The moment Kibum sees the footage of the investigation conducted by a certain media platform on a dingy orphanage just outside of Gwangju, he knows that he’s going to drop everything and jump on the next plane to head right to that blasted hellhole. He tugs on Jinki’s arm to get his attention, pointing at the footage still playing on TV, and the hardening of Jinki’s jaw is enough of an indication that he, too, would pull the same stunt Kibum is about to pull.

So within the next few days, they proceed to take care of things; call in sick, book a flight, book a hotel, and spend evenings doing research. Jinki calls in a few favors, searching for a decent lawyer with the right price that they can consult with, while Kibum studies the paperwork necessary for the process.

The nights go by fast, and before long, the day before they’re supposed to fly out to Gwangju comes. At the end of it, Jinki comes forward to shake his husband’s shoulder, telling him how late it already is and coaxes him to go to sleep. Kibum drags his half-closed eyes away from his iPad and nods, fighting the residual restlessness in order to let himself rest.

None of them get a wink of sleep that night.

*

Gwangju is tall and grey, intimidating instead of inviting, and the further away they get from the center of the city, the dimmer it feels. Kibum sits quietly on the passenger seat of their rented car, while Jinki is drumming his fingers to the rhythm of the John Legend’s song playing from the radio. None of them say anything, but both of them understand. They understand the depth of the situation. They understand what they’re about to go through.

None too quickly, they arrive at the parking lot of the orphanage. It’s surprisingly quiet, unlike what Kibum predicted. He thought that, with the investigation going viral, people would be fighting tooth and nail to get here and get the children out of this place. It turns out, however, that they’re not part of some sudden movement comprising of couples who want to house the children ASAP.

Maybe they will come, eventually. Hopefully.

They meet up with the social worker they previously contacted in the hallway of the eerily quiet orphanage. Kibum reaches for Jinki’s arm as they go through the greetings and follows her lead towards the office.

“You came at the right time,” she informs them, her voice tight and painfully formal, like she’s trying to hold back her emotions. Kibum wonders what she’s fretting about. “After the investigation is released to the public, we have received attention and warning from the government. They want to ‘fix’ this as soon as possible, and the most effective way of preventing this orphanage from getting closed down is to quicken the adoption processes and promote widely.”

“How long does it usually take?” Jinki asks, voice raspy from not being used for so long. Kibum tightens his hold in his arm.

“Months,” she answers, a close-lipped, apologetic smile on her face as she opens the door for them. “Years. It depends. Bureaucracy is always complicated, but it’s a natural selection process, as well. Some of the potential parents are eager to start, but quickly lost their motivation to actually finish.” She gestures at them to take a seat in front of the wooden table, filled with piles of unorganized papers.

“We hired a lawyer. That should make things easier, right?” Kibum asks urgently, taking in the way the social worker—Cho Eunkyung, as it says on her nametag—finally pauses to take a proper look on Jinki and Kibum.

“Of course,” she assures, her smile a little looser. Her eyes trail over Kibum’s overall appearance, and Kibum has a feeling she’s perhaps calculating their wealth in her head. He isn’t sure whether his Gucci coat and Jinki’s Armani pants are helping or hurting the case more. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be calling for the Head. You may wait here.”

With that, she’s gone, and Kibum and Jinki are left alone in the room. The silence settles, but it gets heavier and heavier by the second, so Jinki clears his throat.

“Do you have any specific… criteria in mind?” he asks uncertainly. They’ve talked about this, of course, countless times. They’ve made their minds to adopt, soon, but haven’t had the chance to actually manifest the idea. They’ve also talked about the child they want to bring home—a boy or a girl, how many, how old—but they never actually made a decision.

“No,” Kibum answers, as he always does. “I’m fine with any. I’ll trust my gut feeling.”

“We still need to set a parameter,” Jinki chides, placing a hand on Kibum’s thigh. Kibum relaxes a little.

“I suppose, yeah,” Kibum worries on his bottom lip, thinking hard on how he wants his child to be. He comes up short, his brain focusing on nothing else but the memory of the children rocking back and forth, banging their heads against their cribs in an attempt to stop themselves from crying, because they know no one is going to come sooth them even if they do. “Just… maybe the young ones?”

“Zero to five?” Jinki confirms. Kibum nods. “Okay.”

Kibum closes his eyes and turns his head to press his forehead against Jinki’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay.”

*

Their first meeting is concluded within three hours. They were asked extensively on their reasons to adopt, their financial status, their ‘dream child’. Kibum dislikes the phrase extensively, mostly because it objectifies the children, instead of humanize them and make them sound special. He and Jinki are going through emotional turmoil, but both of them manage to keep a decently cheery façade, worried that they’ll come off as cold and unwelcoming otherwise.

So they head back to the hotel for the night before taking off to Seoul first thing in the morning.

Their days continue on, filled with b anticipation and growing restlessness. They begin the tedious work of completing the first round of paperwork.

*

The months after are filled with the grueling additional work. They’re attending orientation, getting medical check-ups, background check-ups, trainings, interviews, and more. They’re required to go to parenting classes, provide income statements that are infuriatingly detailed, write a million other statements, go through a home visit and countless more interviews, and finally collect references from their family, friends, co-workers, and bosses. It’s a long, expensive, and exhausting process, despite the reassurances that the process they’re going through is actually much faster and more efficient than normal.

Kibum is getting tired, but one look at Jinki’s wistful face as an ad for a family theme park runs on TV is enough to get him to stand back up.

Six months after their first visit, Jinki gets an e-mail. It’s from the agency, and to it, more than ten pictures and one video are attached. They’re pictures of their match: a skinny, sickly-looking boy called Lee Taemin. Kibum breaks down in tears as they watch the video. The boy, Taemin, is looking at the camera with a look of intense nervousness and fear. He introduces himself with such a small voice that Jinki has to plug in a headset and push the volume all the way up.

They watch the short video—barely two minutes—of Taemin’s timid greeting and intro over and over. Jinki can’t seem to stop replaying it, and Kibum can’t seem to stop watching, taking notes of a new detail each time they repeat the footage.

That evening, Kibum takes all of the pictures Jinki downloaded, printed them out, and put them on his bedside table. He stares at them each night before he goes to sleep, taking in his soon-to-be son’s wide eyes, button-like nose, pouty lips, rounded cheeks, and bruised forehead. Jinki doesn’t comment on this new habit, so Kibum doesn’t make a peep when he catches Jinki replaying the video of Taemin continuously, even as he’s knee-deep in his work.

*

Five weeks after they got the pictures—and more snips of information after—they’re called to fly back to Gwangju to meet their child. Kibum’s heart is leaping up to his throat as they step out of the airport and into the rented car. Jinki drives like a maniac, this time, but there’s a smile on his face that Kibum has never seen before. It’s a giddy, affectionate sort of smile, filled with nervousness and eagerness. It’s similar to the one he wears on their wedding day, but it’s slightly more reserved, more melancholic. More vulnerable.

As soon as they arrive at the dingy old building Kibum hates—mostly because he has a hard time accepting the fact that Taemin is living in a place like this—they rush inside, making it clear to the everyone they encountered that they’re impatient by gliding through the greetings and formalities quickly. Sensing their restlessness, the woman in charge of the orphanage finally cuts their conversation short and instructs them to follow her.

Kibum and Jinki are taken to another room, then. It’s significantly smaller and somewhat dingier than the office, with no one but a small, timid three year old boy sitting on one of the sofas, looking at them with alarm in his eyes. Kibum’s legs almost give out from under him as he takes a sight of Taemin, and it’s only due to Jinki’s quick, smooth reflex that he’s managed to stay upright.

“This is Lee Taemin,” the woman, Shin Yuhee, introduces, making her way to Taemin and taking a seat next to him. Taemin scoots away a little, then, though his eyes never leave Kibum and Jinki as they take their seats opposite him. “He’s three and a half, and small for his age. He’s healthy enough, as we mentioned previously, no trace of genetic abnormalities or inherited diseases. Taemin, say hi,” she adds to the boy, who lifts his right hand meekly, while he on the thumb of the left one.

“Hi,” he whispers, voice cracking just so. Kibum chokes on his breath, braving himself to take a step forward and kneels in front of Taemin. Taemin doesn’t flinch away, but his eyes are getting wider the closer Kibum gets to him.

“Can we?” Jinki asks in a low voice. Yuhee nods and excuses herself, saying something about taking care of the paperwork and meeting Jinki and Kibum’s lawyer outside. Jinki immediately sets to take his place next to Taemin, then, noting the way the boy is shifting slightly closer with a surge of inexplicable emotions.

“Hi, Taemin,” Kibum greets, a shaky but cheery smile on his face. “I’m Kibum, and this is Jinki.” Taemin nods, but he doesn’t take the thumb out of his mouth. Kibum reaches forward to his cheek, the movement incredibly delicate, as if Taemin would break if he puts in any force at all. “What happened to your forehead, baby?” he asks, hand moving up to touch Taemin’s forehead, careful not to reach the bluish bruise on it.

Taemin doesn’t answer with words, but he bangs his head forward against the air repeatedly, mimicking what happened. Kibum swallows and looks up to Jinki, who places a hand on Taemin’s small, bony back. He’s warm. He’s very warm, and very real, and smells like a baby, still. Kibum wants to hold him so bad it hurts.

“Does it hurt?” Jinki asks, voice gentle as always. Kibum’s heart grows at the sound of his husband’s affectionate tone, and he smiles up at Jinki, who is looking at Taemin almost serenely. Taemin shakes his head. “Are you hungry?” he asks again, and Taemin drops his head, breaking the eye contact.

Despite the lack of answer, Jinki reaches for the paper bag filled with groceries they bought on the way. Pulling out a carton of banana milk and a piece of vanilla cake with generous whipped cream and fresh berries, he offers them to Taemin, who looks up quickly, obvious longing in his eyes.

Taemin doesn’t reach for it, so Jinki plucks the straw in and holds it close to Taemin’s occupied mouth. Kibum gently pulls the hand away from the boy’s mouth, and Jinki holds the carton closer. After a few seconds of internal debate, Taemin closes his lips around the straw and begins to on it quickly.

“There you go,” Kibum grins, relief flooding his being with such force that he can’t help but release a shaky breath. Jinki grins, too, wide and unrestrained, as he continues to hold the carton for Taemin because the boy makes no move to take it from him. Kibum wonders if the boy is waiting for them to take the carton away, because he doesn’t reach for it, and instead focusing on finishing it as quickly as he could. His heart aches at the thought.

While Jinki continues to rub his back and watches him gulp down the milk greedily, Kibum takes the cake box from Jinki’s lap and stands, moving to take a seat next to Taemin. Taemin’s eyes flicker to him at the movement, but he doesn’t pause on the . It’s only when the carton is completely empty that he finally stops, looking up at Jinki with a small, shy smile that Jinki returns enthusiastically.

“Here, baby, scoot back a little,” Kibum pushes Taemin’s shoulder gently, and Taemin obliges, scooting back and folding his legs to rest them on the sofa completely. His sharp eyes never leave Kibum as the latter scoops the cake with a spoon, and he blinks when Kibum holds the spoonful of cake in front of his mouth. “Say ‘ah’ for me, baby?”

Taemin obliges, opening his mouth wide to accept the cake. His eyes light up immediately as the combined flavor of the cake and cream explodes in his mouth. He smiles, and just like that, the both of them fall hopelessly in love with him.

“He’s very pretty,” Jinki admires, looking at Taemin like he’s the most precious thing on Earth, despite the way-too-big, old-looking clothes, the scrapped knees, the bruised forehead, the unhealthy tone of his skin, and the slightly gaunt look in his eyes. Kibum stares at his husband, then at the boy happily chewing between them, and fights back the burn in his eyes.

Once the cake is finished—surprisingly quick, Kibum thinks, especially considering the size of Taemin’s mouth—they move to the floor to play with the pile of banged-up toys on one corner of the room. Taemin looks so innocently happy at the sight of the ugly toys, and Kibum wonders if he has any at all. The possibility that this little boy might have zero toys is way too painful for Kibum to even consider, so he pushes that thought far back.

They spend the whole day playing and tiring Taemin out. Their lawyer comes in with Shin just as Taemin yawns widely and begins to rock, back and forth, while his thumb is lodged back into his mouth.

“Why, uh, why is he doing that?” Jinki asks, watching as Taemin rests against the side of the sofa and continues to rock himself. His fingers are twitching from the need to hold the boy, but he’s not sure his actions are welcome. Kibum looks like he has the same question cooking in his head.

“He’s rocking himself to sleep,” their lawyer, Shim Changmin, answers in a low voice. “It’s a form of self-soothing behavior. Children living in orphanages—especially ones with too little staff and too many children—often don’t have anyone to comfort them, so they find a way to comfort themselves. They rock their body, bang their head against hard surfaces, on their thumb, anything to take their minds off the loneliness.” The smile Changmin gives them is sad and p