Sang-hyuk had to be ripped from Taek-woon’s iron grip when Joon-myeon eventually came back, Baek-hyun and Kyung-soo running in and quickly shutting the latter down before he could react. Sang-hyuk was still much too overwhelmed to stop them, tears running down his cheeks and mind numb, hands trembling as he watched Taek-woon be strapped down and wheeled out of the room. Joon-myeon didn’t say anything then, only putting a heavy hand on Sang-hyuk’s shoulder and guiding him out, the two of them walking in silence all the way back to Joon-myeon’s office. Sang-hyuk was vaguely aware of the door opening, the bare walls and empty interior for once feeling like a reprieve from the complete whirlwind that had happened only minutes ago.

Joon-myeon waited until the both of them were sitting, letting out a low sigh as he leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced under his chin and gaze hazy in thought. It was the first time he had ever seen Joon-myeon at a loss for words, and while he wasn’t sure how much Joon-myeon had heard of Taek-woon’s story, if any at all, he had a feeling just the successfulness of the endeavor was enough to throw him off. “I…I didn’t think I would be that affected, …”

Sang-hyuk blinked up at Joon-myeon’s awed tone, surprised when he saw the faraway look in the others’ eye. Joon-myeon slowly ran a hand down his face, fingers stopping at his lips, head shaking slightly. “The way X39 stared at me…. I thought I’d gotten over it, but just one look and…” He shook his head and finally met Sang-hyuk’s eye. The cool, level-headed man that struck fear into the hearts of hundreds with just a simple smile was gone, suddenly so human with the way disbelief and shock so starkly stood out on his face. “Nobody from the that time is here anymore to remember, but I…, Hyuk, I was there when it happened. The reason T52 and X39 had their memories removed, the incident that caused it, I…I was there when it happened. I actually had known the two of them briefly even before; I honestly thought enough time had passed, thought I on them and everyone else enough that I’d gotten over it.

“But the way X39 looked at me, it was as if I was that little intern again. You thought X39 was bad after wiping him, you should’ve seen him before. I…I had never seen someone, anyone, so broken. That day it happened, the way it looked at us as it stabbed itself, .”

Sang-hyuk sniffled, hiccupping as fresh tears ran down his face. “Y-you…you knew him before? When he was Taek-woon still?”

What would have gotten him a harsh glare was now only a small eyebrow raise, a wet chuckle cracking out of Joon-myeon’s mouth. “You always had a way with the cyborgs, didn’t you? None of us could ever get anything out of it even when it had its memories, not even Jung Moon-hyuk. Moon-hyuk was the only one that called it Taek-woon; it would make sense you’d be the only one able to get that out of it.” He paused again to let out another watery sigh, shaking his head. “But no, I didn’t know X39 that well. I was put as an intern to your father.”

Sang-hyuk started, eyes wide as cold realization seeped into his very bones. He had always wondered why Joon-myeon had so vehemently hated his father; it was true that everyone at the lab hated Han Jae-myun and what he had done, but no one, not even the sponsors, had held the level of loathing that Joon-myeon had. His hands fell slack as he was suddenly reminded of the many hot afternoons his father had used the wooden ruler to slam against his knuckles as punishment for not sitting correctly, beating him with a stick when he was too noisy or asked too many questions. He remembered the day his father walked in on him and Hak-yeon playing in his room, the pure, unadulterated rage that had swarmed his father’s face when he grabbed the back of Hak-yeon’s neck and dragged him out of house, not showing an ounce of regret when Hak-yeon’s head clipped the edge of the doorframe.

The scar that remained above Hak-yeon’s eyebrow always filled him with guilt—if his father treated Joon-myeon even a fraction of the way he treated Sang-hyuk, he could completely understand why the other hated him so much.

Joon-myeon didn’t seem to notice his spiraling thoughts, continuing. “You once asked me, back when you were naïve and stupid, why we kept T52 and X39 apart. If it was always that way.” He paused, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. He looked so tired, just as exhausted and weary as Sang-hyuk felt. “Originally, they were encouraged to be together. X39 was slowly dying from how badly it was acclimating to being a cyborg, and they brought T52 in to try and help. It worked, somewhat. T52 became aggressively protective of X39, to the point not even Moon-hyuk or your father could get them to work unless they were together. But an incident happened that forced the higher-ups to wipe their memories, T52’s aggressiveness finally too much. They decided to keep them separate after that.”

“After Hong-bin killed someone…?”

Shock passed briefly over Joon-myeon’s face before he just nodded tiredly. “It was always violent, but never deadly. But X39 was incredibly self-destructive, it was only a matter of time before one of them snapped.” Silence followed, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Sang-hyuk felt not a single shred of anxiety, an unexpected camaraderie budding as understanding slowly settled over them. Both Joon-myeon and Sang-hyuk had dealt with Han Jae-myun, forced to learn and adapt to the settings of the lab that spared no sympathy for weakness. Where Sang-hyuk had clung to his humanity and empathy for others, Joon-myeon had all but abandoned everything to protect himself, using his sharp wit and cold eyes to keep everyone at bay and himself safe. Only now, with Taek-woon returned and the realization that everything was unraveling did they realize how similar they were.

“I asked you, if you were prepared for what would happen if we returned their memories. If it really worked. Sang-hyuk, you never saw them before. It’s true that taking their memories probably stunted the project in ways we weren’t ready for, but that was almost doubly so beforehand. X39 never adapted well, and T52…saying it was aggressive is an understatement. It scared me less when I first started.” He rolled his head to meet Sang-hyuk’s eye, the smile on his lips tired. Tired and defeated. “I hope you’re ready.”

“I…I’ll figure it out. T52—Hong-bin, he’s okay with me, most of the time. And Taek—ah, X39, I think he’ll be okay. At least, if I’m there.”

“You better hope. The sponsors and higher-ups are going to be watching you carefully. This was all started by you, so you’re going to finish it.”

Sang-hyuk nodded, suddenly just as tired. Just as defeated. “I will. I promised them I would.”

Joon-myeon hummed. Silence. Then, “Are you going to try and return Y21’s?”

Sang-hyuk froze, fingers shaking from where they rested over his knees. Hak-yeon…there was a chance he could have his Hak-yeon back, could return those warm smiles and gentle eyes. There was a chance he could rush back to that room and Hak-yeon would be there to hold him, press loving kisses to his head and whisper sweet nothings as he promised everything would be alright. If anything, he could at least bring back his best friend and closest companion, take away his suffering so he could he be fully aware as they tore him apart and stitched him back together. He thought of the many nights they laid together in bed, warm and content as they let the minutes tick away and the gentle thrum of the city murmur in the silence, bodies pressed together and fingers intertwined. Of the many evenings Hak-yeon presented some unholy concoction as dinner, laughing loudly when Sang-hyuk choked, the bitter aftertaste of charred grit sticking to his gums when Hak-yeon eventually ordered take-out, feeding him in apology. Of the mornings when Hak-yeon would gently nudge him awake, face lit up by the burgeoning oranges and pinks of the morning sky, eyes sparkling as he watched Sang-hyuk slowly rouse, smile tender and sweet.

He could bring that Hak-yeon back…but it wouldn’t be him.

There would be no chance for the two of them to spend the nights together again, no dinners to share or mornings to slowly waken with the birds chirping in their ears. The warm air that brushed their skin and caressed their cheeks as they spent the little free time they had settled on the couch, sun glistening over Hak-yeon’s silky hair as the latter lovingly ran his fingers down Sang-hyuk’s sides, would be replaced by the cold, sterile walls of the lab room. Hak-yeon’s sunny smiles and boisterous laugh would be muted by the thick air that came with the lab, his light dimmed by the eyes that were always watching, listening. His Hak-yeon would be there, yes, but he would be broken to the point it would hurt far more than wiping his memories ever could.

Even with his memories returned, the Hak-yeon that Sang-hyuk loved and cherished would forever be gone. The Hak-yeon that Sang-hyuk loved embraced the world through emotions and love; it would be an unimaginable torture to relegate him to a world where he could feel nothing but emptiness. There was a reason Taek-woon had never adapted; the Hak-yeon that Sang-hyuk loved would never survive.

So, it was with a heavy heart and tear-filled eyes that Sang-hyuk shook his head, smile shaky as he whispered, “No. I could never.”

Sang-hyuk was promptly sent home after his meeting with Joon-myeon, both Hong-bin and Taek-woon sent for testing to properly see how much was returned and if they were stable. Sang-hyuk had wanted to check on Hak-yeon, desperate for some sense of familiarity, even if it meant taking even more from the one person who no longer had anything to give—but Joon-myeon gave him strict instructions to go home and rest. It was strange, how changed Joon-myeon seemed after seeing Taek-woon for those brief seconds, but it was almost as if there was an underlying tone of concern in his words. Like he really cared if Sang-hyuk got enough sleep and was healthy.

Sang-hyuk never ran so fast to the bunks downstairs, burrowing into the stale, stiff sheets and shoving his face into the bleached pillowcase. He hated change, and ever since that day Taek-woon first greeted him with a soft smile and secrets in his eyes, that was all that seemed to come after him.

Sleep didn’t seem to do much of anything when he woke the next morning, exhaustion seeming to have sunk deep in his bones when his eyes cracked open. He didn’t move right away, staring blankly at the bottom of the bunk above him, the room quiet save for the low snores of the other occupants. His breath stuttered when he naturally listened for the sound of traffic, hands itching to reach out for Hak-yeon’s hand. It had already been months since Hak-yeon had been turned, since everything had gone to , and yet he couldn’t help the small part him that wished for everything to have been a dream. To roll over and find himself back in their apartment, Hak-yeon sleeping blissfully beside him and the moon shining through the window, the soft moonlight casting shadows that brought a comfort only safety could give. The downstairs bunks gave none of that feeling, and while he refused to cry, his lower lip trembled, pressing a hand over his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

Won-shik was waiting for him when he finally emerged from the bunks, and Sang-hyuk blinked at how tired he looked. How tired everyone looked. It was surreal to think about, really—for six years Sang-hyuk had worked here, following every order and doing everything he could to keep those he loved safe and his sanity intact. Everyone around him followed their own routine, went through the motions with nothing changing but the topic of idle chatter and the occasional new intern. It had been so steady, so constant; and in just a few short months everything crumbled into the tiniest of pieces, all of them crumbling with it until it was only exhaustion that kept them going.

Won-shik clapped him on the shoulder in greeting, smile not reaching his eyes. “Hey kiddo,” he greeted. “It’s been a while since I last got a look at you. You so important now you can’t even spare a minute to say hi?”

Sang-hyuk was too tired to shrug him off, humming lowly. “Sorry. A lot’s been happening.”

“You’re telling me. How the hell you convinced everyone to return their memories I’ll never know. You son of a .” There was the faintest hint of pride in his voice, and when Sang-hyuk sent him a small, nervous smile, Won-shik’s fingers on his shoulder tightened. “You’ve grown so much, kid. Feels like just yesterday you were clinging to my shirt pissing yourself when some girl smiled at you. And now you’ve wrangled all three cyborgs under you, with memories intact and everyone eating outta your hand.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I feel like I’m just winging it all at this point. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Won-shik levelled him with a heavy look, giving their surroundings a quick glance before pulling Sang-hyuk into a crushing hug. It was so incredibly awkward, Sang-hyuk stiff as a board and Won-shik grumbling as he shoved Sang-hyuk’s face into his shoulder, patting his back none too gently. But outside of Taek-woon’s emotional reaction yesterday, it was the first real human interaction he had in so long, and Sang-hyuk found himself melting into the touch, shuddery breaths racking through his body as he fought the urge to cry. Won-shik seemed to understand, not saying a word as he held him that much tighter, his hard pats softening until his one hand gripped the back of his neck, a heavy, reassuring weight that made his chest stutter.

In that moment, the constant noise of the lab faded into the background, focusing only on the warmth of Won-shik’s embrace, the subtle smell of his cologne. Never would he have imagined all those years ago, under his bed and terrified out of his mind as he listened to the footsteps of strangers and only feet away from the mutilated bodies of his parents, that he would be willingly accepting the hug of the man who had brought all that devastation—but here he was. As another shaky breath left his lips, his own hands slowly trailed up to wrap around Won-shik, hugging back just as tightly, hands shaking. While Won-shik always had a gross fascination in scaring him, forever holding a part of him that would always cower in fear, Sang-hyuk could never deny how much Won-shik had done for him. As unorthodox as his methods were, Won-shik was a large reason he had survived in this hell as long as he did.

“I know you never believed me,” Won-shik’s voice was soft, the anguish beneath betraying the calm he always tried to exude, “but I really do care about you. So ing much, Hyuk. While I’d have much rather you stayed with your head down, you always did have a heart of gold. I trust that you know what you’re doing…just remember that I’m here, okay?”

Sang-hyuk didn’t respond right away, letting out a shuddering breath as he turned his face so he could press his forehead against the crux of Won-shik’s neck, the latter so cool and solid. While it was true that he probably would never be able to fully believe him, he couldn’t deny how much the other had been there for him. Always checking up on him and reminding to go home, to rest, to spend time with Hak-yeon. He was crude, and socially inept, but there was some level of affection beneath it all. It had only taken Sang-hyuk six years and everything falling apart to realize it. He let out another soft breath, arms coming around Won-shik’s waist to properly hug him back. “Thank you, Won-shik.”

Won-shik squeezed the back of his neck once more before abruptly shoving him off, usual smirk back on his lips as he playfully did a full body shudder. “Ugh, I swear I’m allergic to hugs.” He nudged Sang-hyuk with a laugh. “You might as well get to work, you’re a busy boy after all. I’ll see you around.”

Sang-hyuk wordlessly watched Won-shik’s back until the latter turned the corner, lip trembling as he took slow, deep breaths. For so long he dreaded seeing Won-shik standing at his doorway, grinning that devilish smirk as he relished in the pure panic that would always flash in Sang-hyuk’s eyes. He had always associated Won-shik’s presence with work and fear, nervous whenever the other was near with the very real impression that he was watching and listening. He wasn’t sure when exactly the scary mentor image faded away to one of equals, Won-shik almost seeming like a friend in how they worked together and looked out for each other. A part of him wished he could voice out even a fraction of his thoughts, but with how terrible he was at speaking, and how more than likely the two of them wouldn’t be working much together anymore, there probably would never be a chance.

After regathering his bearings, he made his way to Hak-yeon’s room, both Hong-bin and Taek-woon under testing. As selfish as it was, he really needed something to ground him, to hold him steady and remind him everything would be okay; he would take anything, even if it meant reveling in the confused touch of Hak-yeon’s cold hands. He swung the door open, fake smile already in place—only to freeze at the sight of Hong-bin sitting where Hak-yeon should be, the latter placed delicately in his lap.

Hong-bin’s head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, eyes sharp and dangerous as his arms immediately wrapped around Hak-yeon’s body. There was no recognition in those dark eyes, predatory brutality coiling through every inch of his body as he pulled Hak-yeon further into his arms, teeth bared as if ready to attack the second Sang-hyuk attempted to try anything. Not that he would ever dare, terrifying panic knocking the breath out of him as he shakily pressed himself against the door. He swallowed, hands shaking.

He realized how absolutely foolish he had been, naively spending the past week with Hong-bin and only thinking of kind and thoughtful he was. He had been told time and again how aggressive and vicious Hong-bin had been before the memory wipe, but had honestly thought nothing of it when presented with the subdued Hong-bin that regaled him with whatever memory came to mind and comforted him when he nearly burst into tears waiting for Taek-woon to be ready. Along with the fact that T52 had been such a sweetheart, gentle and bright, he never expected to see that danger pointed at him—but as he stared at the way Hong-bin was ready to tear him apart if he so much as breathed wrong, he realized how stupid he had been.

“H-Hong-bin,” he whispered, a soft sound that barely carried through the room. He could hear his heart hammering away in his chest, stomach rolling anxiously. “I-it’s me, Sang-hyuk.”

Hong-bin didn’t react right away, eyes narrowed and unnaturally still—but after painfully long seconds passed, blinked the rage away. With a fluid grace that would’ve been unheard of only weeks earlier, he straightened himself back to full height. Hints of embarrassment showed on his face, small little changes that more than likely would’ve been missed by the untrained eye; excess blinking, the subtle shift at the corner of his lips to hide a grimace, the small wrinkle of the nose. Sang-hyuk had worked for years with Taek-woon, and occasionally Hong-bin, to teach them emotions and to track their progress; even the smallest, subtlest change would be immediately noticed. While the lab had thoroughly eviscerated any normal, visual signs of emotion, there were still ways they could express themselves.

“Ah, sorry, Hyukkie. I didn’t realize it was you.” Sang-hyuk didn’t answer, mouth dry as he watched the way Hong-bin readjusted Hak-yeon in his lap, touch so tender as he carefully cupped Hak-yeon’s cheek, guiding his head against his chest. Hak-yeon had actually been asleep, eyes blinking hazily as if waking from a dream, body pliant as it easily followed along to Hong-bin’s ministrations. Sang-hyuk felt his heart constrict when the two of them seemed to forget him entirely, Hong-bin smiling softly as he whispered words only meant for them, the small pout on Hak-yeon’s lips slipping away into a sweet smile. Not once did Hak-yeon turn to look at him, eyes only on Hong-bin as his replaced hand unsteadily reached up to run over Hong-bin’s lips.

Heartbreak would never be able to ever come close to describing the overwhelming despair as he watched the two of them fall into their own world, faces inches apart and secret words traded with tender smiles and caressing touches. Nothing could ever describe the emptiness that seemed to swallow him whole, the realization that the Hak-yeon he had loved, the one that had lit up his world and could erase all his troubles with a sunny smile, had found someone else. The boy that had wandered over to a pathetic child locked in a hidden room and promptly declared them to be friends forever, who secretly snuck over just to make sure that pathetic child had a friend; that boy had found someone else.

Someone that wasn’t Sang-hyuk.

But really…who else was there to blame, but him? He had been so stupid, so naïve, when he had demanded that only he could be in charge of Hak-yeon. Even when everything continued to pile up around him—Taek-woon, Hong-bin, the archives, the sponsor demonstrations, returning their memories, his mother—he had still insisted that only he could take care of Hak-yeon. He had foolishly believed that he would spend the majority of his days by Hak-yeon’s side, making sure that he knew he was loved, knew that he was happy and safe and oh so loved. But after hearing Taek-woon’s harrowing story, and seeing how Hong-bin instinctively reacted to a stranger, he…he could never give him that. No matter how much he tried to shield him, he wouldn’t be able to protect him forever. It was what Joon-myeon and Won-shik had tried warning him for so long; Hak-yeon really wasn’t different. Eventually, he would have to be tested on, torn apart and replaced until he was no more human than Hong-bin or Taek-woon.

Eventually, he would become the same as the others.

Eventually, the curious, sweet Y21 would become just as jaded and cold.

As he watched Hong-bin lean down and press a gentle kiss to Hak-yeon’s brow, the sound of Hak-yeon asking what he was doing muted in his roaring ears, he realized that he would never be able to be that person for him. The Hak-yeon that would kiss him awake, let him crawl in bed with him like a child, welcome him home with a bright laugh and burnt food, had truly died the moment Sang-hyuk had shot the serum into his veins. The Hak-yeon he had loved, had desperately tried to bring back with curated stories and handpicked clothes, would never come back. Just like how Jung Moon-hyuk had driven himself insane trying to bring Taek-woon back, Sang-hyuk would never be able to turn Y21 back into Hak-yeon.

“Sang-hyuk?” Sang-hyuk blinked through tears to see the two of them staring at him, Hak-yeon still cradled in Hong-bin’s arms as his replaced hand was held firmly in Hong-bin’s. But Hong-bin, the Lee Hong-bin that had only been aggressive and vicious because he wanted to protect Taek-woon, to fight back against the faceless people that tried to destroy them; he could be that person. Hong-bin could help Hak-yeon when Sang-hyuk could not, could teach and guide him in ways that Sang-hyuk would never understand.

Sang-hyuk hurriedly wiped his eyes as he slapped on a blinding smile, legs wobbly as he quickly came over to sit in his desk chair. While he doubted Hong-bin was in the mindset to allow him to conduct Hak-yeon’s normal daily tests, he could at least get a regular session in to keep the higher-ups happy. “Sorry, my allergies have been acting up recently. The weather’s been really bad.” He could tell Hong-bin didn’t buy his excuse, frown hard, but Hak-yeon didn’t know any better, gaze foggy as he weakly reached out for him.

“Your face looks different today, Sang-hyuk. Did something happen?”

Before he could open his mouth, Hong-bin was shushing him, one hand pushing the hair from his face while the other rubbed circles into the back of his hand. Hak-yeon’s expression quickly relaxed, eyes falling half-mast. Sang-hyuk swallowed, fingers digging into his legs to keep from crying. He wanted to hold Hak-yeon’s hand so badly. He wanted someone to hold his hand so badly. “No, baby. It’s just…just allergies. Makes my eyes watery and face all puffy. I’m okay.” Hak-yeon only hummed, thoroughly distracted by Hong-bin’s touch.

Hong-bin waited until Hak-yeon’s breathing had evened out, eyes closed and breath so soft, before finally looking up at Sang-hyuk. Even after the week spent together, it was almost impossible to compare him to the T52 that Sang-hyuk had known for so long, the placid face he had grown to expect now full of small ticks that easily conveyed his thoughts. There was so much understanding, so much sympathy, in his gaze as he looked over at Sang-hyuk, lips pursed as if wanting to speak but unsure of what to say. He knew this was what he wanted when he advocated to have their memories returned, but at times like this when it slapped him in the face how alone he was, he wanted nothing more than the familiarity of T52’s simple smile.

Hong-bin seemed to understand his hesitance, corner of his lip tilting up with a tired sigh. Such a small gesture, but so human. “You don’t need to think so hard around me,” he whispered, tone quiet as if afraid to scare him, “it’s still me. Nothing has changed.”

He didn’t trust himself to answer, giving just a small nod.

Another sigh. “My memory as T52 is foggy, as I’m sure you know. It almost feels like another person’s memories, how stupid and silly they were; but if there’s one thing that stood out the most, it’s you, Sang-hyuk ah. From the very moment you first stepped in my room and asked why they treated me like , I remembered you. You were scared and sad, so, so sad. I remember wondering why you were always sad.” He paused, glancing down at Hak-yeon, taking a moment as guilt briefly flashed over his face. “But you were never afraid to come see me when I called, always finding time to sit with me and tell me stories. You never looked at me like you do now.”

Sang-hyuk found himself staring at their feet, unable to meet his gaze. “I…sorry. Everything was…easy, before. When I didn’t know anything and…” he stole a glance at Hak-yeon, “and when he was still okay.”

“Knowledge truly does destroy morality. With knowledge comes power, and with power, people can do truly terrible things.” Hong-bin nudged Sang-hyuk with his foot, forcing him to look up. “Did you see Taek-woon? Was he okay?”

“He…yeah. You were right, he…he didn’t react well.”

Hong-bin grimaced. “He never adapted well. With no memories, living in a world with no touch is nothing. You learn to adapt because there is nothing holding you back. But with memories, it’s absolutely soul-crushing. I hated everything enough that I was able to survive through pure spite; Taek-woonie didn’t have that. I tried to help him, but he couldn’t handle it.”

“He told me a lot…about what it was like. How scared and helpless he was.”

“It is scary. Your body continues to survive because breathing and sleeping are mindless things. It’s when you realize you can’t feel yourself breathe or your eyes close to sleep that drives you insane.” He looked down, one hand coming up to run a thumb over Hak-yeon’s cheek, chuckling softly when the latter’s eyelashes fluttered briefly. “You don’t plan on returning his, do you?”

“No. I would never let them.”

Hong-bin paused, fingers never leaving Hak-yeon’s face as he levelled Sang-hyuk with an unreadable expression. He felt so exposed under that stare, shifting uncomfortably when Hong-bin only blinked after the longest seconds ticked by. “It amazes me. You’ve always promised things so confidently; Jung Moon-hyuk and your father also made extravagant promises, but they never followed through. Nor did they ever try and help as much as you. You’re special, Han Sang-hyuk.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m special…”

“You are. This lab has seen nothing but betrayal and greed; to have someone as innocent and well-meaning as you is something that is extremely special. When you talked with Taek-woon, did he ever tell you about me? About who I am?”

Sang-hyuk hesitated, remembering the vivid detail Taek-woon had used to describe Hong-bin straddling the dead scientist’s body, bone and flesh crunching beneath each blow as Hong-bin’s fists rained down in a heated fury. Remembering the shocked alarm when Hong-bin had easily broken Yong-san’s jaw, threatening curses as he was held down and immobilized. The picture of Hong-bin that Taek-woon had painted wasn’t the best, but when he watched how tenderly he held Hak-yeon, how calmly he sat talking with him, he realized everything Hong-bin had done had been to protect himself and Taek-woon. Pain and fear were the only things they knew.

“No. He only, only told me you were already there when he first came. You helped him.”

He laughed bitterly. “You could say that. I never tried to hide who I was, but then again, I also wasn’t freely handing out that information. I actually worked here, when I was still human. I worked in a position very similar to your father and Jung Moon-hyuk, but long before cyborgs were even a thought. I worked on the Android Project.”

Unbearable ice crawled through his veins as the overwhelming urge to vomit roared through his stomach, Sang-hyuk frozen still as images of his mother’s dismembered body flashed through his mind. His mother, the android that he had been made to believe was his mother for the majority of his life, with a face as blurry as it was beautiful. Whispered words and featherlight touches, fingers through his hair and always hidden behind a closed door; the mother he had known had been his father’s creation, an attempt to return the woman he had never had the chance to meet. She had been made in secret, crafted together through crude notes found in the archives…notes from an abandoned project long ago. A project that had focused on creating androids.

His hands shook. “W-what…?”

Hong-bin looked pained as he leaned back against the wall, his own hands trembling slightly. Hak-yeon felt none of it, the only one in the room calm as he slept on peacefully. “I started here as a simple technician, designing and creating the parts of the android that would eventually be made into a human model. I used to be really passionate, and I was good at it, and it wasn’t long before I was leading the project alongside another man, Lee Yong-san. Yong-san…the er was brilliant; with him we were able to create models that were so humanlike, you wouldn’t be able to tell from first glance. We had actually been in the testing stages when the project was abandoned…I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if we had been allowed to continue, just a little longer.”

“Wait,” Sang-hyuk gushed, eyes wide. “You worked with Lee Yong-san? Wasn’t he the one that tricked Jung Moon-hyuk into working here? The one that…to Taek-woon…”

“I said he was brilliant, not that he was an angel. We worked together fine, but he always had a more…black and white view of everything. To him, progress was everything. It didn’t matter how we got there, or what we had to do. He was the one that brought up the idea of cyborgs in the first place; the android project had been stalled because the models weren’t human enough, off-putting enough that went put into the control groups, they were always recognized.

“Yong-san started wondering if we took humans and turned them into machines, all the while monitoring them to watch as their humanity gradually chipped away, if that wouldn’t help us understand what we were missing. Because, obviously, that was the problem. Our models weren’t human enough, so of course, why not take humans and make them robots? I thought it was ridiculous and told him no. But like I said, progress was the most important thing to him. When our project was stopped, he took matters into his own hands.”

While never having met the man, Lee Yong-san sounded like the most terrifying person. Sang-hyuk subconsciously brought his knees up to his chest, tucking them under his chin. He didn’t even realize he did it until Hong-bin’s eyes softened, chuckling as he fondly invited him to sit on the bed. His cheeks were burning as he dutifully climbed onto the bed, squeaking when Hong-bin tugged his arm so they were sitting side by side. His skin was cold, but even then he found himself leaning over so his cheek was pressed against his shoulder, hand unknowingly reaching out to rest on Hong-bin’s elbow. He knew they were watching, knew Joon-myeon would more than likely say something—but there was just something so safe, so reassuring about Hong-bin.

He wondered if that was what Taek-woon had been talking about, how Hong-bin had been his salvation.

Hong-bin carefully ran a hand through Sang-hyuk’s hair. “You’ve always been a fragile little thing, haven’t you, Hyukkie? You never should have been brought here.”

“I didn’t really have a choice.” His voice was muffled, face smushed against Hong-bin’s shoulder, and it sounded more pouting than anything. When Hong-bin laughed, hand patting Sang-hyuk’s thigh, he found he couldn’t even be embarrassed.

“With a dad like Han Jae-myun, you never stood a chance. How that man had a child as cute and squishy as you, I’ll never know.”

“I’m not squishy!”

With the most unimpressed face, Hong-bin pinched his cheek, wiggling it around for good measure. Sang-hyuk tried to give his deadliest glare only to be matched with deadpan. “You’re squishy. Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s part of your charm.” Sang-hyuk embarrassedly shoved him off, digging his cheek into the cold weight of Hong-bin’s shoulder, teeth buried into his lower lip. He would never admit how warm his chest felt at the other’s teasing, how his stomach rolled happily at the sound of Hong-bin’s deep, soothing laugh. There really was a warmth, a depth to the aura Hong-bin naturally exuded, something that he had only ever felt with Hak-yeon. He subconsciously burrowed himself closer, and Hong-bin’s laugh faltered, hand once again resting on Sang-hyuk’s thigh.

“You’re not as scary or mean as everyone said you were,” he said quietly, eyes staring at their knees. “What…what did Lee Yong-san do to you to make you so…angry?”

Hong-bin’s fingers tightened. “It was my fault, for trusting the wrong people. Did you know, Hyukkie, that I used to have a girlfriend? I don’t remember much about her anymore, but she was beautiful. She smiled just like Hak-yeon.” His fingers around Hak-yeon tightened, taking a moment to breathe. “I sit and curse Yong-san for all his selfishness, but really, I wasn’t much better. While Yong-san left to go pursue his stupid cyborg idea, I stuck with the android project. Even if it was stopped, it hadn’t been officially abandoned, so I worked tirelessly on perfecting it through sheer trial and error. My girlfriend…she was dying, and I was desperate to find a way to keep her alive. And in my rash, human arrogance, I was set on finding a way to create an android in her liking, to implant her memories and let her live on even after she died.”

Sang-hyuk listened rapturously, barely able to breathe. His fingers left permanent indents in Hong-bin’s skin as images of his mother’s blueprints burned in his memory.

“I was always a much more reserved person than Yong-san, kept my head down and focused only on my work. Yong-san was much more adept at navigating social circles, even in a place like this, and before I knew it, almost everyone was talking about what a revolutionary idea cyborgs were. How the whole future could be changed…how wasteful it was to keep putting any money in the failing android project. I was soon in countless meetings, forced to defend myself and my project. It was one of the worst times of my life…at home I was forced to watch my girlfriend wither away, and at work forced to fight to keep the one thing promising to save her from being thrown away.

“I was so desperate to prove myself, I finished the very rudimentary system to replicate memories that Yong-san and I had started years before. But it was too late. No one cared, everyone mesmerized when Yong-san started injecting all the stupidly willing volunteers with the serum he created. They all died, of course, but the results were exemplary enough that no one minded. Some lived longer than others, some made it to the second test, some even were able to briefly open their eyes before dying. It made everything I did look silly. A waste. I was a waste.”

“It wasn’t,” Sang-hyuk whispered. “Your memory system, it worked. It’s how they took your memories away and gave them back. It worked.”

Hong-bin scoffed, a low, wet sound. “Oh, I’m very aware it worked. They all laughed at me and ridiculed my work, but they had no shame turning around and using it behind my back. I’m very aware of how much of my work they’ve used.” He ran soothing circles into Sang-hyuk’s leg, a motion Sang-hyuk realized was as calming for Hong-bin as it was for him. “Yong-san…I only found out after I was turned how much he wanted me to join him. We had worked well together, and I was the only one who could understand his methods and convoluted ideas. As much as he tried to best me, what he really wanted was for me to join him. To create a new project that would open the doors to a new future.”

“Cyborgs.”

“Yes.” Another breath. Another wet sigh. “The doctors gave her a week to live. She was so pale, lying in her hospital bed. I stopped going to work, never leaving her side as I watched her fade away. It was one of those days that Yong-san approached me. The bastard…he’d waited. Waited until I was at my lowest before coming to me. He…, he knew just what to say, saying that if I just joined him, he could help secure the best care for her. He had enough connections he could save her. All I had to do was join him.

“So…I did. I set aside everything I had ever done and joined his stupid project. I learned the details, watched and noted all the reactions of the volunteers and how they died, even helped him develop the serum into the refined version they use today. And in return, my girlfriend was transferred to a private, government hospital that gave her the most expensive treatment available. But by then it was too late to cure her. There was nothing I could do. It was too late.”

Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure what to say, mind strangely calm as he listened to the cold, stoic way Hong-bin told his story, a stark difference from the sheer intensity that had filled Taek-woon’s. There was a detachment to Hong-bin’s words, a coldness that seemed to belie the heartbreaking memory of his girlfriend and the relationship with Yong-san. He reached out and placed his hand over Hong-bin’s, squeezing softly. A remnant of the past, the unbroken claws from years of conditioning that left him cold and unfeeling. No matter how devastated Hong-bin’s face appeared, how broken his words were and how loudly he expressed his sorrow, his voice was steady.

Hong-bin’s voice faltered, expression falling slack the moment Sang-hyuk touched him. Sang-hyuk recognized the symptoms immediately, quickly shooting out to grab Hak-yeon before he rolled out of Hong-bin’s slack fingers. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched at how Hak-yeon continued to sleep peacefully, feeling none of the jerk Sang-hyuk’s sudden motions caused him. Taek-woon…Taek-woon had gone into so much detail about how devastating it was to not be able to feel, how isolating and horrifying it had been; what was it like for Hak-yeon? Was it scary? Isolating?

A sudden hand on his head had him flinching back, whipping around to see Hong-bin staring down at him with a sad smile. “Thank you, Sang-hyuk. It’s not as bad as it used to be, now that I have my memories, but the lapses in time are still there. I don’t think they will ever go away.”

“But, they might—they could help now. We didn’t know how to stop them because you never could remember after a reset. But you can now, and you can describe what’s happening. They could-”

“Oh, Hyuk, you sweet little thing. Please don’t ever lose your optimism.” When Sang-hyuk snapped his mouth shut, eyes watering at the condescension, Hong-bin’s smile softened. “Please don’t be hurt, I mean it in the kindest way possible. I have never seen anyone as genuinely kind and sweet as you. It would be a travesty if you ever lost it.”

Sang-hyuk bit his lip, sniffling. “Hong—ah, Taek-woon said the same thing before.”

“I told you before, this lab has seen nothing but betrayal and greed. Something as pure as you has never lasted.” At Sang-hyuk’s confused expression, Hong-bin chuckled darkly. “Like I said, I never tried to hide who I was or how I came to be here. While I’ll never forgive Yong-san or any of the other bastards, I can’t deny the part I played in my situation. I volunteered myself, for the project. I let them do it.”

“W-what? Why would you do that?” Sang-hyuk couldn’t even fathom the idea, just the sight of the blue-filled syringe sending chills down his spine. Echoes of a thousand screams filtered through his ears, wretched faces flailing under restraints as their bodies were broken down and recreated. Those were all people that had no idea the real consequence of their choice—but Hong-bin, he had helped develop it. He knew every little detail of what would happen; how could he volunteer himself?

Hong-bin laughed, the sound bitter. “Don’t give me that look. I wasn’t thinking straight, alright? The doctor told me my girlfriend was basically braindead, there was no saving her. She was all I had, and having given up my life’s work to join Yong-san, I had nothing left. The cyborg project hadn’t had a successful subject yet, so I went to Yong-san and volunteered myself. I told them I would let them do whatever they wanted with me…as long as they took my girlfriend’s memories and implanted them into one of my androids. It seems so absurd now, but I remember thinking of her in the same way you regard Hak-yeon. She was my everything at the time.”

Sang-hyuk could feel his heart lodge itself in his throat, eyes finding their way back to Hak-yeon’s face. He had done so much for Hak-yeon; he very well could have dropped everything and volunteered himself for certain death if it meant Hak-yeon had a chance to be free and happy.

His voice trembled when he spoke, lips dry. “You…they said you were the first subject to survive.”

“No one expected me to live, and I don’t think, even now, they know how or why. But it didn’t take long for me to realize how foolish I had been, how naïve. They never had any intention of saving Young-ji.” He took a breath as he held Hak-yeon protectively against his chest, one hand coming up to tenderly caress his cheek. His touch was gentle, eyes so sad all the while his sad smile was followed with the smoothest of voices. “While I was recovering from the second test, she had passed, and they discarded her body without a second thought. I never saw her again.”

Sang-hyuk found his voice lost, silently pressing his cheek back against Hong-bin’s shoulder as he fought the desperate urge to cry. For so many years, he had listened as everyone cursed in Hong-bin’s direction, calling him worthless and a waste of time. They had blamed all their problems on how aggressive and violent he had been, forcing them to wipe their memories. He had been too emotional, too unpredictable, and it had forced them to do what was necessary to save the project. It seemed logical, when given only the barest of details. Hong-bin was dangerous; he had even killed a man with his bare hands.

But hearing what Hong-bin had done for his girlfriend, literally giving himself up only to find out she had been left to die alone; Sang-hyuk couldn’t imagine. He himself had been such a terrible mess after Hak-yeon had been turned, he couldn’t imagine what he would’ve done if Hak-yeon had really died that day. As much as it tore his heart to pieces, he was still able to see Hak-yeon every day and hold his hand, watch him learn and grow. Hong-bin never had that.

No one stopped to try and understand why Hong-bin had been so angry, and instead gave him a punishment worse than death.

Hong-bin seemed to understand Sang-hyuk’s silence, not speaking again as he turned his focus back to rubbing circles into Hak-yeon’s hand again. The sudden touch seemed to jolt Hak-yeon out of his sleep, eyes snapping open as they carefully ran over the room until they fell on Hong-bin—and the same innocent smile that used to be reserved only for Sang-hyuk fell across his lips. His fingers shifted to clumsily hold Hong-bin’s. “Your touch,” he said, teeth shining, “it is soft.”

Both Sang-hyuk and Hong-bin leaned in, matching smiles as Hong-bin brought Hak-yeon’s hand up to his lips. “Do you like it, baby?” Sang-hyuk asked, heart fluttering when Hak-yeon stared at him for a few, long seconds, eyes roving over him. While Hak-yeon was unable to show or fully convey his thoughts, he was sure his sudden position next to him instead of his usual chair probably confused him. He kept his hands firmly in his lap as he hooked his chin over Hong-bin’s shoulder, giving the happiest, relaxed smile he could muster. “T52 is very nice and likes you a lot. He can help you so much, if you want.”

Hak-yeon didn’t respond right away, blinking slowly. They watched, smiles slowly falling away, as Hak-yeon’s expression gradually shifted, lips tugging down and brows furrowing until he looked as if he was close to tears. Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, who he was trying to copy, until he and Hong-bin looked at each other—and Hong-bin’s eyes widened.

“Sang-hyuk, you are crying.” 

Sang-hyuk’s hands immediately flew to his face, instinctively flinching when he found his eyes wet. “Ah, sorry. It’s just my allergies, remember? The air makes my eyes all watery. I’m not really crying.”

“Allergies?” Hak-yeon brought his other hand to his own face, poking his eyes and frowning when his fingers came back dry. “Do I not have them?”

Sang-hyuk’s laugh was wet. “No, silly. Not everyone has them, I’m just the unlucky one.”

“I don’t have allergies either,” Hong-bin added. “But you shouldn’t touch your eyes like that, Hak-yeonnie. You’ll hurt yourself.” Hak-yeon’s eyes snapped over to Hong-bin, gaze wide and unwavering, and Hong-bin hesitantly asked, “What’s wrong?” He looked down to Hak-yeon’s hand, at how lax his grip had gone, “did I hurt you?”

“Hong-bin,” Hak-yeon said, voice lowering in an attempt to whisper, “that name is a secret. You are not supposed to tell Sang-hyuk.”

Hong-bin barked out a laugh at Sang-hyuk’s incredulous look, expression the most carefree it had ever been as he ignored Hak-yeon’s wide-eyed stare to once again kiss his hand. “You two are just precious. It’s alright, Hak-yeon, Sang-hyuk promised he could keep the secret too, and you know he’s the best with secrets. Right?” Hak-yeon blinked, staring at Sang-hyuk for a long moment before quietly muttering a small ‘yes’. Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure why that small, unsure sound hurt so much more than anything else. “I didn’t originally want to tell him, but Sang-hyuk heard me say it on accident. I made him promise not to tell anyone else.”

Hak-yeon’s lower lip slowly jutted out in a copy of Hong-bin’s teasing expression, fingers once again squeezing Hong-bin’s hand. “Okay. I know Sang-hyuk does not lie; he would never tell anyone our secret.” He looked over to Sang-hyuk. “You cannot tell Seok-jin, okay? It is a secret.”

Sang-hyuk coughed out a watery laugh, nodding as he fought the urge to pull Hak-yeon into his arms.

“I-I won’t.”

--

It was at least a week before he was allowed to see Taek-woon again, none of the higher-ups wanting to chance messing up their one reliable cyborg. Sang-hyuk was purposefully left in the dark about what was done to him during that time, no one wanting to deal with him and his fluctuating moods, and was relegated to waiting for the eventual okay. He tried to distract himself by visiting Hong-bin or Hak-yeon, but found himself running out of the room the moment he finished the daily tests. As T52, Hong-bin had been incredibly attached to Hak-yeon; but with memories returned, he had become almost possessive. The only time Hong-bin left Hak-yeon’s side was when he needed to be shut down for the night; he was always somewhere near, touching and teaching him things he refused to tell Sang-hyuk.

It left him feeling so alone, sitting right beside them and yet feeling so far away. With his memories returned, it was as if Hong-bin had completely replaced Sang-hyuk in Hak-yeon’s life. Hak-yeon still waited for him, knew Sang-hyuk came to complete his tests, but no longer did his eyes sparkle when he entered the room. No longer did he jump at the chance to ask him questions, hand no longer reaching out for him. Hong-bin never pushed to separate the two of them, but as time passed, Hak-yeon gradually gravitated towards the other, leaving Sang-hyuk behind.

It was for the best, he tried reminding himself, though it did very little to help how badly his heart bled.

So, he was more than thankful when he finally received the news that Taek-woon’s testing had finished, grateful for any distraction. Though that gratefulness was short-lived, hands trembling in his lap as he stared firmly at his and Taek-woon’s knees, having been unable to meet the other’s eye since the moment he stepped in the room.

Really, nothing had changed physically; it was still the same sparsely decorated room with a simple bed, the desk and bookshelf in the same place with even the same papers strewn over the top. The walls were still painted a sickly white, the lights above glaringly bright as it caked everything in a white so intense it drew hollow shadows into the sheets and rivets of skin. It was all so white, so empty, the same as it always had been, the same as it always will be; but the reason he came here, the most important thing in the entire world, was no longer the same. The Taek-woon before him was no longer that white, empty Hong-bin Sang-hyuk had clung to and depended on. The Taek-woon before him, the one he had fought to return and had been desperate to see, was now before him, waiting, and Sang-hyuk’s heart pounded so dangerously in his chest he could do nothing but stare at their feet and tremble.

“Sang-hyuk.” Even the sound of his name was different, a foreign, lilting sound curling the edges. Sang-hyuk swallowed, fingers clenching, but was still unable to look up. He could hear a soft sigh, and while he initially flinched, let himself be guided as a gentle finger tilted his chin up and forced him to finally look Taek-woon in the eye. Taek-woon smiled. “Sang-hyuk ah, it’s still me. Don’t be afraid.”

Sang-hyuk let out a shaky breath, fingers digging into his thighs, as he wordlessly let his eyes roam. Again, at first glance, nothing seemed different. Taek-woon’s skin was just as clear and unblemished as ever, back ramrod straight and shoulders pulled back, the hand not holding his chin rested firmly over his knee. But that—that was where it stopped. Because when Sang-hyuk looked Taek-woon in the eye, everything was so, so different. Taek-woon’s normally flat, unkempt hair had been fully washed and styled, the simple white clothes Sang-hyuk usually prepared for him replaced with a loose, black t-shirt and sweatpants. But that all paled in comparison to how expressive his face was, eyes sparkling even when his brow pinched, the bridge of his nose wrinkled just so and the edges of his lips turned down ever so slightly—it was as if he could read every single thought that passed through Taek-woon’s mind from his face alone, and it was such a difference from the Taek-woon he knew, the Hong-bin he knew, that he could feel the faintest hint of tears cling to his lashes.

Taek-woon let out a soft sigh, bangs cascading down into his eyes as he tilted his head, body leaning forward as his other hand came up to delicately wipe his tears away. Every movement was so fluid, filled with such a grace that could never be recreated through clunky machinery and wishful thinking; Sang-hyuk couldn’t help but watch as Taek-woon’s fingers danced over his cheek, touch so gentle as he carefully brushed against his lashes. Again, Taek-woon smiled as both hands trailed down to fully cup his face, thumbs resting at the edges of Sang-hyuk’s lips. “I have always wondered what went through that head of yours. I don’t know if, even now, I could truly understand. But Sang-hyuk, I am here. I promise nothing has changed.”

Sang-hyuk hiccupped, cheeks burning against the cold skin of Taek-woon’s hands. He couldn’t look away from how softly Taek-woon stared at him, smile so sweet as he patiently waited for Sang-hyuk to gather himself. Memories of Taek-woon holding him close, hands so steady as his lips pressed against his own; Sang-hyuk bit into his lip as he took their close proximity to stare into Taek-woon’s eyes.

If he stared hard enough, looked past the styled hair and wrinkled skin, he could still see his Hong-bin beneath it all. The Hong-bin that lived in some of his deepest, most treasured memories. Eyes unable to look away, his fingers shakily reached out and brushed against Taek-woon’s arms, catching against the corner of his sleeves. His skin was just as smooth as ever, smooth and cold and fake, but now with an undercurrent of genuine that made his heart race. A droop in the shoulders that never would have been acceptable before, the slightest bend in his back to break from the proper way he had been taught to sit, the amusement that shined in his eyes as he watched Sang-hyuk struggle; Hong-bin was still there, deep down, but now he had become something so much more.

He had become Jung Taek-woon.

His hands slowly moved up to grip Taek-woon’s wrists, swallowing. “You…you’re not my Hong-bin anymore. You’re Taek-woon.”

The amusement vanished as Taek-woon’s lips turned down into a concerned frown, brows furrowed as his thumbs once again brushed away fresh tears. “Han Sang-hyuk, I want you to listen to me. Just because I have my old memories, doesn’t mean that everything that happened between us is gone. I still remember everything from when I was Hong-bin, and nothing will change that.”

He sniffled. “I…I just wanted to return what was yours… Your memories; they didn’t have a r-right to take it. But…” He had to look away, unable to meet Taek-woon’s tender, understanding gaze any longer. “But…it’s too much. Everything’s changing so much and I…I…”

“Is it a good change, or bad?”

He hesitated, tongue heavy. “I know it’s good, I just…I just feel so alone. I’m the only thing not changing and…” He thought of Hak-yeon smiling blissfully in Hong-bin’s arms, the two of them lost in their own world with Sang-hyuk forever left on the side, watching and heart shattering. “I feel like I’m losing everything.”

He felt his head once again be forced up as Taek-woon’s hands guided him, and he felt his breath get caught in his throat when soft lips brushed against his own. He sat, frozen, as Taek-woon kissed him, heart hammering away and mind for once completely blank. This wasn’t the first time Taek-woon had kissed him, but it was the first when the other was fully aware of what he was doing, not once swayed by overwhelming emotions or half-truths. Taek-woon was really kissing him, eyes closed and breath ghosting across his skin, and Sang-hyuk felt his own lashes fluttering at the touch. His grip on Taek-woon’s wrists slackened, and just like that Taek-woon’s lips were gone.

“Sang-hyuk, you are never alone. I promised you that I would always be by your side, and I have no intention of breaking that promise. The feelings I hold for you now, they were present even when I was without my memories. Only now, I understand those feelings, and I understand that you are the most precious person in the world to me. When I’m here, please don’t ever feel like you’re alone or afraid.”

“How…how can you say things like that so confidently? The things done to you, they were by people like me. I haven’t done much-”

Taek-woon’s thumb shifted to press against his lips, stopping him short. “I will say it as many times as I need to; the people that turned me into what I am now; you are nothing like them. I was only a means to an end; no one looked at me the way you did, nor cared about me the way you did. You were the only person other than Moon-hyuk to have ever shed a tear for me.” When Sang-hyuk only stared at him, uncertainty no doubt clear on his face, Taek-woon sighed. “I have watched you slowly wither away as you worked here, and while I could never describe it, my heart broke at watching you forcibly grow up. It may be a big change, and it may take time, but please believe me when I say that now that I have the ability to finally return even a fraction of the love and care you gave me, I will do so tenfold.”

“I…” He had no idea what to say in the face of Taek-woon’s fierce, honest confession, and knew his cheeks were probably flushed bright. But as he let the words sink in and hesitantly allowed himself to submerge himself in the security and reassurance Taek-woon naturally exuded, he found a sweet calm drape over him that swept his eyes closed and pushed him forward to kiss Taek-woon all on his own.