Sang-hyuk spent the majority of the night staring at the ceiling, his racing heart unable to let him rest. He could only feel overwhelming guilt every time he let his mind wander to the bathroom, panic-stricken thoughts continuously reminding him of the cameras that surely had caught a glimpse of T52 somewhere. Luck had never been on his side; there was no way he had managed to bring the cyborg to his apartment without being seen by somebody. Every passing second he listened for the sound of rushing footsteps, the clanking of hidden keys, the sharp breath of a person standing over him—he stiffened when he felt the bed shift beside him, a quick glance revealing Hak-yeon rolling over to press his face against Sang-hyuk’s chest.

He looked down at Hak-yeon’s sleeping face, full of regret as he fought the urge to protectively wrap his arms around the latter’s body. Sang-hyuk had never been good at thinking things through, never having had the chance to develop the ability to think clearly when pressured. Thinking now, it was absolutely stupid of him to bring T52 home, of bringing him anywhere near Hak-yeon. No matter how sweet and innocent T52 appeared, he should have left him alone in the streets. He should have pretended to not see him. He should never have stopped walking. 

And because of his lack of impulse, he had once again brought Hak-yeon into a situation where he had no choice in the matter.

And once again he left Hak-yeon in the dark in a situation where he had every right to know.

Unable to control himself, he turned slowly enough to not wake Hak-yeon, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. He had to find a way to get T52 out of here without being found, throwing him out and hoping some other poor fool found him. He was sure T52 wouldn’t remember anything, and he and Hak-yeon would be safe. He just had to figure out how. If he could do that…he carefully wrapped his arm around Hak-yeon’s waist, a soft smile on his lips when Hak-yeon easily shifted closer…then Hak-yeon would be safe.

All that mattered was Hak-yeon.

He blinked his eyes awake to see the burgeoning pinks and oranges of the morning sun peeking through the windows, immediately knowing Hak-yeon was already awake. He rubbed his eyes as a soft groan escaped his lips, wondering when he managed to fall asleep. It couldn’t have been for long, feeling like death as his growing headache nearly willed him back to sleep. But before he could bury himself back under the covers and hope he could sleep for even another minute, he heard a soft sigh, and his eyes snapped open to see Hak-yeon watching him.

Hak-yeon’s expression was gentle, his eyes full of worry despite how he tried to smile, and Sang-hyuk knew why. He tried to smile back, reaching out and hoping to distract him enough to smile genuinely, only for Hak-yeon to pull away.

“Hyukkie-” Hak-yeon started, and Sang-hyuk immediately jolted, aware of who was listening, swiftly grabbing Hak-yeon’s wrist and yanking him under the blankets. He could hear Hak-yeon let out a startled gasp, confused but willing as Sang-hyuk grabbed all the blankets he could to wrap around themselves, pressing their bodies close together. He could feel Hak-yeon’s eyes on him as they settled, his nose brushing the bottom of Sang-hyuk’s chin, and it took everything in him to not laugh it off and run away.

Hak-yeon waited until Sang-hyuk stopped moving, his hands tentative as they rustled through the sheets to rest carefully on Sang-hyuk’s chest, his eyes b with curiosity. “Sang-hyuk,” he whispered, seeming to understand despite Sang-hyuk not saying a word, “what’s going on?” He waited for an answer, and when Sang-hyuk did nothing but look away, he added, “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Oh, how he wanted to tell Hak-yeon everything, to lay out his heart and let someone else put the pieces together.

But he couldn’t.

Not this time.

“I’ll figure it out,” he whispered back, avoiding Hak-yeon’s question as he focused on the latter’s hands, unable to look him in the eye. As he felt Hak-yeon’s warm body pressed against his own, Hak-yeon’s soft breath running down his neck, he found himself unable to say the words he knew the other wanted to hear. Hak-yeon had lived with him peacefully for so many years; but lurking in the depths of his heart was the terrible fear that Hak-yeon would leave him if he ever learned the truth. He couldn’t chance that no matter how much he wanted to speak.

“I’ll figure it out,” he repeated, his voice cracking and holding none of the bravado he tried to force. 

Hak-yeon looked unconvinced as he reached up to grab Sang-hyuk’s chin, gently tugging it down to look him in the eye. “Please tell me the truth, Sang-hyuk. Who is that man, really?”

Sang-hyuk squeezed his eyes shut as he let out a shaky breath, wishing for once that he could really disappear. How much easier everything would be if he could. “I-I already said…he’s someone-”

“Don’t lie to me. You always try to hide, but I know there’s something you’re not telling me. Bringing that man here; will you get in trouble? Will…will they hurt you?” Hak-yeon took Sang-hyuk’s silence to purse his lips, squirming underneath Sang-hyuk’s fingers to bring himself eye level with him. His hold on Sang-hyuk’s chin lightened slightly, his hand moving up to brush Sang-hyuk’s bangs from his eyes. “They won’t…right?”  

Sang-hyuk could feel tears b along his lashes as he stared at the imploring stare Hak-yeon sent him, desperate and concerned, and his breath shook as he slowly reached up to take Hak-yeon’s hand in his own. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do, and now he felt as if each second ticking by was another that brought him closer to the end. He rubbed his thumb across Hak-yeon’s knuckles, revering in the soft feel of his skin, the touch of someone unburdened and loved. He wished he could have remained as pure.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens,” was all he managed to say, unable to lie anymore. Hak-yeon seemed to understand this, nodding sadly as he forced a shaky smile onto his lips. “But I promise he won’t hurt you. Nothing will happen to you, Hak-yeon.”

Hak-yeon took a long second to respond, his eyes searching his face before finally relenting. It was an unworthy victory. “What’s his name?”

Sang-hyuk hesitated, never having thought of answering such a question. Hong-bin, even during the time he pretended to be wiped, had always had his name attached to him. Whenever Sang-hyuk wanted to separate him from the model number they assigned him, he always had that name to turn to. But T52 had no such name. Sang-hyuk had never tried to look past the latter’s number, never tried to look beyond the surface and see what was really underneath. He chest tightened.

He shook his head, his lips downturned. “I…I don’t know it. You’ll have to ask him.”

Hak-yeon didn’t like that answer, though he kept from voicing it as he only nodded back. “Should I make him anything to eat? He’s probably hungry-”

“He doesn’t need to eat. He…” he could see Hak-yeon’s eyes sharpen, catching onto anything that revealed what was really going on, and he hurriedly caught himself, “…has a strong stomach.”

“Should I bring him a blanket then? He’s probably cold being in the bathroom alone-”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t bring anything unnecessary into the bathroom. If they notice, they’ll know he’s here. Just…just go through the day like normal. You don’t need to do anything special. He’ll be fine.” He could feel Hak-yeon’s stare on him, waiting for more, and he wished he had more to give. Taking a wavering breath, he brought Hak-yeon’s hand up to spread over his lips, Hak-yeon’s palm warm and reassuring as his hot breath was trapped underneath. Such a touch, such familiarity; it was something only Hak-yeon could give, and something Sang-hyuk could only allow himself to feel with Hak-yeon.

He pressed his lips to Hak-yeon’s palm, a shaky smile spreading innocently across his lips. “I love you, Yeonnie. I…I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He didn’t move when he felt a hand rake through his hair, able to hear Hak-yeon’s fond smile in the gentleness of his voice, his words colored with tenderness. “I love you too, baby. I’ll help you in any way I can. Just let me know, okay?” Sang-hyuk only nodded into Hak-yeon’s hand, a small whine escaping his lips when Hak-yeon continued to play with his hair, curling in closer to revel in the feeling. He could hear Hak-yeon’s faint chuckle, the sound likening to bells ringing in the summer air, and Sang-hyuk wished time could stop so he never had to listen to anything else again.

--

With a quick goodbye to Hak-yeon, Sang-hyuk hurried back to the lab, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn’t stayed much longer after giving Hak-yeon the strict instructions to leave T52 in the bathroom, doing his best to appear normal as he kept his shaking fingers in his pockets and his trembling lips held firmly between his teeth. In the end, no one had come to his apartment, no calls or doors breaking down after the cameras were brought back up and the feed undoubtedly run through repeatedly. He could only hope that meant he had somehow managed to bring T52 back without anyone noticing and, if that was true, he would cry tears of joy.

He was just beginning to feel calm, his breath slowing as the elevator doors went to close—only for his heart to jump into his mouth when a hand shot out to hold the doors open. He watched with wide eyes as Won-shik stumbled inside, his hair a disheveled mess and his eyes glazed over as if he hadn’t slept in days. Sang-hyuk stared at him even as the doors finally closed, surprised. It was already rare to see Won-shik out of the lab, but to see him in such a state was something Sang-hyuk had never seen before.

Won-shik caught his blatant stare and scoffed, running a hand through his tangled locks and scowling. “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” His voice was hoarse, the sound catching on the back of his throat, and Sang-hyuk hurriedly looked away. Won-shik scoffed again. “You little , leaving me by myself and then pretending to be so shocked at me looking like death.”

Sang-hyuk turned back in surprise at the memory of leaving Won-shik at the bar to search for Sung-jae, realizing that he completely forgotten about him, and it seemed Won-shik knew this. “I-I…I’m sorry.” Won-shik snorted but seemed to accept the apology, letting out a heavy sigh as he leaned back against the elevator wall. Sang-hyuk watched him for a short time before asking softly, “Did you get home okay?”

“Home?” Won-shik laughed, shaking his head. “Never went home. These aren’t even my clothes.” Sang-hyuk’s eyes shot down in scandal, noticing now how tight his shirt was across his chest, his pants having to be held up by a belt. Sang-hyuk looked back up to Won-shik for an answer, the worst already on his mind, and Won-shik’s blaring laugh echoed off the walls. “No, I wasn’t that lucky. Your lovely bartender boy deemed I was too drunk to go home alone, so he took me home with him.” Won-shik’s lips were pulled back in a grimace, as if just the thought disgusted him. “Didn’t even know what happened to me. Woke up in some man’s bed like a .”

Sang-hyuk frowned, his stomach twisting at the harsh insult. “Jae-hwan isn’t bad, he probably only wanted to help.”

Won-shik’s eyes were sharp as he stared at Sang-hyuk, his lips tugged down. “He changed my clothes and tried to give me breakfast. Who the hell does that? The ing is lucky I didn’t report him—I’d feel over the ing moon seeing him down in the basement.”

Sang-hyuk swallowed, having to look away to keep from defending, knowing Won-shik well enough to know the meaning behind his words. No matter how much he cursed and growled, he knew Won-shik meant none of it. Or, at least, he hoped. “You didn’t say any of that to him, did you?” He thought of Jae-hwan’s innocently intrusive questions as he watched over him and Sung-jae, and he couldn’t imagine him taking anything Won-shik was saying calmly.

Won-shik sighed. “No, but I told him not to touch me again and to stay away from you.” When Sang-hyuk opened his mouth to protest, he added, “Trust me on this, Hyuk. You don’t know how the world works; there are people you can trust and people you can’t. That man—stay away from him.”

“But Jae-hwan’s really nice-”

“No, Hyuk.” Won-shik paused when the elevator stopped, the doors ringing as they opened, and he took that moment to put a hand on Sang-hyuk’s arm. “No one pays that much attention to a random stranger, especially one as awkward as you. Don’t go back there.” Sang-hyuk had no idea how to respond, not having expected such a strong reaction, and Won-shik sighed again as he tugged gently to get him off the elevator. “As much as you probably don’t believe me, I really do care about you. That guy screams bad news—just be careful, okay?”

Sang-hyuk squirmed under the other’s stare, his eventual nod the only thing that made Won-shik let go. “Hey, don’t get all teary on me. You know I hate dealing with your baby tears. What do you have lined up today?”

Sang-hyuk laughed at Won-shik’s attempt to change the subject, shoving all thoughts of Jae-hwan to the back of his mind. “Not much. Just a normal scheduled check-up with X39. Though I have to go see Joon-myeon first.” He felt a spike of anxiety shoot through him at the mention of Joon-myeon’s name, T52’s face flashing through his mind, though it seemed Won-shik didn’t catch any of it.

“Joon-myeon? Why? Hak-yeon thinking of going out?”  

“Y-yeah. Just have to get it approved.” He was proud of how much he was able to keep his voice level, though he felt guilty when Won-shik believed him.

He hated lying.

Sang-hyuk didn’t waste any time the moment Won-shik was gone, keeping his head low as he tried his best to appear normal, hurriedly scanning the room to find anything out of the ordinary. Nothing appeared wrong, no one acting strangely or moving with any sense of urgency. He had expected at least some kind of reaction, people running through the halls, frenzied whispers echoing against the walls, panicked looks sent everywhere—but it was as if last night never happened. That was possibly a worse outcome than anything Sang-hyuk could have prepared for, and his body subconsciously shivered.

He went straight to Joon-myeon’s office, knowing the longer he waited the worse his chances would be. As much as he wanted to bolt back to his office and hide for the rest of the day, he knew that wasn’t an option, both Hak-yeon and T52 depending on him to get his together. For once, he had to step up and actually do something, and if that meant speaking with Joon-myeon on his own despite the terrible urge to vomit his entire breakfast all over the floor, then he was damn well going to do it.

He knocked as casually as he could, listening to the sound of hurried papers rustling before opening the door. He saw Joon-myeon sitting at his desk with a wide smile plastered on his face, his desk clear save for his computer, the machine surprisingly turned off. The room was as bare as always, everything white and empty, and Sang-hyuk had the sudden thought that Joon-myeon more than likely kept it like that on purpose. His room gave as much away as himself, and Sang-hyuk realized that there probably wasn’t a single person in the entire lab that truly knew Joon-myeon.

“Hello, Sang-hyuk,” Joon-myeon greeted cheerfully, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t remember hearing anything about Hak-yeon wanting to go out today. Do you need something?”

Sang-hyuk sent a shaky smile back as he moved to sit down, immediately stuffing his sweaty hands in his pockets. He bit his lip as he watched Joon-myeon’s eyes flit over to his computer, his lips pursing just slightly, and Sang-hyuk’s hands clenched into fists. It was small, almost nonexistent, but it was there—the realization that T52 really was missing, and that it was discovered. He had to tread carefully now, and pray to every god that existed that Hak-yeon listened to him.

“Is there something wrong?”

Sang-hyuk’s eyes shot up to see Joon-myeon staring at him, his smile even wider while his eyes bored into him, stripping through every wall Sang-hyuk attempted to hide behind. Joon-myeon had proven to be sharper than anyone Sang-hyuk had ever met, his perception able to see through any lie Sang-hyuk tried to make.

“I…I have a request.”

“Oh, does Hak-yeon really want to go out?” His teeth flashed from behind his lips, shining and feral all at once, and Sang-hyuk felt his heart leap into his mouth. “I’m sorry, but he’s going to have to live with staying inside for the next few days. All visitations are currently suspended.”

Sang-hyuk blinked at the sudden response, taking a second to realize the real implications behind it. While he hadn’t really given himself the chance to question the blind faith he’d put into the note, Sang-hyuk had trusted that the cameras had been shut down. But with this sudden news, it seemed that it really was true. While he had no doubts they were fixed now, it made sense that they would ban anyone leaving, keeping everyone where they should be until they figured out what happened.

He knew better than to act completely ignorant, Joon-myeon still watching him intensely, and decided not to comment at all. Instead he shook his head, letting out a breath that might have been a little too shaky. “Actually…I was going to ask about something else.”

“Oh, really.” Joon-myeon’s eyes narrowed as he drew his chair in closer, his chin moving forward to rest on his clasped fingers. It was the first instance of real interest Joon-myeon had ever had in him, his body language no longer blank as his shoulders grew stiff, his back rigid with his lips set into a firm line. While it was unlikely that Joon-myeon knew what Sang-hyuk really wanted, it was almost unheard of that anyone, let alone Sang-hyuk, would openly request anything. Requests were rarely granted, and ridiculous ones usually ended with the person disappearing. If Sang-hyuk had been worried before, he was definitely ting himself now.

“Go ahead, Sang-hyuk. What request would you like to ask? Hmm?” Joon-myeon’s voice grew sharper with each word, and Sang-hyuk scrambled to answer.

“I-it’s not a big request, or anything. I-I was just w-w-wondering…” His voice was breaking into worse and worse stutters, every second Joon-myeon’s stare growing harder and harder, and he felt as if he could no longer breathe. “Would i-it be possible to, um, disable the cameras? In my apartment?” When he saw Joon-myeon’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open in shock, he rushed, “O-only at night!”

It was silent in the room for a good couple minutes, Joon-myeon’s eyes refusing to blink and his mouth never closing, and Sang-hyuk began to wonder if he could somehow pass this all off as some kind of bad joke and escape while he still could. But before he could even think of forcing a laugh, Joon-myeon shook his head, chuckling darkly as he asked, “I’m sorry, but, excuse me?”

Sang-hyuk stumbled. “I-I was just wondering-”

“I already got the wondering part. Repeat your question.”

“C-could you…disable the cameras in my apartment…? At n-night?” His voice grew smaller with each word, shriveling under Joon-myeon’s dark eyes and curling lips, his furrowed brows finally revealing everything he was feeling. Surprise, confusion, disbelief; Sang-hyuk was in uncharted territory, and he had no idea what to do. Joon-myeon’s lips were no longer smiling, though the curl to the edges reminded him of a monster stalking its prey. 

“Let me get this straight. You want me, to give you, a complete nothing in the eyes of the board, the luxury of disabling the cameras in your apartment?” Joon-myeon laughed, the sound for once genuine, and he shook his head as if he just couldn’t understand. “Is that what you’re asking me? Like, legitimately asking?” He rested his chin in the cup of his hand, tilting his head with his face openly confused, his gaze so dark Sang-hyuk felt himself wither away. “And what makes you so special that I would even consider such a ridiculous request? Did you finally man up and start ing Hak-yeon? I’m proud of you, baby Hyukkie, but trust me that we’ve seen plenty of people ing. There’s no need to turn off anything for something so trivial.”

Sang-hyuk felt something switch in him at the mention of Hak-yeon’s name, his worry vanishing at the vulgar way Joon-myeon spoke of him. He didn’t care what anyone said about himself, but he would never tolerate anyone speaking as such of Hak-yeon. Not even Joon-myeon.

“Don’t speak about Hak-yeon like that.”

Joon-myeon’s grin was ready to split his face in half, immensely enjoying the way Sang-hyuk’s weak voice attempted to fight with him. “What, you still haven’t said anything? The tension in that place could choke a man. But if you’re really not ing, then what possible reason do you have for asking to disable your cameras?”

Sang-hyuk couldn’t even think to regret as he spoke, so caught up in Joon-myeon’s continuous use of Hak-yeon’s name to hold his tongue. “I want to give Hak-yeon some freedom. He has nothing to do with you but he’s still being watched like the borgs. I-”

“Do you think you’re the only one with their family being watched? Every single person working here has cameras in their homes, and every one of their family members are watched. There is nothing special about Hak-yeon to be given any sort of ‘freedom’.”

“It would only be at night-”

“And do you think that makes any difference?”

“I’ve worked here long enough that maybe-”

Joon-myeon outright laughed at that, the sound cold and mocking. “Doing absolutely . You think you’re some bigshot because you get to work with the cyborgs directly? You’re fun to mess with, little Hyuk, but I like you now about as much as I did when you first got here. You’ve gotten done when it comes to progress—X39’s status has been stagnant for the past six years. Let me repeat myself when I say that you’ve done .”

“But I have made progress!” Desperation clung to the edges of Sang-hyuk’s heart, running his mouth before his mind could catch up. “X39 h-has been remembering more even after updates, and is able to recall information from weeks prior. He’s also beginning to mirror expressions and respond—he’s been smiling and frowning. I-I wrote it in my report, so there’s been…some progress…” His voice trailed off when he realized he had begun to shout, though he noticed that Joon-myeon’s glare had softened into something thoughtful, his lower lip jutted out slightly in thought.

“That reminds me…Won-shik had brought in the footage of a week ago between the two of you. Of X39 saying something and you losing your .” Sang-hyuk flinched, and Joon-myeon saw that. “We’ve always been on the fence about how useful you actually are, since your tendency to be emotional sometimes…compromises your work.” His eyes narrowed, and Sang-hyuk felt his heart race. Won-shik had always warned him to be careful, and never before had he wished he’d listened more than he did then. “We had actually begun to believe you were affecting the project negatively, though even I have to admit that X39 has been changing.

“While I have no idea what you’re doing, it’s obvious that X39’s reactions were the most we had ever seen from it.”

Sang-hyuk flushed at the small praise hidden in Joon-myeon’s sharp words, shivering at the thought of that day, Hong-bin’s fingers ghosting over his skin, his voice full of emotion he shouldn’t be able to express. Joon-myeon was impressed now, but if he ever knew of the reason Sang-hyuk had broken down, he knew he would never be so calm.

“I-”

“However, you seem to have grown arrogant at the small hint of change.” Sang-hyuk’s eyes snapped up in surprise. “You think you are special because you got X39 to smile at you? Because he hugged you? Or that you can get Won-shik to change X39’s schedule just because you don’t feel like seeing him? You’ve grown arrogant, Sang-hyuk.”

“It’s not like that,” he said, pulling all the courage he could find from the pits of his chest. “That was my fault. Don’t blame Won-shik.” When Joon-myeon did nothing but raise an eyebrow, he decided to push forward, hoping Won-shik would be forgotten. Nothing he did was ever to get anyone else in trouble. “Asking about the cameras has nothing to do with X39. Anything I do for X39 is for him alone, and anything I ask for Hak-yeon is for Hak-yeon. The changes in X39 haven’t pushed me to be arrogant, but has showed me what is important. I’ve spent so much time and energy on X39, but have done nothing for Hak-yeon. I want to do something for him, and asking to give him some privacy and freedom is something I think he deserves.”

Joon-myeon snorted, countering, “Anyone could do your job. What do you bring that would make us think of you as anything but replaceable?”

“No one has been able to work with X39. I am the only one that has gotten him to engage in conversation, let alone reciprocating expressions. You can replace me, but you would have to find someone who could get those results as easily as I can. As you’ve seen with T52, a memory wipe is not as simple as you think.”

The scowl on Joon-myeon’s lips slowly turned up into the smallest of smirks, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he asked, “Are you threatening me?”

“No, but I’m warning you.” He thought to Hak-yeon, of the many failed promises to protect him, and steeled himself forward. He had spent so many years with his head down, afraid of the world and the repercussions even peeking beyond what he was allowed to see would bring. While he was terrified of what the future would hold, he was ready if it meant he could save Hak-yeon. He didn’t care what happened to him, as long as Hak-yeon was safe. “I’ve never mentored and have no intention to, and you would lose out on what exactly makes the cyborgs react to me. There would be nothing you could do.”

Joon-myeon didn’t answer for the longest time, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze piercing as if trying to dissect him. Sang-hyuk refused to falter, keeping his chin up and his eyes focused regardless of how much his fingers trembled or his chest compressed against his lungs. They sat that way for what felt like hours, neither wavering in their gaze, until Joon-myeon finally let out a low hum, the sound echoing in the empty room.

“I’ll give it some thought,” he said, his answer surprising Sang-hyuk more than a rejection would have. “That doesn’t mean I agree, or that I’m entirely happy with how much you’ve overestimated your worth, but I will think about it.” He stood up, the action immediately prompting Sang-hyuk to do the same. “But I’ll be careful if I were you, Han Sang-hyuk. Bravado will only get you so far.”

It took all Sang-hyuk’s willpower to not cower in fear at the intensity behind those words, giving a short bow and taking his leave.

--

Sang-hyuk had spent the greater deal of last night and this morning preparing himself for his talk with Joon-myeon, which was why he found himself standing in front of Hong-bin’s door with nothing but an escalating feeling of utter dread. He had somehow managed to not see Hong-bin since the other’s confession, and even after all this time had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do. Years of self-loathing and pain suddenly erased with a simple ‘sorry’; Sang-hyuk couldn’t handle change, and this was easily one of the biggest changes in his life.

The strange looks others were giving him was the only thing that eventually pushed him to open the door, though he kept his eyes firmly on the floor as he stepped inside the unbearably familiar room. Everything was the same, nothing moved, nothing changed—though it was ridiculous to think otherwise. Hong-bin only confessed to never losing his memories, it wasn’t like his body had fallen apart or anything. There was no reason for anything to change, or anyone to suspect. Of course everything would be the same.

Everything except Hong-bin.

The eventual lift of his eyes revealed Hong-bin to be sitting like always, his back impossibly straight and his hands held firmly over his knees. His hair was as styled and messy as always, the efforts of the more sympathetic interns thwarted by the dispassionate technicians. He wore the same loose t-shirt and pants that Sang-hyuk had brought him, something that made Sang-hyuk’s heart race and clench at the same time. For years, Sang-hyuk had tried to get Hong-bin to learn how to get his new clothes from the desk drawer after tests, and for years Hong-bin had continued to not understand. But now, sitting here clothed and waiting; Sang-hyuk could no longer hide.

Sang-hyuk said nothing as he slowly made his way over to his desk chair, sitting down without giving a single glance to Hong-bin’s searching eyes. He kept his lips firmly shut as he reached out and began the daily tests, Hong-bin’s body following along out of habit more than anything. He could see Hong-bin tilt his head out of the corner of his eye, the other trying to catch his gaze. But he would do no such thing, forcing himself to press along Hong-bin’s body and find any inconsistencies, noting that for the first time there was nothing wrong. No broken limbs, no creaky rotations, no filtering voice cracks. His body was absolutely perfect, and Sang-hyuk didn’t know why it made him want to sob.

He dropped Hong-bin’s foot as if burned when he was done, turning to his folder and marking all the necessary boxes, even going through a second time just to double check. He really didn’t need to, had done this same test so many times he could fill out the forms with his eyes closed. He knew he was being petty at this point, but he just wasn’t ready to face the truth that had been lurking in the back of his mind for the past week.

This being in front of him was the same person that had been at the forefront of his memories, warming the edges of his childhood that Hak-yeon had been unable to touch. Those innocent, wonderful memories were what Sang-hyuk had clung to every time he had been forced to speak with Hong-bin. X39—not Hong-bin—he had repeated to himself like a mantra.

But now, suddenly, those cherished memories were now sitting in front of him, waiting for him, guiding him.

Sang-hyuk couldn’t handle change.

But now he had to learn.

He finally put the folder down when he couldn’t stand looking at the questions again, the ink bleeding through the thick paper. He looked up to finally meet Hong-bin’s eyes, and was surprised at how much shined in the latter’s wide eyes. Confusion, regret, hope, understanding; there was so much emotion shimmering in Hong-bin’s eyes, and Sang-hyuk felt his breath away at how much Hong-bin had truly learned and understood over the past six years. Probably more than he would ever be able to express.

“Hello…Hong-bin,” Sang-hyuk finally said, his voice barely a whisper, but Hong-bin caught it all the same. Hong-bin’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his hands twitching but staying in his lap.

“Hello, Sang-hyuk.”

The following silence was thick, uncomfortable and suffocating, but Sang-hyuk had no idea how to break it. He knew Hong-bin wanted to speak, but he was trained to not say a word without being approached first. Everything rested on him, and he hated it.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, when a cold hand suddenly caught his own, holding it firmly above his head. He blinked up in shock to see Hong-bin leaning forward, his hand stretched out to hold Sang-hyuk’s, his grip cold and comforting as he gently pulled it down back into Sang-hyuk’s lap. The entire while he never looked away from Sang-hyuk’s face, his eyes desperate to meet his, though nothing relaxed in his face when he finally did.

“Sang-hyuk,” Hong-bin said, shocking Sang-hyuk again at the other’s uninitiated voice, another change that was threatening to choke Sang-hyuk from within. When Sang-hyuk didn’t respond, Hong-bin seemed to understand, pulling his hand away and instead reaching out to tug Sang-hyuk’s lab coat from his shoulders. Sang-hyuk was powerless to stop him as he allowed Hong-bin to do as he wished, his body complacent as he helped pull his arms from the sleeves, his mind a mess as he watched Hong-bin carefully place the coat onto the desk. He had no idea what Hong-bin wanted, and for once had no idea how to follow.

“Sang-hyuk,” Hong-bin repeated, his hand slowly moving to brush against Sang-hyuk’s, the motion hesitant but all his own, and Sang-hyuk felt himself start to cry. “You have avoided me.” Sang-hyuk refused to meet his eyes, refused to see all the emotion the other was suddenly able to show. “I am sorry.”

Sang-hyuk finally found his voice, the sound thick and wavering. “It’s not your fault. It…It’s mine.” Hong-bin’s frown deepened, matching his sullen expression perfectly. It was surreal to see. “I was the one that was hurt more than I should’ve been when I wiped you. I understand why you pretended. I just…” he glanced up to see Hong-bin watching him intently, listening to his every word with an intensity he couldn’t place. He found he couldn’t look away. “It took me a long time to cope with what happened, and I don’t really know what to do now.”

Hong-bin hummed, his hand moving to rub circles into the back of Sang-hyuk’s hand. Sang-hyuk felt a stifled choke escape his lips, the comforting motion sending rivets of warmth through his body. Hak-yeon had always done this to comfort him when he was younger, and Sang-hyuk had done the same to Hong-bin through the years to calm himself. To see Hong-bin doing it now, without thought, made a small smile grow on his face.

“I see,” Hong-bin said. “While I could not read you well at the time, I could tell you had not taken my memory wipe well. Here in this place, there was no way that I could help you without bringing you harm, so I did what I thought would help. I am sorry if that caused you anything but.”

Sang-hyuk finally smiled fully, shaking his head with a shaky laugh. “Don’t apologize. You did your best. We both did.” He tentatively pulled his hand away enough to wrap it around Hong-bin’s, for the first time noticing that his hand was now as large as the other’s. He remembered the same hand from his memories, large and cold as they held him in a way that contrasted Hak-yeon’s loving embrace. Now, held in his own, he found them fitting in a way Hak-yeon’s never could.

Hong-bin matched his expression, his lips pulling back to show his teeth, his cheeks crinkling and forming soft wrinkles around his eyes. It was strange to see such a genuine look on the face that Sang-hyuk had grown used to seeing blank, though he found it to be the first of many welcome changes. “I have not seen you smile like this in a long time. You appear different when you truly smile.”

“Well, there’s not much to smile about here.” He squeezed Hong-bin’s fingers, relishing the small whimper when Hong-bin winced. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

A short while later found Sang-hyuk with his knees drawn up under his chin, his arms wrapped around his legs as he stared longingly at Hong-bin, the latter doing the same. Hong-bin had pleaded for Sang-hyuk to sit in his lap, wanting to hold him, to feel him, but Sang-hyuk had drawn a firm line, refusing despite every fiber in his being wanting to just fall into Hong-bin’s embrace. Despite Joon-myeon’s surprising praise at the video, Sang-hyuk was not unaware of the hidden threat behind it, knowing there was a line that he could not cross. He could indulge Hong-bin, encourage him and love him, but that was as far as he could go. The moment he faltered in his duties, caused irreversible damage to the test, he knew he would be gone.

And so would Hak-yeon.

Hong-bin tilted his head, a habit Sang-hyuk never knew he missed. “There is something troubling you, Sang-hyuk. You have become talented in hiding your emotions, but I can see something is wrong.”

Sang-hyuk chuckled, the sound soft and weak. His grip on his legs tightened. “Is it that obvious?”

“I can see that you are not well. If that is what you are asking.”

Sang-hyuk laughed at Hong-bin’s attempt to answer his rhetorical question seriously, his finger moving to pick at a loose strand of his sleeve. He didn’t want to lie and say that his conversation with Joon-myeon wasn’t worrying him, or that he wasn’t still terrified of T52 at his apartment with Hak-yeon. Hong-bin was a good distraction, he always was, but there were things that even Hong-bin couldn’t erase.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing does not cause you to frown like that. You are…sad?” Hong-bin’s voice lifted into a question, his brow furrowed in concentration, and it was the distraction Sang-hyuk needed.

“Not quite, Hong-binnie,” he laughed breathily. “But you’re close.”

“There is an emotion that is not sad, but close?”

“There are many emotions in between the few I taught you. There’s no way to learn them all without trial and error.”

Hong-bin’s lips pressed together in thought, his eyes never wavering. “Then what are you feeling?”

“Something that can’t be expressed in words.”

“I do not like the way it causes your eyes to dim,” Hong-bin said, his voice impossibly soft despite having no knowledge of how to do so. “You appear sad but are not. How can you feel an emotion that you cannot describe?”

“There are many things that can’t be described. And I am probably the worst person to ask. I can barely describe to you what I had for breakfast, let alone what I’m feeling.” The joke fell flat, Hong-bin only more confused, and he sighed. “It’s not something that I can tell you, Hong-bin. It’s a feeling where I know I’m awake, but I feel like I’m dreaming. Things are happening and changing and I can’t tell what part’s my imagination and what part’s reality.” He could see Hong-bin’s full attention on him, listening to his every word, and he suddenly felt himself back in his father’s office, the two huddled together on the floor while whispering secrets to the world.

“It’s not the first time I felt like this, so don’t worry too much.”

Hong-bin frowned, an expression all his own as a smile was still on Sang-hyuk’s face. “Your acceptance of such a reality is something that causes me to worry.”

“Can cyborgs even be worried?”

Hong-bin’s frown deepened. “What I feel when I think of your safety, that is worry. You were the one that taught me that.” Sang-hyuk winced, properly admonished, and Hong-bin continued, his tone softer. “I always worry about you, Sang-hyuk. I want you to be safe. It is because of myself and your father that you are here. To see how much you have changed makes me sad.”

“Hong-bin-”

“I do not want you to be sad, or to be not sad but close. I want you to be happy, so if there is anything that I can do to help you, please tell me.” Sang-hyuk could only think of T52 hiding in his bathroom, of Hak-yeon waiting for him, and despite how much he wanted Hong-bin to hold him and tell him everything would be alright, he knew he could never allow himself that luxury.

--

His request was approved.

It was that simple. No questions, no suspicious stares, no begging—Joon-myeon didn’t even call for another visit. The cameras would be turned off starting eleven at night, and would be back up by six. Any time in between would be unrecorded. It was that simple. He instinctively looked around his office to see if there was anyone hiding, waiting to tell him it was a big joke, and he bit his lip in a raging mixture of fear and regret.

It couldn’t be that simple, right?

Joon-myeon wouldn’t have agreed so easily, especially after threatening him, right?

But that was exactly what it was.

A quick trip to the records room showed the cameras assigned to his apartment, every single one of them black. He asked the guys working there over and over just to make sure they were really turned off, forcing them to turn them back on just to make sure the audio was turned off as well. He watched as Hak-yeon cooked dinner, the room filled with an unbearable silence as the truth slowly settled in. He watched as Hak-yeon continuously checked the clock, mumbling to himself, and Sang-hyuk felt his chest tighten. Joon-myeon had really approved his request.

Hak-yeon was safe.

And so was T52.

He flew home that night, ignoring all the work piled on his desk and the few people trying to wave him goodbye, his mind set on one thing and one thing only. His apartment door banged against the wall from the sheer force he shoved against it, Hak-yeon yelping from the kitchen at the sound. Sang-hyuk ran inside to see Hak-yeon standing frozen by the kitchen island, his eyes wide with a pan of fried rice steaming in his hands. Hak-yeon was barely able to stutter out Sang-hyuk’s name before Sang-hyuk marched forward and yanked the pan out of his hands, tossing it aside and wrenching Hak-yeon into the tightest hug he could.

“S-Sang-hyuk!” Hak-yeon grunted, squirming, and Sang-hyuk shifted only so he could crush him that much harder. It didn’t matter how it was obtained or how long it would last; for this short time, for this moment, he and Hak-yeon were free. No one would see and no one would hear. They were alone, together, and there was nothing more he would ever want.

Hak-yeon seemed to understand the severity of the situation, settling into Sang-hyuk’s uncomfortable embrace to gently rub his back, his voice low and whispering soft nothings. Sang-hyuk could feel tears prickling the edge of his lashes, and for the first time was unashamed to let them fall, able to feel his heaving chest press against Hak-yeon’s firm one. Everything was so right, so beautiful, in that moment; no amount of Joon-myeon threatening him, Hong-bin’s constant changing, or Won-shik’s warnings could affect him. Not even—

He abruptly ripped himself away when he remembered the real reason he went through all the trouble of getting his apartment cameras shut down, and he could see Hak-yeon blinking confusedly at him. He didn’t speak right away, couldn’t, his breath finally catching up to him after running the whole way here, and Hak-yeon waited for him all the while, purposefully taking his time fixing the rice Sang-hyuk had thrown away in his haste. He could feel his body tremble as he watched, his breath faltering at the absolutely mundane way Hak-yeon placed plates on the table, checking to make sure there was food for the both of them, smiling at him when he was ready.

He loved Hak-yeon.

And he would be damned if he let anyone take him away.

“Are you going to eat, or are you just going to stare at me?” Hak-yeon asked, laughing, and Sang-hyuk couldn’t help grinning.

“I’m starving!” He playfully tugged his plate from Hak-yeon’s hands as he sat down, dragging his chair over so he could sit as close to Hak-yeon as he could. Hak-yeon gave him a look but his eyes were only filled with fondness, his teeth flashing as he ruffled Sang-hyuk’s hair with a sigh. Sang-hyuk leaned his head on Hak-yeon’s shoulder, ready to relish the scent of Hak-yeon’s shampoo and maybe actually eat dinner, when Hak-yeon stiffened, the sudden motion sending instant panic through his body.

“What is it?” he asked hurriedly, leaning forward to see Hak-yeon’s face.  

“Your friend,” Hak-yeon said, his eyes wide, “we forgot him. He’s probably hungry.”

Sang-hyuk let out a heavy sigh of relief at the non-issue, dropping his head as he firmly held Hak-yeon in his seat when the other moved to get up. He could hear Hak-yeon start to protest, and he said softly, “I told you, remember? He has a strong stomach. He doesn’t need to eat.”

Hak-yeon shook his head, his expression firm. “Even the strongest stomach has to eat sometime. He’s been in that room all day, he’s probably starving.”

Sang-hyuk pulled back when Hak-yeon pushed his hand away, watching sullenly as the other made his way to the bathroom, knowing when to stop. There were only so many lies he could tell before Hak-yeon would realize that T52 wasn’t human, and he would never bring Hak-yeon into that mess.

So, he dutifully sat in his chair as he waited, listening to Hak-yeon speaking with T52, the soft sound of feet pattering on the floor following before both Hak-yeon and T52 reappeared in the kitchen. Sang-hyuk noted with some surprise that T52 was dressed in some of Hak-yeon’s old clothes, the loose t-shirt catching tight against the cyborg’s wide shoulders, the waist of his pants clinging to his thicker waist. He should’ve known that Hak-yeon wouldn’t have listened to him.

T52 brightened at the sight of him, waving with the one hand that wasn’t being held by Hak-yeon. “Sang-hyuk! Hello!”

Sang-hyuk gave a small wave, unsure what to do, and Hak-yeon misunderstood his awkwardness. “I’m sorry, I know you said not to give him clothes. I just didn’t like leaving him . It isn’t right.”

No, it isn’t, Sang-hyuk thought sadly, though he waved the thought away as he watched Hak-yeon lead T52 to sit down. He wondered how much Hak-yeon had spoken with T52, noticing immediately how careful Hak-yeon treated T52, his touches barely brushing the latter’s skin. He watched how T52’s eyes were everywhere, taking everything in, his brows pulled down in a way that showed his confusion. Hak-yeon tapped T52’s shoulder, calling out to him almost like a child, and Sang-hyuk realized he had done much more than just give some clothes.

“Hong-bin ah,” Hak-yeon said sweetly, not seeing the way Sang-hyuk’s whole body jolted, “are you hungry? I made some food for you.” He pushed his plate towards T52, smiling despite the way T52 stared at him strangely.

“Who are you?” he asked, the syllables drawn out and confused, and Hak-yeon only smiled wider.

“It’s me, Hak-yeonnie, remember? I gave you these nice comfy clothes.” Hak-yeon the sleeve of T52’s shirt, patient, and recognition slowly appeared in T52’s eyes. Sang-hyuk slowly felt his appetite disappear as he watched Hak-yeon try and put a fork in T52’s hands, his mouth dry when T52 began to carefully smile at Hak-yeon’s prodding.

“Hak-yeon,” Sang-hyuk said finally, the sound grating and wrong, and Hak-yeon looked up at him immediately.

“What is it?”

“Where…what did you call him?”

It took Hak-yeon a second to understand, frowning when he did. “Hong-bin? Ah, that’s his name, isn’t it? You never told me, so I asked him-”

NO, he thought frantically, his mind scrambling to catch up to his racing heart, unable to grasp what was happening. T52 had never seen X39. The two cyborgs had been purposefully kept apart—there was no way T52 could ever have met Hong-bin, let alone talked to him. Not only that, but no one knew Hong-bin’s name except for him. No one. He had never mentioned Hong-bin to Hak-yeon ever, only referring to him as his father’s friend when necessary. No one knew about Hong-bin, and he had worked hard to keep it that way.

So how the did Hak-yeon call T52, Hong-bin?

Hak-yeon was out of his seat in seconds, running to Sang-hyuk’s side and running his hands over Sang-hyuk’s cheeks. “Sang-hyuk? What’s wrong?”

Sang-hyuk was barely aware of his hands grabbing Hak-yeon’s, holding him still as he struggled to breathe. “Hak-yeon…did…did he really say that name? D-did he really say…?”

Hak-yeon bit his lip, worry deep in his eyes as he cautiously nodded. “Yes. He told me.”

Sang-hyuk nodded along with him, never letting go of his hands as he turned to T52, his gaze darkening at the innocent look the cyborg was giving him. Something wasn’t right, and he didn’t like what that meant. “T52, what is your name?” He spoke with the authority he used only for work, his tone sharp and cold, and T52 answered on instinct alone.

“T52.”

“What is the name you told Hak-yeon?”

“Sang-hyuk-”

“Where did you hear that name, T52?”

T52 didn’t answer right away, his eyes scanning both him and Hak-yeon before slowly morphing his face into an expression that matched. He lowered his shoulders, dimmed his eyes and dropped his smile, his voice holding none of the cheer it did before. The change was so drastic, Sang-hyuk would have thought he reset. “It is my name.”

“Don’t be so harsh,” Hak-yeon reprimanded, glancing between the two of them apprehensively. “Why are you acting like this?”

Sang-hyuk faltered, staring into Hak-yeon’s eyes and wishing the world wasn’t so complicated. But nothing in life was ever easy, and it definitely wouldn’t start now. He took a staggering breath before looking back to T52, doing his best to keep his voice light and his expression calm. T52 had always reacted well to his gentler approach. “I’m sorry if I scared you, T52. I was just surprised. You’ve never mentioned any name to me before.”

T52 hesitated, trying to read him and understand what he really meant behind his words. But that was something that neither cyborg had been able to master, and in the end T52 just smiled. “No one asked. Hak-yeonnie was the first person to ask me.” He beamed at Hak-yeon, Hak-yeon beaming right back, and Sang-hyuk felt as if he was missing something. Like he didn’t belong. And he didn’t like it. “But do not worry. I still like when you call me T52 the best.”

He struggled to keep his smile. “T-that’s…thank you, T52. I just…are you sure that’s your name? I’m pretty sure that was one of the interns’ names-”

“No, it is my name.”

“How do you know…?” with your memories the way they are, was the rest of the question he left unvoiced, and while Hak-yeon sat unaware of the implication, T52 understood. He could see from the way T52’s face scrunched together that he knew the answer but had no idea how to express it, that ability taken from him when they wiped his memory. Sang-hyuk felt a pang of guilt when T52 turned to Hak-yeon in despair, Hak-yeon running a soothing hand down his neck, and he decided to change the subject.

“Thank you, Yeonnie, for taking care of him.” Hak-yeon looked up at him, his hand still resting on T52’s shoulder. “You really were a great help, watching him on such short notice. He didn’t cause you any problems, did he?”

“Of course not! He was perfect. Not once did he complain, and he even complimented my cooking, unlike someone.” At that T52’s head fell limp, the beginning of a reset, and Sang-hyuk knew he had no time to lose. T52 was sweet, and he meant no harm, but there were things he wanted to make sure had no chance of ever being found out. And if that meant waiting until the other was temporarily incapacitated, then so be it.

“Hak-yeon.” Hak-yeon’s face hardened, recognizing the hard tone. “I figured it out. I found a way to get him out of here without anyone ever knowing he was here.”

A flurry of emotions passed over Hak-yeon’s face as the other did his best to reign himself in, his voice rough as he asked, “Y-you’ll be okay, right? You won’t get in trouble?”

“No. I was able to get them to not watch our apartment—”

“They watch our apartment?”

“—at night, but I’m not sure I trust them. I want to wait a couple more days to make sure they don’t notice anything, and when I’m sure I’ll take him away. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” T52 began to stir, blinking blearily, and Sang-hyuk hurriedly shot his hand across the table to grab Hak-yeon’s. “I promise everything will be okay. Just keep him in the bathroom and don’t take him out until I come home. If we can do it…” he paused, his words catching in his throat, “then everything will be okay.”

“I promise.”

Hello!

Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry this took so long. Real life and writer's block can be a real pain sometimes. I honestly didn't think anyone was reading this anymore haha. But for real, there's some real regret for writing the story like this. The plot is already complex as it is, and writing it out of order is sometimes really taxing. I don't even know where I am half the time haha. 

But I am really sorry this took so long, so I wrote this super long chapter to hopefully make it up! 

Thank you for reading!~