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After Yi Sang willingly left N Corp without a word, without even looking back, Gubo stopped speaking to people. Not completely, of course. He still exchanged the occasional words with Aseah, mostly because Aseah was insistent enough to approach him first, as he always did. He still answered Director Hermann when given a command, because disobedience wasn’t an option. But conversation, actual conversation? Gubo didn’t start any simply because he didn’t want to.
Why was that?
The answer was simple, though Gubo refused to admit it aloud. A hole had formed in his chest, cold and bitter, which grew even bigger and bigger every time he thought of Yi Sang’s name. The person he cared about so, so much.. had left him behind. That person had chosen to leave, of his own will, as if Gubo was nothing but a mere bystander, a stranger.
In the weeks that followed, Gubo resumed the work Yi Sang had abandoned. He took over the research in its entirety, no questions asked. The others assumed it was out of duty or pride, or some blind devotion to the project, but really, it was because the laboratory still held the last thing Yi Sang ever truly loved: Yeonsim.
Not the original one, of course. The replica had been flawless. A perfect, shimmering surface housed in polished alloy, with calibrations so precise it had been indistinguishable from the real thing. Yi Sang had been obsessed with it. And now it stood beside Gubo’s workstation, always reflecting something just a bit off from the real world.
Gubo hated looking at it. He hated the whole thing in general.
He could see his own reflection, but it never felt like his. It felt like every time he stared into it, he saw the absence of the man he once loved. How much more miserable can he get, really?
And yet, over time, something changed.
He can't remember when exactly he got in touch with Yi Sang's mirror friend. The one Yi Sang always talked to, ignoring Gubo on his behalf. He believed it was a simple coincidence.. or was it not?
At first, Gubo had ignored him. But Sang Yi always stayed and talked to him. And ah, he talked a LOT. Always polite, always composed, but frustratingly smug. Gubo never knew what the man was thinking, but he was always smiling like he knew something Gubo didn’t. Over time, this version of Yi Sang became a strange companion of his. The reflection Gubo hated slowly became the only person he really talked to. It was better than simple silence at least. And most importantly, better than the empty ache of being left behind.
The day was already ending. Gubo stumbled into the narrow hallway of N Corp. and found the damn mirror already glowing with that soft, cold light it liked to give off. Gubo blinked, adjusting his glasses as he shuffled into the lab. He hadn’t meant to look at the mirror, he always pretended that it simply wasn't there and he hadn't looked at it until Sang Yi said his usual “Good evening”.
But something tugged at him tonight, he couldn't say what that was exactly. It was a rather weird feeling sharp enough to bypass his usual habit, or maybe loneliness had crept into his bones more than he realized. So he turned his head, and as always, the Yeonsim stood waiting. His companion was sitting on a chair, slouched slightly against the frame, hair tousled more than usual. His cheeks were flushed, faintly red. His posture loose in a way Gubo had never quite seen before. Drunk, he realized after a beat. And even so, he looked unfairly beautiful. Gubo felt the thought before he could stop it, and immediately tried to crush it down. But it didn’t go away. It never really did. The way Sang Yi's head tilted, the softness in his eyes, the way his voice always found its way into the distant parts of Gubo's mind - it wasn't anything new, but it was simply hard to ignore.
Sang Yi looked at him, and something warm stirred in Gubo’s gut.
“Oh,” the mirror murmured, voice loose and lazy, “there you are…”
Gubo stepped a bit closer and sat before the mirror as he always did.
“You’re drunk?” he asked simply, neutrally.
Sang Yi chuckled softly, not bothering to argue. “Ah.. So it seems..”
Gubo crossed his arms.
“You shouldn't drink that much. It dulls the mind.”
“Good,” Sang Yi replied, smiling faintly. “My mind's been far too loud lately.”
Gubo stared at the mirror for a moment longer than usual. That answer, that unusual answer struck too close to home. The mind being too loud.. that was something he knew well. Ever since Head knows when, the silence around Gubo had been filled not with peace, but with noise, constant useless noise. Thoughts looping on repeat, questions with no answers, memories that never faded no matter how many equations he tried to bury them under.
“You’re drinking during work hours?” he asked dryly. “That’s new. I didn’t think even you would sink that low.”
Sang Yi smiled lazily, resting his cheek against his knuckles. “Oh, don’t look so scandalized. We had a little company party over here.”
“And? Did you have fun?”
The question seemed harmless, but Sang Yi’s expression changed. The looseness in his posture remained, but his eyes lost that lazy shine for a second.
“Fun?” he repeated. Sang Yi studied him for a long second, and after receiving no answer from the other side, he simply continued “you think those pastimes are entertaining? A group of people circling each other, congratulating one another for enduring another cycle of pointless work?”
Sang Yi took a slow sip from the glass he held. The tension that suddenly formed after his words lasted here for a longer while, but as the liquid disappeared behind his lips, he seemed to decide the game had reached its limit for now. He shook his head slightly, the dark locks of his hair swaying into his eyes, and his expression smoothed back into that familiar mask.
"But enough of that," he said, his voice regaining its usual melodic lilt, though the edges were still frayed by the alcohol. "It’s tedious to talk about the 'here.' I much prefer the 'elsewhere.' Tell me, Gubo—do you ever wonder what our dear friend is doing at this very moment?"
Gubo stiffened, his hands clenching into fists atop his knees. "I don't make a habit of indulging in useless speculation. Why do we have to talk about this now?"
"Oh, but you do," the mirror countered and leaned back, his chair creaking. "I can see the gears turning behind those glasses. Is he pointlessly wandering around the City? He was always so prone to drifting away."
Gubo looked away, his gaze fixing on a stack of discarded documents. "He is likely wandering aimlessly wherever the wind carries him; however misguided it may be, it isn’t my concern."
"Isn't it?" The mirror-man swirled the remaining wine in his glass, watching the way the red liquid stained the sides. "Well, I sometimes imagine the most hilarious scenarios. Do you ever imagine your precious Yi Sang, slumped in some rain-slicked alleyway in the backstreets? Maybe he swallowed a handful of pills he had stored just to stop the constant buzzing in his head. To overdose in the dirt, surrounded by nothing but trash and the smell of ozone... wouldn't that be funny? To think he left all this behind just to become a smudge on the pavement."
Gubo felt a sudden, visceral surge of nausea. It wasn’t only the image that unsettled him, nor the way it had been described. In this very moment, Gubo realized that he was looking eye to eye with the puppeteer of the whole mess, which was, Yi Sang leaving. Gubo had suspected that Yi Sang’s departure had not been as simple as it appeared. No one left that quietly unless they had been leaving for a long time already. He laughed under his nose after the implication became clear enough for his brain to fully rationalize.
Just what was the creature he was speaking to constantly?
"If you are his friend, why would you suggest him suicide? Why would you put that thought into a mind already so burdened?"
Sang Yi leaned back, the motion fluid and languid, utterly unbothered by the venom in Gubo's tone. He tilted his head.
“You’re asking me ‘Why?’ Oh, Mr. Taewon, have you seen him? The poor bird wanted to fly so badly. He was suffocating in this box you built for him. I didn't suggest suicide, but simply showed him where the exits were. Whether he chooses to walk through the door or take the easy route... Well, that’s the beauty of choice, isn't it?”
Sang Yi reached out, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass, the sound echoing like a ticking clock. "But don't worry. If he does end up as a corpse in a gutter, you'll still have me. I'm much easier to keep in a box, don't you think?"
Was the creature behind the glass nothing but a demon? He stared at Sang Yi, searching for any flicker of humanity in those dark, shimmering eyes, but found none. The man might be very expressive and talkative, but it was obvious that he was actually nothing, but a stagnant shell. Gubo wondered what sequence of actions could possibly hollow a person out so cleanly.
“I could lower my voice, avert my eyes just so, speak in abstractions until you feel that familiar distance settle between us. I could let you believe he never left. Would that comfort you, Mr. Taewon?”
What were the creature's intentions? Gubo ignored the voice speaking to him for a moment. Sang Yi was always very pushy in a normal conversation, at least with him. Gubo quickly realized that what the thing behind the glass wall wanted was a reaction. The Creature liked to remind Gubo of difficult things he knew about, because he wanted to see him react to it, to snap him from his usual composure. What a cunning, little thing. He often tried to compare him to Yi Sang, but even though they looked almost the exact same, Gubo found no similarities between them. Yi Sang doubted himself a lot, he carried guilt for things that were not even his fault. On the other side of the mirror, Sang Yi did not hesitate, nor did he doubt anything he did. He spoke about life and death as if they were equal options on a list.
Another confused thought that bothered his mind was how could a wingless creature be so difficult to hold onto, slipping through every grasp, while this winged one remained exactly where he was placed?
Gubo finally broke his silence, leaned in, his glasses nearly clinking against the surface of the mirror. He wanted to see if he could find a crack in that mask.
"Is that an invitation, or a plea? Are you so desperate for a witness to your existence that you’d offer to play the part of someone who is long dead to me just to keep me sitting in this chair?”
Sang Yi’s smile didn't falter, but his fingers stopped tapping. He flattened his hand against the glass, right where Gubo’s heart would be if he were standing on the other side.
"Is it a plea if I'm the only one giving you what you want?" Sang Yi whispered. "I’m telling you that I know you can’t help yourself."
He leaned even closer, his forehead resting against the glass, his eyes boring into Gubo’s.
"Tell me... if I looked differently from that dead man of yours, would you still look at me with such loathing everyday?”
Gubo felt his heart hammer against his ribs. He could now clearly see the fine lines around Sang Yi’s eyes, the slight flush on his cheeks. It felt as though the glass was thinning, the cold barrier between the "here" and "elsewhere" melting.
"Again, you're assuming a lot," Gubo finally managed, though he didn't pull back. "I'm a researcher. I'm merely here to observe things. I don't feel anything personal towards you.”
"Then observe this.”
The thing behind the glass moved with a fluid, liquid grace. With one hand still resting against the surface of the mirror, Sang Yi reached for the lapel of his white coat. He didn't just pull it, but let it slide down his shoulder, the fabric pooling around his elbow and exposing the sharp, pale line of his collarbone. He hooked a finger into the placket of his shirt and slowly, teasingly, tugged it upward. He didn't bare himself completely, but he showed just enough—the smooth, unblemished skin of his stomach. Gubo watched with a stoic expression as the creature’s fingers grazed the waistband of his pants, hooking into the fabric and pulling it down just a fraction.
Sang Yi let out a soft, breathy huff of a laugh, his head tilting back as he began to touch the skin he had uncovered. His movements were shamelessly provocative. He watched Gubo through half-lidded eyes, gauging the way Gubo’s pupils dilated behind his glasses.
The creature was using its face—his face—to sell a lie that Gubo was starting to buy with every second he failed to look away. His stomach twisted as a wave of profound disgust washed over him. Not just for the creature, but for the way his own body was reacting to the whole, pathetic spectacle. It irritated him that the creature knew exactly what he was doing. The face, the build… every feature belonged to someone else. To someone Gubo held dear in his heart. He touched that body like it was an object, like it meant nothing to him, and that might be a fact. Does the creature even care about anything? Does it still feel pity, empathy, anger?
What rights did the creature had to play with his heart like that?
"Enough." Gubo finally broke through the haze.
Sang Yi froze, his hand still resting against his skin, his expression one of startled, drunken amusement. "Oh? Was that too much? I must apologize, I only wanted to fulfill your desires."
Gubo stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floorboards and without a word, he turned on his heel. He didn't glance back at the glowing glass nor did he acknowledge the creature's silent, widening eyes. He walked out of the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.