Work Text:
When the nature of your work requires you to tend a handful of other people’s children who are still, more often than not, too afraid to ask where the bathroom is and end up peeing in their pants, nobody would blame you for not feeling a sense of urgency to look after one of your own.
It is after all, 24 hours, 7 days a week—as opposed to a 9-to-5 commitment with a lunch break in between.
But it wouldn’t be Jinyoung if he weren’t stubborn.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” He hears Jaebum ask from the other side of the bed. Their backs are turned away from each other—it’s nothing hostile, just a tradition sustained by the magnitude of their relationship that takes place whenever it’s becoming clear that there is no backing out of whatever decision it is that they’ve made.
They don’t work well together when they’re both thinking, this much Jinyoung knows. So if retreating into themselves and avoiding eye contact could suppress the need to second-guess one another, then yes, that would be the preferable option.
“If you are?” He wasn’t meant to pose it as a question. “We both want this.”
Jaebum lets out a heavy sigh and Jinyoung, without having to look, can see his shoulders droop a few inches. “Big day tomorrow,” he says, yawning. “I’ll wake you up.”
And on an average night, Jinyoung would tell him goodnight, but for now, he just sinks into the bed a little further.
It’s the first snowfall of the winter when they’re made to spend two-thirds of their savings on the fee that comes with completing their initial application. They share a bulgogi sandwich from the mart across the building for lunch before being huddled into a room to sit the prospective parents’ intake interview. The social worker they’re assigned to can’t be older than a college graduate, is called Yugyeom, and Jinyoung wonders what brought him here.
“What brought you here?” He asks as soon as Yugyeom wraps up his noticeably rehearsed explanation on the overall adoption process. In the seat next to him, Jaebum is reading the handbook he was handed earlier, legs shaking. Jinyoung interrupts by placing a sympathetic hand on his right knee.
“Was one myself,” Yugyeom replies, a smile too earnest on his face. “I felt like I had to... give back? Is that what people call it?”
“Yeah,” Jinyoung gulps. He reaches for the complimentary water on the desk. “I guess.”
The heater is buzzing behind them, a steady drone accompanied by Jaebum‘s loud page-flipping. There’s a frown on his face as he leans forward to ask, “How long will all of this take?”
“Oh, it varies—a few months for some, up to 2 years for less fortunate ones.” At this point Yugyeom is still smiling. “It depends a lot on how much effort you’re willing to put into proving to us that you won’t disappoint,” he pauses, “as parents,” he winces. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you off like that.”
For some reason, Jinyoung’s convinced this is as much of a challenge for Yugyeom as it is for him and Jaebum. And that all the smiling must be part of the job description.
“I’ve heard far scarier things,” Jaebum chuckles dryly, eyes back on the booklet.
According to the procedures they were informed of, it would take about several more phone interviews over a span of many months until they reach referral stage, at which they’re permitted to begin reviewing their potential adoptee. Aware of the limits to his influence, Jinyoung—famous amongst his closest peers for his short temper—was in the middle of preparing himself for the biggest tolerance test in his life.
So when Yugyeom texts him in the middle of a Tuesday shortly after their first encounter, politely raising the possibility of visiting their first foster care as early as the day after tomorrow, Jinyoung jumps out of his chair and runs past the teacher’s lounge, fingers moving at lightning speed across his phone.
“Is this legal? We’re barely a month into our home study,” is the first thing Jaebum says when he picks up the call.
Jinyoung shrugs at no one. “No idea. It’s not like we’re cheating the system or anything. We’re just making a trip down—”
“—we’ll do it if you want to.” Jaebum’s tone is resolute, it sends a shiver down Jinyoung’s spine. “We’ll do it. Tell Yugyeom we’ll make time this weekend.”
Jinyoung wants to thank him, but instead: “I kind of love you a lot.”
They both know they’re beaming on both ends of the line. “No need to flatter me.”
Youngjae lost his hearing at the age of 3.
At least that’s what they’re told by the daytime staff at the group home as she’s showing them around the house. Not much is said about it except an inadequate explanation on the mechanics of a car crash and how head traumas can cause damage to the part of the brain that is meant to allow reception of sound waves.
That night, Jinyoung learns that there are multiple levels to brain injuries.
He never quite learns, however, why Youngjae had to be held accountable to the most unforgiving kind.
He wishes they’d fill him in on the details—how it happened, when it happened, why the doctors didn’t try harder, whether Youngjae was even listed as a probable referral at the agency. Jinyoung spends the next few days studying the consequences that would entail, including Jaebum’s possible reactions to the extra work Jinyoung knows he never signed up for.
So much could go wrong, but what he did not expect was for Jaebum to plant a kiss on his temple when he breaks the news, arms around Jinyoung’s waist as he assures him, “We’ll figure it out.”
"But he’s deaf,” the staff exclaims, half-astonished, but mostly just shocked.
It’s their 3rd visit to the home and Jinyoung thinks it’s the perfect time to raise his proposal. She has tried introducing them to every child who passed by and those who happened to cross her mind—Youngjae was one of the latter—but Jinyoung cut it short.
“I talked to the agency.” He hasn’t. “They’re okay with it.”
It looks like she didn’t catch the doubt in his voice. She’s crossing her arms now, biting on her lower lip as if the decision was hers. “Okay... but do you have a plan?” It’s not.
“I will have to update you on that.”
“—there’s a more complex administrative process that you have to go through for cases like this, but I’m not saying it’s entirely out of the question.” Yugyeom actually sounds excited. Jinyoung hopes he’s not hearing it wrong. “Also,” he adds, a dangerous twinkle in his eyes, “I can hook you up with some classes.”
Jinyoung only laughs, because he can’t remember the last time he saw Jaebum look that content. “That would be amazing, Yugyeom-sshi.”
They start off with the survival phrases, like hello, thank you, sorry, and introducing one’s name.
It frustrates Jinyoung when he can’t get his letters or words right. Jaebum helps him through nearly half of the vowels and consonants chart, but most of the time they just end up in different parts of the apartment because Jaebum has never been known for his patience and Jinyoung doesn’t memorise as well with Jaebum correcting his fingerspelling every six seconds.
"Thumbs up, Jinyoung, goddamnit.”
“Oh my go– shut up. Go. To the living room, out, anywhere, I don’t care– just let me finish this page in peace.”
Still, they devote 3 hours of every night to practice. It’s the only justifiable thing to do.
They receive a seal of approval on their completed home study on the eve of Jinyoung’s birthday, which means they can start gathering the prerequisites needed to request for Youngjae’s documents the following week. There’s no clock to race against, but the faster the better.
Jaebum makes a mental note to take Yugyeom out for dinner some time. “We never properly thanked him,” he muses from where’s he’s sitting on the sofa.
Across the room, Jinyoung is on his phone, quiet. “Jaebum,” he calls out minutes after, pointedly forgetting to respond to Jaebum’s suggestion. “How did they figure out he went deaf?”
The thing with Jinyoung that never fails to put even Jaebum on edge is exactly that—you can predict what he’s going to say next, but you know he’ll throw you out of the loop. Seven years in and Jaebum has yet to find a shortcut.
“I assume he must’ve not responded to loud noises?” Jaebum replies cautiously.
“He was three, Jaebum.” He doesn’t sound too happy. Neither does the voice in Jaebum’s head.
“I know that, Jinyoung.”
“You’re not ready.”
“To what?”
“Become a parent. Let alone a parent to a deaf chi—“
“Well,” Jaebum interjects. “I’ll have you know that Jinyoung is an expert at dealing with children below the age of 8.”
They’re at his parents’ for the weekend. It would’ve been a normal lunch out if not for their abrupt announcement, although Jaebum isn’t actually sure if his father’s response would’ve made any difference. “You have 3 years then, give or take.”
“Exactly,” Jaebum beams, first at his mother, then at Jinyoung. Then he’s sliding an arm around Jinyoung’s shoulders as he carries on, “If I don’t do great, at least this one will.”
Jaebum, like many other twenty-nine year-olds out there, has had his own fair share of times where he wishes the stars would align, just once, and make moving forward seem more worthwhile than giving up. As much as he wants to believe in a better outcome, self-initiated positivity can only take him so far. In some cases, there’s no point in trying at all.
But then he watches Jinyoung stumble into their living room, bright-eyed and grocery bags wet from the rain, telling him to learn English words too! And maybe Japanese? I won’t let Youngjae suck at languages like you! and his heart just plummets to ground from the weight of realisation that with Jinyoung by his side, even the most impossible routes are worth taking.
So if making it work between them means their walls had to be covered with various sign language illustrations, then so be it. Regardless of how many times he would have to rearrange the posters because they weren’t lined up properly the first time, regardless of how long it’d take for them to feel the least bit sufficient—close enough to being the parents Youngjae deserves.
As long as they’re together, Jaebum thinks he shouldn’t worry.