Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

J3

A few knocks on the door woke him up.

On the sofa in the Security Team’s office, Jay was lying with his head resting on his arm. The hands of the clock above him didn’t move; they had stopped long ago, and whenever he looked at them, the moment he looked away, he forgot there had ever been a clock there. His cell phone was lying abandoned in his cubicle, with a dead battery. It wasn’t as if time mattered, anyway. For years, the only time he needed to know was what was announced over the loudspeakers: when work started, when work ended.

Again, someone knocked. Now that he was listening to them again, he recognized the pattern and the intensity. And even if he didn't recognize them, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out who they were; few people visited that room.

“Jay, Jay, Jay, I know you’re there,” a voice said from the other end.

He closed his eyes. Eventually, he would get used to the noise and fall back asleep. He took a deep breath. Despite the annoying interruption, he enjoyed that sweet scent.

“Jay!” The knocking stopped. A sigh came from behind the door. “I don’t even know why you keep the door locked if it’s not your decision to make. Open it now. You know that, if I want to, I can force you to do it.”

“That requires bureaucracy,” was the only thing he said. Kwak Jekang hated bureaucracy. Jay shared that contempt for anything tedious, unless it got in the way of the scientist’s whims. Annoying him was one of the few amusements Jay had in that underground level.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Aren’t you curious why I went through the trouble of coming all the way down here, of stepping away from my important duties for you?”

“No.”

“If you open the door, I’ll bring you donuts for a week. What do you think? It’s such a simple thing to do.”

For a week…

“That silence… You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

He moved with a certain languor. The company’s employees feared speaking with Kwak Jekang because of his peculiar and sometimes dangerous requests, as well as the risk of ending up on his bad side, but he never asked Jay for anything. On the contrary, he used to instruct Jay to do nothing unless it was a job requirement. “Don’t do this, remember, you’re no longer the leader of Team B,” “You can’t go with him, what good would someone like you be if you don’t have experience at the lower levels?” “Stop investigating that darkness, it’s pointless now.”

Opening the door was a simple request that came with a great reward. He wasn’t required to obey the researcher, nor even listen to him. He was sure that Kwak Jekang must want something, but the mere thought of having to get involved in some strange schemes made him feel reluctant; still, it had been a long time since he had eaten anything other than the bland food provided by the company.

He opened the door, and the researcher greeted him with his usual smile.

“Sometimes dealing with you is like flipping a coin. Today you obeyed me with strange ease…”

“I’ve already done what you asked. You know which ones I like. If there’s a special edition, I want to try it.”

He made a move to close the door, and Kwak Jekang stopped him.

“Wait,” said Kwak Jekang. “At least hear me out. I’ve been thinking these past few days,” he said, and paused. He wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Do you remember that experiment we tried years ago, the one where we visited places you had been to in your past? I want to try it again.”

Yes; despite the passage of time, he remembered it, but only now that it had been brought up. Tomorrow he would forget it again. Kwak Jekang had tried that experiment in the early years, and the lack of results had only served to frustrate them.

“No,” he replied in a peremptory tone.

“I figured you’d say that,” Kwak Jekang sighed. “You have two options: agree of your own free will, and I’ll give you donuts for a whole month, or I’ll force you, and you won’t get a reward. Come on, Jay, accept the donuts… This is the kind of experiment that requires a certain level of willpower from the subject.”

Kwak Jekang awaited his response, watching him with a smile that suggested he already expected him to accept his proposal. Perhaps it would have been better to reject it just for the satisfaction of seeing the researcher get upset at having been wrong, but if he was going to be upset either way, maybe the best option was long-term satisfaction.

He nodded.

Over the next few days, Kwak Jekang kept the first promise he had made to him: he showed up at the door of the Security Office every morning with a bag of donuts. His brain had made an involuntary association: Kwak Jekang reminded him of sweetness, and sweetness reminded him of Kwak Jekang.

Every morning, before receiving his reward simply for opening the door, the researcher would repeat the same proposal to him.

On the first day, he had told him: “If you want, you can come see me at night in the Research Team’s office. There’s no one else there but me at that time.” The second day: “You didn’t come yesterday, but if you want, you can come over and keep me company for a little while…” On the third day: “You’re just taking the donuts and then ignoring me, but don’t forget that you can come have coffee with me! The coffee’s better up there.” And so it goes, every time.

Of course, ever since Kwak Jekang had first invited him to visit, Jay had never done so, but his insistence seemed unusual. Was that part of the experiment? When he wandered through the building at night, after most of the employees had already left, there were times when his feet carried him near that room, and he only noticed once he saw the single open door that allowed the light from within to spill into the dimness of the hallway. Kwak Jekang was always there: sometimes typing on the computer, sometimes asleep at his desk. He wanted to tell him it was time to go home, but what the researcher did was none of his business.

He stared at the closed door, and a faint desire to get up from the couch stirred somewhere deep within him, only to wither away and finally die.

No.

In truth, there was no reason to get up.

He only realized that a week had passed when he waited for the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries, which never came from the moment the announcement woke him up until the announcement signaled that his workday was over. Not that day, nor the next, nor any of the days that followed.

Time had regained its meaning, and then lost it again.

A few knocks on the door woke him up.

As always, he was lying on the couch in the Security Team’s office. On the wall above him, the clock’s hands stood still; there were no windows to tell him whether it was daytime, afternoon, or nighttime.

“Jay, it’s me.” It was Kwak Jekang’s voice. “Open the door.”

Today had to be the day. Today, just like every other time he’d tried, he wouldn’t remember his past. He got up, his body reluctant to leave its previous state, and walked toward the door. His only consolation was that, for a long time to come, Kwak Jekang would visit him with a box of donuts.

As he opened the door, he felt an emotion that must have been the closest thing to surprise he had felt in a long time. Kwak Jekang was no longer wearing his lab coat, an overcoat hanging from his arm, as if the day had ended and he was about to head home. The lab coat made him look bigger, and without it, he looked slim, with his shirt tucked into his pants accentuating his figure. He wore a delicious and subtle perfume that Jay hadn’t smelled in a long time, but he wasn’t sure on what occasion the researcher might have worn it. Jay lowered the brim of his cap in a silent greeting and forced himself to look away; no matter how attractive he found him, he wasn’t going to let him notice.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“It must be almost eight.”

“Are you contaminated?”

“What kind of question is that?” Kwak Jekang laughed. “I’m going to take you for a walk today,” he continued, picking up some bags that were at his feet. “Don’t worry, I didn’t bring a leash for you.”

Kwak Jekang entered the room and began taking sets of clothes out of the bags. He arranged them in rows, folded so that the collar of each garment was visible.

“Pick out an outfit to wear,” Kwak Jekang said when the bags were empty.

“You’re going too far,” was all he said.

“But I only asked you for one thing.”

“I’d rather leave like this.”

The security uniform was fine; it was all he needed.

“You always dress like a security guard or a janitor. Don’t you think you might find something familiar in other outfits? The cut, the color, the patterns, the fabric, the size… Everyone has their own preferences, even if they don’t stop to think about it.”

Nothing he heard sparked even the slightest interest in him; he had no reason to wear anything other than a uniform. Instead, he felt bewildered listening to the researcher talk about outfits.

He sighed and knelt down in front of the table.

All the clothes had the same scent as Kwak Jekang’s clothing: the scent they took on after being washed, mingled with the unmistakable scent of his home. It was a pleasant, comforting scent, the kind that made you want to bury your face in the source from which it emanated. He picked up a random shirt and unfolded it in front of him. The size was more suited to his own build than to Kwak Jekang’s, so even though it had his scent, it couldn’t have been his clothing. What was the point of the clothes being impregnated with that perfume if they didn’t belong to the researcher?

Unless there was something the researcher was trying to hide.

“Here are some clothes that used to belong to me.”

Kwak Jekang knelt down beside him.

“What makes you say that?”

“The scent. None of the clothes are your size, but they all have your perfume on them. You hid the scent so I wouldn’t be able to tell which one belonged to me just by smell.”

“This isn’t the time to use that kind of logic. It’s more a matter of whether you feel that something once belonged to you or whether something evokes a memory.”

He couldn’t help but ignore those words and try to figure out if he had guessed correctly. Kwak Jekang had corrected him, but instead of mockery or annoyance, he had smiled at him with a certain air of satisfaction. It was a contradictory expression.

He turned his attention to the various outfits. Judging by Kwak Jekang’s reaction, he was inclined to believe he must be right; there was something there that belonged to him, and the researcher hoped he would find it. He didn’t care about the cuts, the colors, or anything else he had heard. None of it was for someone like him, and none of it reminded him of the man he had once been.

An emptiness washed over him. Or, to put it more accurately, the feeling of emptiness that had lived inside him ever since he became conscious of himself as J3 surfaced once again. That was why he hadn’t wanted to agree to this experiment; that feeling of emptiness was the only thing he would feel all night.

Among the clothes, there was a black suit. It was the outfit most likely to have belonged to him, but there was also the possibility that it was there as a distraction; that wouldn’t be surprising. He took it in his hands and unfolded it. The cut was such that it accentuated the figure of the person wearing it. Kwak Jekang had told him not to use logic, but he couldn’t help himself. Between his fingers, the fabric didn’t feel worn, and the black color was as deep as that of a new suit. Too many years had passed for it to be found in that condition, unless it had been placed in a special location to protect it from the ravages of time. It couldn’t have been his garment; there was no way Kwak Jekang could have gotten something like that.

“I’ll wear this one,” he said anyway.

He turned to look at the researcher, but the man stood up and headed for the door.

“Get dressed, then,” he said before leaving the room.

He took off his uniform and began to get dressed.

Every morning, each of the movements he made at that moment must have been part of the same sequence. Perhaps he would first slip his right arm into the shirt; then his left; and adjust the garment across his back by holding it at the button placket; after which he would begin buttoning it up, one button at a time. It was like a ritual.

Would he button them all, including the one at the collar? Did he have a specific way of tucking his shirt into his pants? Was that the correct order?

Did that act really evoke something in him?

He knotted his tie. When he did this every morning, he didn’t pay any attention to how it looked. It was better if it was loose, but—perhaps because of a faint memory, perhaps because of an impression of who he thought he used to be—he tightened it around his neck.

When he finished, he opened the door to present himself to Kwak Jekang, who turned pale. For a few moments, he was silently observed.

Kwak Jekang turned his face away and covered his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You look decent after all this time.”

“I’m going to take it off,” he replied, and reached for the buttons on his suit jacket.

“No!” exclaimed Kwak Jekang, grabbing his hands to stop him. Feeling remorseful, he let go and stepped back again. His face was flushed. “You’re such a pain,” he said suddenly. “You should be grateful that I’m letting you wear those clothes. Don’t tear them or get them dirty.”

“So it did belong to him.”

“But he would never use it so recklessly,” replied Kwak Jekang. He must have realized he had said too much, and he relented.

Kwak Jekang adjusted Jay’s tie, collar, and suit jacket without even looking him in the face. That closeness felt... a little uncertain. Kwak Jekang didn’t seem to display the madness or passion he showed in his experiments, nor did he treat him with the impersonal manner more typical of a subject. The researcher remained silent, adjusting the clothes gently, with familiarity, and a distant gaze.

When Kwak Jekang seemed satisfied, he looked at him with a puzzled expression. The only response he could offer to Kwak Jekang’s behavior was to tilt his head slightly, as if silently asking a question.

“Let me fix your hair”, said Kwak Jekang. “It’s annoying seeing you all disheveled while wearing that suit. ”

He chose not to argue; otherwise, the suit would probably end up torn and stained with a sticky liquid.

He sat down in a chair and sensed the researcher’s presence behind him. With unexpected gentleness, the researcher removed his hair tie. His colorless hair fell in disarray over his shoulders.

“Don’t do anything weird,” he warned. As much as he wanted to remember, he didn’t want to cut his hair to imitate the style he’d once had. “I’ll notice if you cut anything.”

“I don’t need your DNA; I already have it. I have your blood, your flesh, and a few organs you’ve left lying around,” Kwak Jekang laughed. “ And, of course, I already have your hair,” he said. Jay felt that silvery strand slip through Kwak Jekang’s fingers and fall onto his cheek. “I’ll just tidy your hair a little, but I could cut it another day if you’d like.”

He should have protested, but instead, he closed his eyes.

The way Kwak Jekang touched him made him shiver a little, but he didn’t mind it. On the contrary, it was pleasant and relaxing. Had anyone ever stroked his hair like that before? Ah, he would have liked that… he would have liked it so much.

He leaned back to press himself closer against those hands, and his head rested against something soft.

“What are you doing?” asked Kwak Jekang.

That voice sounded louder than usual, but the tone Kwak Jekang’d been using with him hadn’t changed. It was strange, but it didn’t matter; nothing else mattered but that soothing sensation. He leaned back further—since, for some reason, Kwak Jekang had stopped—and pressed himself closer against that softness, resting his head there.

“Fascinating…” he heard him murmur behind him.

Kwak Jekang’s fingers found his sensitive spot, and he sighed as he pressed himself closer against that hand.

“You’ve got wolf ears and a tail,” said Kwak Jekang. “That’s the only physical anomaly you have. As for your behavior, you’ve become docile and seem to have let your guard down. Maybe I should groom you more often,” he laughed behind his back. “Do you want me to try rubbing your chin?”

That sounded good.

He opened his eyes. No; those fingers had distracted him. It was only now that the researcher mentioned it that he noticed his tail was wagging behind him and that the sensitive spot he had been so eager to have touched was actually the base of his wolf ears. He turned his face slightly. The softness against which his head rested was Kwak Jekang’s chest.

Jay moved away from him.

“They’re gone,” he heard a disappointed voice say behind him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kwak Jekang chuckled softly, and those gentle fingers returned to his hair. Jay shuddered again, but held himself back.

“I’m going to continue. Try not to get distracted this time.”

A few moments later, Kwak Jekang announced that he had finished.

“We should go to the bathroom so you can look in the mirror.”

In the mirror, he couldn’t recognize himself. He was not the person he was in the present, nor did he resemble the person he had been in the past. However, how many mornings must he have seen a suit like that in the mirror? What emotions would he have felt in the past when he saw his own reflection? What would he think every morning, knowing that it might be his last? What would have driven him to wear that suit despite that?

He didn’t have an answer to any of those questions.

Kwak Jekang watched him from the shadows, leaning against the wall. That smile had vanished; now, the obsession with which he observed all the darkness had returned. That was why Kwak Jekang had to help him, for he was nothing more than a being who had long since ceased to be human. When he put on the suit, they both must have forgotten that.

“How do you feel?” the researcher asked suddenly.

“I don’t feel anything,” he replied.

The large windows in the reception area offered a glimpse of everyday life: two employees who had been working overtime at a company were finally leaving the building to head home. But there was nothing ordinary about it for him.  That image, rather than reflecting reality, was more like a vague dream—with no beginning, no end, and no meaning. Even Kwak Jekang’s presence at his side was disconcerting. He realized that, in truth, the researcher hadn’t broken his routine but was conducting an experiment instead of going home, yet the reflection—which knew nothing of this—kept showing him that strange image.

Had he seen it before?

Kwak Jekang looked at his cell phone screen and put it away again.

“All right. Now, Jay,” said Kwak Jekang, to get his attention. “Can you try to find the way home?”

“Do you want me to go back underground?” he asked, puzzled.

“What? No; you’re not getting away yet,” replied the researcher. “I want you to find that path you used to walk every day after leaving the building. I want you to find,” he repeated, “the way back to the home where you once lived .”

He looked down; he didn’t want to think about it.

Several years ago, he had tried to find that path. It was a path that was not to be thought about; it was to unfold before him with each step until, after a time—perhaps imperceptible, perhaps eternal—it revealed to him what he had sought so long. He had followed the streets he thought he had walked down, sometimes aimlessly, other times searching for a memory to guide him. And often, he had done nothing but get lost. None of the streets seemed familiar to him. Even though he was walking just a few blocks from the office, it was like a city that had never been part of his most distant memories.

Kwak Jekang would always go looking for him, even if it snowed, even if it rained, even if he had wandered too far away.

The researcher must have known how futile his request was.

In front of the company’s door, Kwak Jekang waited in silence. He seemed to stand as a barrier between him and a return to the tranquility of solitude. This would not be the first time he had tried to stop him from carrying out that futile experiment.

Standing on the sidewalk, he looked first to the right and then to the left. The office was not located on a busy street, and at that time of day, its surroundings were deserted. The street stretching out on both sides seemed to repeat itself at every turn, and none of the buildings looked familiar to him beyond having seen them on the nights he used to go out. How much had the place changed since he had forgotten it? Even the first few years after he had become J3 were hazy, and he couldn’t distinguish what had changed. The streets blurred together into a single, hazy memory. Everything looked the same; just like yesterday, just like the day before yesterday, just like years ago.

He walked to the left until he reached a corner. At the crossroads, he could cross the street and continue straight ahead, he could turn right, he could turn left, or he could go back to the other end. No path evoked anything in him.

In any case, he didn’t even know if he wanted to go back to what he had once called “home.” That place hadn’t been his home for years. It might no longer exist, or it might be inhabited by strangers, or it might be inhabited by someone who grew tired of waiting for him long ago. In any of those cases, the outcome would amount to nothing more than a bitter memory for an empty mind.

“I don’t know if this is the way. I don’t know which path to take. And I don’t even know if I want to know,” he said at last.

“Are you sure?” asked Kwak Jekang. “Why don’t you try again?”

“No, it’s fine this way; I have a different home now, and remembering it won’t change that.”

He didn’t hear any objections.

When he turned around, he saw that ever-smiling face with a complex expression, which the Kwak Jekang quickly averted as he adjusted his glasses. The researcher was known for sacrificing people in order to obtain results. Did that lack of insistence mean Kwak Jekang knew Jay was going to fail? Why had he asked him to do that, then? Was it a desire to torment him for being a remnant of what he had once been?

It was strange; unlike so many other times, the researcher didn’t seem to take any pleasure in tormenting him.

Kwak Jekang looked at his cell phone screen again.

“Let’s go,” he said, and started walking as if he had all the time in the world.

Above him, heavy and ancient iron chandeliers imposed their presence from the dimness of the ceiling rather than illuminating the room. The light was dim and sparse, and, as if someone had wanted to limit their attention to a small radius, the main source of light in the room was a warm candle burning in the center of the table. Nothing beyond that candle seemed to matter.

Even though everything had been orchestrated so that he wouldn’t see beyond the candle, he looked around. There were people at most of the tables, but the sound was nothing more than a murmur of voices and the clinking of cutlery. Everyone was facing a single person, and he was facing Kwak Jekang.

Jay had been alone with him, in true solitude—unlike the kind the candle was trying to replicate—but there was something different.

An artificial intimacy.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. It felt like the first time in a long while that he found himself surrounded by so many people who weren’t part of the company.

The murmurs, the clang of metal, the rustle of clothing, the creaking of chairs, the aroma of flesh, the mingling of perfumes, the presence of people behind him… It was suffocating. Men wore suits and women wore dresses, and the pairs smiled at one another. There was an unpleasant air of intimacy about everything. It was a world he didn’t belong in, a world he no longer lived in. “You shouldn’t bring someone who's contaminated to a place like this.”

“Well, if you eat someone from around here, I doubt the world would lose anything important,” Kwak Jekang laughed. “Look at the menu instead of wasting your time,” he said. “Maybe there’s a flavor that’ll seem familiar. Oh, look… it has snails… Oh, Jay, would you take care of me if I turned into a snail?”

“I’m serious.”

Haven’t the researcher already asked him that question? And what did that have to do with anything?

“We’re here now. Doesn’t this place look familiar to you?”

He turned his attention back to his surroundings. Everyone was focused on who was in front of them, as if nothing existed beyond that person. And that was the intention: to see no one beyond the candle. Why had he come to this place? Had he brought someone there? Who? He tried to figure it out, but, in front of him, he saw no one but Kwak Jekang.

But what was the point of remembering that person, anyway?

He couldn’t remember his face or his voice.

And that person would have already forgotten him.

“I’m leaving,” he announced, and stood up.

Kwak Jekang took him by the arm.

“Wait.”

Faces of strangers suddenly turned toward him; he had been identified as an intruder in that world.

“Sit down,” Kwak Jekang ordered. He had grabbed his arm with both hands and seemed to be pleading rather than asserting his authority.

“Why here?” He looked at the faces watching him. “Who am I supposed to see here?”

“Hmm?” said Kwak Jekang. “Why do you say that? Tell me what you mean.”

“I… did I come here with someone? This… This isn’t what I want to remember. I’m leaving.”

“Sit down, Jay,” Kwak Jekang repeated.

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t stay there.

There was someone.

There was someone he couldn’t remember.

He had felt that way for a long time.

A blurry face smiling at him.

An unintelligible name on his own lips.

Who had he forgotten?

Who?

Who?

Who?

Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? Who?

“Jay.”

He looked at Kwak Jekang. The light in the room shone upon him as if that intimate twilight had finally vanished. He saw him blurry, faded as in an old photograph, and his figure—and everything around him—seemed to repeat itself and dance before him.

“Your contamination, ” murmured Kwak Jekang.

The researcher quickly got up from the table and pressed a handkerchief to his cheek.

“Hold this.”

Several eyes had torn into his cheek, and now a black liquid was bleeding from it. With the handkerchief, part of that blurry, faded, and disorienting vision faded away.

Kwak Jekang led him out of the restaurant. He finally found himself in a dimly lit alley where life was nothing more than a murmur.

“Well? What did you remember?” asked Kwak Jekang.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Just… being there with someone.”

“Do you remember who it was?”

He shook his head, and the researcher leaned against the wall and sighed wearily.

In that alley, he finally found peace. He wiped away the black liquid that had run down his face. Just moments ago, he had felt so desperate, as if he couldn’t stop chasing that memory. But there was nothing. There was no face, no voice, only the memory he had forced himself to bury: that, once upon a time, he had had someone.

He had only thought he saw a silhouette in front of him, illuminated by the candlelight, but the figure blended in with that of Kwak Jekang.

There was something strange about the researcher. Why did he agree to leave? He had stopped the experiment at a moment when it might have yielded a result. Kwak Jekang wouldn’t listen to anyone; he didn’t care about pleas, bribes, or threats, he just laughed it all off. Sometimes, he even seemed to enjoy seeing you in despair, even if it meant he ended up getting hurt.

But today, he gave in to his plea and took him out of there.

He pressed the handkerchief a little tighter against his cheek, right where the researcher had placed it. He hadn’t seen an excited face, but a worried one. Perhaps it was nothing more than the presence of civilians that forced the researcher to stop himself. Although Kwak Jekang didn’t seem to care about anyone, he had to be careful not to overstep the boundaries enough to jeopardize his position.

That sorrowful expression the researcher was hiding must have been nothing more than disappointment with the experiment.

“I want to go back,” he said. He folded the handkerchief and held it out to Kwak Jekang. “I don’t know if you still want it.”

Kwak Jekang put on disposable gloves, placed the handkerchief in a small plastic bag, and then sealed it shut.

Jay blinked. Sometimes he felt it was his duty to despise him, but something held him back. It might have been nothing more than the numbness of his emotions or simply growing accustomed to him.

“What? Don’t look at me like that.”

Kwak Jekang raised a gloved finger to his lips and licked it.

“Hmm… even though it’s black, it tastes like blood,” said the researcher. “But it tastes different from normal blood, it’s stronger and more delicious. I’d like to have a little more…”

“You’re a weirdo…”

Kwak Jekang smiled at him as if he considered it a compliment. To tell the truth, Jay had always liked that expression, and yet he hated it at the same time. In his memories, someone had smiled at him in exactly that same way.

“As for going back, there’s still one place we need to go.”

They walked in silence through the quieter streets. Jay always stayed a step behind Kwak Jekang, even though Kwak Jekang kept insisting that they walk side by side.

First it had been the suit, then the restaurant, what was missing?

Kwak Jekang stepped onto a path in the park.

The researcher seemed distant, his open overcoat fluttering behind him. Jay saw him turn around.

“This is the last place.”

Jay hadn’t realized that he had stopped following him.

Jay felt a little dizzy. The world was silent, and all he could hear was a constant beeping coming from inside his skull. It was nothing more than a park. A park near the restaurant. A park near the company. A park for those who refused to waste their time going any further.

The figure standing before him looked familiar, under the streetlights, on that path, with the trees behind him, but when he looked more closely, he saw no one but Kwak Jekang.

He never saw anyone else.

“I’m going back,” he said, and turned around.

“Wait,” Kwak Jekang replied. Just as before, he hurried to stop him. He stepped out of the park’s interplay of light and shadow and stood in front of him. “Why are you being so stubborn today? I thought you wanted to remember.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this place,” Jay confessed.

“That’s great!” Kwak Jekang replied enthusiastically. “Tell me why.”

“I don’t know. Why here?”

“Why did you bring me to such a boring place?”

The phrase came to his mind with a certain degree of pain. No; it wasn’t boring. Why would anyone say that? Had anyone ever said those words? He thought he heard a laugh, but the only person in front of him was silent. He couldn’t say them, because he didn’t feel them.

“Why here, why there, why, why, why,” said Kwak Jekang, annoyed. “I don’t want to influence your memory, so stop asking questions. Later you’ll complain that I put ideas in your head. Let’s walk a bit,” he said, and stood beside him. For a moment, Jay thought Kwak Jekang would take his arm, but he merely rested his hand on his back for an instant to signal him to move forward. “Just head wherever you’d like to go within the park’s boundaries.”

Beneath the tree canopies swaying in the gentle night breeze, he began to walk along the path ahead of him. On either side, the benches scattered along the path were empty; there was nothing on them but fallen leaves.

Walking beside him, Kwak Jekang said not a word.

The path forked, and he stopped. On one side, the trail ran along the edge of a lake to a gazebo that jutted out into it; on the other, the trail continued under the trees to what looked like a path lined with flowers and vines that wound their way through countless arches.

The only way he perceived beauty was as something that made no sense to contemplate, something superficial that belonged to a world different from the one he knew. And there, what repelled him most was that gazebo rising above the lake in the moonlight. It was a beautiful place, a place he could find no use for whatsoever.

And from that angle, at that fork in the path, he felt as though he had observed it countless times before, as if he had analyzed that scene obsessively.

He walked along the path that ran along the lake, toward the gazebo.

Above him, heavy rain fell. The ground darkened beneath his feet, and the Team B Leader’s suit jacket grew heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t noticed the scent of the rain or the raindrops that heralded its arrival. Kwak Jekang walked past him, his footsteps splashing through the puddles that had formed in an instant.

He saw the researcher turn around.

The gazebo was barely visible; the moon had disappeared, and the tranquil reflection on the lake was distorted. What he saw now was nothing more than a shadow of what it had once been. The beauty had perished, the perfection had been ruined, but none of that mattered.

Kwak Jekang took him by the arm and pulled him toward the gazebo.

“Ah, I’m not used to running,” said Kwak Jekang, panting, as he leaned against a rain-spattered railing.

Beyond the boundaries of the gazebo, there was a veil of rain. The landscape was hazy and dark, with a blue-green hue that was barely penetrated by the warm light of the streetlamps. The moon was no longer visible. Now, he and Kwak Jekang were in the gloom. The world had shrunk to nothing but that small, desolate space.

He had an inexplicable feeling.

It wasn’t bad.

The world had ceased to exist.

He took a few steps across the stone floor. Ever since he’d seen that place, he’d had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the first time he’d been there. But that was all there was to it. There was no reason, no words, no memory other than that unsettling feeling.

“This isn’t a place to be alone,” he said.

“Have you remembered anything?”

He shook his head.

“I just feel like I’ve been here with someone, that’s all. But I don’t know why I’d come here on my own. You brought me here because you know I’ve been here before, and for you to know that, someone must have told you.”

Kwak Jekang remained silent.

“Don’t tell me who did it; I’m fine not knowing.”

“What? Don’t say that.”

“Those memories don’t matter. I was declared dead; there’s no point in remembering someone who’s no longer waiting for me. I’d rather recover other parts of my past.”

“You don’t know if he’s waiting for you.”

“And what about you? You said ‘he.’”

“I can’t answer that.”

“If anyone’s still waiting for me, then they’re an idiot.”

“You know what? You’re a pain,” said Kwak Jekang. “How can you remember if you’re so reluctant to do so? This requires some willpower on your part. If you want to go back to the way you were before, you can’t avoid the memories that will cause you pain; those memories are also part of Team B Leader. He wouldn’t say such nonsense. He wouldn’t be a coward.”

He watched Kwak Jekang in silence for a few moments.

“It sounds like something more than just a professional relationship,” he said, and Kwak Jekang startled. “Could it be… that we were close? You’re the only one who talks to me about those days.”

For a few seconds, Kwak Jekang didn't answer.

“There’s something we promised,” Kwak Jekang finally said, without looking at him.

That expression unsettled him. His usual smile had vanished, and, despite his attempt to hide it, there was a sense of restrained desperation.

A promise, then…

“What was it?” he pressed.

“What? Do you want everything to be easy or what?” asked Kwak Jekang, trying to compose himself. He took off his glasses and began wiping them with his coat. “I don’t know why you ask me these things if you never trust anything I tell you.”

He didn’t think Kwak Jekang was lying to him.

He tried hard to remember. He walked around the gazebo, observing both the landscape beyond it and its interior from different angles. This was no place to be alone, that was what his instinct told him.

He paused for a moment and gazed at the image of Kwak Jekang.

Behind the researcher lay the rain and fog, the moonless sky, the city glimpsed through the trees, and the disturbed lake. His figure stood in the gloom, outlined against the landscape.

There, where Kwak Jekang was standing, he had once seen someone.

He turned to the researcher, who looked at him with a puzzled expression but said nothing. Of course he wasn’t going to intervene, at least, not explicitly.

“Jekang…” Jay murmured the researcher’s name.

Jay pushed a certain thought out of his mind.

He took off his suit jacket and draped it over Kwak Jekang’s shoulders. The researcher shuddered at the sudden touch.

“You’re shaking.”

Kwak Jekang simply held onto the jacket to keep it from falling to the ground.

“I was here with someone,” Jay said. “That’s all I can remember.”

Kwak Jekang sighed.

“That’s a step forward. Maybe if we go back again…”

“No,” he interrupted. “I want to go back alone.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Kwak Jekang. “Yes, that sounds good.”

He had to go back alone, because there and everywhere they'd been he saw no one but Kwak Jekang.

“Hmm… Jay?”

“What?”

“Walk me home.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s not like you have anything better to do until dawn,” said Kwak Jekang, and he made him hold his suitcase while he searched for something. From it, he pulled out a folding umbrella. “Besides, it’s part of your duty to make sure the researcher you’re accompanying returns safely.”

Kwak Jekang walked toward the entrance to the gazebo and opened his black umbrella.

“Come on, don’t just stand there,” he said, waiting for him under the umbrella. When he reached his side, he continued, “You carry it,” and handed it to him.

They walked out of the park, leaving that unfinished memory behind.

Kwak Jekang—someone who never stopped talking—walked silently beside him, just as he had done the rest of the night. His silence might have been a sign that asking him to accompany him was part of his experiment: a long walk during which, lost in his thoughts, some memory might resurface.

Kwak Jekang had told him to try to remember and feel, but he couldn’t help but rely on logic. He had come to the conclusion that he had once visited those places with someone, places that Kwak Jekang himself had chosen. There might have been a purpose beyond simply recalling scattered, unrelated memories. First, it was a restaurant near the office, then a visit to the park, then the return home. It was like reenacting a story sequence.

A story he couldn’t remember.

He stopped in front of Kwak Jekang’s building; he’d barely realized his steps had led him there.

Kwak Jekang handed him back his suit jacket, stepped out from under the umbrella, and then headed toward the building’s entrance.

“You're free of me now,” Kwak Jekang said. “But you’ll have to see me first thing tomorrow morning. Take the umbrella.”

Jay didn’t answer.

“See you tomorrow, Jay,” Kwak Jekang said with that same smile. His heart, which nothing had disturbed for so long, trembled.

Jay saw him disappear into the building.

When had Kwak Jekang told him where he lived?

He made his way back slowly. As they left the park, he hadn’t followed Kwak Jekang. Instead, Kwak Jekang had followed him, remaining beneath the umbrella. He couldn’t help thinking about the question Kwak Jekang hadn't answered—whether he had been close to Team B Leader—the clothes belonging to Team B Leader that Kwak Jekang had had access to, his knowledge of the places the Team B Leader had been, and that mysterious promise…

Sometimes, Kwak Jekang’s actions made no sense. Or, now that he thought about it, he had never bothered to look for a reason behind them; he simply accepted them. One day the researcher bothered him; the next day, he tried to help him.

But now that he was questioning his actions, did Kwak Jekang really bother him?

He remembered two occasions when he had believed that the researcher had done nothing more than bother him on a whim: when Jay went to the annex to investigate on Kim Soleum’s behalf and left Kwak Jekang unconscious and tied up, and when Kwak Jekang told him he couldn’t accompany Kim Soleum to the annex because Jay wouldn’t be any help.

Wasn’t there a possibility that he had misinterpreted the researcher’s actions? Could that have been a discreet way of protecting him?

Besides, whenever Kwak Jekang talked about Team B Leader…

He stopped himself when he realized it.

Kwak Jekang always talked about him as if he cared deeply for him.

Once again, a sense of emptiness came over Jay.

Kwak Jekang

Jekang…

██ was the perfect man. Tall, broad-shouldered, intelligent, athletic, charismatic, impeccably dressed, with a velvety voice that never wavered, and—whether in a suit or covered in blood—an air of solemnity surrounded him. The aforementioned list, summarized so crudely, could go on and on for hours and still never fully define him.

And there he was, that perfect man standing before him, his suit disheveled, his wet bangs pushed back without any care, his cheeks flushed as he held his hand delicately as if, between the two of them, Kwak Jekang were the one who deserved devotion.

In that desolate gazebo in the park, beneath the veil of rain, no one could judge them.

██ brought his hand to his lips and pressed them against the ring he had placed moments ago, without taking his eyes off him. Those soft, gentle lips remained there for countless heartbeats, and then he caressed his face against the hand in a tender gesture that, deep down, seemed desperate.

██’s lips moved away, lingering against his skin as if he didn’t want to leave.

“I—”

Jekang…

A voice called out to him. The patter of rain against the lake and the roof of the gazebo had turned into a hum.  No one was holding his hand anymore. He pulled his mask aside and saw it there, next to his face, under a cold light that barely managed to illuminate it. The ring that man had kissed was no longer there; he had put it away years ago. And the other half of that ring had long since been lost in a darkness related to a fairy tale.

Something had awakened him.

That voice…

That way of addressing him…

There had only ever been one person who visited him at those late hours of the night in his team’s deserted office.

He turned toward the spot where he thought he'd heard that voice, and there, at the desk next to his, he found Jay sitting. Of course it was Jay.

A melancholy smile formed on his face.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

He picked up his glasses from the desk and held them for a moment. Without them, Jay was like a blurry memory.

“You told me I could come here if I wanted to,” Jay replied.

After speaking, Jay remained silent. Kwak Jekang wanted to find out the reasons for his visit. It was true that he himself had invited Jay, but he had done so for years, and Jay had never once appeared. There were times when he thought he heard Jay in the corridors, but he didn’t bother to leave the room to check; Jay would disappear the moment he heard him get up from his chair.

If he asked Jay why he did that, Jay would most likely stop for a while, and besides, he already had an idea of what the answer would be.  It was behavior that Jay might not have noticed, he was simply repeating the routine of visiting him at night, just as Team B Leader had done before, without knowing why. Sometimes, Jay exhibited other behaviors that were the spitting image of ██, like that night at the gazebo, when he gave him his suit jacket to keep him warm, or like when he easily saw through his tricks.

“You took the clock,” Jay said, pointing, with nothing but his gaze, at the wall clock in the corner of his desk. “It’s working,” he acknowledged.

“Since I was going to the security room so often anyway, I took the opportunity to take it with me and fix it. It’s been broken for years.” Maybe even since Jay worked there. “Some members of the Security Team don’t use phones, so it might be helpful to have a better sense of time than just the announcements. Although this clock was broken because someone couldn’t stand it,” he smiled. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow, or would you rather take it now?”

“No. Tomorrow.”

Jay fell silent again. It was hard to believe that he had come just to ask about the clock. After learning its whereabouts, Jay made no move to leave.

“You should go home; it’s late,” Jay said.

“Ah, Jay, are you worried about my well-being?” he said, hiding his smile behind his hand. The gesture was feigned, but there was some truth behind it. Countless times, ██ had come all the way there just to tell him those same words.

He stood up from his chair, took his coat from the back of the chair, and picked up the briefcase next to the desk. The clock could stay there until tomorrow; no one would touch it if they knew what was good for them. Jay didn’t move. Instead of leaving, he waited a few moments for Jay.

“Can I walk you home?” Jay said at last. “There is something I would like to tell you.”

The experiment had yielded favorable results. Although memories related to certain topics remained repressed, there was a shift in Jay’s attitudes that indicated to him that some of them had surfaced, not as recognizable memories, but as something that permeated his identity with a different nuance, yet one similar to his previous state. When Jay stopped in front of him at the gazebo, he had managed to recreate that moment that had taken place exactly thirty years ago. Or, at least, recreate the initial conditions, since the subsequent actions differed. Ah, he had felt so desperate, believing that Jay would remember right then and there.

And now, he was feeling desperate again.

Ever since Jay asked him if he could walk him home, his heart hadn’t stopped tormenting him. It was not only racing; it felt as though a stake had been driven through his chest, and that damned organ was being torn apart with every contraction. He presented with sweaty palms, a sharp pressure in his head, and weak legs, carrying a body on the verge of collapse. All because of a few simple words: “Can I walk you home?” Those words had been part of his routine, and now they unsettled him as if he were witnessing an anomaly. Jay, on the other hand, did nothing but walk beside him in complete silence, with the same apathy and blank expression he displayed while carrying out any other task, looking at the ground as if he had forgotten he was there.

What was it? What could it be that required such silence, such contemplation? He didn’t want to interfere with his process—he had already said too much in the gazebo—but the wait was killing him. He had waited years, even decades, for this moment.

Ah, he truly felt so desperate!

Jay turned into an alley, and without hesitation, he followed him. His heart—which he thought couldn’t possibly hurt any more—gave him an agonizing stab. He was at an age when heart attacks and high blood pressure were risks to consider. Jay was going to kill him with his silences, with his words, with that indecipherable gaze…

“What are we doing here?” he asked. In an alley? With Jay? He hid his hands inside his overcoat so Jay would not see how they trembled.

He saw Jay open the bag he was carrying. Perhaps it would be nothing more than an attempted murder; it sounded more reassuring than anything else he could imagine. From there, Jay took out a bag with a drawing of a smiling donut on it and handed it to him. Out of inertia, he accepted it without question.

“A gift for you,” Jay said, and pulled his cap down to hide his face.

A gift… for him?

In that freezing weather, his cheeks suddenly burned. His trembling hands opened the bag. Inside, there was a long white fang, its thick base still holding part of the root, gleaming with a smooth, flawless surface. He recognized that fascinating shape: it was a fang belonging to the jaws of the beast Jay transformed into. He pressed his finger against the tip hard enough for it to hurt him.

He moaned.

How beautiful it was.

Ah… How beautiful it was!

He hid it back in the bag and clutched it to his chest with restrained madness. Ah, it wouldn’t break if he loved it, but it was better not to risk a treasure like that.

“I lost it the other day while devouring a darkness that was harder than it seemed,” Jay said in that same neutral tone as always, and licked one of his upper fangs. Kwak Jekang himself wanted to lick those fangs… in all his forms… truly… in all his forms… “It has already grown back.”

“Can I explore the inside of your mouth?” he asked. “I don’t mind whether it’s your human form or your beast form.”

“No.”

“Oh, Jay,” he gasped. “Why? Why are you giving me something so fascinating? Besides, it’s mine, you gave it to me outside the office, so I can take it home… What’s behind this sudden gesture?”

His smile faded; that magnificent fang had distracted him. A gift? At this time of year?

“Jay?” he gasped.

Jay didn’t look at him.

“I felt I had to give you something,” Jay said at last, and after another long silence, he continued, “You’re only interested in darkness, so this is the best I could come up with in just a few days.”

Nostalgia washed over him, and a faint smile played on his lips. He had heard those very same words decades ago. ██ had always given him clothes and perfumes, but they had been nothing more than insignificant, selfish gifts that ██ himself wanted him to wear whenever he was with ██. Whenever ██ wanted to give him a special gift, he would give him an item he had found in some darkness or through negotiations he never spoke of.

“But… Why? Why all of a sudden?”

“I’ve been going back to the park these past few days.”

“Have you remembered anything?” he asked, almost desperately.

“Almost nothing,” Jay replied. Although his expression hardly changed, he had learned to read the subtleties in it, and there was a hint of sadness there. “But I’ve remembered enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Jay sighed.

“That I’ve remembered enough to get a sense of what kind of relationship you had with the leader of Team B.”

He gave in to despair. With trembling legs, he walked over to Jay and clung to his uniform.

Please.

Please…

Remember me at last.

Remember what you promised.

“I can’t keep that promise,” Jay said. Even though they were so close, he had stopped looking at him. “It’s… as if someone else had made it.”

He laughed.

Of course.

Of course that would be the answer.

He fell to his knees in front of him and embraced what he thought was an anniversary gift.

██ wasn’t dead. He was there, right in front of him, approaching on all fours, with black fur covered in yellow eyes and two jaws dripping saliva and tar. It was fine. He would help him recover. He just had to wait a year for him. He just had to wait two years. He just had to wait three.

██ wasn’t dead. He was there, right in front of him, behind a pane of glass, his mouth stained with the researcher’s blood. It was fine. At least, ██ looked more human now. He just had to wait four years for him. He just had to wait five years. He just had to wait six.

██ wasn’t dead. He was there, indifferent. He didn’t remember him anymore.

It was fine.

He just had to wait for him.

He would keep the promise they both made to always be together.

…

██ had been dead for years. In front of him, there was someone else.

Perhaps that promise no longer had any meaning.

Perhaps.