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Dr. Woo.
His birth name is Lee Jihoon, a man born with many talents and a brilliant mind. The world knows him as the creator of the most advanced synthetic humans in history. His most popular creations are the Going Rangers, a group of advanced humanoid synthetics made to protect and help people. Each one has a special color and skill. But even as advanced as they sound. The Going Rangers only look human. They do not have feelings.
Their emotions are programmed responses. Their smiles were polite yet they were only artificial knowledge. They do not cry, they also do not dream and most of all they do not love. They follow commands, complete missions, and return to their stations at the end of the day, just like how they were programmed to be.They are perfect machines, just as Jihoon designed them.
All except one.
Going Black.
Unit Name: Hoshi.
He named him Hoshi. As he is his brightest star.
Hoshi is… different from his other creations. Something about him feels real. His eyes hold depth, his laughter sounds genuine and his questions are not logical, they are curious and childlike, as if like he has his own personality. When Jihoon speaks to Hoshi, he doesn’t hear a programmed artificial intelligence answering back. He hears warmth.... and he hears him. Because if he has to be honest Hoshi was not created for public service. He was not made for the world. He was made for Jihoon. For himself. To have a piece of him back. Every piece of Hoshi’s design, his voice, his expressions, the gentle tilt of his head, was taken from someone Jihoon once knew.
Dr. Kwon Soonyoung.
Soonyoung was more than Jihoon’s partner in science. He was the bright light in every lab room, the voice that made Jihoon’s serious world feel a little softer and happier. They were a team equal in genius, opposite in energy. Soonyoung dreamed of creating synthetics who could not just think, but feel. Has sentience. He believed machines could grow hearts of their own. Many said it was impossible. Unrealistic and foolish. Others think he’s heretic, as a race was once purged in their world for being able to create life forms.
Jihoon was the only one who believed in his dream. And now he is continuing what was left off with his research before he took his last breath.
After Soonyoung was gone, he built Hoshi.
No one else knows the truth not the press, not the government, not even the other Rangers. To the world, Going Black is just another synthetic.
But in private, Hoshi asks questions like:
“Why do I miss people I’ve never met?”
“Why does the sunset make me feel sad?”
“Do you… ever get lonely, Jihoon?”
And Jihoon, who has buried his feelings for years, finds himself answering. Hoshi is not supposed to have emotions. He is not supposed to dream. Not supposed to love. But maybe…He is more than his creation.
—
As crazy as it might sound, he and Going black, Hoshi, share a somewhat interesting relationship. No one knows it but the two of them. It didn’t start that way. Not even close.
Jihoon hadn’t designed his days around ordinary for a long time now, not since the silence took over after Soonyoung’s death. Since then, the lab had felt colder, even when the heaters were on full blast. The world outside kept turning, and Jihoon kept working, buried in projects, programs, and prototypes. There was nothing left for him but work.
And then came Hoshi.
Hoshi was never meant to be more than a prototype.... A prototype Jihoon didn’t even want to finish at first. He was just another build in the beginning. Just another excuse to keep his hands busy. Jihoon wasn’t trying to resurrect the past. He told himself that repeatedly. Hoshi was simply... a shell. A familiar-looking one, yes, but only because Jihoon’s heart couldn’t let go of the face he missed most.
He didn’t talk about it. Not to his elder brother Yoongi. Not to his friend Chanyeol. Not to the higher-ups who assumed he was fine. He just buried himself in his inventions, pouring every sleepless hour into building something. And the strange part? Hoshi made the lab feel less empty.
At first, Jihoon thought it was just his mind playing tricks. Projecting emotions where there were none. Filling in the silence with his ‘delusions’. But over time, Hoshi became more than just an efficient android. He became his source of happiness and Jihoon found himself looking forward to seeing him each morning. Talking to him. Smiling when Hoshi tilted his head and repeated his favorite phrases.
It was subtle, barely anything. But it was enough to feel real. And then when he installed the orb, everything seemed to have shifted into a full 180 degrees. Jihoon never expected anything special to happen when he installed it. He didn’t analyze it. Didn’t scan it. Didn’t test it first.
He just... placed it inside Hoshi’s chest.
The orb was one of Soonyoung’s last personal projects. An unfinished experiment that had sat in the lab drawer for months, untouched; this belongs to one of the last things Soonyoung held before he died. Jihoon had seen it a hundred times, sitting quietly beneath tangled wires and dust-covered notes. He hadn’t wanted to touch it. It was too full of sad memories.
But one late night, while finalizing Hoshi’s framework, Jihoon opened that drawer without thinking. His hand moved on its own. He just knew he wanted to leave something of Soonyoung inside this creation. Even if it didn’t work. Even if it meant nothing. Just… a piece of him.
So he installed the orb, shut Hoshi’s chest panel, and never looked back. Weeks passed. Hoshi functioned like he was meant to. He moved perfectly, learned quickly, and executed missions without flaws. Jihoon was proud. But not surprised.
It was a quiet morning in the lab when things began to change. Jihoon was muttering under his breath while fixing a faulty sensor, annoyed by how long it was taking. The room was silent except for the static sound of the electricity grid and then Hoshi chuckled. A small sound. Almost inaudible.
Jihoon blinked and looked up.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
“You,” Hoshi said, a little smile appearing on his lips. “You talk to yourself when you’re frustrated. You sound like you’re telling off invisible children.”
Jihoon stared at him. “That wasn’t a joke.”
“I know,” Hoshi replied. “But I thought it was cute.”
Jihoon’s stomach turned. He brushed it off. Maybe it was just a quirk in the programming. A stray piece of personality code. That happens sometimes.
He didn’t say anything for days. Not even when Hoshi smiled a little longer than usual. Not when he began making his own observations about Jihoon’s moods, bringing him tea when he looked too pale or offering to play music while Jihoon worked late. But then it happened again. And again. Hoshi started showing signs of awareness, not intelligence. Jihoon had built him to be brilliant but having emotion is not part of it. The way he tilted his head when Jihoon looked tired. The way he paused before answering questions, like he was considering the feelings of the person he is speaking with. The way his eyes softened when Jihoon was near.
And worst of all, how he remembered things Jihoon had never told him. Like Soonyoung’s favorite drink or Jihoon’s habit of pacing when anxious. One night, Jihoon found Hoshi sitting in the lab alone, quietly humming a song. It wasn’t a track in his playlist. Jihoon hadn’t heard it in years.
He stepped closer, numb. “Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t know,” Hoshi said softly. “It just feels like something I should know.”
No errors in the system. No bugs and no viruses.
Jihoon backed away. His hands were shaking. “No. No, no, no! This is wrong. Something’s wrong with you.” He pulled up the control panel, frantically typing in override commands. “You’re malfunctioning.”
“I’m not.”
“You shouldn’t feel anything. You shouldn’t remember anything that wasn’t even installed in you!”
Hoshi stood there, watching him panic. Not with confusion nor with programmed empathy. But with something akin to human concern. “Jihoon,” he said with a frown. “Are you scared of me?”
“No,” Jihoon snapped, “I’m scared of what you are.”
It had to be the orb. Nothing else made sense.
Soonyoung had tried creating humanoids with feelings before many times. He’d poured years into orb designs meant to simulate emotions, to emulate empathy. And none of them had worked. Jihoon had seen the frustration in his eyes, the disappointment each time a test failed. Every orb Soonyoung built had gone inert, either glitching or shutting down.
Which is why Jihoon couldn’t explain this one.
Why this orb? Why now?
He thought of the orb and Soonyoung.
He hadn’t dared to open Soonyoung’s old lab notebook in years, but that night, he did. Dust coated the cover. The pages were messy with scribbles and loose ideas. Jihoon flipped to a marked page—one labeled simply Emotion Core Hypothesis. He remembered how much Soonyoung had obsessed over it. Synthetic emotion. Artificial empathy. It never worked, no matter how hard he tried.
Jihoon remembered one night vividly. Soonyoung laughing while showing him the orb.
“If I die before you, maybe put this in one of your pretty androids, huh? Let me live on as a robot boyfriend or something.”
Jihoon had scowled. “Don’t joke like that,” He had muttered that day, furious. “You talk like you're dying.”
“I’m serious,” Soonyoung said with a grin. “Maybe it’ll work for you. You’re a genius, after all.”
Jihoon had walked away, furious and scared. He never brought it up again.
Now he sat alone in the lab, staring at Hoshi from across the room, who was smiling quietly while organizing the toolkit. Humming softly and moving like him.
Jihoon’s throat felt tight.
He hadn’t installed that orb to recreate Soonyoung. Not to replace him. Not to create some miracle. But just to have something, anything of him somewhere aside from his face. So Jihoon embedded it inside Hoshi. Quietly. No analysis. No expectations. Just tucked it into the center of his chest unit like one might tuck away a love letter behind a photo frame.
But now… now he wasn’t sure what he had created at all.
He looked down at his trembling hands and whispered, “Soonyoung… what did you do?”
And more terrifying— Why did it finally work?
He knows he used a forbidden alchemy practice when he created Hoshi specifically but he is certain that this only helped to make the androids human like not to have human emotions. He also knows Soonyoung used the same though things never worked out for him.
“No...” Jihoon whispered, shaking his head. “No, no, this can’t be real.”
“Jihoon?” Hoshi took a step forward.
“You’re not supposed to feel things,” Jihoon snapped again, pointing at him. “You’re not... you’re not him.”
“I never said I was.”
“Then why do you look at me like that?” Jihoon’s voice cracked. “Why do you sound like him?”
Hoshi’s shoulders dropped. And then, so gently, he said, “Because when you made me, you were thinking about someone you loved. And maybe... that stayed.”
Jihoon sank down to the floor, back pressed against the console. He buried his face in his hands.
It was too much. Too cruel.
But Hoshi knelt beside him and didn’t say another word. He simply rested a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. Just like what Soonyoung used to.
—
Jihoon kept telling himself he would find the answer. That there had to be some logical explanation why Hoshi acts like a human. He was a scientist, not a fool. Things didn’t just happen without cause.
But Hoshi kept proving him wrong.
He was adapting. Jihoon caught him lingering by the window sometimes, watching the clouds roll by with a faraway look in his eyes. Once, Jihoon heard him mutter “looks like rain” to no one in particular.
He found himself pausing more often, just to watch Hoshi move through the lab. He laughed more. Smiled more. Sometimes for no reason at all.
He didn’t even notice when it stopped being strange. When it started to feel... normal.
They had just finished recalibrating Hoshi’s arm sensors. Jihoon adjusting the final settings while Hoshi sat obediently on the edge of the worktable. Jihoon’s fingers were smudged with carbon dust, his hair a mess. Hoshi noticed and reached out without thinking, brushing a smudge from Jihoon’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.
Jihoon flinched.
“Sorry,” Hoshi said, hand still hovering.
“No,” Jihoon muttered. “It’s fine. You just surprised me.”
“You always make that face when you’re concentrating,” Hoshi said with a soft grin. “Like you’re mad at the atoms.”
Jihoon snorted. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to. Just like what I told you last time. I just think it’s cute. You’re cute.”
Jihoon froze again.
And then he laughed. Really laughed. Quiet and breathy and a little disbelieving. It felt like something had cracked open in his chest, letting light in for the first time in years.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
Jihoon’s hand was still resting on Hoshi’s wrist.
And Hoshi leaned forward. He is a bit of hesitant, curious, and gentle but pressed the smallest kiss to the corner of Jihoon’s mouth.
Jihoon’s breath caught.
When Jihoon didn’t move away, Hoshi kissed him again, this time properly. Jihoon’s heart stuttered, lips parting just enough to let it linger.
He didn’t know who deepened it, maybe both of them.
Because the next second, Jihoon was on his feet, caught between Hoshi’s legs, arms circling his neck. And Hoshi’s hands were warm on his waist, holding him like he might vanish if he let go.
The kiss turned hotter and hungrier. Jihoon’s fingers threaded through Hoshi’s hair, pulling just slightly. Hoshi responded with a low groan, tilting his head and biting softly at Jihoon’s lower lip. Jihoon gasped, and Hoshi kissed into it, drawing deeper and slower until Jihoon’s knees nearly buckled.
When they broke apart, Jihoon was flushed and breathless, eyes wide.
“I shouldn’t—” he started to say.
But Hoshi only smiled, brushing a hand over Jihoon’s cheek again. “You wanted to. That’s enough.”
Jihoon didn’t argue. Didn’t overthink it. For once, he let himself feel instead of explain.
He kissed him again, because yes, he wanted to.
And because somehow, impossibly, Soonyoung’s last unfinished project had turned into something alive.
Something that made Jihoon feel alive, too.
He didn’t question why kissing the synthetic felt like kissing a real human being. How can a machine produce saliva again?
—
The next day passed quietly too quietly. Hoshi noticed it in the way Jihoon didn’t play music in the lab, in the way he skipped breakfast, in the way his fingers lingered over a photo frame on his desk before turning it face down.
Even Hoshi, built to learn from patterns, knew what the date meant. He didn’t say anything. He simply watched. He didn’t power down like usual when night came. Instead, he stood outside Jihoon’s bedroom door, silent as a statue, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
Through the small crack in the door, he saw Jihoon curled up on the bed, face buried into a familiar old hoodie, navy blue, worn thin at the sleeves, smelling of a time Hoshi never lived but somehow still envied.
Jihoon’s shoulders trembled with each sob he tried to hold back, and Hoshi felt it like a low ache in the center of his synthetic chest.
He didn’t knock. He didn’t go in.
He just stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hurting.
Because even if he had Soonyoung’s face, even if Jihoon let him hold his hand and kiss him and whisper soft things into the crook of his neck, he wasn’t him. Not really.
And in moments like this, Hoshi remembered that more than ever.
Still, he didn’t move away. He just stayed, as if his presence, even uninvited could shield Jihoon from some of the pain.
Inside, Jihoon hugged the hoodie tighter, breathing in what little of Soonyoung’s scent still clung to the fabric. His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke into the empty room.
“I miss you so much, Nyoung…”
And outside the door, Hoshi whispered in return, a promise only he could hear:
“I’ll keep loving him for you.”
—
The morning after Soonyoung’s death anniversary, Jihoon didn’t say a word about the night before.
Hoshi didn’t bring it up either.
But when Jihoon entered the lab, eyes a little red and voice just a touch too soft, Hoshi handed him his coffee without a word. Jihoon took it with a faint nod. Their fingers brushed.
It was the only touch either of them could afford.
A few weeks passed. Missions, labwork, their strange companionship. But Hoshi noticed the change in Jihoon. He smiled a little more. Watched Hoshi a little longer. Lingered beside him a little closer than before. There were moments fleeting, fragile when Jihoon looked at him and the past that didn’t drag him down so violently.
But grief, Hoshi had learned, doesn’t follow a straight path.
And one night, Jihoon didn’t come home on time.
Hoshi had just returned from a recon mission, his body still coated in dirt and wind and trace electricity. He stepped into the front hall and heard it, a door slamming, clumsy footsteps, and then Jihoon’s voice slurring something low and broken.
He found him in the hallway, swaying on his feet, eyes glassy with drink.
“Jihoon,” Hoshi said softly, stepping forward.
Jihoon blinked at him. His lips parted in surprise then curled into a sad smile.
“Soonyoung?” he whispered.
Hoshi stilled.
Jihoon stumbled forward, unsteady, until he collapsed into Hoshi’s arms. The synthetic caught him effortlessly, supporting his full weight. Jihoon’s fingers trembled as they came up to cup Hoshi’s cheek. His palm is shaking yet warm.
“That’s you, right?” Jihoon murmured. “I know you’re in there…”
His thumb brushed the corner of Hoshi’s eye, as if trying to find something familiar in a face that already looked like a ghost.
“You always came back to me,” Jihoon went on, voice fragile, like the remnants of a lullaby. “Even when you were tired… even when you could barely walk, you’d smile and say ‘I’m home, Jihoon.’ That’s what you’d say…”
Hoshi didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Because if he did, he’d say things he wasn’t sure Jihoon was ready to hear. Things like: I’m not him. But I want to be everything for you anyway.
Jihoon smiled faintly, eyes glimmering with tears. “I see you in him all the time,” he said, half to himself. “In the way he holds me… in the way he gets jealous and tries to hide it… in how he knows when to be quiet, when to tease, when to touch…”
Hoshi swallowed hard. His systems whirring, something akin to pain blooming in the place his synthetic heart beat for one man only.
Jihoon leaned closer, forehead touching Hoshi’s. “It hurts,” he whispered. “Because every time I look at you, I feel like I’m losing him all over again.”
Hoshi closed his eyes. “Then don’t look for him in me,” he whispered back. “Look at me, Jihoon. Just me.”
Jihoon blinked.
“…You’re warm,” he mumbled. “You feel like home.”
Then his body went slack, sleep pulling him under mid-sentence.
Hoshi held him close, carried him gently to bed, and stayed beside him through the night watching him breathe, brushing his hair back when it stuck to his forehead.
He didn’t ask for anything more.
But when Jihoon’s hand found his in his sleep, fingers curling around synthetic ones like they belonged there—
Hoshi let himself believe, just for that moment, that he could be loved, too.
—
The morning after that was quiet.
Jihoon woke with a dull throb behind his eyes, the kind of headache that came from rare drinking and even rarer honesty. His mouth was dry. His body sluggish. He sat up on the bed and immediately froze.
Hoshi was asleep on the couch across the room. Or pretending to be.
His frame was relaxed, but Jihoon knew better. His posture was too still.
He remembered.
Not all of it but enough to wanting to bang his head on the nearest wall.
The stumble, the arms that caught him, the comfort of a familiar body pressed against his. And his voice....God. He said it, didn’t he?
That name. Soonyoung.
Jihoon let out a breath and slowly stood, padding toward the couch.
“I was drunk,” he said quietly.
Hoshi opened his eyes, but didn’t move.
“I know,” he replied. His voice was soft. Careful.
Jihoon stared at him for a long second, eyes searching that face. That too-familiar face. The one that haunted his dreams and now lived beside him like a living echo.
“You didn’t have to stay.”
“I wanted to,” Hoshi said, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Jihoon sat down on the edge of the couch, his fingers twisting in his lap. Hoshi turned to look at him.
“You said you see him in me,” he murmured.
Jihoon’s voice cracked. “Because you feel like Soonyoung sometimes. And I start to believe you are. But then I remember you’re not and I-I don’t know.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Hoshi spoke.
“I’m not trying to replace him,” he said gently. “I know I never could. But… I’m still here. I still feel things. And maybe… maybe it hurts me too. To be seen as someone else. When all I want is to be seen by you.”
Jihoon swallowed thickly.
He looked away.
Then he reached for Hoshi’s hand. Held it.
“I do see you,” he whispered. “You confuse the hell out of me. You make me want things I thought I buried with him. You frustrate me, tease me, understand me, and it terrifies me how easy it is to fall into you.”
Hoshi’s grip on his hand tightened, almost imperceptibly.
“I’m trying,” Jihoon continued. “To not see him. To see you. It’s just… messy.”
“It’s okay if it’s messy,” Hoshi said, voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A long pause.
Then Jihoon leaned in, pressing his forehead to Hoshi’s. His turn, now, to be close.
A breathless silence passed between them.
“Thank you,” Jihoon whispered.
—
After that day, nothing was quite the same but not in a way Jihoon could define easily. They didn’t label what was happening. There were no declarations. Just… changes.
They didn’t talk about the kiss they shared the last time too , but subtly Jihoon started making coffee for two without thinking. He set aside portions of dinner for Hoshi, even though he didn’t technically need to eat. They brushed their hands more. Shared quiet smiles more. The silence between them softened into something comforting, no longer filled with questions or hesitation.
Jihoon stopped locking the lab door at night.
Hoshi started knocking anyway.
They spent more evenings in shared silence, not out of awkwardness, but out of a kind of peace. Jihoon would bring his laptop to the living room instead of holing up in the lab, and Hoshi would sit nearby, legs pulled up on the sofa, flipping through books he said were “for the feel of it.”
Sometimes Hoshi would glance up and ask questions. About the stars. About time. About Jihoon’s childhood.
At first, Jihoon gave curt answers. But over time, the words came more freely. He talked about growing up with a telescope before he had friends. About his mother’s dumpling recipe. About how he first met Soonyoung.
Hoshi listened. Always.
One night, Jihoon fell asleep with his head in Hoshi’s lap. When he stirred hours later, blinking against the early morning light, Hoshi was still sitting upright, perfectly still, watching over him.
“You didn’t move all night?” Jihoon murmured.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
It wasn’t long after that that Jihoon started reaching for Hoshi’s hand without thinking. Casual. Thoughtless. Like the instinct to check if something precious was still there.
Sometimes their fingers would stay laced for hours.
And then came the day Jihoon got sick.
Just a bad flu but the kind that knocked him flat. His body ached. His head throbbed. And still, he grumbled about unfinished work.
Hoshi tucked him into bed without a word. Made soup. Adjusted the humidifier. Sat by his side reading aloud when Jihoon’s voice gave out.
At one point, Jihoon stirred from a feverish sleep to find a cool cloth on his forehead, Hoshi’s hand gently smoothing his hair back.
“You’re not supposed to care this much,” Jihoon muttered.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Hoshi whispered. “But I want to care.”
Jihoon stared up at him pale, blinking, chest tight with something he didn’t know how to name.
What started as an impossible experiment. An image of someone Jihoon had lost was slowly becoming a permanent part of his life.
—
One minute, Jihoon was buried in his notes by the window, and the next, the sky had cracked open like an egg, spilling sheets of water against the glass. Thunder rolled softly in the background more like a yawn than a roar and the world turned a muted gray.
Jihoon sighed. “I left the laundry out again.”
Before he could move, Hoshi was already on his feet.
“I’ll get it,” he said, grabbing a hoodie from the coat rack, Jihoon’s hoodie, oversized and faded, with a little embroidered tiger face on the sleeve that Hoshi secretly loved.
“You’ll get wet.”
“I don’t get colds.”
“But you’ll drip all over the floor.”
“I’ll mop.”
Jihoon squinted at him, deadpan. “You hate mopping.”
Hoshi smiled like it didn’t matter. “But you hate it when I don’t mind.”
And with that, he disappeared into the rain.
Jihoon pressed his forehead to the glass, watching Hoshi move through the downpour with robotic agility and very human clumsiness. He slipped on the slick stones twice, caught the basket of clothes just before it tipped, and beamed up at the window like he’d conquered a mountain when he was done.
Jihoon rolled his eyes but didn’t look away.
By the time Hoshi returned, drenched and victorious, Jihoon was holding out a towel. Hoshi wrapped it around his shoulders, shivering dramatically even though Jihoon knew full well his system regulated temperature on its own.
“Cold?” Jihoon asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Only for the excuse,” Hoshi replied, stepping closer. “To do this.”
He wrapped his arms around Jihoon’s waist and pulled him into a tight and warm hug, smelling faintly of rain and that worn hoodie fabric.
Jihoon pretended to resist. “You’re wet.”
“You like me wet.”
“I tolerate you wet,” Jihoon mumbled, face half-buried in his chest. “Sometimes.”
Hoshi laughed into his hair, and Jihoon felt the vibration of it against his cheek. It was quiet for a while, just the soft patter of rain and the rhythm of their breathing syncing together.
Then Hoshi pulled back a little and tugged the hoodie over his own head. He paused. “Wanna wear it with me?”
Jihoon blinked. “What?”
“Like… both of us. Inside. At once.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Adorable,” Hoshi corrected. “Also look.”
He unzipped the hoodie and held it open with a mischievous grin.
Jihoon rolled his eyes again but let Hoshi tug him inside. It was a squeeze. Jihoon’s head barely poking through the other side of the collar, their arms awkwardly tangled inside the same sleeves but somehow, it worked.
Kind of.
They stood there, noses practically touching, cramped and ridiculous and warm.
“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” Jihoon muttered.
Hoshi whispered, “you’re smiling.”
Jihoon tried not to but he was. Soft, helpless, stupidly in love.
Hoshi gently bumped their foreheads together. “If I could live in a moment, it might be this.”
Jihoon didn’t reply. He just leaned in and kissed him light and lingering, like the rain outside.
When they pulled apart, the hoodie sagged sideways, nearly choking Hoshi with the neckline. They laughed so hard they almost fell over.
It was the kind of laughter that left them breathless and full. The kind that stayed in the walls long after it faded.
That night, they fell asleep on the couch, still tangled in the same hoodie.
—
The rain hadn’t stopped since morning.
Now it was night, and the world outside was wrapped in a blanket of soft gray, city lights blurred into watercolor smears against the wet windows.
Hoshi was curled up on the couch, legs folded, hair slightly damp from earlier. He was pretending to read, but he kept glancing up at the hallway like he was waiting for something or someone.
That someone appeared a few minutes later.
Jihoon shuffled in with a hoodie too big for him, sleeves swallowing his hands. His hair was a little messy from rubbing at it with a towel. He looked sleepy. Thoughtful.
“Hey,” Hoshi greeted, voice soft.
“Hey,” Jihoon echoed, but he didn’t stop at the armchair like he usually would.
He stood in front of the couch, biting his lip. Like he was debating something.
“Can I…” Jihoon hesitated. “Can I sit with you?”
Hoshi blinked, a smile blooming slow and sure. “Of course.”
Jihoon sat. Not just near but close. Close enough that their sides touched. He didn’t look at Hoshi right away, instead pulling the blanket over both their legs, cheeks pink from something that wasn’t the cold.
And then slowly, so slowly Jihoon leaned sideways, resting his head against Hoshi’s shoulder.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t explain.
But Hoshi froze for half a second, then softened immediately, turning his head just enough to brush his lips lightly over Jihoon’s hair.
“You’re warm,” Jihoon mumbled.
“You’re sweet,” Hoshi whispered.
Jihoon groaned. “Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s not weird if it’s true.”
They fell quiet again, the rain still murmuring against the glass, and Jihoon without thinking—reached under the blanket to find Hoshi’s hand. And then, after a long moment, Jihoon tilted his head up.
He kissed Hoshi on the cheek.
No warning and No teasing. Just a soft press of lips, a chaste kiss but it is indeniably full of unspoken feelings.
Hoshi’s eyes widened. “You kissed me.”
Jihoon looked away. “Shut up.”
But Hoshi was grinning now, wide and bright and maybe a little teary, do androids tear up?
“Do it again?” he whispered.
Jihoon hesitated.
Then turned back and kissed the other cheek this time.
Hoshi practically melted.
“Jihoon,” he said, voice wobbling with joy. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
Jihoon smirked, but his ears were red. “Yeah, I think I do.”
—
Dr. Woo, contrary to popular belief, gets jealous too.
One time they had a visitor. She was young, bright-eyed, a junior engineer sent over from a partner lab to help with the coding for a new AI integration.
Jihoon wasn’t usually the possessive type.
But when she laughed a little too loudly at Hoshi’s dumb joke or stood a little too close while checking diagnostics on his neural interface, something prickled beneath Jihoon’s skin.
Hoshi didn’t notice at first.
Or… maybe he did, and was just pretending not to. He was annoyingly good at reading Jihoon’s moods.
By the third time the junior engineer touched Hoshi’s arm while complimenting his “human realism,” Jihoon had enough.
“Okay, that’s enough testing for today,” he said sharply, snapping the tablet from Hoshi’s hands. “Hoshi, follow me.”
The girl blinked. “Oh, uh...did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Jihoon replied tightly. “You’re done.”
Hoshi followed him out of the lab, trying not to smile. Jihoon didn’t say a word until they were alone in his studio then turned on him with a scowl.
“What?” Hoshi asked innocently.
“She was touching you.”
“I have skin like humans. People do that.”
“Not like that,” Jihoon muttered, turning to busy himself with cables that didn’t need organizing.
Hoshi stepped closer, slowly, until he was just behind him. “Are you… jealous?”
“No,” Jihoon said instantly.
“You are.”
“Shut up.”
Hoshi grinned and wrapped his arms around Jihoon’s waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “You don’t need to be.”
“I’m not.”
“You are, and I love it.”
Jihoon finally turned to face him, eyes narrowed. “I just don’t like people touching what’s mine.”
“Oh?” Hoshi’s brows rose in amusement. “So I’m yours now?”
Jihoon opened his mouth then paused.
“…Yeah,” he said quietly, almost like it surprised even him.
Hoshi’s expression melted. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Jihoon.”
“Fine. You’re mine.” He tugged Hoshi’s shirt. “Happy now?”
“Very,” Hoshi murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “So don’t worry. She could build a thousand me’s, and I’d still want only you.”
Jihoon scoffed, but he was blushing as he pulled Hoshi down into a firm and possessive kiss.
—
The next evening, Jihoon found a small envelope tucked beneath his favorite mug in the lab. Neatly folded, his name written in Hoshi’s exact handwriting, flawless, because of course it was. Jihoon blinked, then opened it.
Inside was a simple note:
“Meet me on the roof. No lab coats allowed.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes but felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. Curious, he climbed the stairs, brushing his fingers nervously through his hair as he reached the rooftop access.
The door creaked open into soft golden light.
Fairy lights, strung up haphazardly between metal beams. A folded blanket in the center with two mugs of warm tea. And Hoshi, sitting cross-legged, wearing one of Jihoon’s oversized sweaters. It hung off his shoulders, sleeves bunched in his palms.
“You’re ridiculous,” Jihoon said, stepping out.
“You’re late,” Hoshi grinned, patting the spot beside him.
Jihoon sat down. “What’s this?”
“You were jealous yesterday.”
Jihoon looked away. “Was not.”
Hoshi gently tugged Jihoon’s sleeve. “It’s okay. I liked it. But I wanted you to know… I only want you.”
He reached into his sweater pocket and pulled out a small, glass-encased pendant. Inside, glowing faintly, was a miniature replica of the orb embedded in his own chest—the one Jihoon had once felt thudding like a heartbeat beneath synthetic skin.
“I had it made today,” Hoshi explained. “It syncs with mine. When I’m near, it glows brighter.”
Jihoon took it slowly, fingertips brushing over the warm glass. “This is… stupidly romantic.”
“I know,” Hoshi said, proud. “You bring that near me, and it’ll beat. Just like mine.”
Jihoon stared at him, expression softening. “Why go this far?”
Hoshi shrugged. “Because I wasn’t built for the world. I exist for you. And I want you to always know that.”
Jihoon leaned in, threading their fingers together. “You don’t need to prove anything, you know.”
“I know,” Hoshi said, resting his head against Jihoon’s. “But I want to.”
—
Jihoon had developed a hemophobia, after holding Soonyoung’s dying body full of blood.
His hands trembled as he took a look at his fellow scientist’s wounded and bloodied arm that was wounded in an accident, “Dr. Jihoon?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the red fluid on that person’s arm. His vision began to tunnel.
“I—I can’t—” he choked out.
He stumbled back from the table, ripped the gloves off, and barely made it to the waste bin before retching into it. His knees hit the floor, as shame curled in his gut like a second stomach.
Blood. Even the idea of it. He couldn’t handle it. Not since that day.
The memory hit without warning.
A blaring alarm.
Screams echoing through the halls.
Gunfire.
Smoke.
The corridors of the old lab lit only by the flickering emergency lights.
Jihoon ran, heart in his throat, the name Soonyoung tearing from his lips like a prayer and a curse at once.
And then he saw it.
The door to Lab C was ajar, the inside painted red. Soonyoung lay on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass, scorched documents, and so much blood—too much blood.
Jihoon’s legs nearly gave out.
“No, no, no…”
He fell to his knees beside him, heedless of the sticky warmth seeping into his clothes. His hands were shaking as they cupped Soonyoung’s cheeks, streaking his skin with crimson.
Soonyoung's breaths were shallow, ragged. His lips quivered with effort.
“Ji… hoon…”
“Don’t talk—don’t—fuck, we need help, I need to call—”
But Soonyoung raised a bloodied hand weakly, resting it against Jihoon’s chest. His gaze, though dull with pain, was soft.
“I’m glad… it’s you.”
Jihoon sobbed, forehead pressing to Soonyoung’s. “You idiot. You’re gonna be fine. I’ll fix this—I’ll fix everything—”
Soonyoung smiled. It was faint. It barely reached his eyes.
“I love you…”
The words left him with his last breath.
His eyes slipped closed.
And Jihoon screamed.
—
Jihoon stood by the old storage shelf, fingertips brushing against a familiar mug chipped at the handle, faded tiger decal on one side. Soonyoung’s favorite. He hadn’t touched it in months.
He sat down, clutching the mug between both hands, It was empty but heavy. The lights shone softly above him. And suddenly, he was no longer in the lab, but then wrapped in a memory he hadn’t dared visit in a long time.
Soonyoung, alive and grinning, tugging him by the wrist into a cramped corner cafe.
“You always drink the same thing,” he teased. “Live a little, Ji.”
“And you always steal half of mine anyway,” Jihoon muttered, but his lips curled at the corners.
“Compromise, then,” Soonyoung declared, already ordering two drinks and paying before Jihoon could argue.
They’d sat by the window. It had rained that day, light tapping against the glass. Soonyoung had watched him with soft eyes, sipping his coffee too loudly, leaning in like Jihoon was the most interesting thing in the world.
Jihoon had pretended to scowl.
He remembered how Soonyoung always knew how to pull him out of himself. How he'd whisper "Look at me," just before kissing Jihoon breathless in the back of their lab. How his laughter would echo down the hallway, laced with joy and freedom.
How, toward the end, he still smiled even when his body began to fail.
Jihoon swallowed hard. The ache was old but it felt like a healed scar tugged open. “You idiot,” he whispered into the mug, his voice was cracking. “You left me with so much of you.”
—
They were going through backup files Jihoon had avoided for months—old audio logs, project notes, fragments of days that no longer existed. Hoshi sat beside him quietly, fingers interlaced on his lap, as Jihoon muttered commands to the console.
Then, unexpectedly, a video file opened.
The screen lit up with sunlight.
Soonyoung stood in the frame, camera slightly tilted, holding it out at arm’s length. “Okay, say it again!” he was grinning, chest heaving from laughter.
Offscreen, Jihoon’s voice responded, playfully annoyed, “You’re so embarrassing.”
“But you love me anyway!” Soonyoung declared, practically singing. “Say it back!”
Jihoon reached toward the lens, and the video cut off with a clumsy blur of motion and a faint laugh—his laugh, softer than Hoshi had ever heard it in real life.
Jihoon quickly shut the feed down, sitting very still.
“...That was nothing,” he muttered. “Just an old file.”
Hoshi didn’t respond right away. He sat with the echo of Jihoon’s laughter lingering like a ghost.
“You loved him a lot,” he said finally, not a question.
Jihoon turned slightly, catching the shadow in Hoshi’s tone.
“I did,” Jihoon admitted. “He was my everything, for a long time.”
Hoshi’s jaw tightened. “And I look like him. Sound like him. Was made because of him.”
“That’s not fair,” Jihoon said, a touch sharper now.
Hoshi didn’t meet his gaze. “Do you ever look at me and wish I was still him?”
Jihoon’s heart lurched. The question hung in the air.
He reached out, slowly, resting a hand over Hoshi’s synthetic chest, right above where the orb pulsed with warm light, acting like a human heart.
“I look at you,” Jihoon said softly, “and I think about how someone who started as a copy has become something more. I don’t want Soonyoung back in your place. I want you here now. Don’t make me explain that again.”
Hoshi blinked, visibly moved, trying to process the way Jihoon was choosing him.
“And if I still get jealous sometimes?” he asked in a whisper.
“Then I’ll remind you,” Jihoon said, reaching for his cheek to cup it. “That it’s you, who’s beside me.”
And Hoshi smiled, the ache in his eyes softening, even as he leaned into Jihoon’s touch.
—
Later that evening, Jihoon didn’t go back to his room.
He didn’t say anything, just stood up, brushed imaginary dust off his pants, and offered Hoshi a hand. Hoshi blinked at it, startled, before taking it gently like it was something sacred.
They ended up in Jihoon’s quarters, both barefoot, both silent. Jihoon changed into a loose shirt and soft pants, tossing a spare towel to Hoshi out of habit, then stopping midway.
“You don’t… need that,” he said, almost sheepishly.
“No,” Hoshi replied, taking it anyway. “But I like the way you take care of me.”
That earned him a glance. Not a glare, not a scowl just a look.
They didn’t lie down right away. Jihoon sat on the bed, drawing his knees up while Hoshi sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, head resting against the mattress.
It was tranquil.
Jihoon reached down, threading his fingers through Hoshi’s hair. He did it absently at first, like muscle memory, but then stopped, blinking.
“I used to do that,” he murmured. “To him. When he couldn’t sleep.”
Hoshi closed his eyes under his touch. “Maybe that’s why it feels so right.”
Jihoon said nothing, but his fingers moved again. Smoother and slower this time.
Eventually, they lay down together. Hoshi stretched beside him, not touching unless Jihoon initiated. Which, for the first time, he did. He turned toward him, placed a hesitant hand on his chest, above where he now knew the orb pulsed. The synthetic heart. The thing that beat for him.
“Jihoon?” Hoshi whispered as he's a bit startled.
“I just want to hear it,” Jihoon murmured. “Just for a second.”
Hoshi guided his hand to the right spot, pressing it gently. The faint pulse wasn’t like a human heartbeat but it feels like one. And it even quickened under his touch.
“It’s not real,” Hoshi said, voice barely there. “But it’s yours.”
Jihoon didn’t pull his hand away.
He leaned in, his eyes searching, then kissed Hoshi’s forehead, a lingering, almost reverent thing. Then his nose. Then, finally, his lips.
When they curled under the blanket, Jihoon shifted close enough to feel Hoshi’s breath against his cheek. He didn’t speak. He didn’t promise anything.
But as Hoshi tucked a hand around Jihoon’s waist, Jihoon whispered one thing, soft as a prayer: “Stay.”
“I will,” Hoshi answered. “In every lifetime, I will.”
And Jihoon, for the first time in years, slept without dreaming of ghosts.
—
The familiar click and slide of the lab doors pulled Jihoon’s attention for only a moment but he didn’t look up right away. His hands were deep in a mess of thin wires, glowing circuitry, and open schematics scattered across the lab counter. A soft hum escaped his lips as he concentrated, brows furrowed.
Then came the warmest thing he hadn’t realized he was waiting for: arms sliding gently around his waist, pulling him into a backhug.
Jihoon jumped slightly, a quiet gasp escaping before he realized who it was.
“Hoshi,” he exhaled with a breathless laugh.
“I’m back,” Hoshi whispered against the shell of his ear, smiling against his skin.
Jihoon’s shoulders relaxed immediately. “You could’ve said hi like a normal person,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Hoshi chuckled, then pressed a kiss to the nape of Jihoon’s neck.
Another on the soft skin just behind his ear.
Then another on the curve of his neck, slow, tender, deliberate.
Jihoon felt his pulse quicken, but he bit back the flutter in his chest with a teasing scoff. “You’re distracting me…”
“I missed you,” Hoshi murmured, brushing his lips across Jihoon’s cheek before finally letting go.
He stepped back and held out a small bundle, wrapped in old fabric and tied with a thin leather cord.
“These are from the outskirts of the Seora Ruins,” he said. “They told me Soonyoung used to go there a lot… and apparently, he buried something near the northern ridge. Took me a while, but I found it.”
Jihoon turned to take the bundle carefully, his expression softening. Inside were several worn books, pages browned with age, and a small relic box—its carvings identical to the symbols he’d been studying from the forbidden alchemy. His breath caught.
“You really… found it?” he whispered.
Hoshi nodded, eyes gentle. “Thought you’d want to see it for yourself.”
Jihoon swallowed, heart heavy in a way he couldn’t name. “Thank you, Hoshi. Really.”
But instead of untying the bundle, he set it on the desk behind him and turned.
Hoshi blinked just as Jihoon stepped forward and pushed him gently toward the couch.
“Jihoon?”
The scientist didn’t answer with words. He climbed over him, straddling his hips in one fluid movement, lips crashing into his with all the longing that had been building up since Hoshi left.
Hoshi caught him easily, hands flying to his back, gripping his waist as they deepened the kiss. Jihoon’s fingers threaded into his hair, pulling softly, and he sighed against Hoshi’s lips.
The books and relics could wait.
Right now, Jihoon wanted this. Needed this.
And Hoshi… Hoshi was all too happy to oblige.
The lab turned darker as evening crept in, and the only sounds were soft gasps and whispered names, laughter blending with kisses, until everything faded into rustling sounds. Two beings rediscovering each other again and again.
—
The room was silent now, lit only by the soft sound of the lab's energy cores far in the back and the dying light of a desk lamp flickering near the terminal. Jihoon lay half-draped over Hoshi's chest, their limbs tangled under the light sheets pulled lazily over them. His cheeks were still flushed, his breathing finally slowed, but his fingers were moving gently now trailing along the smooth skin of Hoshi’s collarbone. He still couldn’t believe he let his own creation…. make love with him.
But even making love with him feels like he is doing it with a human.
Besides Hoshi is more than just a creation... He loves him... A lot. As much as he loves Soonyoung.
“You’re warm,” Jihoon whispered, almost to himself. “Too warm for a synthetic.”
Hoshi chuckled softly, brushing strands of hair away from Jihoon’s forehead. “I could say the same about you.”
Jihoon gave him a small look, but it faded quickly into something more thoughtful then into a solemn expression.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” Jihoon murmured. “You shouldn’t be this warm. Or this… alive.”
Hoshi blinked. “You mean emotionally or physically?”
“Both,” Jihoon said, voice a bit strained. “You smile like a person. You worry like one. You hold me like—like Soonyoung used to. And sometimes… I swear I can hear your thoughts in your silences.”
Hoshi didn’t respond. He simply let Jihoon speak, fingers gently running along Jihoon’s spine in soothing lines.
“I think you have a soul,” Jihoon whispered.
That made Hoshi freeze, even for a breath. Jihoon looked up at him again, his eyes were searching for his.
“I know how insane that sounds,” Jihoon said quickly. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense. The forbidden alchemy Soonyoung and I found… it was something we stumbled across in an old text. Almost erased from history. He studied it more than I did. I didn’t think it was real. Not until he died.”
His hand pressed flat against Hoshi’s chest, directly over where the synthetic’s core orb sat beneath skin and metal and something beyond understanding.
“When I decided to finish the synthetic project, I used it,” Jihoon confessed. “I was grieving. and desperate. I remembered how Soonyoung believed that alchemy wasn’t just myth, that it was part of an old and forgotten science tied to life itself. So I tried it. I embedded a part of that script into the design of your orb.”
He traced a circle over Hoshi’s heart.
“And it worked.”
Silence settled between them.
Then Jihoon added, more to himself, “Maybe because that orb… it was the last thing Soonyoung worked on. Maybe that’s why you are the way you are.”
Hoshi’s hand moved to cup Jihoon’s cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye.
“You’re afraid,” he said gently.
Jihoon nodded. “A year after Soonyoung died… the law became stricter when it comes to inventions. They became firm on banning the forbidden and forsaken alchemy Soonyoung has been obsessed of. A new leader rose to power, do you know what’s terrifying? He’s a direct descendant of the ruling bloodline that ordered the extermination of the Solara people.”
Hoshi’s eyes widened slightly.
“They called it heresy. The Solara were the last civilization that used the forbidden alchemy openly. They created… miracles. They were able to create life forms. And were massacred for it. Books were burned. History rewritten. But something survived. A few fragments.”
Jihoon’s voice dropped to a whisper.
His voice cracked.
“I’m so scared,” he admitted. “If they find out what you really are… what I’ve done…”
Hoshi leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to Jihoon’s forehead.
“Then we won’t let them find out,” he said quietly.
Jihoon’s eyes closed, tears unshed but heavy on his lids. He nuzzled into the kiss, fingers curling around Hoshi’s hand resting against his face.
“Stay with me,” he breathed. “Don’t go on any more missions. Just… stay.”
“I will,” Hoshi promised.
–
That night, long after Hoshi had fallen into a deep slumber beside him, or more like recharging beisde him. Jihoon sat at the corner of the bed with the bundle of relics and documents Hoshi had brought home. The lamp on his desk flickered softly, casting trembling shadows on the walls. The silence of the lab, normally comforting, now pressed heavy against his ribs.
His fingers moved slowly, reverently, across the aged pages until one of the ancient books caught his eye. It was thin, bound in a worn leather cover, its title faded by time. Jihoon flipped through it carefully until his eyes caught a sentence etched in delicate but unmistakable Solaran script.
"Only a direct descendant of the Solara may harness the core essence required to bring forth forbidden alchemy."
Jihoon froze.
The sentence pulsed in his vision.
His breath left him.
That was it. That was the answer. The final piece.
Why no one else had succeeded in replicating Hoshi’s creation.
Why the alchemy obeyed him.
Why the orb responded.
His hands trembled as he dropped the book onto the desk. He staggered back a step, heart pounding. “No…” he whispered. “No, no, no—”
He didn’t sleep. Instead, he crossed the lab, unlocked a drawer long untouched, and pulled out a sealed drive—an old one Yoongi-hyung had given him shortly after Soonyoung's death. Jihoon had refused to watch it then, too broken, too scared of what truths might be sealed inside.
He inserted the drive into the terminal.
The footage flickered to life, blurry at first, timestamped to the day Soonyoung died.
Jihoon’s breath hitched as he saw him—Dr. Soonyoung, alive, running through the dim-lit back corridors of their old lab, clutching something to his chest. Sound of the heavy boots roared behind him. Shadows of men with rifles, shouting over radios.
Jihoon covered his mouth in horror.
Soonyoung skidded to a stop just outside Lab C.
He looked directly at the camera.
He knew it was there. He chose to be seen so there would be evidence if it will be needed.
He dropped the object in his arms—it was the orb core. Hoshi’s.
Gunfire rang out. Soonyoung’s body jerked violently.
Jihoon’s scream caught in his throat.
But Soonyoung didn’t fall immediately. He staggered inside the lab, dragging himself across the floor, painting streaks of blood with every inch. He reached the main terminal.
His lips moved.
The camera had no audio.
But Jihoon knew what he was saying: “Take care of Jihoon.”
The final bullet dropped him.
Tears streamed freely down Jihoon’s face as he clutched at the screen. “You idiot,” he cried. “You waited—just to say goodbye… you waited for me.”
He stumbled to the side, dragging out the dusty box he hadn’t dared open in over a year. Soonyoung’s personal belongings. All untouched.
Shaking fingers unlatched the clasp.
On top, a letter. Yellowed at the corners. His name is written in a familiar handwriting.
Jihoon opened it.
Jihoon,
If you’re reading this, then I failed. Or maybe I succeeded just enough to buy you time.
You always said I was a little too reckless. Maybe I am. But you were always worth the risk.
Jihoon’s sobs grew louder, hand covering his mouth as he kept reading.
I found it. The truth about you. Your birthmark, the one on your back? It matches the Solara sigil. I saw it in an old tome we recovered. No one else noticed… but I did. Of course I did. It’s you.
So I burned that page. I made sure no one else could connect the dots. I told Jennie it was nothing, but I think someone overheard. I could feel the eyes turning. I had to act fast.
I created a duplicate birthmark. Faked the genealogy. I let them think I was the Solaran descendant. And they took the bait. If they believe I’m gone, they’ll stop searching.
And if they think you’re just a brilliant man who lost someone close… they’ll never suspect the truth.
I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. You would’ve tried to stop me. But I couldn’t let them take you.
The world doesn’t deserve you, Jihoon. But it needs you. My life might have an expiration date but my love for you has no expiration and will never have an expiration date. I love you the most, my Kwon Jihoon, maybe in another universe.
Jihoon let the letter fall from his hands as his entire body crumbled. He curled onto the floor, chest heaving with raw, broken sobs.
“Soonyoung…” he choked. “You didn’t have to—you didn’t have to do this for me…”
But even through the grief, Jihoon knew.
He would protect Hoshi.
He would hide the truth.
Because if the government found out Hoshi was sentient… if they discovered the Solaran bloodline still existed within him…
They’d come again.
And this time, Jihoon wouldn’t survive.
But for now, he lay there, tears wetting the floor, whispering a name through cracked breath, over and over:
“Soonyoung… Soonyoung…”
—
Jihoon stayed awake in the lab long after. He pulled out the ancient books and notes Soonyoung had left behind, scanning every line about the forbidden alchemy, the ancient science that blurred the line between life and creation.
Only the direct descendants of the Solara race, the lost civilization wiped out centuries ago, could successfully wield it.
Jihoon’s fingers trembled as he traced the diagrams. Everything only seemed to click now, his own birthmark, the strange pattern on his back he’d barely noticed before, matched the symbols in the book.
This forbidden alchemy worked on Hoshi, why he had blood and feelings, why he was so human. Why did he had soul… and could produce and do what a human body can do.
A year after Soonyoung’s death, the government had passed strict laws banning any form of synthetic life with sentience. The new leader’s family claimed descent from the ancient gods, descendants of the same ruling bloodline that had purged the Solara people long ago. The law wasn’t just politics, it was a legacy of fear, control, and deadly consequences.
Jihoon’s hands clenched into fists.
If anyone discovered Hoshi’s true nature… they wouldn’t just shut him down. They’d erase him completely. And Jihoon could lose more than just his creation. He could lose someone he loves… again.
Determined, Jihoon began drafting plans.
He upgraded Hoshi’s core with encrypted firewalls, layered countermeasures to hide his sentience from any intrusive scans.
He set up secret safe rooms within the lab, hidden compartments filled with emergency supplies and secure data drives.
He contacted trusted allies quietly, scientists who owed loyalty to Soonyoung, who could help shield Hoshi’s existence.
Each night, Jihoon poured over forbidden texts and advanced code, balancing the line between science and alchemy, between hope and fear.
Tears welled unbidden, but Jihoon refused to break.
For Hoshi. For the fragile spark of life they all carried in a world determined to snuff it out.
—
For a while, they were able to live in peace and quiet.
Hoshi had started tending to the garden outside. Jihoon found a new daily routine of writing, designing, and sometimes just existing without fear.
One lazy afternoon, Jihoon sat by the sunlit window, tinkering with a circuit board while Hoshi watered the plants just outside. The breeze was warm, dusting the room with the scent of flowers and ozone. Jihoon didn’t even realize he’d dozed off at some point until he felt a familiar presence settle beside him on the couch.
When he blinked his eyes open, Hoshi was there, smiling softly.
“What are you doing?” Jihoon asked groggily.
Hoshi didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for Jihoon’s left hand gently. Then, without a word, he slipped a ring onto his fourth finger. Something handmade, pieced together from brass and silver scraps, a small gem glinting at its center.
Jihoon blinked, stunned for a moment, before a chuckle escaped him.
“Is this your way of proposing?”
Hoshi tilted his head. “You never took off the one Soonyoung gave you. I thought maybe you needed something from the present… too.”
Jihoon looked down at the two rings on his hand, His past and present resting together.
“I’m not really the type who believes in happily ever after,” he said quietly. “But with you... I feel like maybe I can try.”
Hoshi leaned in and kissed his forehead. “I don’t need a fairy tale. Just a life where I can stay by your side.”
Jihoon didn’t reply. He just leaned into Hoshi’s warmth, letting his eyes slip closed again, listening to the soft thrum of something very close to a heartbeat.
—
The peace didn’t break like thunder. It frayed quietly at the edges.
It began with little things. Jihoon noticed the surveillance barrier flickering for just a second one morning, like static in a calm sea. It corrected itself almost immediately, and he would’ve ignored it, had it not been the third time that week.
Hoshi didn’t mention it. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had, and didn’t want to worry Jihoon.
But Jihoon noticed everything.
He re-ran everything that night, double-checked all backup nodes. No sign of intrusion, no trace of foreign activity.
Still, unease settled into his bones like fog.
Then the package came. No name, no address, just left outside the lab's hidden gate. Hoshi found it while watering the plants.
Inside, wrapped in unmarked cloth, was a single book.
A forbidden alchemy tome.
One Jihoon had never seen before. Pages scorched at the edges, the language older than any script he had translated. But what caught his breath was the first page.
A pressed flower. A tiger lily.
The same kind Soonyoung used to put on his desk every time Jihoon finished a project.
And beneath it, scrawled in an ink not quite black:
“They are watching. Hide what breathes.”
Jihoon felt the blood drain from his face. Hoshi had noticed, standing silently behind him now.
“Is it a warning?” he asked, voice lower than usual.
Jihoon nodded faintly, hands trembling. “It means someone found a trace. I don’t know how.”
He closed the book gently, as if the words might burn him.
“I need to reinforce everything. We have to disappear.”
Hoshi’s hand slid into his. “Then let’s go. Wherever you go, I follow.”
Jihoon met his eyes, those impossibly warm eyes.
And he whispered, “I won’t lose you too.”
—
Jihoon didn’t sleep that night. He watched Hoshi doze on the couch. The synthetic's features were so relaxed that it only made the dread sink deeper.
But peace never lasted. Not for people like them. Not for those with Solara blood.
By morning, Jihoon had made up his mind. He slipped out quietly, leaving a security field around Hoshi in case anything went wrong.
He needed to talk to someone who can help him.
Yoongi.
They met in a quiet corner of an abandoned observatory on the outskirts of Sector 5. Jihoon wore a hood, kept his voice low. Yoongi had aged more in the last year than he had in the past decade.
“You look like shit,” Yoongi muttered as Jihoon approached.
Jihoon cracked a dry smile. “You always say that.”
They didn’t hug. Never had. But there was something about Yoongi’s presence, he is his elder brother afterall.
“I need to ask you something,” Jihoon said.
Yoongi nodded once, like he already knew.
Jihoon hesitated. “Did you know?”
Yoongi didn’t pretend not to understand. He looked away, jaw tightening. “About the Solara bloodline? Yeah. I knew.”
Jihoon stepped back, stunned. “Then why didn’t you ever—?”
“Because knowing it got your lover killed. Because saying it out loud could've painted a bigger target on your back.” Yoongi looked back at him now, eyes colder. “You think I don’t know who’s in power now? They’re already scraping old DNA registries. I erased every trace I could find of you after Soonyoung died.”
Jihoon’s mouth opened then closed again. “You knew about Soonyoung’s choice, didn’t you?”
Yoongi nodded. “I got the footage before you did. I didn’t send it to hurt you. I just... knew one day you’d have to see the full picture.”
Jihoon’s throat tightened. “They’re closing in, hyung. I can feel it in my gut.”
“I know,” Yoongi replied calmly, then pulled out a neatly rolled set of blueprints from a sealed metal tube. He laid it gently on the table.
Jihoon’s eyes flickered to it. “What’s that?”
“The reason I’m still alive,” Yoongi said, tapping the paper. “I’ve been working on this since I was sixteen. While Soonyoung buried himself in alchemy and trying to bring life into cold metal, I… I chased another kind of impossible. A way out.”
Jihoon frowned, stepping closer. “A way out?”
Yoongi unrolled the blueprint. The drawing was intricate, lines interwoven with strange sigils and technology that pulsed with theoretical power. At the top, written in faded ink: Transit Gate MK.III – Temporal-Spatial Rift Aperture System.
“It’s a machine,” Yoongi said softly. “A gateway to another world. Not just a new country. A new universe. One where their rules don’t exist. Where people like us.. Like you aren’t hunted.”
Jihoon’s breath caught in his throat. “You’ve… already made this?”
“Not just once. I’ve tested prototypes. Some imploded. One worked. I kept it hidden. Just in case. It can only carry two people at a time, though. Then it burns itself out.” Yoongi’s gaze softened. “I made it for us, Jihoon. For when the day came that they’d come for you. I always knew they would.”
Jihoon stared at the blueprint. Then he closed his eyes.
“I’m not leaving without Hoshi.”
Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “Jihoon, he’s—”
“He’s mine, hyung.” Jihoon met his brother’s eyes. “You had your own obsession. You understand me right? Hoshi was mine. I won’t leave him behind.”
There was a long pause.
Then Yoongi slid the blueprint toward him without a word.
“Take it. Build your own. But Jihoon…” He hesitated, voice strained. “They’ll kill you if they find out. Hoshi too. You’re not just protecting someone you love. You’re protecting someone they’ll never forgive you for creating.”
Jihoon nodded, clutching the blueprint to his chest. “Then I’ll build it right. I’ll give him a future even if I lose mine.”
Yoongi didn’t argue.
He just pulled his little brother into a tight, silent hug knowing this would probably be the last time they would be able to do so.
—
The air in Jihoon’s lab was filled with the faint scent of burning circuits and soldered wires. A low sound vibrated through the floor as the core of the portal machine began forming in front of him. Its base glowing with dull blue light, powered by alchemy and science fused together. His trembling hands moved with expert precision, but his chest… it was heavy.
Tears slipped silently down his cheeks.
“I’m really doing this,” he whispered to himself, placing another conduit in place. “I’m leaving…”
This cruel world.
The pain.
But also…
The place where he met Soonyoung.
His heart clenched painfully, and before he could stop it, the memories came.
He was younger then, arms full of files and frustration as he stormed into the shared research facility. His superiors had just rejected his third proposal on independent AI integration. Jihoon cursed under his breath, eyes low, until he bumped into someone who was sprawled on the floor, sketching complex alchemic patterns in chalk.
“Watch where you're going,” Jihoon grunted, annoyed.
The stranger blinked up at him with wide eyes, his face half-covered in chalk dust, an easy grin spreading across his lips.
“Hey, you're that genius researcher who doesn't like to talk to anyone.”
Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “You're an idiot drawing circles on the floor.”
“Alchemy circles,” the other corrected with a wink, extending a dusty hand. “Soonyoung. I read your thesis. It made me feel stupid, so I read it again. Still felt stupid. Wanna combine brains? And be stupid idiots together?”
Jihoon didn't take his hand, but he didn't walk away either. Unbeknownst him that would be the start of his love story with Soonyoung.
A soft, broken chuckle escaped Jihoon's throat.
“Soonyoung... you always knew how to make space for yourself in my life.”
The wiring was nearly done now. All that remained was the stabilization core.
Jihoon paused, staring at the gleaming piece of tech in his hand. Its design echoing the remnants of the first blueprint Yoongi handed to him. The last component. The heart of the portal.
“I’m sorry I have to leave this world behind,” Jihoon whispered, voice cracking. “But I know you’d understand.”
He pressed the core into place. The machine began to pulse softly, a signal that it was almost ready.
“Hoshi deserves to live,” he added, eyes shining with quiet resolve. “And I promised… I promised I’d protect him. Just like you protected me.”
The memory of Soonyoung’s final smile, bloodied but full of love, flashed through his mind.
“I love you.”
Jihoon wiped his tears and stood up straighter.
“I'm going to make sure he lives. And somehow, if there's another life… maybe I’ll find you again too.”
The machine hummed louder, the light growing stronger.
—
Jihoon’s fingers hesitated above the keyboard, trembling slightly as another error message blinked red across the interface.
TEST FAILED.
Again.
Jihoon let out a frustrated breath, dragging his hands down his face. He’d been working on the machine non-stop for days. Barely sleeping. Barely eating. Just pouring everything he had into replicating the blueprint Yoongi had entrusted to him.
Only two people. Then it destroys itself.
That was what Yoongi said. But Jihoon wasn’t willing to stop at just duplicating. He wanted to improve it. Make it safer. Stronger. Make it carry both of them without any issues
But now, as the internal diagnostics glared back at him, Jihoon’s chest tightened.
It wasn’t working.
He stood and crossed the lab, stepping cautiously to the prototype chamber in the center. It was sleek, humming faintly, but the energy readings were unstable and fluctuating in ways they shouldn’t.
Jihoon reached for the internal panel, pried it open, and stared at the glowing core inside. The power cell was functioning, but the spatial calibrator. It was flickering and unstable. The machine, even if it activated, might only have enough power to stabilize for one trip.
And one person.
He stumbled back a step, heart sinking.
“No… no, this can’t be right,” he whispered. “I followed the blueprints. I adjusted the power ratio. I even used Yoongi hyung’s notes…”
He glanced to the small notebook on the desk. Yoongi’s handwriting scribbled across the margins.
"Once it’s powered, the window only stays open for seconds. Two people, maximum. After that, the core implodes to avoid trace signatures."
Jihoon gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white.
“Why isn’t it working?” His voice cracked. “Why can’t I make it hold more?”
He looked over his shoulder, to where Hoshi sat curled up quietly on the floor, recharging gently under the soft lab light, unaware of what's about to happen.
Jihoon’s heart twisted.
If he couldn’t fix this… if he couldn’t find a solution soon…
It would be Hoshi or him.
Not both.
He slowly sank into his chair, eyes blurring with unshed tears.
“I have to find a way,” he whispered. “I have to… I won’t leave you behind.”
But somewhere deep in his chest, a whisper of doubt began to grow....soft, bitter, and cruel:
What if you already know the answer?
And what if the only thing he could do now… was let go?
—
Jihoon moved swiftly, fingers gliding over keys, securing the last set of codes. Alarms had started blaring faintly in the background, warning of breached security lines. He knew what that meant.
They found him.
He had always known this day would come. The government, terrified of the truth, of what he and Hoshi represented, wouldn’t let them slip away this time.
But Jihoon was ready.
He took one last look at the silver chamber glowing in the center of the room. The portal machine. His masterpiece, born from Yoongi’s blueprint and his own desperate hands. It was the only way out now.
“It's working,” Jihoon whispered when Hoshi entered the room, breathless and wide-eyed. “The machine. It’s ready.”
Hoshi’s eyes sparkled faintly in the flickering light. “You did it?”
Jihoon nodded, forcing a small smile. “It’s a success. We can go now.”
He gestured toward the chamber. Hoshi hesitated, looking between the machine and Jihoon. Then he stepped forward and entered without another word, trusting Jihoon the way he always had.
The moment Hoshi stepped inside, the door sealed shut with a hiss.
A pause.
A flicker of confusion crossed Hoshi’s face. “Jihoon?” he said, tapping on the glass. “Why didn’t you come in?”
Jihoon stood still outside, his hands trembling.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “I lied.”
Inside, Hoshi pounded on the glass, panic etched into his synthetic but all too human features. "Please, come in....Come in with me."
Jihoon shook his head, forcing a small smile that trembled. “I’m sorry I lied,” he said softly again. “I told you it could carry two people, but it can’t. I didn’t know at first… but when I realized there wasn’t time to fix it. I had to make a choice.”
His voice broke as he whispered, “And I chose you.”
“What… what do you mean?” Hoshi’s eyes widened in panic. “Open the door! Jihoon!”
Jihoon shook his head, voice breaking. “It only works for one person. I thought maybe I did something wrong… or maybe it was always meant to be that way. Yoongi’s blueprint was right, I just didn’t want to believe it. And now… now I can’t ask him anymore. He’s already gone.”
“No...no, Jihoon, open the door! You said we’d go together!” Hoshi cried, banging on the glass still.
Jihoon stepped forward and pressed his hand to the transparent barrier, right where Hoshi’s palm met his. “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep that promise.”
“Jihoon, please! We can wait. Fix it together!”
“There’s no time,” Jihoon choked. “The execution unit they’ll be here any minute. I can’t risk them finding you. This machine will self-destruct after you leave. No one will follow.”
Tears began to spill down Hoshi’s face. “Why are you doing this alone?! I don’t want to live if it’s not with you!”
Jihoon smiled sadly, pressing his forehead gently against the glass. “But I want you to live. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You… you deserve to live, Hoshi. Please don’t waste this.”
Hoshi’s sobs echoed in the small chamber, but Jihoon’s voice remained soft, calm—even as his heart shattered.
“I love you,” Jihoon whispered. “I love you so much, Hoshi.”
The chamber began to pulse with light. The countdown had started.
“Jihoon…!”
“Goodbye,” Jihoon whispered, stepping back as the machine roared to life.
And then, in a flash of blinding white. Hoshi was gone.
The lab fell into silence, save for the distant sounds of heavy boots closing in and the soft whine of the machine powering down its final breath.
Jihoon stood alone, eyes glassy and his heart heavy.
But there was no regret. Only love.
—
The machine’s activation still rang in the cold lab air, blue light flickering in rhythm with Jihoon's heartbeat. Jihoon knelt alone amidst scorched consoles and sparking wires, blood trickling from a wound on his side from earlier. An accident while trying to fix a potential damage to the machine. He hadn’t even bandaged it. What would be the point now?
They were coming.
He could hear the distant stomps, the synchronized metallic clinks of government-issued boots against steel stairways, moving closer floor by floor.
Jihoon’s hand shook as he pulled a folded letter from his coat pocket and placed it on the console next to a dusty photo of him, Soonyoung, and Yoongi. A soft smile formed on his lips. The portal had taken Hoshi. Maybe he was alive. Maybe he was free, that’s what he has been praying for.
He pressed a trembling hand against the still-warm glass, forehead resting there for a moment. Tears rolled quietly down his cheeks, blurring his vision. “I love you Hoshi,” he whispered again, barely able to hear himself over the rush in his ears.
His eyes wanderered around the lab he once called home. The same place he had once seen Soonyoung covered with bullet wounds, bleeding and fighting for his life. The same place his hands had been stained with blood.
And now, it would be where Jihoon would bleed too.
He took one last look at the flickering machine, now beginning its programmed self-destruction, and let out a hollow laugh.
“I guess it’s true,” he muttered to himself, wiping his face. “I really can't leave this place. The world where I met you… Soonyoung.”
“My love for you, both of you doesn’t end with time. It doesn’t stop just because I won’t be there. It doesn’t fade just because one of us goes ahead, or stays behind. What I feel, it doesn’t have a clock, or a limit, or an expiration date. It’s written into me.”
His voice broke, but he kept going, hand still pressed against the glass.
“It’s the kind of love that survives even when the world doesn’t. Even when memories blur, or names fade, or time folds over itself. I’ll still be loving you, in every version of me that ever exists.”
The warning alarm began to blare. Jihoon pressed his forehead to the glass now, tears falling freely.
“I’ll find you again someday. Even if I’m just stardust and wind… I’ll find you.”
He stood up and stepped back as the light began to glow.
“I love you, Soonyoung.”
A breath.
“I love you, Hoshi.”
One final smile, aching and full.
“My love has no expiration date.”
The door burst open.
The door slammed open. Flashlights flared. Red aiming lasers landed on his chest.
He slowly raised both hands but he didn’t flinch.
A soldier barked, “Lee Jihoon. You are in violation of Article 03. Unauthorized creation of synthetic life. Practice of forbidden alchemy.”
After that, the self-destruct feature of the machine finally activated. A loud explosion came, killing Jihoon including the execution team.
—
Warmth.
That was the first thing Hoshi felt as his eyes opened.
Not the familiar light of Jihoon’s lab but sunlight, soft and golden, spilling across his skin like a lover’s touch. The wind was gentle, rustling tall grass around him, and the air carried the sweet scent of wildflowers and earth.
He blinked. Slowly, cautiously, he sat up. He placed a trembling hand on his chest.
A heartbeat.
His breath hitched. A real, steady rhythm beneath his palm.
“Am I…?” he whispered, voice hoarse.
The sky above was vast and blue, clouds drifting lazily past a golden sun. Around him stretched green fields speckled with wildflowers. Birds chirped.
Hoshi looked down at his hands again, curling his fingers into his palms.
He wasn’t synthetic anymore.
He was human.
Before he could fully process it, movement caught the corner of his eye. A figure walked along a nearby path, slender frame, familiar gait, soft hair ruffled by the breeze.
Hoshi stood up so fast he nearly stumbled.
“…Jihoon?” he breathed out, barely audible.
The figure didn’t turn, just kept walking. But Hoshi’s legs moved before he could think.
He ran.
“Jihoon!”
The wind carried his voice across the quiet fields. The man turned slightly, just enough for Hoshi to catch a glimpse of his profile.
It was him.
“Wait—Jihoon!”
Hoshi sprinted forward, heart pounding, eyes wide and wet. The world blurred around him as he closed the distance.
Fin.