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Seonghwa and Hongjoong are not new to the system. They’re four years deep into it, and naively think they have reached the point where they know all that they will need to know in order to deal with any child that might come through their door.
They are wrong.
It would be a gross overstatement to say it had been easy, but their placements until now have never been the most challenging. Dozens of infants and young children have come through their door, the oldest of them all being barely toddlers at the most. Sweet little things who tend to take to them easy enough, who are usually still happy and playful and, for the most part, full of that childlike innocence.
Their placements are quick and painless, usually just a brief stepping stone between entering the system and finding a more concrete home elsewhere. A day or two at least, two and a half weeks at most. Their hardest so far had been a young girl, just shy of her third birthday, who had been put into the system because of parental substance abuse. Still, she was young. She was scared and upset, and had lashed out viscously for the first week or so, until she quickly realised that this home was not touched by the devastation that her previous one had been. Kids do not get enough credit for that, their ability to overcome and adapt.
The couple are lucky, in a way. They know the stories. They have heard, of course, of children so wracked with trauma and grief and pain that placements are gruelling for all those involved. And they don't shy away from them, have never been against taking in a more troubled child, they just have yet to have been presented with one.
Until Wooyoung comes along. He is six years old, three feet and four inches tall, and just shy of three stone. He has a messy, overgrown mop of dark, unkempt hair that covers his eyes, a small smattering of freckles on his nose, and two little moles, one on his lip and the other beneath one of his eyes. But the thing that stands out most about Wooyoung is that he is angry.
Angry at the world, at his parents, at them.
He doesn't speak to them at all. Not on the first day he arrives, sullen and scowling where he stands defiantly beside his social worker with crossed arms. Not on the second day, or the third, or any day after that for almost six months. It doesn't really matter all that much anyways, they are very quick to learn that Wooyoung does not have to utter a single word in order to get his point across. And his point is very obvious, received loud and clear - he doesn't like them.
They don't very much care.
They have not given up on a child yet, and despite how very different he is to the others, they are in a perfect agreement that Wooyoung won't be the one to change that.
He can bite and kick and scream as much as he wants to, as much as he needs to. They will be there to console him every time, to remind him that no amount of anger will deter them. He can tear his bedroom apart time and time again, shred posters and destuff plush toys and break his desk for the third time in a month. They will fix it up again every time, carefully restitching the same war wounds on the poor stuffies, replacing the desk, swapping out the flimsy posters for the more durable canvas alternatives.
They don't care how long it takes, they will not be another name in a long list of people who have let this little boy down. He is a child, barely even in his first proper year of school. He may have been dealt a bad hand of cards, but they will be damned if they don't try to give him a better outcome than he is expected to have.
He is with them for twenty five weeks and three days, when he says his first words to them.
They have heard him scream and shout, holler and yell until his throat is hoarse. They have heard him cry, from little sniffles to full blown sobs, snotty and pained and heartbroken. They have heard him whine and whimper and hitch his breath in the throes of nightmares. They have even once, when he was so engrossed in a show that he had forgotten they were in the room, heard him let out a tiny little giggle. But they have never heard his voice.
It is surprisingly soft, quiet and croaky from misuse, but still sweet and gentle, high pitched and childlike. They are curled around each other on the sofa when it happens. It is nearing midnight, and they are watching an episode of some drama that they have been binging whilst Wooyoung is in bed, Hongjoong sitting upright, Seonghwa with his feet tucked up and his head resting against his husband's shoulder.
Wooyoung is quiet as a dormouse, so quiet that they don't even realise he isn't in bed until he is standing eight in front of them. He has just awoken from a nightmare, throat catching on a silent scream as he throws himself from the covers. He is sweating and panting and scared, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, he craves the comfort of an adult so badly that he actively seeks it out.
He uses the soft glow of the fairy nightlight to guide his way to the corridor, which is always left illuminated through the night. He tiptoes down the stairs and into the hallway, peeks around the archway into the living room, and just watches them for a moment, taking in the calm, before padding over to them with soft steps. There's a teddy bear clutched in one of his fists, a little black fuzzy kitten with white on the tip of its tail and inside its ears. He would never admit it, but it had been his prized possession since Seonghwa gave it the very first day he came home to them.
“Everybody needs their very own teddy, and I saw this one in the store and thought it would be the perfect one for you” he had told Wooyoung as he sat on the edge of his bed and showed him all of the things they had prepared for him. He wasn't very grateful for them then. He still doesn't act very grateful for them now, but he is, he really, really is.
He hasn't slept a single night without the kitten in his grasp, has spent countless hours thumbing over the worry stone Hongjoong had given to him, has wrapped himself up in the throw blanket in his welcome basket more times than he can count. He really is grateful for it all, even if he has had a hard time showing it.
Trust is not something that comes naturally to children like him, who have never been shown that something so huge can lead to good things instead of danger. All that trust has done for him up until now is bring pain and suffering and hurt. But he has been here for months now, and still there hasn't been a single bad thing happen to him.
A part of him, a very big part, is still cautiously waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Hongjoong and Seonghwa to laugh in his face and hurt him and remind him that it had all been a cruel joke, that a boy like Wooyoung would never deserve any little drop of kindness.
But there's a smaller part of him, a much smaller part, that whispers for him to try, that tells him maybe it is time to open his heart, just a tiny bit, and see if it gets him anywhere.
He stops in front of the couch, flushing red when Seonghwa lets out a little soft gasp at the sight of him. He sits up straighter, leaning forward a little and reaching out a hand, slow enough for Wooyoung to pull away. He doesn't, not this time. He doesn’t want to. He is rewarded with a soft smile, and a gentle hand running through his hair.
It is shorter now, shorter than it has ever been. He doesn't even remember getting a haircut before the first one they had taken him to, but it was nice. The lady had been kind and moved slowly as she snipped away at the strands too damaged tk be fixed and worked on untangling the mats that she could.
It had taken a long time before she was finally done, but when he looked in the mirror he thought it was worth every second. He marvelled at his reflection, turning this way and that way to take in every angle of it. He looked just like the other boys at school, neat and clean and smart. It was the very first time he had ever felt so normal.
The hand in his hair moves to gently cup his cheek, thumb stroking across it softly. The touch is light and careful, as though he is scared to spook Wooyoung away, and he would usually be right to fear that.
But tonight, Wooyoung wants to be brave, so he leans into the touch, presses his cheek harder against the man's hand and sniffles sadly, his own arm moving upwards to clutch his kitty to his chest, the other, in a thoughtless act of courage, reaching out to grasp the loose fabric of Hongjoongs sleep shirt too. He wants both of them, craves their affection so much it is making his chest ache. He is so tired of pretending to hate them.
He sniffles again, and Hongjoong makes a funny little noise, shuffling forward so he is closer to him.
“Oh, Wooyoungie, what's wrong sweet boy?”
Wooyoung opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, finds that he doesn't even know where to start. What isn't wrong? He can't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. He stares back at Hongjong sadly, eyes round and glassy, his bottom lip jutted out and wobbling, his teeth sunken into it.
“Oh, darling. Would you like a hug?” Hongjoong asks, voice kind and oh so inviting.
He is probably expecting a shake of the head. They have become so accustomed to that response the past few months, so used to being stonewalled at every attempt to comfort. Not this time. Wooyoung nods quickly, scrambling forward one final step, arms outstretched as he launches himself into Hongjoong's arms.
He catches him easily, a startled gasp the only indicator of his shock. His arms are ready for him to fall into, his embrace so warm and soft. Wooyoung lets his head fall onto his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist as he finally lets go and lets himself sob freely. He can feel Hongjoong's arms wind around him, can feel the motion of him gently rocking him forwards and backwards. He has never been held like this before. He doesn't think his eomma had ever felt strongly enough about him to offer any comfort like this.
There's more hands too, Seonghwas, he realises, rubbing soothing circles on his back. He untangles one of his hands from around Hongjoong's neck to reach for him blindly, arm flailing as he desperately tries to bring him closer too. He comes without argument, pressing himself right up against Hongjoong, his head resting on the very edge of Hongjoong's shoulder.
He holds his hand, the one that he is still throwing around, and brings it to his own chest, pressing it right against his ribcage. Wooyoung can feel the steady thrumming of his heartbeat through the thin material of his sleep shirt. He doesn't even startle when Seonghwa moves his other hand from his back to his head to the side of his face, gently turning him so he is facing him, looking right at him.
Seonghwa is crying too, he notices then. Thick, wet beads running down his cheeks, trails of raindrops beading at the edge of his nose and his jawline, dripping down onto his collar, soaking the fabric there. The hand moves to Wooyoung's eyes, deft thumbs wiping away his tears with practiced ease.
He has done this many times before.
No matter how much Wooyoung kicks and screams and lashes out, Seonghwa would always stay until the end of it, until his breath was coming in ragged pants and his eyes had run out of tears and his throat had been screamed raw. He would sit, cross-legged on the floor a short distance away until then, just out of hitting range.
Then, once the worst of it had subsided, he would come closer and wipe away his tears and kiss him once on the forehead and tell him:
“We still love you very much, Wooyoung. You're a good kid, and we're lucky to have you”
And then Hongjoong would come in, with a mug of sweet tea with honey stirred in it to soothe his throat, and a few squares of his expensive chocolate that he saves for bad days. On days like those, by the time they leave the room again Wooyoung is always sleeping the headache off in his bed, tucked in safely with his blanket and his kitty and another two forehead kisses, one from each of them.
He had never shown any gratitude, never done anything but twist his head away and huff at them, flare his nostrils and glare at the effort. They deserved a better kid than him but, by God, he didn't want them to realise it. He shuffles a little so he is closer to Seonghwa, until their foreheads are resting against each other, and finally stops crying.
Well, not entirely. The tears are still falling, running down his cheeks like a faucet, but the cries stop with one final shaky breath at the contact.
“There you go, deep breaths for me sweet pea. Good boy, you're doing so well. You're doing so good, Wooyoungie, I'm so proud of you” he can hear Hongjoong saying, but he sounds so fuzzy and faraway. He doesn't want to pull away from Seonghwa, but he wants to see Hongjoong too.
He sits up in his lap, eyes blinking rapidly, hands moving to rub away the last few tears before moving to cup Hongjoong's cheeks. He does it carefully, just like they have always done to him. He wonders if he is not careful enough, because Hongjoong whimpers at the contact. He is already crying too, but he starts to cry a little more, sniffling as he looks right into Wooyoung's eyes, but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make a single attempt to get away from the contact.
He moves his own hands so that they are over Wooyoungs, big enough to cover them completely. Wooyoung lets his gaze flicker between him and then Seonghwa, before opening his mouth.
“I-” he says, throat sore and voice hoarse, “I love you” he finally manages.
The words are shaky but they are sincere, he really, truly means it. He loves them, both of them, more than he ever expected to. More than he ever thought he could. Eommas house was not a place that cared much for things like love. It was a weakness, a tool to be turned against you with cruel jokes and harsh punishments. Love never got Wooyoung anything but hurt. But here, in this house, love is something beautiful. It is shared easily, given so readily and never with any malice behind it. It is everywhere. In Seonghwa's home cooked meals, in the lullaby Hongjoong sings him every night, one that he wrote and composed just for Wooyoung, in the character bedding that appeared on his bed the day after they caught him watching a show he enjoyed, in the tray of bubble baths and bath bombs Seonghwa keeps stocked just for him, in the little sweaters Wooyang, his beloved cat plush, wears that Hongjoong had learned how to knit just to make for him. Love here is so different to love there, and he finds it is something he wants, to love them and be loved in turn.
Hongjoong starts to cry even harder, shaking beneath him as he fights to control the volume of his sobs. Seonghwa is crying harder too, but he is loud with it. Loud and unreserved and unapologetic as he cries and cries. He is always like that. He had told Wooyoung once that it is because he isn't ashamed to feel whatever he is feeling, and that he doesn't think anybody else should be either. Wooyoung had let himself cry a little louder after that, no longer choked on sobs as he tried to force them down.
“I would wait my whole life to hear you say that,” Hongjoong tells him, voice so reverent and earnest that Wooyoung can do nothing but believe him,“My whole entire life. You're so special to us, my Wooyoungie, so so special. We love you, I love you. You know that, don't you darling? You have to know that, to remember that always. Je t'adore mon petit lune”
That means ‘I love you, my little moon’.
Wooyoung knows, because Hongjoong tells him the very same thing every single night. Even on the nights where Wooyoung thinks he has been so awful he will never deserve to hear those words ever again, the nights he waits with bated breath for Hongjoong to rescind them and just leave him in silence instead of their usual night time greeting. He never does, makes a point to still say them each and every time. Even on the worst days. He told Wooyoung once, in the quiet hours of the morning, that he calls him his little moon because Seonghwa is his étoile, his star, and that they both bring him so much happiness that they could light up any dark night for him.
Wooyoung had only been with them for a month then, and he was a long way from trusting them. But in that moment, he wanted to, wanted to so badly it hurt his chest something fierce. Wooyoung had paid close attention from then on, had listened in awe when Hongjoong made phone calls in fluent French, his accent so different to what Wooyoung was used to hearing from him.
He had sat in the school library during break and lunch pouring over French textbooks, trying desperately to commit the words and phrases to memory, so that one day he might be able to say something that would make him worthy of the love Hongjoong is so insistent on giving him.
He furrows his brow as he tries to remember the words now, and he says clumsily, his accent and pronunciation all wrong,
“Je t'aime tellement”
And Hongjoong can't withhold his affection any longer, couldn't possibly, so he tugs him forward with two hands on his cheeks and covers his precious little face in kisses. It is sticky and wet, Hongjoong is still crying all over him even as he continues to pepper kisses all over him, but Wooyoung is so happy, happier than he ever remembers being.
He laughs, shaky and unsure but real, and wriggles out of Hongjoong's lap to tumble into Seonghwa's instead, where he nuzzles his face right against his chest, like he has wanted to do for so long.
“I love you too” he says, eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flaming from the embarrassment of it all. Seonghwa just wraps his arms around him and presses gentle kisses onto the crown of his head.
“My beautiful darling, my sweet baby. I love you too. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you. I hope you never, ever forget that. No matter where you go, you will always have a home here, we will always love you. How could we not? You're so easy to love, Wooyoung”
Seonghwa is lying, he knows he is. Because Wooyoung has not been easy to love. Nobody has ever loved him before, not even his eomma. Nobody except for -
“Yeosang” he says suddenly, scrambling to sit up, “I, he, I -” he fumbles, unable to find the words.
He huffs in frustration, brow furrowing, as he brings his arm up to his mouth. He doesn't get a chance to bite down, to sink his teeth in and feel the bliss of the pain, the sharp sting that manages to curb his frustration, because Seonghwa catches it first, gently pushing it back down and rubbing a gentle thumb across his brow.
“It's okay, darling, you're okay-”
“No!” He snaps, frustrated again, “Yeosangie” he eventually says, “Want Yeosangie. Joongie, Hwa, Wooyoungie, Yeosangie. I want - I want to -” he trails off, exasperated and frustrated, hoping that they understand.
He realises suddenly that he doesn't even know if they know who Yeosang is. He hasn't spoken a word to them before. Maybe the lady who told them all about him had forgotten that he was just half of a whole without him.
“Yeosang? Who is Yeosang, darling?”
“Baby. My baby” he says.
Their brows furrow.
“Baby? Where was the baby? We don't have a baby here, sweet pea”
He huffs again, frustration only growing.
“No! Not here. Need to get him. He's, he's-” he chokes on his words, trailing off as reality dawns on him, heavy and uncomfortable, like a shock of cold water.
He doesn't know where Yeosang is. They lady had taken them both at the same time, but once they got to the big building Yeosang was carried one way and he was led another. He hadn't seen him since. He misses him something fierce, feels the ache of it every single day.
“I want my Yeosangie” he cries, lip wobbling.
“Oh darling, I'm sorry. I don't know who that is. Did he live with you at the house before here? With the lady and all the other boys and girls?”
No, he had been taken there after, once Yeosang had already been taken down the corridor and away from him. He was crying, Wooyoung remembers that. Wooyoung hated it when he cried.
Eomma would always say ‘Shut your brother up, or I will!’ and Wooyoung didn't want that, because he knew how Eomma made children who cried be quiet.
“Brother” he gasps out finally, the word slotting into place easily, such a vital part of his vocabulary that he hadn't even realised he had forgotten, “My baby. My brother”
There's an audible hitch of breath, and then Hongjoong and Seonghwa start to talk quietly, in those hushed, grown up voices Wooyoung hears them talk in sometimes.
“We weren’t told about any siblings,” Hongjoong says.
“No, we weren't, but that doesn't mean anything. They didn't tell us half of the information we have now until we pushed” Seonghwa says.
He turns to Wooyoung after.
“Did Yeosang live with you when you lived with your Eomma?” Wooyoung nods, “And do you remember the nice lady who picked you up from Eommas, did she see Yeosang too?”
“Took Yeosang too. But-” he pauses, voice wobbling, “But they took him away from Wooyoungie. At the big place. Yeosangie went to another house, and Wooyoungie went to the big house. The one with all the kids, before this house”
“Okay. Okay, sweetheart, we're going to look for him. I promise, okay? I promise you I'll try with everything I am to find him for you. I'm sorry that we couldn't until now” Hongjoong soothes, rubbing a big hand down his back.
Wooyoung lets out a breath and nods, lets himself sink back down against Seonghwa's chest and be lulled back into sleep. They'll find him. He trusts them.
-
Yeosang, as it turns out, is very much real. He is also, by some stroke of a miracle, currently placed with a temporary foster family within the area too.
It is easy after that to make the decision to fight to get the toddler placed with them. It is a shock that the boys were separated at all in the first place, as it is usually always the system's priority to keep families together, which includes sibling sets. Because of this, they don't anticipate much of a fight.
They anticipate it even less once they declare their intent to file for long term guardianship and eventual adoption for the boys.
Wooyoung is their son. He is not just a foster, not like the others had been. It's on a completely different level, a whole other scale. Of course they had loved them too, had poured their heart into every child that had passed through their home over the years, but not like this. Not in a way that threatened to break them apart if they ever lost them.
Wooyoung does that to them. He has shaken the very foundation of their life together, broke it apart and rebuilt it with him right there in the centre of it, so deeply intertwined in its meaning to them that they can't possibly imagine a time when family doesn't include him.
It makes the decision to fight for custody of Yeosang easy too. He is Wooyoung's brother, and any family that Wooyoung has left and claims as his is family to them too.
They don't tell Wooyoung right away. In fact, they don't tell him at all, too hesitant to get his hopes up only for it to fall through.
Yeosang had been placed with another Foster family as soon as he entered the system with Wooyoung, meaning he had been there for seven months too, even longer than Wooyoung had been with them.
There is every chance the couple had grown as attached to him as they had to Wooyoung, and the thought of Wooyoung having to experience the heartbreak of fighting for his brother alongside them is enough for them tp keep him in the dark, for his own sake.
Luckily, the foster parents, at elderly couple in their late 50s, are more than happy to agree without argument once they find out the little boy had a brother and Hongjoong and Seonghwa were fighting to reunite the siblings.
When Yeosang comes home, it is a month before Wooyoung's seventh birthday. Yeosang is all chubby cheeks and wide eyes, still so unsteady on his feet at two and a half years old, only just now working on his 12-18 month milestones. It will not be easy, the social worker stresses. Wooyoung is a handful as it is, adding a delayed child to the mix will only make their lives harder. They, as politely as they can, disagree through gritted teeth and insist on seeing it through anyways.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa are besotted from the first visitation. He is beautiful. Wide brown eyes, a smile that could melt ice, and a dainty little birthmark across his eye and cheekbone.
“I see Wooyoung in him” Seonghwa whimpers, his grasp on Hongjoong's hand tightening as the Foster carer comes towards them with him on her hip, “He looks so much like him”
“I know. Me too, sweetheart, I think so too” Hongjoong agrees.
By some miracle, the visitation goes well, and so does the visit after that, and the one after, and so forth. Yeosang adores them, takes to them like he has known them his entire life, which makes their decision even easier. He was meant to be theirs too.
They visit him once a week, then twice, then near enough every day of the week when Wooyoung is at school or his dance class at the weekends, until one day their case worker calls and tells them that they don’t need any more visits, that they have finally been approved to bring Yeosang home.
Because it is his home, it will be. The spare bedroom has already been decorated, there's a wardrobe full of matching outfits waiting, and a spot in the local daycare already reserved. His favorite snacks are in the pantry, the brand of diapers he wears stockpiled in one of the storage cupboards in the hallway, the toy cars he likes stacked neatly in a basket. The approval is the final thing they have been waiting on.
It's a Saturday afternoon when he comes home, a handful of hours after Wooyoung's ballet class. Hongjoong volunteers to stay home with Wooyoung whilst Seonghwa picks Yeosang up. He isn't speaking yet, unable to form any words that aren't incoherent babble, but he recognises Seonghwa right away, wriggling desperately in the carer's arms to reach for him.
He grins and reaches out for him, swooping him up in the air and then pulling him back down close to his chest, hugging him carefully.
“Hello, sweet thing. Oh, I'm so happy to see you again too. Are we going to go home today? Yes we are” he sing-songs, tipping Yeosang back in his arms to tickle his tummy.
He shrieks with laughter, reaching to grab at Seonghwa's hands as he babbles away in response.
Mrs Jeong, his Foster carer, is laughing fondly at him as her husband loads Yeosang's things into the trunk of his car. She reaches over to fondly stroke his cheek.
“You are such a special boy, aren't you little darling?” She says, sniffling a little, “I have loved every moment of him, but I’m so happy that he is going to go home to his family now” she tells him.
Seonghwa bows as much as he can with a toddler on his hip, and then reaches to grasp her hand, head bowed in sincerity.
“Thank you for taking care of him until we found him. We are very grateful”
“Nonsense! You have nothing to thank me for. It has been a blessing. Now, don't waste any more time on a silly old lady like me, he has two very special people to get home to!”
Eventually, Seonghwa manages to get him buckled into his car seat and drives him home, chatting away to him easily even if he gets nothing but jumbled syllables and raspberries in response.
When they pull into the driveway, he takes a moment to prepare himself before getting out and unstrapping Yeosang, hoisting him on his hip as he approaches the house. He hopes this goes well.
He walks in quietly, making his way to the living room on autopilot. Wooyoung has his back to him, enthralled in something Hongjoong is showing him with his playdoh. They are both sitting cross legged around a tuff tray on the hardwood flooring, a cushion beneath each of their bottoms.
“Wooyoungie” he calls softly, “I have someone here to see you”
The boy whips around and then freezes, staring at them in shock. Yeosang, to Seonghwa's relief, seemingly recognises him still, because he is squealing and throwing himself in his direction with an urgency Seonghwa has never seen him have. He carefully lowers himself so he is sitting on the edge of the rug cross legged, and reaches his free hand out to beckon Wooyoung over.
He moves quickly, almost tripping over his legs as he stumbles over, pausing just a step in front of them. Yeosang is still desperately reaching for him, his fingers grazing the front of his shirt a few times.
“I heard somebody was missing a little brother” Seonghwa tries softly, and it breaks the dam.
Wooyoung starts to sob, falling onto Seonghwa's lap. He lets out a breath of relief and loosens his grip on Yeosang enough that he can half fall into his brother's lap and Seonghwa can wrap his now free arm around Wooyoung, who is fumbling to gather the toddler up and hold him close to his chest, crying as he hugs him.
Eventually, he turns to look at Seonghwa.
“You found him. You really found him”
“Of course we did. You asked us to, darling”
“Does he have to go away again?”
Seonghwa shakes his head. Hongjoong, who has now joined them, reaches out to hold his hand.
“We were hoping that the two of you would like to stay here with us for a very long time. We would really like it if we could adopt you. That would make us so happy"
"Does that mean forever?”
“It does. Forever sounds perfect, don't you think mon petite lune?”