A/N: I genuinely felt bad that people felt bad for me lol idk why but I’m sorry, so here’s a parting-fic to make up for the confusion as well as making it sound like it was y’alls fault. I am genuinely tired of sharing and it makes me feel nervously overwhelmed that people— more than I can count— read my stuff. As much as I am grateful, that scares me. In reality, I was trying— and majestically failing at explaining why I had it on friends only at first.

A/N: You would think, as a writer, I would have more awareness with my words and work but I do not. So uh, I removed the prev ver of this. All to say what I should have said instead but in a fic format. ‘Cause who’s gonna say no to wheebyul and hwasun angst with somewhat happy endings?

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Cryo-freeze, hyper-space

Byulyi was never really a patient scientist— a patient inventor. She hates waiting for results. She wants instantaneous data to work with— to do something again, and again.

Over and over.

Writing over her old computations— coffee-stained papers fully consumed by written scribbles. Byulyi is desperate to get a grip of something she knows that she at. The something in question being: a teacher— a mentor.

Because the creating part was easy, embodying Dr. Frankenstein as she creates an android was easy. What was not easy was using her past— to be the embodiment of said android.

Using the face of someone she held so dear to be the android’s model, her very look— was an abhorrent idea— Byulyi swears she told her old crewmates that she would never do such a thing.

But her memory was never really the best anyway.

Basically, using the face of a passed person— someone that is never easy but long gone— to be her android. For what? As an aid for every day? As a caretaker for when she ages? As a desperate attempt to get a past lover back?

No, silly. How would Byulyi even love anyone— love her again if she hasn’t even learned to forgive?

No, Byulyi just wants to be physically gone, dead, and alone but transcendentally there, alive, and with her.

And if it takes her creating and teaching that android all of what she knows— to continue her projects for her and finally get the sweet release of death, then maybe she’ll finally be happy.

But damn, teaching was never easy. Being patient to a dumb robot— unable to go past its own code to be something more than a dumb robot with a pretty face— trying to make it be familiar with anything is really reducing Byulyi into even worse heights of desperation. She terminates it at the slightest mistake— she wipes its memory at the littlest offense—

Again and again.

Byulyi was never really a patient partner— a patient lover. She hates waiting for the perfect moment. She wants instantaneous laughter— someone to ask for more, to make her happy— to do the funny thing, over and over.

In a last-ditch attempt to get the robot-mentorship right, Byulyi surrenders herself in a time-chilling space— a fridge. All to preserve herself, as she transfers her own life’s data, memories, and genius.

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Hypo-time, brain-freeze.

Hyejin finally thaws out of her cryo chamber— the latch opens on its own. Her eyes see red— ears hear a repetitive ringing. And her head—

Her brain reboots, mind in a stinging ice-cold pain— an overwhelming barrage of ideas, thoughts, as if her brain had been asleep—

. She did sleep. Along with Byulyi-unnie. They needed to go back in time to get something.

Hyejin then moves her wobbly limbs— staggering to the nearest device, to check the time— to check the status, anything.

Her searing headache worsens at the bright illumination of the date— they’re here. They’re back in time.

They can finally fix a broken past and avoid the future they came from.

She swipes and types— trying to find more information, to know if Byulyi-unnie’s cryo-chamber’s status is stable. Or the option to thaw her partner out.

A loud alarm— Hyejin falls to the metal flooring, scratching her eyes as the red lights started blinking— the bold text said, ERROR: CHRONAL FUSION REACTOR DEACTIVATED.

She gulps— hand at her chest, unknowingly feeling a locket. The locket that had a pair— the missing pair they came back for.

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