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Normalcy isn’t difficult to fall back into. It’s been a little over a year since the island blew up, and already, on days like this, Jun-ho can almost pretend the past four years didn’t happen. The money, the murders, the blinding mixture of green, pink and gold, the bullet mark on his shoulder… Maybe they were all just a fever dream, and now he’s finally woken up to his mundane life.
“Morning.” In-ho brings out two plates of breakfast from the kitchen. Bacon, toast and sunny side up eggs. He knows they’ll be perfect as always, just how he’s liked his eggs cooked since he was a child.
“Morning, hyung.”
There’s also a bowl of freshly cut fruits on the kitchen counter, and two boxes of milk: one regular, one chocolate. He opens the regular one and takes a sip. It’s funny that only one sibling is lactose intolerant. He must have luckily inherited the good gene from his mom.
“They say there’s a storm coming tonight.” In-ho cuts into his eggs. The yolk flows out smoothly, seeping into the toast. “Or tomorrow morning, gonna last for a day or two.”
“A snowstorm you mean? It’s almost December.”
“Not sure, it’s not that cold so could be either.” In-ho briefly checks his phone. “I’ll go get more groceries later, just in case.”
“Want me to go with you?”
“For what?” His brother gives him a mocking look. “You’ve barely used the kitchen since I came back.”
He wants to say something snarky back, like that’s the least you could do. But it would open a portal back to the past: the island, the search, bullets entering flesh… And he’s not ready to talk about any of that. He doesn’t know if he ever will be.
After breakfast, he soaks dirty dishes in the sink like he’s trying to prove something. He knows it’s silly. What difference does it make? He’s a young, healthy person who stays at home everyday doing nothing important. Money isn’t an issue. Inho has made that abundantly clear. In fact, it’s one of the few things he’s completely certain of: his brother wants him to spend the money however he likes, whatever makes him happy.
He can imagine what another person might have done with such wealth: buying a big house and starting a family, or traveling the world, picking up an expensive hobby or two, doing charity. But what if he doesn’t have any of these ambitions? What if all he wants is this: a cozy two bedroom apartment, and a boring life with the only family he has left? Would that be so bad?
In-ho is sitting on the couch reading Crime and Punishment, a small pot of Longjing on the coffee table in front of him. Jun-ho remembers casually mentioning to In-ho that drinking too much whiskey wasn’t good for his health, and surprisingly, his brother didn’t protest or dismiss his concern.
Sensing his gaze, In-ho looks up from the book and meets his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.” He feels himself smile. “It’s just funny. You already know every word in that book.”
“Well, it’s my favorite. I like to reread it once in a while.” In-ho shrugs. “Plus, every word is an exaggeration, isn’t it?”
“It really isn’t.”
In-ho rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Stop bothering me.”
He goes back to his laptop, where he has more than ten tabs open for different news sites. The police are still searching for evidence on the island and in the surrounding sea area. But they’ve made no progress in the past year. Whatever tiny clues they’ve found are not nearly enough to piece together the real atrocity.
His phone buzzes. A message from Woo-seok.
“Hey man, how have you been? We haven’t talked since your mom’s funeral. I know you wanted some space, but it’s been a while and I’m a little worried.”
He sighs and starts to reply. He appreciates his friend’s concern, but he’s a grown man who doesn’t use social media. So a few months of silence really doesn’t mean he’s ended up in some ditch. He won’t say that, of course. Dark humor likely won’t help him in this case.
Before he can finish typing, another message pops up.
“Oh, the other day Kim was asking about you too! So yeah, guess I just wanted to check. Let me know if you want to grab a drink sometime.”
He pauses, and after a brief moment of consideration, deletes his mildly passively aggressive reply. There’s no reason to be rude to someone with nothing but good intentions.
“Hey, thanks for checking. Everything’s good. Please don’t worry about me. I hope you’re doing well too. I’ll let you know about that drink.”
That does remind him, he is meeting someone today. Someone he can’t easily brush off.
“Hyung, I’m going out for lunch later, to meet a friend.” He scratches his head, embarrassed by his awkward attempt to keep it vague. There’s no way to say who he’s meeting with, not without bringing up the island.
In-ho tilts his head curiously. “A friend, or girlfriend?”
“What? No, not like that! Just a friend.”
“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” In-ho chuckles. “You’re 34. What are you even asking me for? Go to your date, or whatever.”
*
The restaurant Gi-hun picked is a modest family owned hot pot place. That’s one of the many things Jun-ho admires about him. People often like to claim their integrity won’t be corrupted by money, but very few can keep that promise.
He gets there five minutes early, but Gi-hun’s already waiting with a bottle of half finished soju.
“Jun-ho! You made it.” The older man’s eyes light up with genuine joy. He stands up and pulls Jun-ho into a tight hug.
“Good to see you too, Gi-hun.”
The server brings their appetizers, and a Haemul Jeongol that takes over the whole table.
“It’s their signature pot. I hope it’s ok. If you want something else we can…”
“No, this is great! I like seafood.” He picks up a shrimp to put in his bowl. “Thank you.”
Silence falls between them. Come to think of it, this is actually the first time they’re meeting in person after everything that’s happened. He understands, of course. The other man has every right to be mad at his deception. But they’ve stayed in touch, at first for practical reasons: police investigation, payments to the mercenaries, getting rid of illegal weapons.
He told Gi-hun about his mother’s passing when it happened three months later, just to let him know he wouldn’t be available for about two weeks. He didn’t expect the support Gi-hun offered, though still with a grudge. “I buried my mom too,” the older man told him. Neither of them was particularly great with words, but Gi-hun simply helped him with logistics, which he didn’t know could be so tedious. He couldn’t make it to the funeral though, a last minute emergency. Jun-ho wasn’t sure if it was just an excuse to avoid meeting in person so soon, but if it was, he had no right to judge.
“I want to tell you in person.” Gi-hun takes a swig from his soju. “I’m going to LA next week, and stay there for a while. I thought I’d let you know.”
“Oh.” The sound escapes his throat on its own. “That’s great. To see your daughter right? She’s there.”
“Yeah. I don’t think she wants to see me but…” Gi-hun touches the back of his neck. “Can’t avoid it forever, I guess.”
“I’m sure she’ll come around eventually. You’re her father.” He truly believes that. He hopes for nothing but the best for his friend.
Yes, his friend. Whether Gi-hun sees him the same way or not.
“I don’t know. I’ll just have to try my best.”
“Are you moving to America then? To be closer to her.”
“Oh no, that’ll be a terrible idea.” Gi-hun lets out an airy laugh. “I barely know ten words in English, so no, at least not now.”
“Well, this is not goodbye then. We’ll meet again when you’re back.” He feels his chest warm up at the possibility. It’s nice, he has to admit, to spend time with someone else who knows the full truth of what he’s been through. If Gi-hun never comes back again, he’ll surely miss him a lot.
“Of course we will!” Gi-hun reaches over to take his wrist. “Look, I know a lot has happened, but you know you can talk to me, right? Not just me, Woo-seok too. We’re here for you.”
Jun-ho slowly takes his hand back. “He asked you about me, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but don’t be mad at him. He’s just worried.”
“I’m not mad.”
“I know, I’m not saying you are. It’s just…” Gi-hun takes a deep breath, and then lowers his voice. “I didn’t plan to get out of there alive, you know. But because of some miracle, and you, I did.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I could have done more.”
“I’m trying to say I also didn’t know what to do with myself, until quite recently.” A sheen of moisture covers his dark brown eyes. Jun-ho watches him, all of a sudden feeling perplexed. It’s the same face he remembers, but it’s almost like there’s a stranger underneath the familiar look. He looks at the wrinkles around Gi-hun’s eyes. They’re neither deeper nor lighter. But they no longer scream of exhaustion and despair. “I didn’t plan on living, but life… It’s strange like that, you know? It doesn’t care about what you want. The ones that are still here like us just have to keep going somehow.”
“I’m keeping going just fine. I’m here, aren’t I? Really, there’s nothing to worry about.” He stands up and grabs his jacket. “Look, it’s great seeing you, and thanks for lunch. Message me after you land safely in LA, ok?”
“Um yeah, but you don’t have to go just yet!” Gi-hun hurries to stand up. “Sorry I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s ok. I just need to get going. I need to get some groceries before the storm hits.” He turns to walk out of the door, a little amazed at himself for coming up with that excuse so quickly.
“Jun-ho, wait!” Gi-hun chases him out onto the busy street.
“Gi-hun…”
“It wasn’t your fault, ok? I should have told you way sooner, but it was not your fault.”
The older man grabs his shoulders. He feels every bit of sheer strength and restraint underneath, how each fingertip trembles against his shoulder blades.
“We were all there with you. He chose to stay on the island when the explosion hit. There was nothing you could have done.”
*
He didn’t leave his apartment for a month after his mother’s funeral. There was no reason to. Whatever he needed, he could have it delivered to doorstep, thanks to the 21st century. It was fine at first. He ate, worked out, read and watched TV sometimes. Boredom wasn’t an issue. He already had a lifetime worth of adventure, and now he wanted some quiet alone time after years of running around.
Then one day, the landlord told him his mailbox was overflowing, so he went downstairs to clean it out. There was some leftover paperwork from banks, the hospital and the funeral home regarding his mom, but the rest was junk, advertisement from random companies. Cable, grocery delivery services, car insurance and a lot of credit card offerings. One poster was from a tech company called Anima. He recognized their name and logo from the news. They were everywhere these days, growing from a startup to a giant within a few years.
We create souls — customize the companion you want.
Under the cheesy tagline, different kinds of robots filled the background. A young woman with big breasts, a handsome man wearing glasses, a smiley old lady with grey hair, even a robotic dog that looked like an Akita. He rolled his eyes and tossed it into the recycle bin along with the rest.
Two days later, he dug it out again.
*
It’s past 4 pm when he gets home. In-ho spares him a look, and then turns his attention back to Animal Kingdom on TV. “How was lunch?”
“It was fine. I took a walk after.”
“Yeah, I was wondering when you’d be back. The storm’s almost here.”
He walks to the kitchen and pulls the fridge door open aggressively. It’s fully stocked with fresh groceries that weren’t here in the morning. Beers are lined up neatly on the bottom shelf. His favorite brand, identical distance between each bottle. He grabs one and slams the door shut.
“What’s going on with you?”
Jun-ho ignores him and opens the beer, chugging half of it in one breath. Icy bubbles flow down his throat. He wants to throw up.
“How soon is the storm coming?”
In-ho frowns, a slightly confused look on his face. “I don’t know, soon? The sky’s getting dark.”
“No. How soon exactly?”
“How the fuck do I know? Check on your phone.”
“Answer me!”
In-ho silently looks down. The confusion and anger on his face smoothly turn into hurt. It’s so real, exactly like how his brother used to look at him two decades ago, when he was an angry teenager and said something cruel during one of their fights.
And he almost gives up right there. Say he’s sorry and everything will go back to normal. In-ho will tell him it’s fine. They can watch Animal Kingdom together, and later In-ho will make them dinner. They’ll take refuge in their home while a storm rages outside.
“Tell me now.” He meant for it to be an order, but it comes out like a sob.
In-ho sighs. The hurt on his face slowly changes to resistance, disappointment, and then completely blank. “About 17 minutes based on the most recent forecast.”
*
The delivery arrived two months after he signed the contract and paid in full. It was a long rectangular box like a coffin, decorated with Anima’s signature shade of dark blue. It was carried in carefully by four delivery men, barely making a sound when it was placed on the living room floor.
He sat next to it for a long time. The lid remained closed and sealed. The large logo stared at him like a warning, challenge or mockery, he didn’t know. There was a morbid thought: what kind of coffin would he have chosen for In-ho? If his brother survived the island, or better, if they never got involved and lived in blissful ignorance? If In-ho lived a long, boring life and died peacefully on a hospital bed, he would be making funeral arrangements just like what he did for his mom. There probably wouldn’t be a coffin anyway. His mom didn’t have one. Most people didn’t. Cremation had been the norm for decades. But he would have wanted one for In-ho, to lay his eyes on his brother one last time, even if it was just a body. The coffin would be mahogany or oak. Hard wood, classic vibes like the expensive whiskey In-ho loved so much.
Eventually, when his lips started to feel dry, he placed a shaky hand on the box. It felt like high quality paper and plastic at the same time, a display of eccentric luxury. It wasn’t held together by tapes, but a thick layer of resin that detached effortlessly with an easy peel, like breaking the wax seal of an important letter from ancient times, yet inside was the epitome of future.
He lifted the lid and threw it to the side clumsily before he could change his mind. It was probably too late for that anyway. He had plenty of chances to choose otherwise in the course of two months. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes, but now couldn’t bring himself to open them. Instead he reached inside blindly, half expecting to touch something grotesque, rotten human flesh or cold metal that felt nothing like a human. But it was neither. It wasn’t anything that resembled skin at all, just soft fabric.
He slowly blinked his eyes open, and the sight instantly took his breath away. It… he looked exactly like In-ho, not like a perfect replica, but his real brother sleeping peacefully, dressed in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants. He had to force himself to take long, deep breaths to stop hyperventilating as he reached for In-ho's face, trembling so much that he almost missed it. His knuckles brushed against the cheek. The touch lasted for a mere second but it felt like skin. Warm, soft, and even slightly moist and he had no idea how the fuck they did that.
Highest quality of synthetic skin, he remembered. A single piece of paper was laying on the robot’s chest. It was stuck on the t-shirt, but gave in easily when he pulled. One side had multiple forms of contact information listed: phone number, email and physical locations. He turned it over, and there was only one line of instruction.
Hold their hand. Your fingerprints will wake them up.
Jun-ho swallowed the painful lump in his throat. Now or never, and it couldn’t be never because… it just couldn’t. He opened his fingers, closed them into a fist and then opened them again. His palm was so wet that it slipped away as soon as he touched the robot. He wiped it angrily on his pants, vision becoming blurry as sweats from his forehead reached his eyes.
Inhaling deeply, he squeezed In-ho’s left hand with his right one. Blood rushed to his head, overflowing the dam holding a lifetime worth of love. For a moment, it felt like something physical exploded in his brain, as if he was the machine being jump started. He collapsed next to the box. A faint blue light escaped from their intertwined fingers. The next second, In-ho opened his eyes.
He gasped, his heart skipping a long beat. In-ho blinked slowly a few times and turned to him, a confused look clouding his dark brown eyes.
“Jun-ho?”
He didn’t realize he was crying, but the simple sound of his name broke something. He covered his mouth but couldn’t stop the choked sobs from his dry throat.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” In-ho’s confused expression turned to concern. Then he sat up and placed a hand on Jun-ho's cheek, gently wiping away a tear drop with his thumb.
He shook his head but didn’t know what he was trying to deny. It was so fucking real and even sounded exactly like him.
“It’s ok. I’m here.”
Jun-ho wiped his tears away violently but new ones kept flowing out, and now they started to irritate the skin around his eyes, making him cry more.
“I’m here now, Jun-ho.” In-ho took a hold of his hand firmly, and pulled him into his arms. “I’m home.”
*
“Come on, we don’t have to do this.” In-ho covers his hand holding the beer bottle, tenderly pressing on his white knuckles. “What happened? Tell me why you’re mad.”
Jun-ho shakes his head. There’s nothing to say. Nothing happened. Nothing was wrong. He is perfect because he’s not real.
“Remember when you were little? You were scared of thunder but too embarrassed to admit it.” In-ho smiles and playfully nudges his shoulder, the most natural reaction from pleasant nostalgia. “So whenever it rained, you’d keep asking me to watch one more episode of some boring show, because you didn’t want to go to your room and sleep alone.”
Against his best judgement, he looked over at the living room. The TV is new, of course, so is the couch. But the coffee table is still the same one where his mom used to set down a plate of fruits as he watched cartoons. In-ho would come home late and miss dinner, because the rookie police had to put in more hours.
“But you could never make it past midnight so I had to carry you to your bed. And you dared to complain if I woke you up!”
“Stop.” Jun-ho pushed him away harshly. “You didn’t. You didn’t do any of that. Stop fucking pretending!”
In-ho flinches, his vivid eyes flooded with sorrowful pain. “Why are you doing this? I thought you wanted me here.”
“You’re here. Yeah, you’re here. You’re here and he left me!”
He throws the beer bottle at the wall. It shatters, broken glass bouncing back in the air, landing on In-ho’s hair and shoulders, a few sharp pieces sweeping across his face.
“How…you…” Jun-ho feels like the air is seizing his throat. His brain is empty, the world around him becoming black and white as he stares at a thin streak of red on In-ho’s cheek.
In-ho blinks, and then slowly raises a hand to touch the small cut, smearing red liquid on his cheek.
“Calm down. It’s not blood, ok? It’s fake.”
In-ho extends a hand but he flinches away like he’s been burned. “No! Stay away!”
“I’m not hurt, Jun-ho. Please, you need to breathe. Your heart rate is too high.”
“They made you...” Bleed, warm, alive.
“I’m sorry. They should have told you. It should be in the manual.” In-ho, no, the robot takes a cautious step forward, trying to steady him.
“No. This is fucking sick.”
He stumbles backwards and trips on something. He doesn’t realize he’s on the floor until In-ho’s hands are on his arms.
“No! Leave me alone!” He struggles to get back on his feet. He can’t breathe and his legs feel like jelly. “Don’t touch me! That’s an order!”
He retreats into his room like a wounded animal, locks the door and collapses against it. Outside, the first crack of thunder breaks out. Dark clouds close in around his window like smoke from an explosion.
Gi-hun was wrong. There was one thing he could have done.
He should have stayed on that island.
*
The saleswoman was very pretty, but not in an intimidating way. Not like a gorgeous girl you were afraid to ask out because you knew she’d turn you down, more like a sister or friend you could trust, and you just wanted to break down in her arms.
Also, they were called consultants here, not salespeople.
“How do you make it like the real person?” He fidgeted with the empty teacup in his hand. “Mentally, I mean.”
“There are multiple layers, and it might be easier than you think in this day and age.” She handed him a pamphlet with warm colors. “We comb through their social media accounts, and with your permission, yours too. You’re also welcomed to share anything else about them: the books they liked, movies and TV shows, play lists. The more information we have, the better the outcome will be.”
Jun-ho flipped through the pamphlet absentmindedly. This was a waste of time. How could you possibly summarize a person with their social media and Netflix account? He googled the company before. They made the majority of their profits from romantic companions. Sex bots, to put it bluntly. Making replicas of deceased people was a very recent development. So what was he expecting? Of course it would just be an expensive scam.
He almost stood up and left when he saw those words on the pamphlet. “What’s this…memory mapping?”
“Ah, that is our premium option, the most cutting edge technology. But the cost is quite steep.”
“It’s fine. Just tell me what it is.”
Cost was the last thing he needed to worry about. A little envelope appeared on his table about two weeks after the island blew up. Inside there was a golden card and a note.
Make a life for yourself that’s worth living.
One sentence. Printed. He didn’t even get his brother’s handwriting.
He checked the balance on that card several days later, and didn’t bother to count how many digits there were.
“We scan your memories of your loved one, and transfer them directly.” The consultant spoke slowly, like she was worried to scare him away. “It’s minimal radiation, completely safe for you. The brain activity is turned to codes in…”
“Wait, what are you saying?” He pinched his nose bridge. That can’t be right. “Sorry to interrupt, but that doesn’t make sense.”
“I understand. I couldn’t believe it either when I was first introduced to the concept.” She smiled reassuringly. “Scientists have been studying neuroscience for decades, and the recent breakthrough unlocked possibilities that we never even dared to dream of.”
“So you’ll scan my brain, and what? Turn my memory into a movie, and then feed it to a robot?”
“There’s no movie. We can’t even decipher your memories enough to turn them into visuals.” She pulled out a sheet of paper from her drawer, this one a lot simpler with mainly visual representations. “I know it’s counterintuitive, but it’s actually a lot easier to transfer brain activities directly to codes, without changing them to a human language first.”
“But you’ll still have my memories.” Which were mostly evidence of felonies.
“We understand your concern. That’s why our confidentiality agreement is ironclad. I’m happy to have you and your attorney review it before you decide to proceed.” She filled his teacup smoothly. “If you want to be 100% assured, with a small added amount, we can erase everything from our server afterwards, so you have the only copy.”
“Ok, but how does it work? Do I get into some machine? Does someone need to open up my brain?”
“Oh absolutely not! It’s not an invasive procedure, and there’s no pain.” She laughed, but there was no mockery in her tone. “The equipment is similar to an EEG but portable, like a strange hat you can wear. It collects your brain activities while you go through your memories with your loved one. It’s that simple.”
“How long does it take?”
“As long as you need.”
“And I just…think about him?”
“Yes, but we’re happy to offer any accommodation to make the experience easier for you.”
“Like what?” What could possibly make this easier?
“For example, some clients prefer to work with a therapist. They find it easier to remember someone through a conversation.” His face must have betrayed him somehow, because she quickly stopped and changed direction. “Or if you’d rather be alone, you can bring any materials you find helpful. Photo albums, any items with sentimental value. We can even set up the room the way you like, within reason of course.”
“I need to think about it.” He practically jumped up from his seat. For the first time in years, his reality materialized into something tangible again.
“Of course, take as much time as you need. You know how to contact me.” The woman also got up and opened the door for him. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, whether it’s with us or not.”
A week later, he sat on a bed in an empty room in Anima’s facility. They checked with him multiple times to confirm he didn’t want any accommodations before leaving him alone. He didn’t need a therapist or photo albums or anything to help him remember. He could just sit here alone and think about In-ho.
That was all he had been doing for the past four years.
*
Jun-ho ignores the first knock. The thunders outside are loud, maybe loud enough for the robot to think he didn’t hear the knock. Think? He shakes his head and laughs at himself. It can’t think. It’s a machine, metal and synthetic skin and codes. It doesn’t think or feel. Or love. It’s a fancy computer.
“Jun-ho, please let me in. It’s been 30 minutes and I’m concerned about your wellbeing.”
Concerned about your wellbeing? Well, at least now it’s dropped the pretense. Not that it’s able to feel concerned. That’s a human trait.
“If you don’t let me confirm you’re okay, I’ll have to contact emergency services.” It sounds truly apologetic. “That’s written in my foundational codes and I can’t override it. I’m sorry.”
He exhales loudly and stands up, ignoring the sudden blackness in his vision. He turns the handle aggressively to pull the door open. “Here, happy? I’m good, now go away.”
The robot seems to consider his command for a second, but ultimately chooses not to move. It offers a weak smile and hands him a glass of water. “You don’t look so good.”
He wants to smash the glass on its head and watch more of that fake blood pour out. But what does that accomplish? It won’t bleed out. It won’t fight back. It will never feel pain like he does.
He grabs the water and chugs it, closing the door with his other hand at the same time. The robot stops it with its foot.
“Move.”
“I get it, ok?”
The snort escaped from his airway sounds broken. “You don’t.”
“I do. I have your memories.” The robot briefly looks down, just like the expression In-ho used to have before he would say something profound. “You’ve been grieving him for years, even before you lost him.”
His body is reacting before he could consciously register the words. A hand comes to his chest over the racing heart, and the other one grabs onto the doorframe so tightly that it’s imprinted on his palm. His muscles go limp like when he was shot in the shoulder. He remembers the strange absence of pain, the numbness from seeing his brother’s face overcoming everything else.
He lets himself stumble backwards and fall down the cliff, into a soft bed.
The robot tentatively walks over, and sits down next to him when he doesn’t protest. Far enough to not touch, unless he reaches out first.
“You said it was in your programming. The wellness check?”
“It is. I can leave now if you want me to.”
“I thought your programming also makes you act like the person you’re modeled after.” He slowly lifts his head to look at the robot, really look at it for the first time. “But you just said ‘grieving him,’ not ‘grieving me.’”
“That’s not a hard command like the wellness check.” The robot chuckles. “More like a… how do I put it, a product feature.”
“Product feature.”
“Yeah.”
He bursts out laughing. He hasn’t laughed like that in years and he doesn’t know why he’s doing it now. Nothing about this is funny but he can’t stop. He laughs and laughs, until he can’t breath and his face is covered in tear streaks.
“Why?” He chokes out.
“My function is to make you happy. And I think you need my honesty more than the illusion I can provide.”
“Can you do that, really? Think, I mean.”
“Depends on how you define it, I suppose. There’s no consensus yet.” The robot shrugs casually like it doesn’t care at all about how the world sees it. “I can form opinions that are not directly from you, or him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Well, I don’t really know what I’m asking.” He huffs and shakes his head. There’s a certain freedom in admitting defeat.
An arm wraps around his shoulders, firmly grounding him. He can feel the muscles, sense the heat radiating from the robot’s body just like a human. They’re so close now that he can see the little cut on its cheek, already mostly healed with only a faint white mark left.
“I don’t think he wanted to leave you. He just couldn’t live with himself. And there’s nothing you could have done to fix that.”
Jun-ho inhales from his stuffed nose, and the robot’s beige sweater smells exactly like In-ho because it’s cleaned with the same detergent and softener he used to like.
“Show me.”
He knows he doesn’t have to explain further what he wants to see. The robot’s stare turns into something resembling true surprise, with a layer of pity.
“Are you sure?”
“Let me see it.” he’s begging although he could have just given an order. “Please, I need to see it… I have to, or I can’t…”
“Okay.” The robot holds him closer. “Okay.”
In-ho slowly opens his left hand, like the finale of a cheesy TV show that should have ended years ago. Yet he watches like the last loyal fan, witnessing the ending not because he wants to, but because he isn't the showrunner and doesn’t get to decide when it ends. The blue light is faint at first, barely visible on the synthetic skin as lightning brightens up the entire room. Then it grows stronger, thicker like a twisted vein, until the large “A” overtakes the entire palm. Just like the day he brought his dead brother back to life.
He buries his face into that soft sweater, on top of the steady fake heartbeats. The embrace is as suffocating as the familiar smell, his only refuge from the raging storm outside.
He screams into the echoing void.
*
It’s a beautiful day. The kind of fresh air and gentle sun that’s only graced upon them a few times per year after a big storm. The cemetery is away from the city, quiet on a Wednesday morning besides a bird chirping nearby.
“So this is it, the real him.” The robot traces the name engraved on the tombstone, much newer than the one next to it. Husband and wife, both left too soon.
“Yeah, kind of. There isn’t…” He clears his throat. Even now, he can’t say it plainly. “We didn’t have anything to bury.”
“I know her too.” The robot lightly touches the picture where she’s laughing in In-ho’s arms. “She’s even more beautiful in your memories.”
“She was. They were great together.”
“I know.” A wave of breeze blows up the robot’s hair. That part is real. They use real people’s hair.
“What happens to robots when people send them back?” He knows he shouldn’t ask, but he has to know.
“Most parts get recycled to make new products. Since you paid for an exclusive copy, all my codes including your memories will be permanently deleted.”
“You mean…” He almost choked on air. “They’ll take you apart?”
“You don’t need to worry.” The robot smiles and places a hand on his arm. The sunlight is so bright today that he can see the small pores on the side of its nose. “I’m unable to feel pain, and I don’t have a fear of death like humans.”
“So you’ll just be gone. And you’re fine with it.”
“I am.”
“Like you never existed.”
“I’ll still exist in your memories, won’t I?”
Jun-ho turns his gaze back to the tombstone, where In-ho’s name is fresh and his smile in the picture is undying, while underneath it, there’s no body in the ground. Nothing.
And just like that, he knows.
It’s not some world-shattering realization, hardly a realization at all. He’s known it for so long, so sure that a formal admission seems inconsequential. It’s as natural as taking a breath, easy as remembering his own name.
He will never get over this.
He turns to the robot and playfully bumps their shoulders. “You know, I remember the saleswoman told me, some people make the skin of their robot simulate aging.”
The robot blinks a few times, seemingly confused by his sudden change of demeanor. “Yes, it’s a lot more common for romantic companions because people want to grow old together with their lover.”
“So I’m thinking, maybe I can do that with you too. Not now, after I get to your age. So we’ll be the same age forever, and you don’t get to order me around as your little brother anymore.”
In-ho keeps their eye contact for a very long time, his expression unreadable. Jun-ho wonders what’s going on inside his head, whether it’s spinning with words or codes. But ultimately it doesn’t matter. Because this time, he gets to be the showrunner. He watches In-ho’s face soften, effortlessly changing into a gentle, indulgent expression, like the brother he used to have. And now he’ll never lose him again.
“Of course, if that’s what you want.”
“Great!” He smiles giddily. At last, the weight on his chest is lifted for good. He links their arms together and turns away from the tombstone.
“Let’s go home, hyung.”