The results of the skin type tests ended in success, and the once fruitless endeavor to create a lining of skin that both protected the artificial attachments as well as allowed the cyborgs to feel was finally completed. It was a strange few days that followed, both Hong-bin and T52 taken into numerous special tests where every material imaginable was draped over their bodies, their reactions heavily monitored to see how long it took for them to break. Sang-hyuk was extremely grateful he never had to be present during those types of tests, unable to handle the sounds of painful screams. He was only required to be with Hong-bin afterward, to help him cope and ready him for the next.

There were talks of him possibly gaining ownership of T52, the higher-ups having noted the latter’s unexpectedly emotional response to Sang-hyuk. It was widely known that T52 was old, the outdated model having an extremely low success rate regardless of who worked with him. He was filled with problems even before Chan-yeol was in charge, which was why they were taking such note of his interactions with Sang-hyuk.

Sang-hyuk hoped he was never assigned to him; T52 was sweet, but he would never be able to manage working with both cyborgs, let alone dealing with the aftermath of the experiments.

But for now, confidence was restored into him, Sang-hyuk having supposedly proven his efficiency. Joon-myeon no longer came after him to get better updates, actually encouraging Sang-hyuk’s more gentle approach after seeing Hong-bin’s increasingly impressive results. Everyone stared at him differently, some in awe, some in respect, though to Sang-hyuk, none of it meant anything. The only thing that mattered to him was Hong-bin, and as long as he was allowed to continue doing what he wanted with no impending repercussion, he would continue to do what they wanted.

He was in for a surprise when he came in one morning to find the whole lab on edge, everyone dressed crisp and working with a finesse he only saw when the higher-ups were actually down on the floor. A hint of dread began to grow in the pit of his stomach as he slowly made his way over to the lobby, his eyes continuously scanning the room as he went to log himself in. Nobody said anything, only making eye contact when necessary, and he pursed his lips as he smoothly fell in line.

The halls were quiet, the low murmurs that came from soft whispers all but gone as everyone moved swiftly, and Sang-hyuk began to seriously regret not paying attention to the gossip that went around. Something was happening, yes, though whether it was something big or relatively small was unknown, and Sang-hyuk hated when he didn’t know. Had something happened to Hong-bin? To T52? Maybe Byul? There were only three working cyborgs in the lab, and it definitely would be catastrophic if something happened to any of them, especially if Sang-hyuk hadn’t been here.

But then if something had happened to them, he would definitely have been called in. Had something happened to the test subjects down in the basement? He wasn’t sure if that could be it, since the speed with which everyone was moving seemed more focused, rather than panicked. During the time when all the subjects died from Test 1, a time that now made him sick to his stomach, the whole lab had been put on lockdown, all the higher-ups storming through the halls as they demanded answers. If anything remotely similar had happened, nobody would be as calm as they were now.

It wasn’t until he reached Hong-bin’s room only to find the door locked, the file hanging nearby signaling that he was out for testing, that it suddenly clicked for him, and he bolted away.

The sponsors.

They were here today, and they would be wanting to see Hong-bin.

He never moved faster than he did then, nearly shoving people out of the way to get to the elevator. The sponsors were finicky bastards that appreciated results more than effectiveness, and were the real final say when it came to what direction the cyborg experiments were to go. Joon-myeon’s position was very high, yes, and he did have a lot of control, but everything had to please the sponsors; one wrong move could easily have them pulling out, and without funding the entire operation would come crashing down.

Sang-hyuk let out the breath he had been holding when the doors finally slid open, trying his best to keep his composure as he stepped into the uncomfortable span of office doors. Not much was on the third floor, the majority of it the unused offices of the higher-ups—except for one lone room hidden in the very back, a room where the sponsors were brought to be shown the cyborgs one by one, the cyborgs forced through a litany of demonstrations to show their progress. It would be easier to show them in the downstairs test rooms, though only the best could be provided for the sponsors, and only the top floor suited those needs.

The door to the demonstration room was closed, the sound of Joon-myeon and Yifan’s voice filtering through, and Sang-hyuk stopped cold. He knew Hong-bin was inside, performing for the ones who would choose whether he lived or was to be shut down. He wished he could be with him, to help and encourage him, though such tenderness would not be what anyone wanted to see. He chewed his lip as he hovered by the door, doing his best to hear whatever he could.

“Sang-hyuk?” Sang-hyuk nearly jumped out of his skin to see Won-shik poking his head out from a nearby door, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What are you doing up here?”

“I—the sponsors,” Sang-hyuk mumbled intelligently. “I forgot. I wanted to see them before they went inside but…” He trailed off before he frowned confusedly. “What are you doing up here?”

“Oh, uh, the new borg, Y09, was assigned to me. I brought it up for them to see, and I’ve just kind of hung around since.” Sang-hyuk didn’t miss the way Won-shik already referred to Byul as an object, a detachment that was encouraged, and he couldn’t help but think of how hard Sung-jae had taken it. Won-shik waited a few seconds before looking Sang-hyuk over, his brow furrowing. “You look like you just ran a marathon. What are you doing getting so worked up for?”

Sang-hyuk ran a hand through his hair, pursing his lips as he tried to keep his voice steady. “X39 has been progressing rapidly in the past couple weeks. I’m just worried about how they’re going to take it.”

“Ah.” Won-shik looked just as uncomfortable as Sang-hyuk was uneasy, his face scrunching up as if trying to find the right words to say. Won-shik was so awkward sometimes, and it was times like these when Sang-hyuk was sure if they had met under different circumstances, they would have made pretty great friends. “Well, there’s a window in here, if you wanna look. You can’t see the borgs, obviously, but you can see the sponsors. If you want-”

“Yes!” Sang-hyuk was inside the room before Won-shik even had time to finish, immediately finding the window and nearly plastering himself against the glass. He could hear Won-shik chortle before joining him, a silence falling over them that was near suffocating.

There were ten sponsors in all. He could see them all sitting in comfortable, plush seats, looking so prim and proper as they listened to Joon-myeon speak. For the majority of them, there was nothing discernable about them, each as faceless as the next. Neatly done hair, expensive clothes that covered bodies doused in makeup and money; they were the perfect example of people so far above others they created a wall from their presence alone. Sang-hyuk hated it. They never had to worry about anything, their money earned from the blood and sweat of others keeping them safe and oblivious. It allowed them time to look into anything worth their fancy, including funding ridiculous projects to create machines out of men.

His eyes scanned their empty faces until he finally found them, his hands subconsciously clenching into fists, and Won-shik noticed. “They’re there.”

“I see them.”

There were two of them, sitting together with their hands in their laps and their backs straight, heads held high with a perfected type of grace. If he hadn’t known beforehand, he never would have guessed they were married. He looked to the man first, anger rushing through him when he was able to see Hak-yeon’s nose on his face. He could see the softness of Hak-yeon’s cheeks on the woman, shaking when he saw Hak-yeon’s eyes as well. He hated them, hated them more than the other sponsors, than Joon-myeon—more than his own father, and he was so thankful that Hak-yeon hadn’t received his inherent sweetness from either of them.

Won-shik hummed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Does he know?”

“…no.”

Won-shik sighed, having received the same answer so many times. “Do you ever plan on telling him?”

“No.”

They fell quiet when they saw Joon-myeon wave his arm, no doubt directing their attention to whichever cyborg was on display at the time. Sang-hyuk wished he could see whoever it was, even if it was only to feel the humiliation the cyborg could not. He could only imagine how Hong-bin was doing, no longer sure what Hong-bin could and could not feel, what he remembered seeming to change each day. He only hoped that it still kept him from feeling anything but apathy as he was forced to dance their ridiculous dance.

“I hate them,” Sang-hyuk whispered, his eyes unable to look away from the two. “They never cared about Hak-yeon. I have already made him suffer so much just to be with me. I would never make him suffer more just to lighten my conscience. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

Won-shik let out a soft sigh as he clapped his hand on Sang-hyuk’s shoulder, squeezing affectionately. “I won’t push you, but you should tell him. He might or might not take it well, but nobody deserves to have secrets like this kept from them. Just think about it, okay?”

He never did answer, refusing to give a promise he had no intention of keeping.

--

It was hours before the sponsors were finally shown out, everyone on edge as they made one final sweep of the main lab before leaving. Sang-hyuk waited until they were gone to secretly make his way to Hong-bin’s room, wanting to see him and just make sure he was okay. While he still hadn’t been told about any of the decisions, he could only hope that the fact no one called him yet to tell him Hong-bin was shut down meant everything had probably gone okay. But even then, he couldn’t help but be worried. Were they impressed? Indifferent? Were they going to wipe him? Everything they thought, everything they felt, would determine what would happen, and he hated that he had no control.

His eyes looked to the hanging file when he arrived at Hong-bin’s room, immediately noticing the testing card gone, and knew that Hong-bin was inside waiting for him. He didn’t bother checking as he swung the door open, swallowing when he saw Hong-bin sitting like always, his chest closed and fully aware. Sang-hyuk had seen Hong-bin so many times after sponsor demonstrations, though never had Hong-bin been so aware that Sang-hyuk could see the silent pleading in his eyes.

“Hong-bin,” he breathed as he rushed over, his hands instinctively wrapping around Hong-bin’s cheeks and frantically looking him over. Nothing looked wrong, the skin as smooth and soft as always, but Sang-hyuk could never tell. There was no telling what had really been done or how Hong-bin truly felt, and Sang-hyuk knew he had to find out. He ran his hands all over Hong-bin’s face and through his hair, touches he knew Hong-bin secretly craved, and he could see the silent pleasure in the way Hong-bin’s eyes fluttered and a moan passed through his lips. “Hong-bin, are you okay?”

“I am fine,” he responded automatically, his hands cupping over Sang-hyuk’s and guiding them back to his cheeks, his eyes closed as he pressed his lips to Sang-hyuk’s palms. Sang-hyuk was not sure where Hong-bin had learned so many intimate gestures, and while he was curious, he could not find it in him to worry.

“Were the tests hard?” he asked, letting Hong-bin distract himself with his hands so he could take the time to make sure he was really okay. Hong-bin hummed.

“They were the same.”

“But were they hard?”

Hong-bin opened his eyes to stare at Sang-hyuk, the weight of his gaze the breath right from Sang-hyuk’s throat. “I do not have the same conception of difficulty as you do, and do not feel the tests to be any different now than before. Do not worry yourself, Sang-hyuk.” Sang-hyuk snapped his mouth shut as he waited until Hong-bin was done touching himself, finally releasing Sang-hyuk’s hands and matching his gaze. “You always have the same expression. It is different from before.”

Sang-hyuk knew what he was referring to and sighed, subconsciously placing a hand on Hong-bin’s knee and massaging it. He knew how much Hong-bin loved it. “I’m sorry. There’s a lot more to worry about here. Back then, all I had to worry about was doing my homework and making sure my father never found me. It was easier to smile.”

“Why do you not smile now?” Hong-bin tilted his head as he asked, his tone polite, and Sang-hyuk smiled back in turn.

“If you want, I can smile more. It’s hard to smile when the bags under my eyes run halfway down my face.” His sad attempt at a joke fell flat in front of the cyborg in front of him, and he laughed at himself for even trying. Hong-bin saw him laugh and narrowed his eyes, just a small twitch of his brow, and Sang-hyuk grinned as he reached out and smoothed over the creases. Hong-bin watched him all the while, humming softly.

“Sang-hyuk.”

“Yes?”

“Follow me.”

Sang-hyuk didn’t even have time to ask what he meant when Hong-bin suddenly latched onto his wrist, pulling him onto the bed with a strength he was still learning to control. He struggled to crawl onto his hands and knees, looking around to try and figure out what Hong-bin was doing, only to see the latter carefully scooting back until his back was pressed against the wall, his eyes full of sharp focus. He decided it best to stay still as he watched Hong-bin run his hands over everything, making sure everything was perfect before snapping his eyes back up to Sang-hyuk.

“Come here, Sang-hyuk.”

It was a simple command, one that would be normal even before all of Hong-bin’s sudden changes, though it didn’t make it any less startling to hear such conviction in the normally placid voice. Sang-hyuk awkwardly moved his hand forward, yelping uselessly when Hong-bin grabbed his wrist again and pulled, his hands unusually deft as they whipped him around and placed him onto his lap like a child, his arms firm as they wrapped around Sang-hyuk’s waist.

Sang-hyuk could only blink at the sudden turn of events, his fingers shaking in his lap as unforgotten memories flooded his mind. The last time Hong-bin had held him like this resulted in the latter having his mind completely erased, leaving him an empty machine that did nothing more than force Sang-hyuk to relive memories that broke his heart every day. Hong-bin had never done anything remotely similar since, and to suddenly feel it now filled Sang-hyuk with a horrifying mixture of excitement and dread.

“H-Hong-bin,” he tried, his voice shaky as he felt Hong-bin’s hand rub circles into his stomach, and he never wanted to cry so bad. “Hong-bin…w-what are you doing?”

“I am hugging you.” Sang-hyuk tried to turn around and Hong-bin held him tighter, pressing his chin into his shoulder. “Stay still. I am trying to make you feel better.”

It took Sang-hyuk a second to figure out what he meant, and he couldn’t help the genuine laugh that left his lips, allowing himself to clumsily lean back into Hong-bin’s chest. Hong-bin shifted along with him, his hands splayed out across Sang-hyuk’s stomach, and it was such a surreal situation that Sang-hyuk almost couldn’t believe it was real.

“You do know they’re watching, don’t you? The cameras-”

“I am aware.” Hong-bin’s fingers hooked onto the pocket of Sang-hyuk’s lab coat, grunting. “Do not wear this. It is cumbersome.”

“What?” was all Sang-hyuk managed before Hong-bin pushed him away—only to rip Sang-hyuk’s coat off in one swift motion, the heavy fabric thrown uselessly to the floor. Sang-hyuk felt self-consciously without the coat he’d worn every day for over six years, and hurriedly tried to get it back only for Hong-bin to crush him against his chest again. Sang-hyuk groaned as Hong-bin’s fingers unknowingly dug into his skin, and he shifted purposefully to rub against Hong-bin’s thighs. “What are you doing, really?”

“You have had to deal with my inconsistencies for many years. I am trying to convey to you that I understand.”

“What?”

Hong-bin ignored his question as he began to poke at Sang-hyuk’s shirt, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “This feels…soft. Is that right?” Sang-hyuk could only nod as he watched, his heart near bursting. Hak-yeon always insisted Sang-hyuk wear only the nicest of clothes when he went to work, never minding that nearly everyone else usually looked like they had just rolled out of bed. He filled Sang-hyuk’s closet with only silk shirts, the buttons thick and the price no doubt one that would have him choking. While he outwardly grumbled and whined, Sang-hyuk was very proud showing off what his Hak-yeon had chosen for him, and watching Hong-bin enjoy the feel couldn’t have made him any prouder.

He would have to let Hak-yeon know. He could only imagine how bright Hak-yeon’s smile would be.

Hong-bin’s hands trailed down to take Sang-hyuk’s, his cheek pressed against Sang-hyuk’s own. “What is stopping you from smiling?”

It was a loaded question, and one Sang-hyuk had no way of truly answering. He instead focused his attention on the feel of Hong-bin’s skin against his own, easily convincing himself the two were both real and no longer separated by the metal that littered Hong-bin’s body. “I’m just…I’m scared.”

“Fear is caused by the unknown. What are you afraid of?”

“I’m scared you’re going to disappear again.” Hong-bin hummed, his one hand rubbing circles into his hand, something Sang-hyuk had done so many times. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly remembering so many things, and I’m scared if they find out they’re going to wipe you.” His voice lowered, barely above a whisper. “I’m scared they’re going to make me erase you again, and I don’t know if I could do it.”

Hong-bin’s hand patted his, such a simple gesture so soothing. “If that is all, then there is nothing to be afraid of.” He paused to tighten his hold, as if awaiting the inevitable. “I was never wiped.”

Those four words sent the coldest shiver down Sang-hyuk’s spine, and he ripped himself away with an ingrained fear that pushed him forward. At that moment, it wasn’t Hong-bin sitting in front of him, the cyborg that he had taken care of for the past six years. It wasn’t the Hong-bin that he had met that warm summer day either, refusing to taint that wonderful, innocent memory. No, in front of him sat a faceless entity that was all the demons that had been growing inside himself put in one empty body. He scrambled to the other side of the bed, the cameras and peering eyes that were no doubt watching at the very back of his mind.

“What?” he hissed, wrapping his arms around himself to protect what little left he could. “What do you mean you weren’t wiped?”

Hong-bin blinked, his motions simple and calm as he held his hands out for him, neither rushed nor slow. “My memories were never erased. You did not wipe me.”

“What? What?” Sang-hyuk felt as if that was the only word he could say, his heart shattering as he floundered to find something that made sense. All those years…all those years he spent hating himself and feeling guilty—for nothing. If what Hong-bin was saying was true, then all the pain that Sang-hyuk had purposefully carried alone meant nothing. “What the hell are you saying? How—I pushed that button! I watched you die! I had to listen to you ask me who I was, had to teach you your own name! You can’t tell me that didn’t happen. Don’t you dare tell me that didn’t happen!”

The edges of Hong-bin’s mouth fell, his attempt to match Sang-hyuk’s mood in a way he found best, and Sang-hyuk wanted nothing more than to smack it away. “I was not aware that my telling you would cause such a reaction. I apologize if you took my words to mean more than what they are.”

“Then what were they meant to mean?” he growled, flinching back when Hong-bin leaned forward.

“I had assumed that you would be able to handle the fact that I had only pretended to have been wiped, but I see now that that was a false assumption.” Hong-bin’s eyes never looked away as Sang-hyuk slowly curled in on himself, his hands never loosening as he tried to keep himself in the present. He remembered the nights crying in Hak-yeon’s arms, the dread he felt coming into work to see Hong-bin staring blankly at him, the fear he felt when Won-shik taught him how to open Hong-bin’s chest because Hong-bin couldn’t remember how himself; to think that all that was for nothing, that Hong-bin had been aware the whole time…. Tears ran down his cheeks as his hands tangled into his hair, his face buried in his knees as he cried.

All this time he had let the world crumble onto his shoulders, when in reality he had never needed to carry even a pebble.

He felt so incredibly weak.

He felt so incredibly stupid.

“Sang-hyuk.” He could hear Hong-bin’s voice next to him, the blankets rustling, yet he refused to lift his head, unable to face his reality. “I did not hide myself to hurt you. I would never do anything that would jeopardize your life, which was why I decided it best to pretend I was erased.”

Sang-hyuk’s sobs ceased, his body tired and his head throbbing, though he listened to every word with a hope that clung to each syllable desperately. “I have been wiped before. I was only a test subject, and was treated as such. I attempted to adapt at first, though it was not what they wanted. They would only respond with more experiments until I no longer had any independent thought.”

Sang-hyuk had never heard Hong-bin speak so much, let alone of what happened to him before they met. He lifted his head to see Hong-bin staring at him, and he looked down to see Hong-bin tentatively reach out to take his hand. It was a warm gesture, only contrasted by how cold his body was.

“It was not until your father took me to your home and I met you that I discovered how humans really were. I cannot explain what it was like to be with you. You were the first human to smile at me. You took the time to teach me things about the world. That time was not long, but I am able to remember every second of it.”

Sang-hyuk wiped the tears and snot away with the back of his hand, blubbering uselessly as Hong-bin continued to speak, his words so quiet and firm.

“When they brought you in, I knew what they wanted to do. I am not able to understand the emotions that try to guide my thoughts, but I knew then that I did not want you here. This place was nothing like your home, and I knew it would take away your brightness. I did not want to lose the memories that you had given me. So, I could only pretend to make sure you were safe. I apologize for the pain it has caused you.”

Sang-hyuk didn’t say anything for the longest time, deeply moved and overwhelmed all at once, his chest so heavy he could only gasp for air. Hong-bin…he felt a great whirlwind of hurt, betrayal, gratefulness, love, and so many other emotions; he lurched forward and fell on Hong-bin in a strong embrace. “Thank you,” he sobbed, crying freely as he could only repeat those two words. “Thank you…thank you.”

Hong-bin’s body was stiff as his arms moved up to hug him back, and his fingers were just brushing Sang-hyuk’s back when—

“Sang-hyuk!”

Sang-hyuk jerked back, eyes wide and a litany of jumbled curses running through his head when he saw Won-shik standing at the door, the latter’s eyes looking between him and Hong-bin. Why was he here? How did he know—did he see the tapes? Had he been watching? Joon-myeon had said it was okay, had approved him letting Hong-bin take charge—

“W-Won-shik?”

“Let’s go. Now.” Won-shik stormed forward and grabbed Sang-hyuk’s wrist, giving Hong-bin a level glare before tugging him toward the door.

“No, wait—what are you doing? Hong-bin—I mean, X39—I was in a t-test—”

“Damn right you were in a test,” he snapped, refusing to let go as he shoved him out of the room, Sang-hyuk only able to get one last glance of Hong-bin before the door was slammed closed. “Do not speak a word and come with me. We need to figure this out before anyone finds out.”

He had no idea what was going on, only blindly following Won-shik and trying his best to ignore the curious glances from people passing by. He knew he looked like a mess, dried tears on his cheeks and his hair a mess—not to mention his shirt full of wrinkles and half tucked. He really wished Won-shik had given him some time to look presentable, though didn’t dare say anything from how angry Won-shik looked. He honestly hadn’t seen Won-shik this upset in a long time, and it still scared him as much as it did when he first met him.

He was surprised when Won-shik finally stopped in front of the records room, opening the door to show an entire wall of monitors, each with a display from a different room that filled up the lab. Sang-hyuk’s eyes immediately caught onto the one with Hong-bin on it, able to see everything going on in the room as Hong-bin carefully moved back to his normal seat.

The two people manning the room whirled around in alarm at the sound of the door bursting open, not taking any time to run when Won-shik ordered them out. Sang-hyuk could feel himself begin to sweat as it slowly dawned on him why they were here, and he started to shake when Won-shik wordlessly went to the computer, typing furiously until Hong-bin’s monitor flashed, rewinding until both Hong-bin and Sang-hyuk were on the screen. Hong-bin was speaking while Sang-hyuk cried pathetically, and it was clear how different Hong-bin was acting from the way he comforted Sang-hyuk.

Won-shik turned his angry eyes toward him. “What were you thinking, Hyuk?”

“I-I-”

“If anyone saw this, can you imagine what they’d do? They’d kill you. They’d kill Hak-yeon. Hell, who knows, they might even shut X39 down! What game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing anything! Hong—X39 is the one doing it all! You know me, I can’t lie to save my life! I’m just trying to do my job-”

“Damn it, I saw you sitting in its lap!” Sang-hyuk’s eyes widened. “You were always unpredictable and stupid, but never this stupid! , I care about you, you idiot, but there’s only so much I can do before your stupidity gets you killed!” He glanced back at the camera to see them hugging, and he groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Look, I’m going to help you this once. Unfortunately, we can’t delete it because that would raise too many alarm bells. But I’ll talk to Joon-myeon and try to convince him that it was just a reaction to the sponsors’ demonstration.”

Sang-hyuk swallowed guiltily as he watched how worked up Won-shik was, feeling ashamed at the way Hong-bin shushed and coddled him like a child. Won-shik noticed his mood and his expression softened, letting out a sad sigh. “I’ve told you so many times not to get attached. It’s not good for you, Hyuk. I mean it. So please, please, think about it next time, okay?”

Sang-hyuk nodded, his entire world numb.

--

Sang-hyuk, his sweet child.

He did not like seeing Sang-hyuk cry. He could still remember Sang-hyuk’s bright smiles with alarming clarity, and he could not describe how much he did not like seeing how dull he had become. Sang-hyuk always had the same expression, with eyes that appeared as if about to cry. The Sang-hyuk he remembered was not afraid to speak, always smiling and inviting, and merely looked at his open chest with simple curiosity. Sang-hyuk was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he did not like how much this place had changed him.

He therefore could not tell him why he pretended to have his memories erased. Sang-hyuk was very fragile, and if he was told too much at once would collapse into tears. He had seen his sweet child break down so many times and could do nothing but watch. It was a situation he did not want, and for that reason he could never tell him the truth.

He could not tell Sang-hyuk that the reason his body always had problems in the past was because he would purposefully break his limbs. He could not tell him that he would feign ignorance, holding his tongue whenever Sang-hyuk would ask how he was or if he could recall previous sessions. He could not tell him that his refusal to work with anyone but Sang-hyuk was from pure decision alone, having nothing to do with faulty programming. He could never tell that he would rather go through unnecessary tests just to make sure that Sang-hyuk would be the only one assigned to him.

He did not care if it upset any of the others, or if it caused him to be labeled as ‘faulty’. He would ensure Sang-hyuk’s safety in this prison, and would make sure he would be given a job that would be the easiest for him to handle. He would never be difficult; he would follow everything Sang-hyuk asked without ever making a sound.

He would have continued this ruse for as long as they were both alive, had he not heard the complaints. Because of his established status as faulty, the humans around him spoke as if he was not there, and it was at that time they spoke of their doubts on Sang-hyuk’s efficiency. They knew that only Sang-hyuk could work with him, but they believed Sang-hyuk to be useless, falsely assuming that his numerous mechanical problems were due to Sang-hyuk’s incapability. He did not give away that he had heard and understood their words, though he was alarmed to realize what they meant.

By attempting to ensure Sang-hyuk’s safety, he had only endangered him further.

That was the only reason he spoke to Sang-hyuk as he did now, revealing that he remembered more than he originally let on. He had tried to tell Sang-hyuk slowly over numerous sessions, hoping not to overwhelm him, though it seemed that no matter his intention, he would always hurt Sang-hyuk.

His only desire in this prison was to make Sang-hyuk smile, and if that meant Sang-hyuk believed him to be a liar, then he would gladly take that title.