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The sun is blistering over Apples of Our Eye today and Jeongguk is not pleased about in the least. The sand is hot, burning up underneath the soft skin of his palms but he does not let such a small detail derail him from his progress.
The other kids tugged at a matron’s skirt when they caught Jeongguk wandering out into the sunlight, because most of them are prone to dehydration, faint underneath the littlest of heat but they’ve long since learnt not to hold him back themselves. The matrons are in on this. They watch him toddle out and leave him to his own devices, because as long as Jeon Jeongguk is eating and bathing and studying the occasional alphabet, they do not have much more to ask of him. Having him in the house only rouses chaos and that, uncaring and underpaid as they are, is not something they wish to deal with.
And they have better matters to manage— the car could be pulling up any second now. The new admission. They like to think of them as admissions so they do not get too attached to them, these kids, their pleading eyes, and so when the housemother had asked at large for people to be on their best behaviour, this excluded Jeongguk, as it always does. So they pay him no mind.
The sun is blistering over Apples of Our Eye and its barren playground when a car, sputtering and on its last limbs pulls up the long driveway to the orphanage’s open doors and it is a sufficient distraction— enough to yank Jeongguk’s attention from the sand to the metal and he watches. The car is red. It shines perhaps even brighter than the sun, rolling to a stop, the gravel loud underneath its feet.
Someone who comes in here will not be leaving.
Jeongguk turns back to his sand. His castle made of sand. He would like to think it’s bigger than Apples of Our Eye.
Then, the sound of a door opening, the handles of it apparently rusted. Jeongguk hears the housemother use the voice she only uses when she has to please or charm or persuade— she has settled many arguments with that tenor. Like the man who comes by the orphanage once every month and inquires about missing funds. They often disappear into the housemother’s office only to re-emerge ruffled, tired. She uses that voice and everything in the world, their small excuse of a world comes to a standstill. For a moment, even the children are not breathing, but Jeongguk is undeterred. “How lovely to see you, Mr. Park,” she greets with the warmth of a thousands suns, blazing hotter than that star in the sky. “I hope the drive had not been too rough on you.”
Jeongguk still does not turn. Greetings do not interest him. “Jiyeon.” Jeongguk likes to imagine he bowed. “It was rather pleasant. Deep into the countryside this place, isn’t it?”
The politest laugh. “That’s its charm.”
Then, another door creaking. This one is slow and heavy and annoys Jeongguk for it is executed with hesitance, and although he does not watch he enjoys being sure of what he cannot see. Why must this person open a vehicle’s door with such coyness? Perhaps it’s a woman. They act so meek the moment a man is in vicinity as if they have anything to be afraid of.
“I’m hoping it’ll charm my little friend here too, then. Taehyungie— ah, let me help.” A tiny thud, incredibly light, like someone whispered to the earth. Placed like a doll. “There. Offer your greetings, pal. Just like we practiced.”
And what follows is what convinces Jeongguk to tilt his head over his shoulder, frowning back at the scene with the sky too bright in his eyes where a toddler stands at his scant height, with a rolling suitcase, perhaps towering at his height standing beside him. It is wider and bigger than the boy, if not taller. Most certainly does not contain enough clothes to last him a week, let alone a year, a lifetime, and Jeongguk blinks. The stranger standing beside the boy is looking down at him with the discomfort of an adult who does not know how to converse too well with a child, a stiffness painted in the stretch of his lips.
The boy presses both of his hands to his front, one neatly on top of the other before he inclines his body, perhaps just a smidge too deep. “Hello, Mrs. Jung.”
“Ms. Jung, Taehyung, sweetie.” That’s a new one. She has never before let such a word slip her mouth before, but Jeongguk supposes pretences are acceptable when they are worn in front of visitors. She stalks forward, the frills of her deeply blue skirt, something too dark billowing in the wind. Jeongguk wishes it would catch dirt because in such situations she tends to throw fits, snag the attention of all those matrons who otherwise try to tame Jeongguk and his peers. The housemother stalks towards Taehyung and grabs a hold of his hands. They are rather small in the large embrace of her palms and Jeongguk does not flinch when she lowers Taehyung’s hands from in front of himself, to his sides. “Next time, keep them over there, okay? Like a big boy.”
He is not a big boy. He barely touches 120 centimetres. But he does not resist where Jeongguk would have, nodding along and from Jeongguk can only see the back of his frame but his cheeks seem to bulge. Jeongguk wonders if he’s missing teeth when he smiles.
The matrons standing by the door like poor imitations of bodyguards emerge then, an act rather rehearsed when it comes to playing prim and proper and they greet the adult, squatting in front of the boy. Taehyung, was it? Grabbing his suitcase. Wheeling it in, motioning over their shoulders in their equally long skirts for him to follow.
This is never the procedure on the inside. They are told to follow, never beckoned and led. Jeongguk wonders if the boy feels special.
There is more chatting.
Join us for a cup of tea while we get Taehyung settled and warm.
Would you like cake on the side, perhaps?
How would you like to make some friends, Taehyung?
Come on in. It’s too hot for a little baby like you. How about some juice?
Taehyung has his hand held by the housemother and he is being taken, taken away, when he glances over his shoulder. Jeongguk was about to look away. The ordeal did not capture him anymore. But then the little boy met gazes with him and decided not to let go.
Taehyung points. Jeongguk can’t be too sure whether he’s pointing at him or his massive, gigantic sandcastle. The sand one which is boiling up underneath his fingers. “Isn’t he a little baby, too?”
The housemother freezes. The man follows his accusing hand, to where it points. The matrons run forward once again to usher the boy along and bury the observation when the housemother presses out a laugh, quite unlike all those cruel laughs she belts out in the privacy of her office. “Jeongguk? Darling, we best not disturb him. He likes his afternoons.”
“I like them, too.”
“Then how about we enjoy it in my office with Mr. Park. Do you like orange juice or apple juice? We could enjoy it together, under the moonroof.”
“Oh…” His foot steps forward though his gaze does not stray. Jeongguk’s lips twitch and he returns diligently to his castle— in which only he resides. He is the sole inhabitant of it. It is, perhaps, too big and gigantic and absolutely too dazzling for a singular person, especially one of Jeongguk’s stature who himself barely touches 115 centimetres, but like Ms. Jung said. He likes his space. Jeongguk squints his eyes and envisions there to be chandeliers. The orphanage has many of them but they do not dazzle because there is little sunlight on the inside. Jeongguk’s castle will be so massive it will flood with light. It will drown in it. And he will be its merman king. “I don’t like juice. Can I get a strawberry shake?”
Mr. Park and Ms. Jung laugh. The matrons must be giggling behind their hands. It’s a joke if they’ve ever heard one, but the housemother is indulgent. She prides herself on outwardly kindness, because there is not a single gentle emotion on the inside. This is, perhaps, her way of boasting. “Of course.” It is not a lie. But it will be the last of Taehyung’s requests which go fulfilled before Mr. Park is out of Apples of Our Eye and he is inside of its gates. Children rarely make it past those gates. Not a step outside; Jeongguk is always the outlier. He waltzes outside of its doors by choice, on demand, to play under the sweltering sun. “With cookies on the side?”
Jeongguk does not hear a response.
And that is that, he supposes. The once in a blue moon spectacle. Not that children don’t often find their way into this institution, just that Jeongguk rarely ever cares to witness it. Taehyung is probably on his last step inside; it will be the last time Jeongguk will retain any piece of information about him, their final interaction. Another face met and gone. He will cower like the others soon so Jeongguk does not dwell too much on it.
Another hot day. Another orphaned child.
Jeongguk digs to make his castle even bigger.
But then: “Taehyung!”
Which is by far the ugliest shout Ms. Jung has let out. She allows her anger to show in that moment, a lapse in personality. Mr. Park glimpses at her in slight confusion at the sound which has left her throat and her cheeks burn up with the shame. The matrons retreat to the inside, they are done saving face. It seems they will leave the boy to play while he can.
And Jeongguk does not bother looking to his side when light footsteps approach him fast and faster.
He is only obliged to do so when a tiny shadow is cast upon him and conceals the sun from him. The sun which does not shine inside of the orphanage.
“Stop,” says Jeongguk, now looking at the boy. Taehyung. Who seems to have escaped the housemother to be by his side for absolutely no good reason. “I can’t build when the sand isn’t hot. Stop.”
“Oh.” The boy nods, politely stepping aside. His hands automatically come to rest in front of himself, a tick Ms. Jung tried to correct but eventually, apparently failed at. She will be mad about this later, as well. “Sorry.”
“Go away,” Jeongguk says.
“I like your castle.”
Jeongguk glares emptily at the sand. “I made it. It’s mine.”
Taehyung smiles. Jeongguk was not initially planning to give him the time of day but then he dares to catch a glimpse and realises that Taehyung has two gaps in his smile. Two milk teeth gone. He maybe has a lisp. “I really like it. It’s bigger than the snow castles I make.”
“Snow castles are lame…” Jeongguk mumbles, only because he hates the cold.
“You can’t make them big, like this,” Taehyung nods, in agreement, where every other kid would have started sobbing or hitting or escaping to complain to a teacher. Every interaction with Jeongguk always ends in tears. But Taehyung is still smiling with the gaps in his teeth which grow wider as his cheeks grow bigger and happier. “Can you teach me?”
Jeongguk hesitates. “It’s a secret.”
Taehyung folds to his knees alongside him. Jeongguk side eyes him because he’s surprised he has not yet burst into tears. The others would have. They tell him he’s mean and a monster, most of the times. “Will you put a flag on top of it?”
Jeongguk shakes his head in earnest, because this is something he’s willing to divulge. “No, I can’t.” He leans back a little and plainly tells Taehyung, “It’s a grave. A squirrel died under it.”
Taehyung blinks. “Oh.”
Jeongguk nods. This has to be it. There have been too many instances of no return and Jeongguk is beginning to question himself. Where are the waterworks? He will cry and he will drown Jeongguk’s castle and then he can be the merman.
There is silence. The heat has its own noise which festers around them. It strengthens his palace. Jeongguk does not again glance at Taehyung but he might have spotted a wobbling lip. Unbeknownst to him, it is a stranger territory. Those are not tears. That is excitement.
“Can I help you build it?” Taehyung breaks out eventually, giddy, his fists bundled up and the question is so unexpected Jeongguk looks at the boy with wide eyes. Eyes wider and bigger than the sun. He likes the star so much it can be found in his eyes. They are bright despite how much ever indifference he carries inside. He is a monster but that gaze still shines.
“You want to…” Jeongguk has a spare shovel. He looks between it and Taehyung. “You want to build it with me?”
You want to play with me?
Taehyung nods harder. He grins and his smile is a box which widens, so much so Jeongguk can see another broken tooth deeper inside. He is a foreign little boy. So bizzare. So happy. It almost weirds Jeongguk out which in and of itself is a miracle because oftentimes, people can’t even catch his attention.
“It’ll be as big as the sandbox,” professes Taehyung, eager, crawling closer, in a proximity even matrons are uncomfortable with. They do not like the demon child. “And we can live in it together!”
Jeongguk stills.
Someone in his castle? In his sand castle? Someone who makes snow castles and not sand castles? He will invite the frigid and the cold. Unbidden snowflakes. The sand will melt and Jeongguk will drown but this time around he will not escape its claws. Taehyung will shatter that space. He will saturate it.
“But…” Jeongguk’s chest tightens. It heaves the tiniest bit and his chin quivers. “You like snowcastles…”
Taehyung grabs Jeongguk’s free hand and envelopes it within his own palms. It is not like how Ms. Jung held Taehyung’s hand. He does not swallow up Jeongguk’s palm. He simply holds it. Unlike the castles he builds, his hands are entirely and wholly warm, as are his eyes.
“And I’ll teach you how to build those when it snows, too! We can make it so big.”
Jeongguk stares at Taehyung’s broken teeth. It is a rather odd smile.
He is the monarch of his own castle— but what is a kingdom without a king, and a king without his queen? A merman without his mermaid? There is so much space in his castle, and maybe Taehyung will glimmer like the chandeliers.
Jeongguk blinks, looking down. “Okay…” He imitates Taehyung. He tries at a smile, and it wobbles. He smiles. His heart does as well. There are butterflies in his castle and in his chest. “We can name it Apple of My Eye, and you can rule over everyone with me.”