Sang-hyuk clung to the back of Won-shik’s shirt, afraid to look anywhere else than the soft wrinkles his fingers made. He had no idea where they were going, Won-shik not having given him a chance to really ask any questions, nearly prying him from Hak-yeon’s arms when he tried to stay. Sang-hyuk didn’t want to leave Hak-yeon back at the apartment alone, and he desperately wanted to go back. They hadn’t spoken about anything to do with their current situation since last night, and part of him wished they did. He had no idea where they were going or what Won-shik was going to make him do, and he felt Hak-yeon had as much a right to know as he did.

Won-shik’s steps faltered slightly, startling Sang-hyuk enough he walked straight into his back. Won-shik let out a low hum before turning to stare down at him, Sang-hyuk’s eyes barely able to look over his shoulder.

“Look, kid, I know it’s hard to keep your hands off me, but could you at least give me a little space? I can feel you breathing down my neck.”

Sang-hyuk blinked confusedly before awkwardly releasing his grip on Won-shik’s shirt, his eyes focused on his feet as he took a step back. His fingers ended up latched onto the hem of his own shirt when he didn’t know what to do with his hands, and Won-shik sighed.

“Look, there’s no point making this any worse for yourself. It’ll be fairly easy—we’ll go in, get you all cleared, then bring you to do the deed. If you’re who we think you are, then there’s nothing to worry about and you’ll be done in no time. Worrying to the point you’re ting yourself isn’t going to help anyone.”

Sang-hyuk could only nod, his heart in his throat, and Won-shik let out a loud groan at his reaction, rolling his eyes before snatching Sang-hyuk’s hand. Sang-hyuk let out a loud yelp, looking up in horror to see Won-shik purposefully avoiding his gaze, flinching in surprise when he felt Won-shik’s fingers stiffly slip through his own. It was a completely alien feeling, having someone other than Hak-yeon touching him so closely, and he couldn’t help the small butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the touch. Won-shik’s hand was warm, coarse, and surprisingly calming. But it was also a stranger’s, and he panicked at the thought.

He tried to keep himself grounded by focusing on the warm, real hand in his own, finally able to look up at his surroundings and realize they were in a completely different building. He really wasn’t sure how or when they arrived, and part of him was thankful for that. They didn’t speak to anyone as they walked straight to the elevator, Won-shik seeming completely unaffected by all the stares directed at them. Sang-hyuk was grateful he wasn’t, unsure how long he would’ve lasted if not for Won-shik holding his hand.

The longer they stayed in the elevator, the hum of the machine and each beep from the passing floors sounding like an alarm, Sang-hyuk could feel his anxiety skyrocket, his body beginning to shake. Won-shik looked down at him, his hand still holding Sang-hyuk’s, and he let out another sigh before pulling him in close, his arm wrapping around Sang-hyuk’s shoulders. Sang-hyuk’s body jolted initially, but it was almost embarrassing how easily he fell into the other’s embrace. He could feel Won-shik’s hand tighten around his shoulder, the squeeze reassuring.

“I’m going to say this only once,” Won-shik said suddenly, his voice low and gaze cold. “This place doesn’t have the time to baby you. You either sink or swim. I’m helping you now, but I’m not always going to have time to hold your hand. So get your together.” And just like that Won-shik’s hand was gone, leaving Sang-hyuk a confused and terrified mess.

Neither of them said another word until the elevator finally came to a stop, the doors opening and revealing the biggest room Sang-hyuk had ever seen. He scrambled to follow Won-shik when the other stepped out, immediately stiffening when he saw all the people walking around. No one was staring at them like before, all appearing busy, though that didn’t help calm him in the slightest. He purposefully kept himself at a distance from Won-shik as he followed him, keeping his eyes down and his teeth clenched over his bottom lip.

They went through a maze of hallways, most people keeping to themselves and not breathing a word to either of them. Won-shik didn’t look at him until they finally stopped outside a lone door, the light above casting a heavy shadow over the bare white walls. Sang-hyuk noticed this particular hallway was empty, everything white and empty, and he looked up at Won-shik with scared, wide eyes. Won-shik’s smile was strained, his hands in his pockets shaking.

“You’re not in the system, so we have to get you cleared first. Joon-myeon is in charge of that; he’ll get it all taken care of. Once you’re done, I’ll take you to your assignment.”

Sang-hyuk’s eyes flickered to the seemingly harmless door, catching on to Won-shik’s discomfort. “Will…w-will you come inside with me?”

Won-shik’s lips fell down into a pursed line, shaking his head. “No, it’s just you. But I’ll be waiting right here when you’re done.”

Sang-hyuk swallowed slowly, trembling as he watched Won-shik reach out to open the door.

He didn’t want to go in alone. Sang-hyuk had never had the chance to process anything since finding his parents’ bodies, everything moving so fast he could only follow blindly along. There was nothing to grasp onto, nothing solid or steady enough to focus on. Even with Hak-yeon beside him, his constant, never-wavering rock, he couldn’t look, not when every glance had guilt coursing through him. Won-shik was the only thing that made sense, that was always there, and he would rather take his confusing moods over being sent anywhere alone.

He cautiously peeked into the room, his fingers catching on the doorframe but his feet too heavy to step inside. The room was bare, minimal, matching everything else he had seen in this place so far. A few cabinets against the wall, a desk placed in the center, a man as blank as the walls sitting behind it with his brows furrowed in concentration, his hand clasped around a pen scribbling frantically. It reminded Sang-hyuk of home, the sight before him an exact reflection of what his father used to look like, and his stomach clenched in a bundle of confused emotions that brought.

Won-shik knocked on the door, clearing his throat when the man looked up in annoyance—only for a wide smile to appear when he saw who it was. The man dropped the pen and pushed his chair back in greeting, standing up with a delighted sigh.

“Won-shik! It’s been a while!” His eyes trailed down to Sang-hyuk hiding behind Won-shik’s back, and Sang-hyuk could see a glint of danger in the man’s eyes. “Ah…there he is. I can always count on you to get done.”

“Of course,” Won-shik said politely, giving a quick push to Sang-hyuk’s back that had the latter stumbling forward. “He doesn’t know anything, so I was going to give him the rundown once you checked him out.” Joon-myeon only half-listened as he stepped around the desk to walk right up to Sang-hyuk, his grin widening as he stared down at him. Won-shik didn’t leave right away, watching, and Joon-myeon looked up at him with a hint of annoyance in his eyes, his lips pursing.

“Thank you, Won-shik.” Won-shik grunted a quick apology before running out, leaving Sang-hyuk alone with this man leering over him, his entire presence screaming danger. Sang-hyuk’s fingers instinctively clasped around the hem of his shirt, not knowing what to do and needing something to ground him, and the man noticed. “So…you’re Han Sang-hyuk.” Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure how to respond, nodding shyly, and the man snorted. “Well, you’re exactly how I would’ve pictured you. Scrawny, messy; it’s too bad you look just like Jae-myun. Just looking at you pisses me off.”

Sang-hyuk stiffened at the mention of his father’s name, though said nothing when Joon-myeon motioned for him to take a seat. He did as told, keeping his eyes down when he slowly slid into the chair, listening for the man to do the same. He flinched when Joon-myeon slapped his hands on the desk, that same fake smile on his face, and he found that more frightening than anything Won-shik had ever done. Real terror filled him, caused his hands to shake and his breath to quicken, and he could feel the tears already prickling at the edges of his eyes.

Was…was this what his father had been doing? He…had he been working with these kinds of people?

Joon-myeon scoffed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed and his eyes looking Sang-hyuk over in barely hidden disdain. “Tears aren’t going to help. You ruined a lot of our data with your , and I have very little patience at the moment.” Sang-hyuk had no idea what he was talking about, but quickly wiped his eyes and sniffled away the growing sobs in his chest. Joon-myeon was clearly angry, and seemed like he would actually hurt him if he pissed him off enough. He suddenly thought to his mother’s dismembered body, and he shivered.

“While I would love to just get rid of you now for all the trouble you caused, X39 is not responding to anyone at the moment. Every time we try to get anything from its memories, all we get are glimpses of you.” The way he said ‘you’ was filled with contempt, and Sang-hyuk was only able to lower his head in shame for a reason he couldn’t understand. “So, we need you to fix the mess you started.”

A long silence followed afterward, and Sang-hyuk glanced up in surprise to see Joon-myeon staring at him, realizing belatedly that he was expecting an answer. He couldn’t trust his voice, his body still shaking, so he gave a small nod instead. Joon-myeon didn’t appear fully convinced, his lips pulling down in a snarl before grabbing a folder off his desk, flipping through the papers haphazardly until finally pulling one out. The only sound in the room was the rough scratching of his pen against the sheet, the keys of his computer’s keyboard matching perfectly. Sang-hyuk stared down at his feet as he waited, noticing a small grass stain on his shoe, and his lip trembled. It seemed so long ago that he had been rolling around in that same grass, the sun shining warmly above and the wind caressing his cheeks.

Joon-myeon suddenly the piece of paper to Sang-hyuk, handing him the pen. “Sign here.” Sang-hyuk hesitated, his eyes blurrily running over everything and only managing to catch the word ‘contract’. His lips parted as he realized what was happening, his eyes widening, and Joon-myeon slammed the desk again. “Hurry up. You’re not getting a choice here. Sign it or I’ll force you to sign it.”

Sang-hyuk hurriedly shut his mouth as he scrawled out his signature, it looking so childish compared to Joon-myeon’s elegant handwriting. He shoved his hands back into his lap as Joon-myeon filed the contract away, the latter refusing to look at him as he worked. He waited in silence until Joon-myeon finally finished, shooting to his feet when he saw the other stand up. Joon-myeon’s lip curled but said nothing, walking straight to the door and expecting Sang-hyuk to follow.

Won-shik was waiting just like he said, and Sang-hyuk never thought he would feel so relieved to see the other man. He wanted to run out of the room and hide behind Won-shik again, though stayed rooted to the spot when he saw the two of them speak to each other in low voices, their faces so solemn. Won-shik’s eyes glanced over at Sang-hyuk every once in a while, though it was only when he gestured for Sang-hyuk to come did he move.

“Tell me everything that happens,” Joon-myeon said, his eyes hard. “Don’t leave anything out. And if it actually works…” his eyes looked back down to Sang-hyuk, smirking, “I want you to bring him back to me.”

“So, our lab has three floors in all,” Won-shik said, hands in his pockets again as he led Sang-hyuk back through the maze of hallways, not once mentioning Joon-myeon or the contract he signed. He listened halfheartedly as Won-shik went on, his ears ringing. “If everything works out, you probably won’t be on the first floor very much. So don’t worry about that. Third floor is off limits, so you shouldn’t need to go anywhere outside of the second floor.” Won-shik glanced back when Sang-hyuk stayed silent, his lips pursing.

“Your job isn’t hard, I promise. There’s only a couple things you have to do, and if you can do it, you’ll be all done.” Sang-hyuk flinched when he felt Won-shik’s hand on his shoulder, peeking up through his bangs to see the other man staring down at him. He knew Won-shik was trying to be comforting, but his touch did nothing but work his nerves even more. “I don’t know how much Joon-myeon told you, but X39 has become a bit of a problem. Since…retrieving it from your dad, we haven’t been able to get anything out of it. It refuses to give up any information, and all we’ve managed to get are a bunch of snippets of you.”

“…me?” he murmured, staring at his fingers. What in the world of his father’s would have pictures of him?

“Yeah. Supposedly you were getting all up close and personal with it. Giving it hugs and sitting in its lap—there were a couple that had us questioning, but seeing you now, I’m pretty sure they were all viewer-friendly.” Sang-hyuk had no idea what he was talking about but nodded anyway, staring down at his hands and hoping they arrived at wherever they were going soon. “But that doesn’t matter right now. What we’re hoping is that it’ll let you get close enough you can get it to work with us. If you can do that, I guarantee you’ll be just fine.”

“…and if I can’t?”

Won-shik purposefully ignored his question as they stopped outside a door of many, this particular hallway lined with multiple doors. There were no signs or marks indicating which was which, each as harmless as the next, though Sang-hyuk had a feeling each had a secret hidden inside. Sang-hyuk could only guess this was where he was supposed to do his ‘job’, though he still wasn’t sure what exactly that was. He thought to Hak-yeon back at the apartment, reminding himself to do his best to make sure nothing happened to his friend. He had to.

Won-shik made a move to grab the doorknob, stopping at the last second to give Sang-hyuk a long, meaningful look. “Okay, Sang-hyuk…I’m not sure how much you know, but your job is simple. Just plug the cable into the chest, and then press the big red button by the computer. We even marked it for you.” Sang-hyuk could only nod, his brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t know why Won-shik just didn’t go with him to give the instructions, a little worried he would forget once he went inside. Won-shik continued regardless, the seriousness in his voice palpable. “Remember—cable, then button. In that order. If you think you can’t do it, leave. If anything happens or things start going to , I’ll come and get you. Got it?”

“Y-yeah,” Sang-hyuk managed, and that was all Won-shik needed to finally open the door. Sang-hyuk barely had the chance to take a look before he was roughly shoved inside, the door slamming behind him. Sang-hyuk wanted to cry out at the sudden rough treatment, though he felt everything come to a complete standstill when he saw what was waiting for him in the room.

Everyone had been purposefully vague about what they wanted Sang-hyuk to do, focusing instead on threatening him and reminding him of the consequences if he failed. There had been mentions of his father, the bare hallways and faceless people that ran around seeming to match his father perfectly, so clean and secretive of what they did. But he still didn’t know how he fit into everything, and what was so important that they had forcefully brought him here. Nothing gave anything away, and really, he hadn’t spent much time to try and figure out what it was.  

But now…

Here…

Sitting on a bed with his hands on his knees, his back impossibly straight and his gaze sharp, sat the one person he never thought he would see again.

There, watching him with that blank stare that always made his stomach flip, sat Hong-bin.

Sang-hyuk looked between Hong-bin and the door confusedly, trying to understand what was going on. Nothing in the room seemed to stand out, everything white and bare from the cabinet beside him to the desk by the bedside. His eyes caught the large machine placed on the desk, the screen flashing numbers with numerous cables running around it. He noticed one specific cable tugged out farther than the rest, the end resting beside a red button with an ‘X’ taped on top. He figured that was the cable and button Won-shik was talking about, though before he made a move to just get everything over with, his eyes trailed back to Hong-bin watching him.

It couldn’t be this easy…could it? Joon-myeon and Won-shik had made it sound like whatever this X39 thing is was the scariest thing in the world. There was nothing scary here…he looked back down to his feet, his fingers twitching. Nobody mentioned Hong-bin, didn’t even say there would be anyone else with him—Hong-bin couldn’t be the scary thing, right? He was creepy, but he couldn’t imagine Hong-bin being the reason Joon-myeon looked ready to kill him, or why Won-shik hurriedly shoved him in and locked the door.

Hong-bin was just lonely, like him. Hong-bin liked hugs, and liked learning and practicing different faces. Hong-bin wasn’t scary...

“H-hi, Hong-bin…” he started, glancing up to see Hong-bin finally blink, his eyes staring unwaveringly at him. “I-I didn’t think I’d see you here…” Hong-bin didn’t answer, not that Sang-hyuk really expected him to, and his fingers began to play with the hem of his shirt. He didn’t notice Hong-bin’s eyes follow his movements. “I guess it makes sense…you working with my father and all…I just—I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think you’d be here, is all. I…” He bit his lip when he realized he was rambling, and finally let out a big sigh as he managed, “How are you?”

Hong-bin’s shoulders stiffened, his back growing straighter as he answered immediately, “I am fine.”

Sang-hyuk let out a relieved laugh at the welcomed levity, so thankful for something familiar. He felt himself relax a little, smiling, “That’s-”

“How are you?” Sang-hyuk blinked confusedly, his mouth parted slightly, and Hong-bin’s hands tightened into fists over his knees. Then, slowly, Hong-bin said, “You told me it is polite to ask someone how they are back. Did I make a mistake?”

Sang-hyuk grasped the situation quickly, shaking his head with another laugh, the sound broken and afraid. “N-no! I was just surprised you remembered. I…I’m fine…too.” He swallowed as his grip on his shirt tightened, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “I…I just…did they bring you here too? They didn’t tell me much…”

They didn’t tell me you’d be here.

Hong-bin’s eyes scanned Sang-hyuk’s face, eventually tugging his lips down into a small frown. “What did they tell you?” There seemed to be something else in Hong-bin’s gaze then, something beyond the heavy glare he always gave, and Sang-hyuk wanted to cling to it. While Hong-bin wasn’t Hak-yeon, he was something he knew, something familiar from before all this happened. But Hong-bin was also unknown, and no matter how much he wanted to bury himself in Hong-bin’s arms and pretend he was still at home, he didn’t dare allow himself.

“They…they wanted me to plug in something called X39 to something…” He glanced at the desk, his eyes lingering on the red button. “But I’m not sure…”

Hong-bin followed his gaze, his head tilted just slightly. It was so stiff, so robotic, and Sang-hyuk felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “I see. Did they tell you what X39 was?” There was a lilt to Hong-bin’s question, the same lilt that had first showed Sang-hyuk how real Hong-bin was.

He shook his head, scuffing his shoe against the immaculately clean floor. “No. Just that I…I messed it up.”

He could hear the bed creak, the sound so similar to the way Hong-bin’s body would crack whenever he moved too quickly. Hong-bin carefully held his arms out in a welcoming gesture, the warm gesture offset by how cold his eyes were. Sang-hyuk stared at him strangely, unsure what he was doing, and Hong-bin understood. “Come here, Han Sang-hyuk.”

Sang-hyuk didn’t move right away, his movements hesitant as he took shaky steps towards Hong-bin. Something was off, wrong, about the situation, Won-shik and Joon-myeon’s words repeating at the back of his head. Up close and personal, hugging and touching; there wasn’t anything of his father’s that he would’ve done any of those things with, much less continuously.

He felt Hong-bins’ hands clasp on either side of his waist, turning him gently and tugging him onto his lap. Sang-hyuk’s body immediately stiffened, his eyes widening as he watched Hong-bin’s arms settle over his stomach, his hands unknowingly holding a little too tight as his fingernails dug into Sang-hyuk’s stomach.

But Hong-bin had been in his father’s office. Hong-bin had stayed there for at least a couple weeks, doing whatever with his father and having that machine plugged into his chest. Hong-bin had been doing something, but he couldn’t possibly be—

Hong-bin rested his head atop Sang-hyuk’s, his chest rumbling against Sang-hyuk’s back as he spoke. “Sang-hyuk…do you remember my name?”

Sang-hyuk’s breath stopped.

“Do you remember the name I told you initially?”

Sang-hyuk’s eyes shot over to the cable and button on the desk, whirling around the best he could, ignoring the sharp pain as Hong-bin’s nails dragged across his skin. “Y-you-” He stopped himself, unable to finish his sentence as he stared up into Hong-bin’s eyes, finally noticing the hidden sadness behind them. It all made sense, and yet it didn’t at the same time, and Sang-hyuk desperately searched Hong-bin’s face for answers. Hong-bin had parts of him that weren’t exactly human, yes, but he still looked human. He breathed and talked like a human. He existed like a human, felt like a human, lived like a human—he couldn’t—he couldn’t—

“I am what they are waiting for,” Hong-bin continued, unfazed by the crisis clearly showing on Sang-hyuk’s face. “I did not know they saw you. I thought I had hidden you well.”

“W-what-? But Hong-bin-” He suddenly yanked his hands out from Hong-bin’s grasp to pat the other’s chest, his hands moving down to his arms and up to his face. It all felt real, though now Sang-hyuk could only think about how slimy Hong-bin’s skin felt, how unnatural he remembered first thinking even back then. There were so many things—too many things—that pointed to Hong-bin being not human, but Sang-hyuk couldn’t wrap his head around it. Hong-bin had spoken to him and treated him like a human, how could he not—how could he not be— “Y-you’re not-”

Hong-bin finally reached up to grab Sang-hyuk’s hands, tugging them down and holding them firmly. Sang-hyuk thought about how Hong-bin couldn’t feel, about how he had to guess how much pressure to use, and he wanted to cry. “You do not need to react so violently. I am not the same as you, but I can assure you that I will not bring you harm.”

Sang-hyuk shook his head, swinging his leg around so he was facing Hong-bin. They were so close, only inches from each other, and yet Sang-hyuk felt so far away. He could only stare at how pale Hong-bin’s face was, for the first time seeing how much was hidden in his expression that was carefully crafted into a blank expression. Hong-bin had always put him off with how he always seemed to stare without really looking, but now so close, he could see how much the other was truly feeling. His eyes were looking only at Sang-hyuk, his attention focused completely on him, and Sang-hyuk suddenly felt unworthy of such attention. He bit his lip to keep from crying, and Hong-bin reached up to gently tug his lip from his teeth.

“Do not think about what I am if it causes you discomfort.” Hong-bin’s voice was as steady as always, emotionless, and now knowing why, Sang-hyuk could feel tears collect at his eyelashes. Hong-bin used his thumb to wipe them away, staring at the droplets. His brow furrowed slightly, confused, and Sang-hyuk sniffled. “You cry at the problems of others. It is something I can not understand, but something I know is only you.”

Sang-hyuk’s voice caught when he tried to speak, his chest heaving. “S-so…you’re what I messed up?”

Hong-bin’s frown deepened. “You did no such thing. They are only concerned because they do not understand.” His hands rested on Sang-hyuk’s thighs. “I have not let them touch me since your father brought me here. I did not know they would resort to taking you. I am sorry.”

“What do they want to do to you?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” The softness in Hong-bin’s eyes contrasted the sharpness in his words, and Sang-hyuk clung to it. He didn’t realize how desperate he was for something that made sense, for a kindness that wasn’t forced, and before he knew it his face was pressed against Hong-bin’s chest and his arms wrapped firmly around the other’s body. He could feel Hong-bin’s body jolt beneath him, but he ignored it in favor of listening for Hong-bin’s heartbeat—only to hear nothing.

Hong-bin awkwardly placed his hands on the small of Sang-hyuk’s back. “You are hugging.”

Sang-hyuk nodded, scooting forward so his entire body was pressed against Hong-bin. “Yes…I-I…I like hugs.” Hong-bin thankfully didn’t speak again, letting Sang-hyuk enjoy the silence as he let himself savor the feel of another’s body, of someone else who understands. Sang-hyuk had always relied on Hak-yeon when he needed reassurance, but with the guilt that made it hard to even look at him, he was grateful for Hong-bin. He let out a content sigh when Hong-bin’s hand tentatively moved up to rest against his shoulder, and Hong-bin stopped.

“When they brought you here, did they hurt you?” It was a simple question, but one that had Sang-hyuk trembling, the memories from just yesterday flooding his mind. Hong-bin caught onto his uneasiness immediately, and Sang-hyuk wondered how much of that was because he wasn’t human. “Where did they hurt you?”

“They didn’t hurt me,” he whispered, purposefully pressing himself closer. “They just brought me here…to fix you.”

Hong-bin didn’t answer right away, and when Sang-hyuk peeked up through his bangs he saw Hong-bin staring down at him. Sang-hyuk could feel his face flush with embarrassment, trying to look away and flinching when Hong-bin grabbed his chin to hold him in place. “I understand,” he said, his voice quiet. “I will help you, so do not cry.” His eyes narrowed as his hand slowly raised up to rest on top of Sang-hyuk’s head, his fingers uncertainly burying into his hair. “But do not do so immediately. They will not let me see you once you do.”

“Where will they take you?” Sang-hyuk asked worriedly, and Hong-bin’s silence was enough of an answer. “The fixing…it won’t hurt you, will it?” He didn’t want to hurt Hong-bin. He thought back to the cable, suddenly realizing he had to plug it into Hong-bin; and he had no idea what that would do to him.

Hong-bin’s hand dropped back down into their laps, taking Sang-hyuk’s hand and staring at the two of them curiously. He wondered what it was like, to live without being able to feel, and he could see Hong-bin thought the same, his fingers tracing over Sang-hyuk’s knuckles repeatedly as if trying to understand.

“Even if it did, I could not tell.” Sang-hyuk bit his lip, worry and fear filling him, though Hong-bin was oblivious to it all as his hands slowly slid up to Sang-hyuk’s arms, tracing patterns that only made sense to him. “I wish I could feel you. There are things that the body can remember no matter how much the mind is destroyed.” Hong-bin’s hands stopped before Sang-hyuk could ask what he meant, his gaze suddenly strong. “Before you go, please teach me something.”

Sang-hyuk blinked, taken aback, but nodded nonetheless. “O-okay.”

“What is a gesture that you do for a person that is different from everything else? When you see that person in a different light than anything else, and you want to mark it as something only for yourself?”

“A hug?”

Hong-bin’s hands clasped around Sang-hyuk’s arms, his displeasure palpable. “No. Beyond a hug.”

Sang-hyuk frowned, confused. “You mean a kiss? Like this?” he added when Hong-bin only blinked at him, pressing his hand to his lips in example. “I-I don’t know much about kisses, but they’re only for someone really close. Like someone you love or family.” He thought to Hak-yeon at home, of all the times his friend pressed sweet kisses to his head or cheek. “Most people kiss each other’s lips, but I don’t know if that’s-”

Sang-hyuk gasped when Hong-bin suddenly leant down and pressed his lips against his own, his eyes fluttering closed on instinct. Never had he been kissed on the lips before, Hak-yeon never attempting anything so intimate. He had read about it in the few books Hak-yeon had slipped him before, but nothing he read could have prepared him for the torrent of emotions that rushed through him in that moment. He knew Hong-bin probably felt nothing, not even understanding what it was he was doing, but Sang-hyuk felt everything. He felt how surprisingly soft Hong-bin’s lips were, how adept they seemed as they closed around Sang-hyuk’s own, how gentle his breath was as it cascaded over Sang-hyuk’s face. His hands were just about to try moving up to tug at Hong-bin’s shirt, a sign he was okay, when Hong-bin pulled away, his head lowered and his eyes refusing to look at him.

“We should finish. They are waiting for you.” Sang-hyuk was still trying to process what was happening, his lips still parted with the feeling of Hong-bin still lingering, and Hong-bin pulled his hands away. “Go get the cable, Sang-hyuk.”

Sang-hyuk couldn’t help the hurt coursing through him as he stumbled over to the desk, his hands seeming small as they clung to the thick cable. Hong-bin was silent as he slipped his shirt over his head, revealing the two doors he opened without a word. Sang-hyuk’s eyes fell on the hole in the center, the cable in his hands suddenly feeling like lead.

“I-I just…I just plug this in?”

Hong-bin finally met his eye as he nodded, mirroring Sang-hyuk’s expression. “Yes. Plug it in and then press the button. That is all you have to do.”

“It really won’t hurt?”

A slight pause, but enough that Sang-hyuk whimpered. “No, it will not.” He could see Hong-bin waiting, could almost feel the weight of Won-shik and Joon-myeon waiting, and took a small step forward. Hong-bin saw his hesitation and held his hand out, helping Sang-hyuk take the final step. Sang-hyuk had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was not as simple as everyone was making it out to be, and was terrified at what will happen.

He let Hong-bin guide him as they clicked the cable in place, the machine on the desk whirring to life as the screen flashed a bright blue. Sang-hyuk tried to read the screen, but Hong-bin tugged on his hand and forced him to look away. “Do not worry about such things. It is not meant for you.”

Sang-hyuk’s eyes flickered down to the cable in Hong-bin’s chest. “Nothing bad will happen right? You’ll…you’ll still be here, right?”

Hong-bin nodded, his hand still holding Sang-hyuk’s as he held his gaze. “I cannot leave. I will be here.”

That did little to help, but Sang-hyuk nodded back as if it did. “And when I press the button, nothing bad will happen right? It’ll just fix what I messed up, right?”

“Yes.”

“A-and…you won’t leave me, right? You’ll be here, right?”

“I will be here.”

Sang-hyuk wasn’t convinced, but he nodded again as if he was. “They said if you’re fixed, I’ll be working here. So…I’ll get to see you again, right?”

“If that is what they say, then it is the truth.”

Sang-hyuk was crying, though this time Hong-bin didn’t move to wipe his tears away. “You’ll remember me, right? You won’t pretend not to know me once you’re fixed, right?” Hong-bin hesitated, and Sang-hyuk was sobbing now. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so terrified, trying to hold onto the reality that of course Hong-bin will be here, and of course he wouldn’t pretend to ignore him. Nothing said that anything would change if he pressed the button—he was only worrying unnecessarily. And yet, he couldn’t stop the tears that ran down his cheeks. “You won’t change, right?”

“…I will be here.”

And Sang-hyuk pressed the button.

--

“I’m sorry—if we told you what would really happen, we knew you’d never do it.”

“We needed you to act like normal—it would know if you acted differently.”

“We’re surprised, it didn’t even fight. Maybe we’ll keep you around for a little while after all.”

Sang-hyuk sat numbly in Hak-yeon’s arms that night, no amount of Hak-yeon’s worried questions or soothing kisses able to pull him back. They had given him all kinds of excuses—Hong-bin’s previous master had put a virus in out of spite, the virus ruined a lot of their work, Hong-bin’s memories of Sang-hyuk were interfering with their work—but none of them made any difference. All that mattered was that Hong-bin’s entire memory was wiped—and Sang-hyuk had been the one to do it. Sang-hyuk had been the one to wipe Hong-bin’s memories, and no matter what he did he could never get them back.

The tears that flooded his eyes felt normal at this point, his body’s exhausted heaves comforting as he tried to understand. Everything he did—everything he tried—always messed everything up. Hak-yeon’s freedom, Hong-bin’s memories—they were all taken because of him. No matter what he did, he only caused pain and suffering.

“Sang-hyuk, please look at me. Baby, please look at me.” Sang-hyuk felt his head jerked up when Hak-yeon grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to look him in the eye. Hak-yeon looked terrified, his eyes wide and the worry blatant, and all Sang-hyuk could think was that he was the one that caused it. “Sang-hyuk, talk to me. You know I’m here—I’m always listening.” He leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Please talk to me.”

Sang-hyuk could still feel the lingering touch of Hak-yeon’s lips against his skin, and he brought himself back enough to clear his throat. “Hak-yeon…can you kiss me?”

“W-what?” Hak-yeon stuttered, his cheeks flushing. When Sang-hyuk repeated the question, desperation leaking into his voice, Hak-yeon pressed another kiss to his forehead.

But that wasn’t what he wanted. He jerked himself out of Hak-yeon’s embrace and grabbed his friend by the collar, smashing his lips against the other’s. He could feel Hak-yeon flinch, letting out a muffled cry as he pushed weakly at Sang-hyuk’s thin shoulders, but at that moment Sang-hyuk didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that Hak-yeon felt nothing like Hong-bin.