“You should spend as much time as possible with him. Enjoy the time you have.”

Sang-hyuk worried his bottom lip as Hak-yeon’s words repeated continuously in his head, nearly missing getting on the elevator before the doors shut closed. He tried his best to ignore the two girls standing next to him, staring at him, staying close to the wall as he kept his eyes glued to the floor.

Hong-bin…how much of him was here? How much did he remember?

…how long would it last?

Sang-hyuk had learned long ago, long before he even stepped into this lab, that nothing good came from having hope. Hope only made the pain hurt more, made it last longer, and that disappointment was something Sang-hyuk avoided with all his might. Even if Hong-bin was back, had all his memories and could recite every conversation with the accuracy that Sang-hyuk still secretly could, who was to say he wouldn’t forget it all again? It had been a simple press of a button that had wiped it all away; there was nothing Hong-bin could promise to stay. He could disappear again as suddenly as he reappeared.

Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure he wanted to try and open the can of worms that could explode in his face as easily as the sun could rise.

The break room was empty when he went to log himself in, having arrived a little later since he made sure to stay long enough Hak-yeon could send him off. He hated whenever he made Hak-yeon angry, wanting to enjoy the very little time they had together. He knew seeing him briefly in the morning wasn’t enough, making a mental note to work longer nights for the next couple weeks to try and get that dinner Hak-yeon asked him.

He was always able to tell when Hak-yeon started to dim, lonely and saddened when the only highlight of his day was Sang-hyuk coming home. He tried to give him days to go out and enjoy life, to shop or go sightseeing or just take a walk, but he knew all Hak-yeon really wanted was to spend time with him. And that was the one thing he couldn’t give.

He was on his way to X3—Hong-bin’s—room when an obnoxiously annoyed groan echoed down the cluttered hallways, only catching Sang-hyuk’s attention because of where it came from. He continued towards Hong-bin’s room only to make a sharp left, finding a frustrated intern clutching a clipboard in his hand as he tore angrily at his hair. It was not a sight normally found in the dreary lab, the normal air full of fixed detachment, though Sang-hyuk could guess why when he saw T52’s room behind him.

He sighed as he walked up to the intern, pretending not to notice when the intern instinctively flinched before bowing politely at him, an embarrassed flush covering his cheeks. “Y-yes, sir?”

Sang-hyuk glanced at T52’s door briefly before smiling, trying to lighten the situation. “You got assigned to work with T52?”

The intern nodded with a long groan, a reaction he tried to hurriedly hide behind his clipboard. “Y-yeah. I was put to help Professor Park, but he just makes me do all the work and then report to him later. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing half the time and T52 is just…”

“Difficult,” Sang-hyuk finished, and the intern nodded thankfully. “Well…T52 is special. He’s got problems and has to be dealt with…carefully.”

“I know that, but everything I try just ends up not working. Sometimes I think it’s on purpose.” Sang-hyuk knew the last part wasn’t meant for him to hear, but he did and it made his lips purse all the same. He thought briefly of Hong-bin before shaking his head, hardening his voice for effect.

“You know the subjects don’t have that kind of autonomy. Even if T52 is different, there’s nothing that would allow him to purposefully do things to annoy you.” When the intern did nothing but glare angrily at the floor, Sang-hyuk snatched the clipboard from his hands, ignoring the other’s hurried yelp as he flipped through the sheets.

No progress.

Memory restarts after 1.5 minutes. No progress.

Forgets names, asks each time memory restarts. No progress.

No progress.

No progress.

Sang-hyuk sighed softly as he handed back the clipboard, signaling with a small nod of his head to follow as he walked right back into T52’s room. The room was exactly as he remembered it, an exact copy of Hong-bin’s down to the small bed in the corner, T52 sitting in the same position Hong-bin would.

T52’s head snapped up at the sound of their entrance, a bright, wide smile splitting across his face as he waved cheerfully. “Hi Sang-hyuk! Hi…” his voice trailed off as he looked to the intern, genuine confusion in his eyes as he tilted his head in thought, “…uh, is this a new guy, Sang-hyukkie?”

“My name’s Chan-sik,” the intern bit out, the small whine in his voice showing his frustration, no real anger.

T52 grinned again, waving all the same. “Hi Sang-hyuk! Hi Chan-sik!”

Sang-hyuk smiled kindly as he sat down in the desk chair, leaning back in the relaxed position that always made T52 more comfortable. It was imperative to do whatever it took to get as much out of him as possible before he restarted. T52 watched him all the while, bouncing on the bed and nearly bursting at the seams as he waited for Sang-hyuk to give him permission to speak. Sang-hyuk paused for just a second, seeing Hong-bin’s eyes in the cyborg before him, and taking the time to see just how different the two were from each other.

“You can speak,” Sang-hyuk assented, chuckling fondly when he let out a long gasp, pulling up his legs to cross them casually.

“I wish you would come to work with me more,” T52 whined, patting the bed excitedly as his eyes flickered to Chan-sik. “I keep getting all these people who treat me like a machine. I liked when you told me stories.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could,” Sang-hyuk said placatingly, matching T52’s expressions to keep him going. It was much easier working with T52 in this way, the latter having had much more time to learn and adjust than Hong-bin. He was much farther along with mimicking expressions and knowing proper responses; it would’ve been perfect if they hadn’t messed it up. “I’m always so busy with X39.” T52’s eyes narrowed as his eyes swept over Sang-hyuk’s sad nod, taking in his hunched shoulders and slouched posture to decide on the proper response, sighing regrettably.

“Poor X39. He always has problems. But I do not have problems. I am perfect, right, Sang-hyuk?”

“Of course.”

T52 preened at the compliment, the same reaction he always gave when praised, and Sang-hyuk felt a resigned fondness at the sweet naivety behind it. He remembered how Won-shik described T52 before his memory was wiped, how resentful and full of hatred he had been despite allowing them to experiment on him, his fear the only thing keeping him from lashing out. But once they wiped him, there was nothing to fuel that hatred, the latent kindness left behind making him extremely welcoming to anyone that approached him. There was so much wrong with the situation, and Sang-hyuk always felt sorry when he saw him; it was part of the reason he avoided anything to do with him.

T52 reached out and pat Sang-hyuk’s hand, grinning. “Sang-hyuk, do you know what happened to Moon-hyuk? He has not come by in a while.”

Sang-hyuk debated telling him Moon-hyuk died years ago, but decided against it. No point ruining his mood, even if only for a while. “Sorry, he’s just very busy. You know how he is.”

T52 nodded, matching Sang-hyuk’s slouched shoulders. “He is always so busy. I never see him anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither. I’ll let him know you’re asking about him.”

T52 opened his mouth, the beginning of a thank you already on his lips, when his body suddenly stiffened, both Sang-hyuk and Chan-sik already prepared. They stayed silent as T52’s body and mind whirled to catch up to where the corrupted programming was already spreading, his body trembling as his slack jaw snapped shut. Having seen this many times before, Sang-hyuk recognized the second T52’s eyes flashed anew, giving a welcoming smile when recognition erased the confusion away.

“Sang-hyuk? When did you get here?” He looked between Sang-hyuk and Chan-sik, hesitating. “Who is he?”

“Oh, this is Chan-sik,” Sang-hyuk said casually, gesturing back before Chan-sik had the chance to snap again. “He’s the intern that’s scheduled to work with you.”

T52 nodded, immediately losing interest in the intern to talk to Sang-hyuk instead. “It has been a while since you have been by, did you come to see me?” Sang-hyuk noted the noticeable lack of excitement this time, T52 sitting calm and collected as he took Sang-hyuk’s sudden appearance in stride. It was a mystery how T52 worked through which mood to use when talking, his constant restarting rendering any kind of test results useless.

“Not this time. I was just helping Chan-sik with something. But I’ll make sure to come by again.”

T52 didn’t answer right away, only watching as Sang-hyuk stood up, signaling Chan-sik to leave, and his hand caught the edge of Sang-hyuk’s jacket. His fingers were loose and slipped off the second Sang-hyuk moved, unable to understand how to grab with fingers that couldn’t feel, but Sang-hyuk waited all the same. “Please try to visit more. I am alone.”

Sang-hyuk felt his heart clench at the amount of emotion T52 managed to squeeze into his voice, a feat that took years to master yet still struggled to express. He took T52’s hand in his and made sure the other saw. “I promise I’ll come by soon.” T52 smiled appreciatively before his whole body stiffened, his face slack, and Sang-hyuk knew it was time to go.

He peeled T52’s fingers off him as he hurriedly pushed Chan-sik out of the room, closing the door behind them before T52 would have a chance to realize they’d even been there. He could see Chan-sik b with questions, staring at him with a kind of idolism he hated, and he pretended not to notice as he focused on fixing the report Chan-sik had filled out earlier. It wasn’t that there was no progress; there was always progress.

It was that no one could see it.

“T52 knows you? Did you work with it before?” Chan-sik asked, deciding to ask anyway. “I’ve never seen it recognize anyone like that before.”

Sang-hyuk grimaced as he looked up, scowling at the sparkle in Chan-sik’s eyes. It was clear what kind of intern the boy in front of him was, one with actual interest in what they were doing, no force required to get him to do any job they assigned him. Sang-hyuk couldn’t stand people like him the most. “It doesn’t take any special exercise for him to remember you; he was already like that when I met him.”

“But I’ve been working with it for over a month and it still doesn’t remember me.”

“Because you treat him like a machine. T52 was once human and still has parts of him that cling to that. Even if he doesn’t act like it, if you treat him the way you would anyone else, he’ll respond better.” When Chan-sik opened his mouth to retort, he quickly added, “You have to give him time. His memory problems don’t render him unable to retain new memories. You just have to give him time.”

Chan-sik shook his head confusedly, stuttering over his words as he tried to argue while being as polite as possible. An ingrained habit burned into every intern. “B-but that doesn’t make sense. It’s still a machine; treating it like a human won’t get any better results than treating it like a machine. H-how can treating it nicely help? Professor Park-”

“If Professor Park told you to do what you’re doing, then keep with that. Don’t ask me if you have no intentions of following.”

“T-that’s not what I meant-”

“I know.” He handed back the clipboard when Chan-sik only stared wide-eyed in response, his shock cutting away at Sang-hyuk’s crumbling armor. “Just…keep at it. Remember, you’re getting to actually work with a cyborg and get good experience. There are a lot of other interns that would love to be where you are right now.” Even if it kills them, he thought to himself, deciding it best not to say that out loud. When the boy’s wide, shock-filled eyes still stared at him, he added awkwardly, “He’ll remember you eventually. Just give him time.”

“Yes, sir,” Chan-sik whispered, unable to look him in the eye as he bowed deeply, and Sang-hyuk left with as much dignity as he could muster.

Sang-hyuk kept his head held high as he walked into Hong-bin’s room, letting the incessant sounds of the lab roll off his back and bring him into reverberating silence. Everything was the same, nothing out of place or order, Hong-bin sitting in his usual seat with the charger plugged into chest. As he silently unplugged Hong-bin and waited for him to wake up, he knew there was no more time to think about what he should do, if he should listen to Hak-yeon or pretend nothing happened. He was already here, Hong-bin already blinking awake and staring at him—there was no choice anymore.

“Good morning, Sang-hyuk,” Hong-bin greeted monotonously, nothing in his voice signaling he remembered yesterday. Sang-hyuk’s fingers trembled as he moved his lips in a wordless attempt at a greeting, his brain doing whatever it could to stop him before he could make another mistake.

“Good morning…H-Hong-bin,” he finally squeaked out, looking up in foolish hope when Hong-bin’s eyes flashed at the name. His breath stopped the moment a smile spread across Hong-bin’s lips, so calm compared to the exuberant one T52 gave him just an hour earlier. It was amazing how much could be conveyed in just a simple lift of the lips, something most people overlooked because of how simple it was, and Sang-hyuk could feel himself tearing up just at the sight of it. Hong-bin was smiling, and he was smiling at him.

He couldn’t ignore it.

“You…you’re smiling.”

Hong-bin’s smile stayed lax as he tilted his head to the side, his stiff shoulders and tight knuckles a stark contrast to the softness of his expression. “Yes.”

All the questions of where Hong-bin had learned it, when, why, and how raced through Sang-hyuk’s head, though he voiced none of them as he only smiled back, matching the air in the way Hong-bin had done so many times before. So, instead, he continued as if this was normal, as if there was nothing strange in the world. “It looks nice. You should smile more often.”

“I will try.”

Sang-hyuk waited a few more seconds to see if Hong-bin would say anything else before awkwardly going through the daily tests, trying to find some sort of foundation to stand on. Everything was suddenly so different, despite it all appearing the same, that Sang-hyuk no longer knew which way was up; if anything, he wanted to find something he could latch onto, even if it wasn’t normal. He needed a base, but…

…there was no base.

Each time Sang-hyuk gave a simple command and pressed down against fake skin, Hong-bin would follow along willingly, almost appreciatively. There were times when he would move his arm or leg before Sang-hyuk even told him to, as if expecting it, and it would take Sang-hyuk an extra second to realize. When Sang-hyuk needed Hong-bin to stand up, Hong-bin would do so without being asked, shifting accordingly with the way Sang-hyuk moved.

There was no base, but it was a beginning that Sang-hyuk surprisingly had very little anxiety about adjusting toward.

By the end of the daily tests, the uneasy pressure that had stifled the room days previous were all but gone, a relaxed easiness resting between the two as Sang-hyuk sat back in his chair. Hong-bin was watching him all the while, his lips still upturned with his back and shoulders straight. It was exactly like the Hong-bin from Sang-hyuk’s memories, and for once Sang-hyuk decided to embrace the image instead of running from it.

“Hong-bin…do you remember…?”

 “Yes.”

Sang-hyuk felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “How much?” He imagined himself cushioned against Hong-bin’s lap, those thick, sturdy arms wrapped securely to keep him safe against the world. As Hong-bin stayed silent, Sang-hyuk’s skin prickled at the memory of Hong-bin’s fingers running against his arms, his voice soft as silk as he described what it was like to live without touch. Tucked away in the secret room Sang-hyuk was never supposed to enter, there were memories that he coveted with his life, and his heart raced at the thought that the one other person in those memories could remember too.

“Enough.”

Sang-hyuk let out a rough cough he didn’t realize he had been holding, waiting until his fingers could flex smoothly before speaking. “Okay, that’s okay. When did you start remembering?”

Hong-bin didn’t answer right away, a reaction Sang-hyuk worried about until he said, “Since I wanted to tell you.”

“That…ah, okay. That’s fine. Thank you for telling me.” He took the following awkward silence to grab his folder and subconsciously poke at it with his pen, thinking. Hong-bin remembered, what exactly he wasn’t sure, but the fact was he remembered. If he wanted to keep both himself and Hak-yeon safe, he should go straight to Joon-myeon and report to him, letting him know the memory wipe hadn’t worked. He should be stepping back and relinquishing any connection to Hong-bin as the latter was taken away to be fully experimented on. He should…but…he wouldn’t.

He put down the folder to see Hong-bin staring, and he cleared his throat. “I-”

“Would you tell the story now?”

It took Sang-hyuk a second to understand, and a real, genuine smile flashed on his face when he did. “Sure,” he said, going over to the bookshelf and flipping through the few books he’d managed to sneak in. When it came to Hong-bin, Sang-hyuk was allowed to do almost anything, though Joon-myeon and the other higher-ups weren’t very keen on him bringing in outside objects to use. “Which story would you like to hear? I haven’t read anything in a while; how about The Little Mermaid, or Sleeping Beauty? Ah, you probably want to hear a happy one-”

“I do not want to hear those.”

“Then which one?” Sang-hyuk flipped haphazardly through the books, clicking his tongue. “I don’t have too many-”

“The favorite.” Sang-hyuk froze, the books he had been holding slipping through his fingers and crumpling against the bookshelf. He chanced a glance at Hong-bin, knowing the other was already aware there was no book for that. Carefully, slowly, he slipped back into his seat, smiling sweetly as he nodded.

“Oh, that one; sure! The one with the little boy, right? In the woods?”

“Yes.” Hong-bin’s answer was rushed, if he could even call it rushed, and Sang-hyuk laughed, his hand out and buried in Hong-bin’s hair before he knew it. It was a surprise for both of them, Hong-bin’s eyes locked on Sang-hyuk’s hand, but it was something that felt just as familiar as all those years ago, his hands smoothly sliding down to take Hong-bin’s own. It had been a long time since Sang-hyuk had willingly held Hong-bin’s hands like this, the slickness from the fake skin sticking to his own, but it felt right all the same.

“Well,” he started gently, “there was once a little boy that lived in the woods. He was a small, scared little boy, and the woods were very big and very thick, so the sun rarely could make it to his little house. He spent all his time there, and he was very lonely.” He began to rub circles into the back of Hong-bin’s hands, knowing he now had the other’s full attention as the words flowing through his lips painted a story in dull colors and empty images.

“But the little boy had one friend that kept him company so he wasn’t alone. The little boy loved his friend a lot. But the friend couldn’t come very often, so he was still lonely. He always dreamed of going outside and exploring the world, but he was too scared to leave.”

Hong-bin’s eyes were wide, unblinking, and Sang-hyuk couldn’t meet them, cowardly staring down at their hands. His voice caught as he continued, a slight waver that had Hong-bin’s hands stiffening.

“But the little boy’s father had been doing a lot of bad things, and the king was so angry he sent his soldiers to go and kill his family. They killed the father and mother, but they didn’t know the little boy was there. When they found the little boy, they were going to kill him too, but when they saw how small and scared he was, they decided to let him live. They took him and kept him prisoner, and he was put in the dungeons under the castle.”

“What about the friend?”

Sang-hyuk stopped, his eyes wet as he looked up to see Hong-bin inches from himself, his hands now held between Hong-bin’s strong ones. He tried to believe that this was Hong-bin’s way of comforting him, noticing all the subtle nuances of how Hong-bin copied the way Sang-hyuk would comfort him. He closed his eyes, lowering his head as he whispered, “The friend was kidnapped too. They kept the friend in a different cell from the little boy.”

“Why?” If what he was said was true, Hong-bin would remember this part of the story, asking was only confirming.

“To hurt the little boy. The little boy would be able to see his friend and talk to him, but he couldn’t do anything to help. If the little boy was bad, they would hurt his friend, and if the friend was bad, they would hurt the little boy. It was a cruel punishment, but the king was very angry.”

Hong-bin hummed, the sound so familiar it hurt. “How does the story end?”

Sang-hyuk had never told the end of the story, always finding some excuse or another to stop before finishing. He let out a shaky sigh as he pulled away, fighting away tears to smile placatingly. “The little boy died. He never did anything to protect his friend, so they eventually died together. It’s a sad story.” Hong-bin didn’t react to that, his gaze seeming to harden, and Sang-hyuk knew the other didn’t believe him. It was strange to think a cyborg that only a week earlier couldn’t comprehend a smile could now openly convey his disbelief.

“Sorry, I knew it was a sad ending, so I didn’t tell you before.”

“The little boy; before he died, what emotion did he feel?”

“What?” Sang-hyuk asked, taken aback, and Hong-bin straightened his shoulders.

“When he died, what emotion did he feel? Did he cry?”

Crying…that held much more than simple sadness; and just that question told Sang-hyuk more about how much of Hong-bin had returned than any test could prove.

Sang-hyuk nodded, placing his hands over Hong-bin’s knees, the fabric of his pants coarse. “Yes, he did. He cried for days before he died.” It was said so matter-of-factly, so stiffly, that Sang-hyuk was surprised when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, turning his head slightly to see Hong-bin rest his chin on Sang-hyuk’s shoulder. “Hong-bin…” Hong-bin’s eyes flitted down to his hand that began to pat Sang-hyuk’s back, and with each pat the dam broke, tears he had been holding back gushing out of him with the force of a storm.

He couldn’t remember the last time he cried this hard, this freely, but it was a relief he relished in.

When he finally pulled away, Hong-bin was watching him in that mimicked expression of concern, his face pinched and his body hovering closely. Sang-hyuk let out a bitter chuckle at the sight, ruffling Hong-bin’s hair to let him know he was okay. It didn’t work, but that just made Sang-hyuk laugh more.

“I’m okay, thank you, Hong-bin.”

“You cried. You are sad.”

“Yes.”

Hong-bin straightened himself again, his expression drawn as if thinking. Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure if whatever he remembered allowed him the ability to think, but he decided that for today, he would pretend to believe. “Did the story make you sad?”

“…yes.”

“Your life makes you sad.” Sang-hyuk flinched at the implied acknowledgment that Hong-bin had known, and he nodded when Hong-bin waited for an answer. “Much has happened since you were brought here. You have lost your light.”

Sang-hyuk nodded again, unable to speak.

“You are taller. You speak more now. You have changed.”

Sang-hyuk chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “You pretty much have to change to survive here. And growing tall is what happens when you get older. Can’t really do anything about that.” Hong-bin only tilted his head, and this time it made him smile, the pain it used to give him all but gone. He reached over, pinching Hong-bin’s cheeks and laughing when Hong-bin glared. “You’re just going to have to get used to me being taller, and talking more. I’m the boss now.”

“You are still a child,” Hong-bin mumbled through squished lips, Sang-hyuk pulling away when the other’s glare hardened.

“That may be, but I’m in charge. They didn’t put me in charge of you for nothing.” He missed the way Hong-bin’s expression softened at that, too busy gloating and allowing himself to be happy for once.

At some point, Sang-hyuk had crawled up onto the bed with Hong-bin, the two of them sitting across from each other with their knees tucked under their chins and toes brushing together. Sang-hyuk knew there would be millions of questions the moment the footage of today got out, but like Hak-yeon told him, he was going to enjoy this time as much as possible. They were going to more than likely wipe Hong-bin all over again once they found out, so time was precious.

Hong-bin’s eyes were sharp as they watched every movement Sang-hyuk made, copying him, and Sang-hyuk let out a soft laugh. “It’s so weird…seeing you like this. You’re just like before.”

Hong-bin hummed, the sound robotic. “Yes, it is different to have the autonomy to speak to you as I once did. It is also different to see a you that understands what I am and what is happening.” Sang-hyuk didn’t respond, knowing just how true that was. He was very different from the boy that innocently walked into his father’s office because he thought the man inside was lonely, that innocence lost years ago and replaced with a wretchedness that only continued to grow and choke him from the inside. While he tried to pretend in front of Hak-yeon, he knew the change was obvious, everyone able to see it—even himself.

It was something he tried not to think about.

“Yes, well…that understanding makes it difficult to stay the same.”

Hong-bin levelled him with a heavy stare that did nothing to make Sang-hyuk feel better, his hum lowering to a deep whir. “You are still as expressive as before, it is not hard to read your expressions. Only now your range of emotions has diminished to a very small set. You are always sad.”

The smile Sang-hyuk forced nearly ripped him in half, his heart shattering for the thousandth time. “No, I still smile, see? Remember what I told you? Smiling means you’re happy. I’m happy, see?” He slapped Hong-bin’s leg playfully, hoping to distract him, though he should have known that never would have worked.

“I may struggle understanding emotions and how to respond accordingly, but I know you. You have the ability to smile when you are sad.”

Sang-hyuk’s smile slipped away as he rested his chin on his knees, sighing. “I’ve had that ability for a long time. It’s very easy to do.”

“Why do you not cry if you are sad? Do you wish to hide?”

“Showing how I really feel in this kind of place is only a weakness. They would tear me apart if they knew. In order to stay with you, I have to be strong. So, I smile.” He glanced up to see Hong-bin staring at him, his eyes flashing, and he winced. “Make sure to erase that from your memory. It’s secret, I don’t want anyone else to find out.” The joke came so easily, so naturally, and it pained him that much more.

He was trained perfectly.

“Do you ever wish to return to the time before?”

Sang-hyuk let out a withered chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Going back would only hurt more. I have always been sad, Hong-bin, so adding any more would just be another drop in the ocean.”

Sung-jae was waiting for him the moment he stepped out of Hong-bin’s room, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him from tackling him right then and there. Sang-hyuk slowly closed the door as he stared at the other strangely, wondering what he could be doing up here. Sung-jae rarely came up to the second floor. When it was obvious Sung-jae wasn’t going to speak first, he finally asked, shifting Hong-bin’s report in his arms, “Sung-jae? What are you doing here?”

Sung-jae took that as an opening, running over and tugging on his arm excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s go out for a drink! Il-hoon told me about this great club down the street that opened up; I’ll treat you!”

Sang-hyuk spluttered for a few seconds before quickly pushing the other off him, taken aback at the sudden invitation. Sung-jae was always a tad bit spontaneous and the first to try the craziest things, but this was a little out there, even for him. “What? Do you even know how to drink, you lightweight?”

Sung-jae gasped dramatically, shaking Sang-hyuk until they were both laughing. “How dare you! I’ve drank before! I can drink a whole lot more than you!”

Sang-hyuk hummed doubtfully, snickering when Sung-jae continued to follow him with one hand wrapped around Sang-hyuk’s elbow. “Okay, oh great one, then why are we going out to drink? So you can watch your poor subject get drunk?”

That boasted Sung-jae enough he finally let go, instead trailing behind as he waited for Sang-hyuk to finish filing away Hong-bin’s report. “Well, I had my first person pass Test 2!” Sang-hyuk froze, turning to look at him in shock. “She’s getting sent to the testing room tomorrow, so I want to celebrate!” Sang-hyuk knew there was more to this than just happy celebrating, but Sung-jae was always good at distracting everyone with bright smiles and jokes. So, with a small smile, he agreed.

The club wasn’t far from the lab, just a short walk that reminded them of the coming winter, both shivering in their thin jackets as glistening snowflakes littered their hair. He would have to remind Hak-yeon to dress warmer the next time he decided to go out.

People were everywhere when they stepped inside, hot bodies full of rushing adrenaline and poor choices pressed against each other as their loud voices filtered through the air. Sang-hyuk was reminded of just how many people there really were in the world, feeling as if everyone was watching as he and Sung-jae pushed their way to the counter. He was fully content letting Sung-jae order for him, hunching in on himself as he glanced around, eyes flickering over all the faces and taking everything in.

Ignorance. He watched as all these people talked and laughed with one another, hands slapping playfully and fingers reaching in places that had cheeks blushing red. They were all so blissfully unaware of what was going on just down the street, having no clue about the deaths dealt out by the people they believed protected them. No, these people, their only worry was to get through the day, to earn enough money to have nights out like this, where they could be free without regrets. He could see them all, the shy, the bold, the brave, the brash; for just this night, they all knew each other and were unafraid to speak.

Envy. Sang-hyuk wanted their freedom, their happiness. He wished he could be as bold as them, as unafraid to let everything out.

“Here, Sang-hyuk,” Sung-jae called out next to him, prying open Sang-hyuk’s hand to place the shot glass in it. Neither said anything as they both downed the shot, leaning against the counter and staring at all the people. He could hear Sung-jae sigh, his expression drawn. “Thanks for coming with me, really.”

Sang-hyuk pursed his lips, knowing how much Sung-jae really meant it. “No problem.”

Sung-jae called the bartender and got their glasses refilled, though neither of them took a sip. Sang-hyuk glanced over at his friend to see him staring into the glass, watching the ripples in the alcohol as people walked by. Sang-hyuk ran over all the comforting things he could say in his head, none of them sounding like what he wanted. Sung-jae took care of that, speaking quietly, “It was that girl.”

“What?”

Sung-jae didn’t look up, his fingers tightening around the glass. “The girl you saw the other day. The one that’s only nineteen.”

Sang-hyuk looked down at his own drink when he realized what Sung-jae was talking about. He remembered that girl, so young as she slept the days away under the heavy influence of the drugs. It was always a surprise when a subject lived through the test, no body type having any advantage over another. It was surprisingly easy imagining what that girl must have felt when she woke up, finding her body changed and her mind purposefully muddled. He shoved that image away as he gave a small grunt. “She’s strong.”

“You know…I’m always scared. I’m scared to see the volunteers walk in my room, to see their faces when they’re sleeping through Test 1. I’m afraid if I see them too much, they’ll follow me forever. I kill them, you know? I’m the one that gives the test, and I’m the one that takes their life away.” Sang-hyuk stayed silent as he let Sung-jae speak, knowing there was no one else he could tell this too. It was hard to find someone to speak freely with, everyone a spy against everyone, and it was always a risk that someone would hear and tell. Sung-jae—they trusted each other, and that trust was sacred.

“You know about Doctor Kim, the one that trained me?” Sang-hyuk nodded, and Sung-jae downed the shot, immediately calling for another. His voice was bitter. “All it took was a bad IV set. He didn’t know, gave them out to the subjects and they all died. Yifan was furious—do you know how they got rid of Kim?”

“I…they killed him, didn’t they?” It was what they always did. Having the threat of death made the scientists work harder.

Sung-jae scoffed, downing another shot and getting another. Sang-hyuk wanted to stop him but felt he shouldn’t, feeling the other should let this all out now. It was hard to be sunny where they worked, and no matter how much of it was natural, there was bound to be a breaking point. “I killed him. They made me give him Test 1, so that I would be the next head of testing. Did you know that?”

Sang-hyuk was genuinely shocked, unable to give an answer. Sung-jae was always so happy, always laughing and joking. How could he…? “I…I didn’t.”

“Doctor Kim cried and begged until he died, pleading for me not to do it. I didn’t want to, but…I have my mom at home. I have to take care of her. So I did it, and they immediately promoted me. Yifan even came over to congratulate me.” The bartender hesitated giving Sung-jae another drink, giving him and Sang-hyuk a concerned look, but one easy reassurance got him to reluctantly pour another. Sung-jae immediately drank it.

“It was so easy to be promoted, so easy to get killed. I…I’m scared every day, Sang-hyuk. I’m scared that one day I’ll make a stupid mistake and they’ll kill me off, just like that. Kill me and replace me like it was nothing. They don’t care about me, about any of us. We’re just tools, pawns that are worthless once they’ve fulfilled their use. I…it hurts to think about it.”

Sang-hyuk pursed his lips, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he tried to stay calm. There were many times he thought the same thing, felt the same uselessness as he bowed before the leaders, knowing there was nothing someone as low as him could do. It was a hard revelation to deal with, to realize that your life was nothing in the grand scheme of things, especially with the things they were forced to do and see. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Sung-jae, having to be front and center for it all.

“I’m sorry, Sung-jae. I really am.” Sung-jae gave him a languid smile in return, the alcohol finally kicking in and clouding his eyes in a dusty haze. He felt his friend’s head lean on his shoulder, tears flooding his eyes as incoherent words mumbled from his lips, so sleepy. Sang-hyuk sighed as he grabbed a barstool and helped him sit down, adjusting his head so Sung-jae was comfortably resting on his shoulder.

Such a lightweight.

“Are you going to want me to call a cab for him?” Sang-hyuk nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice, whipping his head around to see the bartender leaning over the counter concernedly, his eyes on Sung-jae. Sang-hyuk’s hand around his still full glass shook, his other hand in his pocket tight.

“N-no. He’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t look so good…he drank a lot.” The man reached a hand out to check Sung-jae’s temperature, and Sang-hyuk hurriedly tugged his friend away. The bartender seemed surprised at his reaction, awkwardly pulling back. “I don’t mean to bother you, I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“He’s fine.” Sang-hyuk wished now they invited someone else to come with them, if only so he wouldn’t be the one stuck with getting a drunk Sung-jae home. He finished his glass and slid it over to the bartender, grunting and doing his best to get Sung-jae to stand up. He groaned when Sung-jae only clung onto his neck, mumbling nonsense.

The bartender chuckled at the two of them, ignoring Sang-hyuk’s livid glare as he walked around the counter. “What are you doing?” he snapped when the man easily hefted Sung-jae onto his side, Sang-hyuk’s hands uselessly falling to his side.

“You don’t look like you’ve done this before,” the man joked, grinning impishly when Sang-hyuk glared at him. “You gonna drink till you’re like this too? Don’t worry, I have lots of practice dealing with drunks.” Sang-hyuk pretended he didn’t see the blatant wink the other gave him.

“No. I have to get him home.”

“No problem! I can help you call a cab, and maybe in the meantime get your number. Wouldn’t mind your name either.”

Sang-hyuk honestly had no idea what to do with the brazen flirting the man was doing with him, unsure if he was playing or if that really was just his way of flirting. He hoped it was the former. He knew what to do if it was the former.

He diligently followed behind the bartender as he expertly weaved his way through all the people, Sung-jae tucked snugly to his side. He stayed back until the bartender was out the door, waving down a cab with the ease of a regular, and Sang-hyuk was pulling him back. “You don’t need to do that. We live just down the street. I can walk him back.”

The man shifted Sung-jae so the other’s head could loll back, smirking when Sang-hyuk grimaced. “Yeah, but it would be a hell of a walk back. A taxi would only cost a couple bucks, and a lot less work for you.” He managed to free an arm to grab a taxi, chuckling when Sang-hyuk whined at him to stop. Sang-hyuk really hated people, and this man was beginning to be the epitome of what he wanted to stab with a thousand hot needles. He would enjoy that.

Sang-hyuk begrudgingly stepped up to give the taxi driver their address when Sung-jae was pushed into the backseat. He felt something hold him back when he went to get in, looking back to see the bartender grinning. “Aren’t you gonna give me a tip?” He held out a hand expectantly, and Sang-hyuk wracked his brain for what he was supposed to give. Confused, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and the man clicked his tongue.

“Not that kinda tip, silly. Can I have your number?” Sang-hyuk was getting really tired of his silly jokes, scowling at his stupid smiles.

“No.”

“Then how ‘bout a name?”

“No.”

“Aww, come on. I carried your friend and even got you a taxi! Can’t I at least get a name? Mine’s Lee Jae-hwan.” Giggles slipped through Jae-hwan’s mouth as he spoke, so happy and carefree that Sang-hyuk couldn’t deny him even if wanted to. He sighed exasperatedly as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes trained on the ground.

“Han Sang-hyuk.”

Jae-hwan let out a squeal, and Sang-hyuk looked up to see the brightest smile on his face, as if his whole day was made just from Sang-hyuk’s name alone. It was so strange, to see something Sang-hyuk did on his own volition have such a positive effect. He could feel his cheeks burn at the sight, Jae-hwan’s exuberant thanks and parting pat on the shoulder falling on muffled ears as he silently got in the taxi, his mind blank as that happy smile took over the rest of his thoughts.

He really did want to stab him with a thousand hot needles.

He would enjoy that.