Chapter 2: Birthright
Light Up Your Eyes
Today wasn’t like every day. There were no dark-rimmed china cups of coffee, there was no overflowing ash in the cheap imitation crystal tray, there were no yellowed pages being thumbed through relentlessly. But Taemin had requested for an inconsistency like this, and Choi eomoni had happily agreed.
Minho walked with one hand holding his cane and the other holding his tutor’s arm for guidance. The dull end of his cane tap-tap-tapped on the light sandstone path snaking out from their patio, and its owner heeded every hollow sound as a forewarning. Every step was measured; every move was cautious. He mentioned how he’d visited their back garden plenty of times before, but never like this— never without hiding from his parent’s watchful eyes. It was a new kind of freedom for him, and he couldn’t help tensely giggling with delight.
“Thank you, Taemin ssi,” he said gratefully and squeezed the other’s arm with earnestness. The man smiled in return, even when the other couldn’t see it, because just acknowledgement was sufficient. These little freedoms were something Minho intrinsically deserved and it was Taemin’s duty to guide him through the experience.
At least, that’s what he believed.
“Come, walk here with me,” he said, directing them away from the paved stones.
“W-wait, we’re going into the grass,” Minho resisted and pulled back a little. His cane stayed pointing on the path he knew, the one he remembered from all his previous escapades. He clearly didn’t want to wander into unfamiliar terrain.
“Yes…” Taemin slowly said.
“I’ve never been on the grass before… there might be bugs in it.”
The tutor laughed at his student’s childish fear. “Don’t worry, Minho ssi. No bugs will harm you today. I’m right here, I’ll shoo them away, OK? Come, walk with me.” The boy hesitantly followed, nervously holding himself closer to his teacher, dragging his feet over the green cover. Taemin kept their pace slow, making sure the other got used to the newness before they progressed too far. “There. You’re doing fine," he appreciated. "No need to worry. Feels just like anything else, doesn’t it?”
“N-no…” Minho lowly mumbled, biting his lip unsurely. Taemin looked at him in surprise. “May I… I wonder if it’s alright for me to… to take off my shoes, sonsaengnim?” he voiced his qualms. “I just… it feels different.”
“Sure, go ahead,” the other encouraged.
The boy did as he’d intended, slipping his feet out of the leather shoes with the other’s support and carefully, sensitively allowing his bare skin onto the grass. He wiggled his toes and sighed, waiting a moment before doing the same with his second foot.
The tutor waited in silence, studying his charge’s face with interest. There was peace in it, and a kind of serenity he’d only ever witnessed when he was with Minho. It was an all-knowing kind of expression, at first, and then turned into something more— something brighter.
It bloomed into a blissful smile.
“I feel rebellious,” the boy grinned behind his dark glasses. They covered most of his little face up but the delight he felt was clear from his voice. “This is… this is like straying from everything I’ve ever known…”
“And? What else does it feel like?” Taemin pressed on with interest.
“Soft, more natural than the stone. Warm… like it’s breathing. Is the Earth breathing under us, sonsaengnim?”
“Hmm, maybe.”
“It must be… it feels so alive. And I feel like I must touch it all the time, as a rule. Like I belong on it, and it owns me. I feel like I was made from this Earth and I owe it my life.”
“You do belong on it, Minho ssi,” Taemin softly replied, feeling somber from the boy's profound words. “We all do. No one is exempt from the pleasure of living. Feeling otherwise is silly. Isn’t it?”
Minho nodded as if he heard a deeper meaning in the man’s words. And perhaps he did. He always listened to everything like it was a message, leaning a little forward and furrowing his brow in concentration. All the words, all the pauses between them meant something to him. His head bent low for a minute, processing the new lesson. And then—
“What are you carrying in your other hand, Taemin ssi? I sensed it in your walk. You have something, don’t you?” he smiled coyly.
The tutor wouldn’t have expected any less. Losing one sense made all the others stronger, more powerful and perceptive. But very few used it to their advantage; very few of his previous students had really ever paid heed to the sounds around them or the sensations at their fingertips. Minho on the other hand, not only took notice of them but also treated them as information. It was extremely clever.
He slowly stepped away from the boy. “I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Minho asked, flinching involuntarily because of his missing support from the tutor. “Like the ones my kumo gives me?”
“Is it? Tell me about them,” the man suggested as he pulled a blanket out from the wicker basket in his hand and spread it out on the ground, straightening the creases.
“She visits every year on my birthday and brings me wooden pears from her home,” Minho gave the account, shifting his weight on his legs. “They’re confusing, because they open down their middle and give me another pear!” he exclaimed. Taemin remembered noticing a large collection of Russian dolls crowded on a shelf in their usual room. “She is very kind, and her hands are kind, too. Just like yours, sonsaengnim.”
The man raised an eyebrow at the compliment, pausing over it. He straightened up from the ground, then sighed. “Come, let’s sit,” he said, guiding the barefooted boy by his shoulder and tapping on it to tell him where to be seated. “You might not be able to save this gift too long. I hope you still like it.”
“If it’s from Taemin ssi, I will definitely like it,” Minho beamed, and again the other felt a tiny prickle of discomfort at the words.
“Yes, well…” he started, and then plopped himself down on the blanket, too. Re-opening the basket, he dug out a plastic packaging box and opened it, laying it onto the cloth between them. “Hold your hand out,” he instructed.
The student presented his palm for his gift.
“What is it?” he asked, frowning. “It… it’s cold and… and soft,” he squished it between thin fingers. “And it’s… it has bumps on it. And it feels odd, like… like it’s… it’s a small cone—” the boy suddenly gasped, his features clearing with realization. “It’s a strawberry!!” he laughed.
Taemin chuckled. “Yes. I thought you might understand them better, so I brought you some. Try them!”
Minho bit into the fruit and chewed happily. “Dey’re sho shweet!” he garbled between munches and they both laughed. He felt around with his hand for more and picked up three at a time before popping all of them in together.
“Y-yah,” Taemin started happily. “Don’t eat so fast!”
Minho hummed. “But dey tashte sho good!!” They giggled like that till the sun started to go down behind them, glinting off their knuckles and warming up their backs. Their usual three hours passed by in unusual banter. There had been no studying today, no proper lesson to read and understand. But Minho looked so overjoyed that Taemin didn’t even mind.
At the front door, leaving, the tall boy pulled his hand and placed it over his own chest.
The tutor was confused at first, but a few seconds later, he felt Minho’s heartbeat— pulsing heavily, almost like it were dancing. The boy beamed childishly again, looking carefree for once, free from constantly worrying about his security or his handicap. Taemin heard contentment ring in his ears at every strong beat in the other’s chest, like this was something he’d achieved.
“I can hear it, Taemin ssi!” the boy said loudly. “And it’s not even breaking!”
On this one day which was nothing like every day, Taemin heard it, too. And it sounded brave.
“You’re not drinking…” Kibum stared at him with wide eyes, holding his own bottle of mekju close to his lips. His words went in through the narrow glass neck of the bottle, giving them a strange ringing resonance. Taemin cringed and pushed the other away from himself.
They were busy in the kitchen past dinner time and the TV was on again, playing something old. Maybe from their parents’ time as young college kids, the tutor guessed. He didn’t give it much thought, all his attention was on the treat he was preparing for himself.
“What happened? Did the boy switch off, or somethi—”
“I really hate your voice, Kibum. Why don’t you shut your face for once, eh?” Taemin ground out holding a paper tub of ice-cream steady with one hand and scooping some out into his overflowing bowl with the other.
“You’re not drinking, though…”
“I don’t remember any rules about not wanting to drink? Did you make one up while I was out? Sorry to disappoint. Now get out of my face, you stink of yeast.”
The other scoffed, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter and folding his free arm in a demanding posture. It looked stupid, though. It held no threat. Taemin simply walked around the space, paying the other no heed. “Bastard,” Kibum breathed. “You’re not drinking ‘cause something’s got you happy. Isn’t it?”
“I don’t remember any rules about explaining my life to you, either,” the man replied, slamming the fridge door shut. He cut open a new box of strawberries and began slicing them, arranging them over his dessert. “And yes, I am happy,” he added with a smile.
“How many of those did you buy, man?” Kibum chortled, shaking his head and picking one up. “They look good. Better than the crap at the super.” He ate the one in his hand and began to pick another up before his fingers got slapped away.
“Not for you,” Taemin simply stated.
“Yah! If it hadn’t been for me dating Eonsook, you wouldn’t even know about these!”
“Thank her for me, will you? And don’t be an to her, if you can help it. She might just like you back.”
“What?? Did she say something?! Did she ask about me?!” Kibum frantically pulled at Taemin’s sleeve. “Y-yah... you didn’t tell her anything weird, did you?”
“Like I said: She might just like you. So don’t mess this one up like the rest,” the tutor brushed the other off, easily escaping the subject of his own good mood with the false tidbit. Drunk people were easy to make a fool of, he decided.
Kibum stood in the kitchen with a dreamy look on his face, as his room-mate enjoyed his dessert in peace.
“I see you have a favorite fruit, Minho ssi,” Taemin noted in a happy tone. The honey-flavored biscuits had gone missing and strawberries had taken their place. At the time he had thought buying the fruits in wholesale from Eonsook’s contact was a big mistake. But seeing Minho grin broadly at the sound of his voice made everything worth his while.
“I should thank you, Taemin ssi,” the boy gushed. “You are too nice to me.”
“So will I get my reward?” the man asked, taking his seat and opening his bag. He took out a few reams of paper and slid them across the table at his student.
Minho’s smile faltered. “R-reward?”
“Hmm. Read that, in front of you.”
Thin fingers shakily rested onto creamy paper. Feeling for the right place to start, they slid towards the right, slowly at first, then gathering pace as they went lower and lower, eventually flipping the page aside to feel the next one. When they ran out of bumps to feel, Minho pulled them as far away on the table as they could get from the letter, and bent his head low.
“I—I’m not sure I can do it.”
Taemin grabbed his student’s hand up and squeezed reassuringly. “Yes, you can. Take the exam, Minho ssi. We both know you’re ready. You’ve been working so hard!”
The tall boy shook his head, pulling his hand away. “I don’t… I don’t know… It sounds so difficult… What if I fail? What if they mark me low and I find out I’m stupid…??”
“You’re not stupid!” the other angrily proclaimed, slapping his palm down on the table with force. Minho jerked up in his seat, looking shocked. Taemin breathed in deeply to calm himself. “You’re… You’re my best student, Minho ssi. I’ve never seen so much promise in anyone before. You’re really gifted. And I don’t say that to every other ki—”
“Please…” Minho whispered, cutting the other off. “Please don’t be lying,” his voice wobbled and his hand covered his mouth.
“And why would I do that?”
“Because you’re too kind,” the boy sobbed, shaking his head. “Please, sonsaengnim… don’t lie to me about this.” His knuckles tightened to shaky whiteness as his cheeks were washed with twin lines of tears, flowing out from under his black eyewear.
Taemin sighed tiredly, getting out of his seat and walking around the table. He gently took the boy’s head in his hold and hugged it to his midriff. “I’d never lie to you,” he murmured, through brown silk, again. “I’ll never lie. You really are intelligent. Take pride in it, Minho ssi. You’re one in thousands.”
Minho sobbed harder, clutching at the tutor’s shirt and crumpling it. His glasses pressed into Taemin’s stomach and moistness seeped into the fabric, but he smiled, looking down at his student’s head. “I’ve already filled your form, Minho ssi. I have faith in you, so have some in yourself, too, OK?” he gently took the boy’s face and turned up towards himself, the plumpness of his soft cheeks. “Take the exam. For yourself.”
Minho took Taemin’s wrist in a strong grasp, full of trust he couldn't show with his covered eyes, and nodded once.
The look on Kibum’s face was meaningful. “You have a visitor,” he said in the dour, stern tone he used when he was annoyed with someone.
The other strolled into the house leisurely. Eonsook was probably over, which warranted his room-mate's displeasure. He liked to keep the house to just the two of them, for obvious reasons. Taemin took off his coat and threw it away someplace, receiving angry tutting sounds from Kibum, who had to pick it up and hang it in its right place before walking away to his room.
He was obviously out to impress this girl, Taemin distractedly thought as he noticed the official-looking man on their sofa.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” he greeted, frowning a little with anticipation.
“Ah, Lee Taemin ssi, I assume? Pangapsumnida,” the man stood up and bowed politely. “I’m Kim Jonghyun from the National Council for the Visually Impaired. Here’s my card—” he offered in a formal gesture, holding his elbow with the other hand. “I hope this isn’t a bad time?”
Taemin peeked at the square of paper in his hand and shrugged. “It’s OK. We were just about to eat. What’s up?”
Jonghyun blinked, unused to informal language. “Ah, umm, this is just a routine visit,” he replied.
“Sit, won’t you?” the other indicated their couch and they both sat down. “Want something to drink?”
“N-no, thank you. Umm… So I take it you’re teaching visually impaired children in the city, Taemin ssi?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
The official took on an alarmed expression at his host's confrontational attitude. He waved his hand in front of his face, blushing. “Oh, no, just confirming, since you aren’t registered with our organization, yet. I have—” he turned in his seat and plucked a few pages out of his bag. “—an application with me, if you'd be so kind as to—”
“Not interested,” Taemin folded his arms and leant back into his seat.
“Oh. Umm... Well, actually,” the man started, politely. “In order for you to continue your work, it is required you register with us. Otherwise, your employment isn’t officially recognized by the government.”
“So you’re here to threaten me?” the tutor raised an eyebrow, his tone cold and unyielding. “Is that what this is about?”
Jonghyun took on a desperate front. “Please don’t be offended, Taemin ssi. I’m simply here to welcome you to our organization. We’ve heard of your reputation and we thought you’d be a great asset to the visually impaired community of Seoul. I gather you tutor privately, but once you register with us you can hold a regular-sized class at our facilities.”
“I—I can’t,” the man wet his lips nervously and looked away.
“W-why not?” the other asked, smiling confused.
“I’m not qualified.”
The silence in the room seeped into Taemin’s skin, crawling into his body and settling there, making a home for itself. The shame grabbed him by the shoulders, clutched into his skin so hard that he thought he it would puncture holes through him and he'd die from the pressure.
“You’re… you’re joking…”
The tutor slowly shook his head, bowing it low. “I don’t have a diploma or anything, so… so I can’t register with you guys.”
Jonghyun fell back into his chair, mouth slightly open in amazement. “So… so how do you know Braille?”
Taemin closed his eyes and sighed, tiredly rubbing over his face. “I had a blind neighbor when I was a kid. I used to steal lemons from her garden. She caught me once and had me learn. I took a liking to it ever since.” The official looked at him incredulously, but he went on. “I… When I crawled out of high school I had nowhere to go. My grades were , and I at everything else. There was no job waiting for me out here. I had nothing.”
“A-and so...” Jonghyun stuttered.
“So—” Taemin cut in, gritting his teeth and staring at the powered-off television screen. “So I started taking classes for blind children. I put an advertisement out in the papers, and… this is what I’ve been doing ever since.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I was lucky, ‘cause these parents are desperate. They don’t care about credentials. They just want what’s best for their kids.”
The official ran his fingers thorough his neat hair. “Unbelievable. You’re a rogue…”
“Yah, your so-called organization hasn’t helped at all, alright? So don’t you dare judge me,” the tutor glared.
Jonghyun took a deep breath, motioning the other to stop talking. “Your file says you are twenty two. I’m hoping that’s a lie, too…”
“No, that’s true.”
“Five years?!” the man burst out. “For five whole years you’ve been doling out fake education?! Do you have any idea of the mistake you’ve made?! You could go to jail for this!!”
“Fake education?!” Taemin bristled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I know what I’m teaching them, alright? My kids take your Proficiency Tests and they pass. There’s nothing fake about my work! How dare you even accuse me of that?!”
"And your current student is a male of eighteen years who has had the impairment from birth? Why hasn't his family opted for an operation?"
"How am I supposed to know that?! Go ask the Chois, you idiot!" he yelled, livid. The man looked terribly offended at that, and Taemin breathed a little to cool himself. "Look, all I know is he's blind, but he wants to learn. He has real potential. Despite showing symptoms of autism spectrum disabilities, he's got the self-confidence most disabled people lack. I just want to see him succeed, that's it. This isn't about money for me."
“OK…” Jonghyun gulped, holding his hands out as if he were about to faint. “OK… OK… Assuming your claims to be true—”
“Don’t call me a liar, you son of a—”
“And for your sake I hope they are,” the man glared this time, talking over Taemin. “Then we can let you give a qualification exam, and you may continue working as per your schedule with your clients. But until then, I’m afraid your activities will remain suspended. We will inform your current clients… the Chois? Yes. We’ll speak with them and arrange another tutor for the boy. You may resume your work with their ward after your are deigned qualified by the Council. With the family's permission, of course.”
Taemin's eyes widened at that, fear tightening his throat. “No… no, please… you can’t do that," he begged. "Don’t tell them about it…!” He got up and clutched at the other’s collar, pulling him up violently. “That boy depends on me for everything. He looks up to me, don’t tell him I can’t teach him anymore! Don’t you dare hurt him like that!”
Jonghyun looked scared but pushed his assaulter away and straightened his shirt. He picked up his bag and turned to leave. The desperation bubbled in Taemin's stomach. He pulled and scratched at the departing man again and again, beseeching him to let the offence slide, but Jonghyun fought himself free every time, paying no mind to the other’s pleas. He calmly slipped his shoes on and opened the door.
“You should’ve thought about that before you promised him anything,” he said with clear disgust, before walking out.
Taemin fell limply to his knees, his eyes filling with murk, his mind filling with visions of Minho: horrified, angry, running to his room crying, throwing his books into the fire, cursing at the ceiling and breaking all his Russian dolls to splinters...
… heartbroken…
He closed his eyes and covered his mouth before he could scream.
Ah, Minbaby, you glutton. ^^;;
The drama is exploding~ I hope you guys are enjoying the read as much as I’m enjoying the telling.
I mean, I’m not sure about being liked with this story, much less winning with it. Because, well, I’m up against some masters, really. (Please do check out the other entries, they're brilliant!) But seeing how many people are reading this is the best. I’m being noticed, and that is more than an honor for a mediocre writer like me.
So, silent readers, I appreciate your participation the most.
… I would like a few comments once in a while, though
^_______^
~IQ
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