied to you, and I’m sorry you had to see it; I’ll let Jae-hwan know not to call you anymore-”

“Sung-jae…” Sung-jae snapped his mouth shut, his eyes full of fear and hesitance, and Sang-hyuk felt so sad seeing his friend look at him that way. “…just…next time, invite me. Don’t drink like that by yourself.”

It took Sung-jae a few seconds to realize what he said, his eyes watering gratefully as he moved to pull him into a hug, when the lights in the other room flashed awake, stopping them both cold. Any uncertainty on Sung-jae’s face was gone as he snapped his full attention back to the room, his eyes focused as they waited for the lone door to open. It was a typical cyborg accommodation room, the bed and desk placement the exact same as Hong-bin and T52’s. He had seen this room so many times, but it was an entirely new experience for Sung-jae, the latter’s eyes running over everything, his movements almost desperate.

They both stiffened when the door slid open, the darkness from the outer hallway slipping into the entirely white room as Won-shik stepped inside, a young girl standing by his side. Her eyes were glassy, dazed and confused, as she stared ahead, unaware of Won-shik’s hand on her shoulder or the sound of the door closing behind her.

She was so tiny, smaller than Sang-hyuk remembered. Her face was young, baby fat that would never fade away still clinging to her cheeks. Her dark hair was long and stringy, matted over her face and shoulders and helping to cover her thinly clothed body. While it was a strange thought to have, Sang-hyuk was thankful that the higher-ups allowed her to be clothed, even a little. Save whatever dignity she had left.

The room was soundproofed, neither of them able to hear Won-shik as he guided her to the bed, easily hefting her up and setting her down in the same position Hong-bin was trained to be. While he couldn’t hear, Sang-hyuk knew exactly what he was saying, having begrudgingly given the same speech to both T52 and Hong-bin. Asking who she was, what she was, what she remembered; it was a requirement no one liked doing, but one that was needed. Any lingering memories had to be destroyed immediately, the damage if left unchecked dangerous.

At least that was what he was told, though every second he thought of Hong-bin and the warm smiles he would give when alone tested that theory.

As he watched that girl stare at Won-shik with the gaze of someone who knew nothing of the world except for what was before her eyes, he wondered how dangerous she would be if they left her memories intact. If they left her human.

Sang-hyuk frowned when he heard the faint sound of crying, turning in surprise to see Sung-jae’s chest heaving silently, tears running down his cheeks. Sang-hyuk knew what Sung-jae was feeling, had felt the same so many times, but found himself unable to speak, the words he wanted to say remaining a garbled mess on the tip of his tongue.

When Sung-jae stopped mid-cry at the sight of Won-shik beginning the daily tests, Sang-hyuk finally managed, “You okay?”

Sung-jae nodded, never taking his eyes away from her. “Y-yeah…yeah. I just…she’s alive, you know? I know she’s not really alive, but…she’s… she lived. I didn’t kill her.”

“She is,” Sang-hyuk mumbled back, wincing when he saw the rough way Won-shik twisted her body around, wishing he could tell Won-shik to be a little gentler. Won-shik was always so serious with the cyborgs; he meant well but just didn’t know what to do. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

Sung-jae tentatively placed his hands on the glass, his eyes glistening. “I can’t look away, Hyuk. Every time I look at her, I just want to take her away and keep her safe. She shouldn’t be here. She’s only here because her mother went crazy—she didn’t do anything wrong. She deserves better.”

Sang-hyuk grimaced at the words Sung-jae whispered, having heard them from his own mouth so many times. “It’s not good to think that way.  You can’t…you can’t care about those things. They’re not human anymore.” He watched as Sung-jae’s horrified gaze faded to slow understanding, knowing he was only repeating the words they were told on a daily basis. “You shouldn’t feel so much. Feeling hurts. To help her, you have to forget all that.”

“Is this what you feel when you work with X39?” Sung-jae asked after a long silence, his words cutting through Sang-hyuk like a knife. “I always wondered how you could be so sad and angry all the time when all you have to do is sit there with the borgs and talk to them. You don’t have to do any of the experiments, you don’t have to kill anyone; the most you do is write down the problems and have someone else take care of them. How could you have any problems? But…” he leaned against the window, his forehead pressed against the glass and his eyes focused only on the girl, “how could you not, when you stare at these things that used to be human?”

Sang-hyuk refused to look at Sung-jae as he stepped forward, following suit and softly resting his forehead against the glass. It was cold, freezing even, and it felt wonderful. “It’s not easy. I’m supposed to teach them how to be human again while making sure their previous memories never come back, and if anything deviates from that specific formula I’m supposed to wipe them all over again. I’m supposed to make them feel real…to feel loved, and yet I’m not supposed to feel anything for them.

“They’re cyborgs. They’re not human. They don’t feel, they don’t love, they don’t even dream. I’m supposed to remember that, but when they smile or tell me what they think, I just can’t…I can’t ignore it.”

Sung-jae’s eyes flitted over to him, his brow wrinkling in slight confusion. “Cyborgs don’t smile.”

Sang-hyuk snorted mockingly, meeting his eye. “Really, now? Look at your girl over there, look real hard, and tell me they don’t. She may not show anything now, but after weeks, months, years, how can you expect her to not show anything, to not learn how to smile to show her gratefulness, to not apologize to show her regret? We don’t teach emotions, but cyborgs are not incapable of learning. They watch us, learn from us, and grow just like you and I. X39 can smile, T52 can smile…even she can smile.”

Sung-jae pursed his lips, the retort drilled into them from day one on the tip of his tongue, only to sadly look back over to the girl when he couldn’t speak. They watched as Won-shik finished checking her over, his mouth silently moving as he pulled a comb out of the desk drawer. They both looked so lost, Won-shik looking like he was about to implode every time he ran his fingers through her hair, that Sang-hyuk wanted to laugh. Instead, he kept his voice in check as he asked softly,

“The sponsors are coming next week; did you know that?”

Sung-jae’s eyes never looked away, his body frozen to the window. “They coming to see X39?”

“Yeah…him and your girl.”

Sung-jae’s brow furrowed, his face so expressive that Sang-hyuk could see everything he was feeling even as he tried his best to hide it. “It hurts, Hyuk. They always died, so I never thought much about what’d happen if they lived. To know that I gave her the future of always being on display, for others to watch and see how long she can survive…it hurts.”

“You didn’t do that to her. You were only following orders.”

“But I’m the one all the same. No one forced my hand as I did it. I willingly did it to her—my reasons don’t matter in the long run as long as that girl is sitting there because of me.” Sung-jae’s cheeks glistened in the light, his eyes swollen as he gave up trying to dry them, his sleeves soaked. “I did this to her, and yet I’m not allowed to see her. I’m supposed to ignore everything as I hand her off to you and let you warp her mind to whatever the hell they want…it hurts, Hyukkie. Byullie doesn’t deserve that.”

Sang-hyuk pulled away from the glass to level his friend with a heavy stare, catching on immediately to the seriousness of the situation. “Byullie?”

Sung-jae winced, purposefully looking away to avoid his eye. “They’re going to call her Y09.” He paused briefly, taking a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know how you do it. I feel terrible calling her something so degrading.”

Sang-hyuk shook his head, no longer holding his tongue as a twisting panic began to grow at the bottom of his stomach. “You can’t. If anyone heard you say that, if she ever caught on and started saying it-”

“You know I would never be able to actually meet her, let alone say a nickname to her. I just—I can’t help it. I was the one that gave her Test 1, the one who fed her when she was drugged, the one she saw first when she woke up. After all that, I can’t just give her a serial number and call it good. I can’t.”

“But-”

“I looked at her file. Her name…I-I want…” Sung-jae stepped back to wipe his eyes again and turn away, unable to watch any longer. Sang-hyuk attempted to help him, his hand brushing his shoulder, and Sung-jae weakly pushed him away. “I just…I want to make her seem human again, to me. Is that bad?” His last question was whispered so quietly it was gone before it ever left his lips, Sang-hyuk only able to understand from the depths of his heart.

He ignored Sung-jae’s protests as he pulled him into a soft hug, for the first time able to comfort someone in the way he always wished to be. “It’s a pretty name.”

--

They weren’t allowed to stay much longer before they were forced to leave, Sung-jae having been called back downstairs. Sang-hyuk wished he had made sure he was really okay before letting him go, but his mind was honestly gone the moment they stepped outside, Hong-bin the only one on his thoughts. Neither Won-shik nor Joon-myeon had called him when he came in that morning, nobody stopping him. Which was fine for him—he was not about to give anyone the chance to keep him away again.

While he had immensely enjoyed the opportunity to spend the day with Hak-yeon, he couldn’t help the latent anxiety that lingered at the back of his mind. Even when Hak-yeon’s warm hands had held his, his body pressed against his own, he couldn’t stop thinking of Hong-bin. No matter how much Joon-myeon tried to dress up the gesture as goodwill, he knew they had done something to him. It was no secret how attached Sang-hyuk was to Hong-bin, and it was well-known how badly he reacted when any harm came to him.

Nothing appeared out of place as he hurried to Hong-bin’s room, everything where it should be; he swung the door open and his eyes immediately locked on Hong-bin, body shut down and the charger plugged into his chest. Sang-hyuk rushed over and cupped his hands over the sleeping cyborg’s cheeks, his fingers practiced as they ran over his face. The skin was smooth and real like always, his eyes firmly shut as they were unaware to react to his prodding touch. His hands swept through his hair and slid down to his shoulders—and that was where he stopped.

Sang-hyuk ripped his hands away as if burned, his eyes wide and his heart still as his mind blanked on how he was supposed to react. That—that wasn’t—that wasn’t right; no, that was wrong. It wasn’t—his skin wasn’t—no.

His chest was heaving as his body tried to remember how to breathe, his hands warily reaching out to brush Hong-bin’s shoulder, a garbled cry tumbling from his lips at the touch.

This wasn’t Hong-bin.

It couldn’t be.

Not when there was real skin where a sticky, synthetic one should have been.

Sang-hyuk fell to his knees as his hands grabbed wherever they could, scrapping against Hong-bin’s body—his chest, his arms, his legs, his hands, his fingers—and freely sobbed when he felt nothing but real skin. Was this what they had done? They replaced his skin? But how—how had they done it so perfectly? In the six years he worked here, they had suited Hong-bin with more skin types than he could count, each time feeling as disgustingly fake as the last, and he had watched as each had a reaction as worse as the next. It was always so wrong and Hong-bin always so oblivious, but this—this was so different. 

This was real.

“Hong-bin,” Sang-hyuk whimpered softly as he climbed back onto his chair, furiously wiping his eyes and doing his best to look presentable. Hong-bin would only worry if he saw him crying.

Giving himself time to calm down, he grabbed Hong-bin’s file off the desk, flipping through the pages to find the evidence printed plain as day. Descriptions that he had no way of ever understanding detailed the work they did, the receptors lining Hong-bin’s metal body replaced and his brain scrambled to match.

Sang-hyuk swallowed heavily.

While it wasn’t new that they would do something so drastic without telling him, he hadn’t known they’d been so close to finishing a new skin set, let alone one that seemed so real. He couldn’t even find it in himself to feel betrayed, leaning forward and letting his fingers find their way to Hong-bin’s hand, intertwining their fingers and feeling the artificial warmth that pumped underneath. It was all so strange, yet enthralling.

Already knowing what was expected of him, Sang-hyuk tossed the file aside as he turned his attention back to Hong-bin’s sleeping face, squeezing the metal fingers tenderly. He had no real expectations; even with skin that appeared human, it was an impossible endeavor to create feeling in nerves that had been thoroughly severed, and these tests did nothing more than create hope where there shouldn’t be.

And yet, with everything that was changing around him, for once, Sang-hyuk wanted to have hope.

He took one last second to let out a heavy breath before taking the charger out, his heart beating furiously in his chest as Hong-bin’s eyes fluttered open. He watched as the temporary confusion changed to recognition at the sight of Sang-hyuk, his breath catching in his throat at the warm smile Hong-bin gave him. It was still so new to see such an expression on Hong-bin’s once empty face, though it was one that he was more than willing to get used to.

“Hello, Hong-bin,” Sang-hyuk said softly, immediately holding his hands out in an inviting gesture, giving Hong-bin the opportunity to understand on his own. He matched Hong-bin’s smile with surprisingly simple ease, feeling any lingering anxiety melt away. It been such a long time since Hong-bin had made Sang-hyuk feel so calm, so safe, and he barely had any idea how to handle it. “How are you? I’m sorry I couldn’t be here, you know how they don’t like me being here on test days.”

Hong-bin knew exactly what he was doing, moving his hands to take Sang-hyuk’s, only for a surprised, horrified shout to escape his lips as he wrenched them back.

Sang-hyuk felt his heart jump at the reaction, the hope he would have otherwise squashed growing frantically. “Hong-bin? What’s wrong? What happened?” There had been times when skin types had caused such overstimulation that Hong-bin’s body immediately crashed, one once burning the material away until the metal underneath shone through. Each time had started from a simple touch such as this one, though none of them had left him more or less aware, shocked and confused but still conscious. “Hong-bin?”

Sang-hyuk tried to touch Hong-bin’s exposed knee, his clothes taken and trashed, and Hong-bin jumped again, shouting even louder. Everything about this time was different, and Sang-hyuk ran a critical eye over Hong-bin’s body, taking note of every detail. Hong-bin’s face was drawn, his shoulders hunched as he instinctively curled in on himself, and it gave every impression that his body was actually taking in stimuli. Understanding the severity of the situation, Sang-hyuk gently placed his hands on the bed, making sure Hong-bin saw him before speaking.

“Hong-bin,” he said calmly, firmly, “I need you to listen to me. They put a new skin type on you, and I need to know everything. Only then can I help you, okay?” Hong-bin refused to move as his eyes flashed up to Sang-hyuk’s face, a garbled noise of agreement the only way Sang-hyuk could tell he understood. “Okay. I need you to tell me what’s wrong. What feels different?”

“My body.”

“Okay. What part of your body? Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll do what I can to fix it.”

“The replacements. All of the artificial parts—I can feel. I can feel and I do not know what to do.”

It took Sang-hyuk a long moment to fully realize what Hong-bin said, staring blankly at Hong-bin’s body and trying to understand. There was no way—it couldn’t be. There was no way Hong-bin was actually feeling; that was impossible. Nerve replacements had been under development for over fifteen years; there was no way it could actually have been done. But as he stared at Hong-bin, curled in a ball and staring pleadingly at him for help, he couldn’t help but think…had it?

Could Hong-bin really…could he really?

“Sang-hyuk,” Hong-bin whimpered, the sound broken and scared, and Sang-hyuk leapt into action.

“Okay. Here, I’m going to take your hand. Just your hand—okay? If it’s too much, let me know and I’ll let go immediately, okay? Alright, watch me, see my hand? Focus on my hand…” His voice trailed off as both of their attention was wrested by Sang-hyuk’s hand, their eyes locked as his fingers gingerly brushed against Hong-bin’s. Hong-bin whimpered, a soft whine, and Sang-hyuk stopped.

“No, do not stop,” Hong-bin said quietly, his hand twitching after Sang-hyuk. “Please.”

“Okay. Just tell me if anything hurts. Here I go again…”

Again Sang-hyuk skimmed over Hong-bin’s hand, and despite the moan from the latter did not pull away. He moved slowly, his eyes never looking away from Hong-bin’s face, as his fingers gently slipped under Hong-bin’s palm, his thumb wrapping around his knuckles in warm support. “I’m here for you, Hong-bin,” he murmured, his voice ringing in his ears, “I will never hurt you. Remember, I will never hurt you…”

He used as little effort as possible to raise Hong-bin’s hand up, wincing at Hong-bin’s pained cry and doing his very best to calm him. “Tell me, Hong-binnie…what do you feel?” He very gradually, very softly, began to run his thumb over each and every knuckle, pausing between each to give Hong-bin time to adjust. “Like this…what do you feel?”

“I cannot tell.” Hong-bin’s voice was flustered, a sound that would match his flushed face if he were human. “It is a texture I cannot describe. I can tell it is your hand that I am feeling, though I do not know what it is supposed to feel like.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good. You’re doing wonderful.” He gave Hong-bin a soft smile, one that Hong-bin drank in like a lifeline. “Now, I’m going to continue to your arm. If it ever gets too much, let me know.” Neither made another noise as they watched Sang-hyuk’s hand slide down to Hong-bin’s wrist, running over the cold skin up to his elbow, Hong-bin’s body only shuddering once when he cupped over his shoulder.

Sang-hyuk could barely contain his excitement as the dawning realization that Hong-bin was feeling began to finally take place in his mind. He waited until Hong-bin was ready before splaying his hands over Hong-bin’s firm chest, grasping at his waist and thighs in overwhelming joy that Hong-bin could feel every second of this. He could hear Hong-bin’s hurried reassurances to continue as he grabbed his hand again, tugging at each finger and laughing with each moan.

Hong-bin could feel.

He could really feel.

After years of describing touch to a being that had no way of understanding or any future of learning, it was truly exhilarating to realize he finally could.

But everything came to a grinding halt when Sang-hyuk tried testing Hong-bin’s right hand, only for Hong-bin to immediately yank it away. Sang-hyuk blinked in surprise to see Hong-bin refusing to look him in the eye, his gaze locked on the floor, and he understood. Hong-bin’s right arm, the only part of him left untouched, still could not feel.

Unless replaced, it never would.

“Hong-bin-”

“Sang-hyuk.” Sang-hyuk snapped his mouth shut at Hong-bin’s strained voice, wincing when he saw how wrecked Hong-bin was, his eyes dilated and his whole body shaking. He wanted to apologize but let the words die away when Hong-bin leveled him with a heavy glare. “Do not move.” He frowned but listened all the same, staying absolutely still as Hong-bin very slowly unraveled himself, tentatively placing his feet back on the floor and straightening his back to sit tall again. Everything Hong-bin did was slow, every touch followed by a subconscious flinch. Sang-hyuk wanted to ask what he was doing when Hong-bin suddenly reached out and placed his fingers over Sang-hyuk’s lips.

“Sang-hyuk,” Hong-bin whispered, his fingers clumsy as they stumbled up to Sang-hyuk’s nose and eyes, poking and prodding as if discovering the world for the first time. With each touch, with each brush, the confusion and worry faded away from Hong-bin’s face, a smile that was completely genuine spreading over his lips as he palmed Sang-hyuk’s cheek. “Sang-hyuk…this is what you feel like. This is what you are.”

His hand fisted a handful of Sang-hyuk’s hair, tugging and scraping, sweeping it into Sang-hyuk’s eyes before pushing it away, so full of a curiosity that Sang-hyuk had long since believed to have been erased. “While I do not know how to describe what I am feeling, I know you. There is nothing in the world that will feel as you do. When I feel this,” his hand moved back down to Sang-hyuk’s lips, his nail catching the bottom lip, “I will know that it is you.”

“Hong-bin…”

“It is wonderful.”

“You are wonderful.”

With the force of someone who no longer understood his own strength, Hong-bin wrenched Sang-hyuk up onto his bed, his grip loosening and tightening around his wrist with each wave of stimuli rushing through him. Sang-hyuk let Hong-bin do whatever he wanted, helping him settle into the blankets before staying completely still, a smile lingering on his lips as Hong-bin began to trail his fingers over every inch of him. There was a childlike wonder in Hong-bin’s eyes as each touch brought them closer, his movements experimental as he brushed their legs together, his voice low as he leaned forward to press their shoulders flush against one other.

Sang-hyuk had so many things he wanted to say then, to ask and guide Hong-bin as he learned, but he stayed silent. This was the first time since being in the lab that Hong-bin took the initiative to learn on his own, and Sang-hyuk would do anything to encourage that.

Sang-hyuk let out a small gasp when Hong-bin suddenly leaned forward enough he fell back onto the bed, Hong-bin not far behind him. He couldn’t help but grunt when Hong-bin’s full weight was pressed on top of him, the material used to make up the majority of his body anything but light. But he fought to keep a smile on his face, not wanting to stop Hong-bin from discovering, and instead tentatively placed his hands over Hong-bin’s soft waist. Hong-bin gasped but did nothing to stop him, shifting until his face was only inches away from Sang-hyuk’s, his eyes dilated as they both traced their hands over each other.

Hong-bin was so soft, so lithe, it would be nearly impossible to believe he was a machine if not for the years that had convinced Sang-hyuk otherwise.

Hong-bin’s hand cupped Sang-hyuk’s cheek, the hundredth time he’d done so, and Sang-hyuk finally broke the silence. “How are you doing?” His words were barely above a whisper, and yet Hong-bin reacted to them as if they reverberated off the walls.

“I am fine,” he responded, his fingers smoothing over Sang-hyuk’s ear. “Your touch…it is becoming manageable. I can feel your touch and I know it is you.” He slowly lowered himself so his chin rested against the dip in Sang-hyuk’s shoulder, every part of his body touching Sang-hyuk in some way. “Your body, your human body, I know it is you.” 

“Take your time,” he promised, pulling Hong-bin’s hand away and holding it tenderly. “I’ll always be here for you, and I’ll help you with anything you need.” He smiled genuinely when Hong-bin lifted his head up to stare at him, squeezing gently, and Hong-bin’s eyes flitted across his face in response. “Remember, I’ll never hurt you, and I won’t let anyone ever touch you. You’re safe.” He wished he could truly mean his words, but the assumed safety they brought alone was enough for now. Hong-bin didn’t seem to realize the bravado behind them, smiling widely enough to show his teeth as he kissed Sang-hyuk’s forehead.

At Sang-hyuk’s surprise, he only chuckled, so human in his response it left Sang-hyuk’s brain a flurried mess. “I remember more than you can believe, and I will return your strength for you.”

--

It was only when Hong-bin had to be plugged back in that Sang-hyuk finally left the room, reality crushing him the moment he closed the door behind him. While they were now aware, he knew there would be even more questions about Hong-bin’s surprisingly intimate reaction, not to mention questions in general about the actually working skin type. With each session that passed since Hong-bin revealing his returning memory, Sang-hyuk’s awareness to the numerous cameras stationed in the room began to fade away, the importance of the files he had to update forgotten. It was a dangerous game he was beginning to play, and he had to hurry and remind himself before it was too late.

But all that was pushed to the back of his mind the moment he turned to see the intern assigned to T52, Chan-sik, sitting by the door, the younger man jumping to his feet at the sight of him.

“Han Sang-hyuk, sir!” he said hurriedly, his whole body fidgeting with unbridled energy, and Sang-hyuk wondered idly how long he had been sitting there.

“Chan-sik,” he greeted slowly, looking him over and trying to figure out what he was doing here. T52 and Hong-bin’s rooms were kept on opposite ends of the lab, and he and Chan-sik hadn’t spoken since his impromptu session with T52. Sang-hyuk purposefully kept as far away from the interns as possible, the majority of them never making it to full-time workers, and neither he nor Chan-sik ever had a reason to stay in touch. For him to be outside Hong-bin’s room, waiting for him, meant something that Sang-hyuk could not even fathom. “What are you doing here?”

Chan-sik seemed embarrassed by his question, dipping his head as his hands tightened around the clipboard clutched against his chest. “I—I’m sorry for bothering you, but…you were the only person I could think of asking.”

Sang-hyuk’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Don’t you work with Chan-yeol? What do you need me for?”

Chan-sik stumbled over his words as he tried to find the best way to word his question, the awkwardness he remembered in the man exuding off him in waves. “Yes, but—but Professor Park doesn’t know what to do and told me to fix it, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know who else to ask, and everyone just keeps telling me they don’t know. You’re the only person I could think of that would help me.”

Sang-hyuk felt his cheeks flushed at the unintended compliment, so unused to the sound he couldn’t help but stutter uncomfortably. “A-ah, sure. What do you need?”

“T52 was fitted with a new skin type, but it’s not reacting well to it.” Sang-hyuk stiffened, images of Hong-bin over him, running his fingers over Sang-hyuk’s lips flashing through his mind. He shouldn’t be surprised; if Hong-bin was given the new skin, it would make sense they would do the same to T52. Though he was surprised to hear that T52 hadn’t reacted well. The two cyborgs rarely had the same reaction to tests, their bodies having completely different immunities—but the skin was different, an artificial attachment that had less chance of their body rejecting.

“It started screaming when it realized,” Chan-sik continued, not noticing Sang-hyuk’s alarm. “It crawled back to the wall and wouldn’t let me touch it. I called Professor Park and he came, though T52 wouldn’t let him touch it either. Professor Park got really mad and tried to force it to do the skin tests, but T52 wouldn’t, and insisted that you come.”

Sang-hyuk blinked dumbly, unsure what to think. “What?”

“You have to come!” Chan-sik cried frantically, a hint of panic in his voice. “You’re the only person T52 ever remembers; its mentioned your name in every session since you came. Professor Park doesn’t want you to come, but I’m sure if you did T52 would let you touch it.” When Sang-hyuk stayed silent, he added quietly, “Professor Park said I can’t go home unless I can finish the tests…so please, can you help me?”

Sang-hyuk sighed, unable to deny the plea when he had heard the ultimatum he had heard himself so many times before. “Alright. Let’s go together.”

Chan-yeol was waiting outside T52’s room when they arrived, his expression volatile, though it darkened considerably at the sight of Sang-hyuk trailing behind Chan-sik. Chan-yeol didn’t hate Sang-hyuk specifically, most of the animosity coming from T52 openly preferring Sang-hyuk over him, a situation that could be a problem if T52’s preference caused a lack in Chan-yeol’s results. The threat of death hung over everyone equally, and it was a reminder that kept nearly everyone an arm’s length away. Chan-yeol’s hard eyes refused to look at Chan-sik as he stepped forward, one hand sliding over T52’s doorknob.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard about T52. I came to check him out.”

Chan-yeol sent a scathing look to Chan-sik before glaring at Sang-hyuk again, his voice grating. “We don’t need you. You know better than anyone how T52 is—we just have to wait until its body resets enough to manage the stimuli. You can go.”

“I have already finished everything with X39.” Sang-hyuk kept his face and voice calm as he spoke, unwilling to let himself be rattled by the pathetic mixture of self-perseverance and envy. He could see Chan-sik’s eyes sparkle, something he tried his best to ignore, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have to do the tests if you don’t want me to, but I can go in and at least check him over. The last thing we need is for him to damage himself. I can calm him down and then hand him over to you—unless you want to go to Joon-myeon and explain why you can’t work.”

He could see fear flash in Chan-yeol’s eyes as his hand subconsciously fell away, begrudgingly taking a step back. “I…fine. Just calm him down. I have to be the one to do the tests. And Chan-sik,” Chan-sik jumped at the harsh tone, covering half his face with his clipboard, “I want you to stay back and watch. Don’t touch anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Chan-sik squeaked.

Sang-hyuk refrained from saying anything as he went and opened the door, only to be immediately greeted with a pillow slamming into his face, followed by unintelligible screaming. Chan-yeol cursed as he pushed Chan-sik back, annoyed, but Sang-hyuk held his ground, standing firmly with his hand still on the doorknob.

T52 was a sad mess, and afraid as he huddled against the wall, the blankets of his bed a flurried mess around him. His face was buried in his knees and his arms were wrapped protectively around himself, a reaction that was as human as it was pathetic, and it broke Sang-hyuk’s heart. T52 was an inherently sweet thing, so smiley and happy when caught in one of his better moods, and to see him so confused and frightened made him want to cry.

T52’s eyes widened when he saw Sang-hyuk, the relief palpable on his face as he lifted his hand to greet him, only to jump and instinctively curl in on himself. He whined loudly, his eyes pleading, and Sang-hyuk hurriedly ran over to sit in the chair, shushing him sweetly.

“Hey, hey, T52, it’s okay. I’m here.” He reached out to comfort him only to stop last second, not wanting to scare him anymore than he already was. “Hey, can you at least look at me? Please?” T52’s body shook in response, so overwhelmed he could barely register Sang-hyuk’s voice. But he finally looked up, and Sang-hyuk smiled warmly. “There, just like that. How are you? I heard you wanted to see me.”

A hint of a smile passed over T52’s face before a shift from his foot sent another wave of shivers up his body, and he flinched back. “I do not want them to touch me,” His eyes glanced back at Chan-yeol and Chan-sik before turning back to Sang-hyuk. “I only want you.”

“Okay. I’m here now. Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“I can feel.”

“Okay. I can help you. I’m going to move very slowly, and if anything hurts or is too much, just tell me and I’ll stop. Okay? Here, I’m starting now. I’m going to touch your hand…” His voice trailed off as he reached out to take T52’s hand, working with the same patience and speed as he did Hong-bin, though he was shocked when T52 didn’t scream or jump when Sang-hyuk touched him, instead smiling in relief. “T52?”

“You feel nice,” was all T52 said before adjusting in his seat, turning to face him with none of the previous distress on his face. He reached out and wrapped both hands around Sang-hyuk’s, smiling brightly. “My body does not overstimulate when I touch you. Your touch is calming, and I wanted you to be the first one I touched.” The entire room was silent as T52 continued, his explorative hands leading his body to gradually move closer, his legs beginning to crawl into Sang-hyuk’s lap, when he suddenly jolted.

Sang-hyuk could hear Chan-sik gasp softly as they watched T52 restart, Sang-hyuk having to quickly hold onto his body before it collapsed onto the bed. None of them knew how to respond, not having expected T52 to happily try climbing into Sang-hyuk’s lap. It was a shock to say the least, though nothing mattered until they saw what happened once he restarted. Anything could happen, and they had to be ready when it did.

T52’s eyes were the first to come to, looking around frantically when he discovered himself half-draped over Sang-hyuk. His hands jerked under Sang-hyuk’s touch, no doubt realizing the new skin, and a low, heated whine that had all their faces flushing escaped his lips. “Sang-hyuk,” T52 moaned, shaking his head. “What…? My skin; it can feel. Did you…did you know?”

“I did,” Sang-hyuk said softly, running his thumb over T52’s fingers. “And I’m here to help you. Is this too much for you?”

It took a couple seconds before a wide smile spread over T52’s face, dimples that rarely showed brightening his cheeks. “No. No, keep doing it. It feels good. It feels so, so good. Thank you, Sang-hyuk.” Without even realizing it had been a previous version of himself that had done it, T52 finished climbing onto Sang-hyuk’s lap, wrapping his arms around Sang-hyuk’s shoulders and falling forward so their chests were pressed against each other. Sang-hyuk froze in shock, never having expected T52 of all people to do something so…human.

He could hear Chan-yeol saying something, but he honestly heard none of it, his focus all on trying to understand what was going on. Never had the cyborgs tried to initiate physical contact on their own, though that could’ve been because of their lack of touch. But to see both cyborgs literally climbing on him to fully embrace the feeling, to touch him in every way and to just revel in it, revealed so much more about their ability to grow than anything they had done in the past six years alone.

He tentatively placed his hands on T52’s waist, a motion he had done to Hong-bin not even a day ago, and T52 laughed breathlessly. “You are so blessed,” he said, his face inches from Sang-hyuk’s and his dimples so deep and pretty, “to feel this. It is so amazing to feel this.” His hands moved up to grab Sang-hyuk’s face, pressing their foreheads together and letting out another pleased moan. “You are so lucky to have felt this for your entire life. It feels so good.”

“It is,” Sang-hyuk finally managed, coughing to keep himself level. “That’s why I promised that I would give this to you. You understand now, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” T52 said, moving closer to push their cheeks together. “I knew you would. You are the only one to never lie. I can read lies, and you never tell them.”

“I would never lie to you,” Sang-hyuk said genuinely, pursing his lips when T52 jolted again, his body falling lax as he restarted. Sang-hyuk took that time to pull his face away, turning to both Chan-yeol and Chan-sik who looked like they had seen a ghost. He knew Chan-yeol would never come near him, especially like this, so he gestured to Chan-sik. “Come here, Chan-sik.”

Chan-sik jumped. “W-what?”

Sang-hyuk wrapped a protective arm around T52’s back when he shuddered, and waved the younger man over again. “Come here. I want you to touch him.”

Chan-sik frantically shook his head, stepping back when Chan-yeol hissed at him to stay. “I-I can’t. Y-you heard it, it said it only wanted to touch you. I can’t.”

“It’s okay. I’ll help convince him. You’re going to be working with him, aren’t you? I can’t always come to help you out. You need to learn, and you need to prove to him that you’re trustworthy.” Chan-sik hesitated, glancing worriedly to Chan-yeol, and at that time T52 began to reawaken, going through the motions as he discovered his new ability all over again. Sang-hyuk let him learn this time on his own, keeping his gaze on Chan-sik. “Come here, now, Chan-sik.”

“Sang-hyuk?” T52 asked, blinking as his hands gingerly felt along Sang-hyuk’s chest. “What is going on?”

“You can touch now, don’t you see?” Sang-hyuk said sweetly, still waiting for Chan-sik. “I promised you I’d help, and look, now you can touch. I never lie.”

“Of course not.”

“Now, I have to go, so I can’t stay much longer.” He could see T52 frown, a reaction that Sang-hyuk wanted to smooth away until he was smiling and sweet again. “So, Chan-sik is going to come help you. You know who Chan-sik is, don’t you?” When he saw the confusion in the other’s eyes, he continued gently, “He’s the new intern assigned to you. He’s really nice, and he’ll be very careful. If he does anything to hurt you, you let me know and I’ll straighten him out. I promise.”

Sang-hyuk straightened in his seat to gently push Hong-bin back, helping him sit comfortably on his lap before turning to Chan-sik. “Chan-sik, come and take T52’s hand. He won’t bite.”

With both his and T52’s gaze on him, Chan-sik had no choice but to obey, sidestepping around Chan-yeol to stiffly walk over to them, his hands gripping onto his lone clipboard. Sang-hyuk took T52’s hand and held it out for Chan-sik to see. “Here; shake his hand.”

Chan-sik looked like he was about to implode as he shakily took T52’s hand, both of them flinching at the contact and Chan-sik the one to let out a weak whine. T52 didn’t look in pain, though his expression was anything but happy as he stared at the other apathetically. Sang-hyuk glowed when he saw the intern’s discomfort slowly fade to wonder, feeling T52’s hand and blinking in astonishment. “It…it feels real.”

“That’s because he is real.” Sang-hyuk ran a hand through T52’s hair, smiling fondly. “Despite everything done to him, he’s still real. And now he can feel just like you and I.” As he watched the amazement in the young intern’s eyes take in everything before him, Sang-hyuk hoped that just this once, someone would see the cyborgs in the same light as himself.