Apologies
Jeongguk takes a deep breath. He's standing on the sidewalk, right outside the rebuilt Hyunsik Orphanage-- renamed Hyunsik Children's Home according to the cheerful sign at the front-- and if he didn't know better, he'd think he was in a different place altogether.
Gone is the dead grass and wire fencing, the peeling coats of paint, the splintered wooden planks of the patio. Now, the lawn is sprawling with bright green grass and colorful flower beds, bikes and soccer balls scattered around. There's a small vegetable garden in the corner, labelled in shaky, childlike scrawl. The entire house had undergone a renovation, the outside painted a cheerful yellow, and it seemed like the old house had been torn down completely, replaced with a building so full of warmth and vibrancy.
Jeongguk doesn't want to go inside. He doesn't want to walk the halls he'd promised himself he'd never find himself in again. He can almost hear the screaming, the crying. See the blood. He clenches his fists to keep his fingers from shaking too much.
He'd avoided any visit to the home in the last few months, afraid, and not ready to face all the memories. They haunted his dreams-- his nightmares -- for years after he'd left. They were the reason he couldn't sleep so often at night, spent hours hunched over the toilet, dry heaving until he felt like he had nothing left inside his body.
No, I'm not starting this again, Jeongguk reminds himself, trying to stamp away any feeling of an approaching panic attack. Do it for Jimin.
He'd been meaning to visit the child for a while, but had been too cowardly, but today he was determined to do his check up, and face one of his biggest fears.
A dry sob threatens at his throat when he takes a step forward, past the threshold, and makes his way slowly towards the steps. He climbs them slowly, his legs feeling like they've been weighed down by lead, but he forces himself to go forward.
The door-- painted a bright and vibrant red-- is slightly ajar, so Jeongguk opens it fully and lets himself in. He braces himself for the onslaught of the images permanently etched in his brain, and he curses himself for his photographic memory, because that means remembering the bad just as clearly as the good.
But inside the house, there's no resemblance to the interior of his childhood-- the foyer and living area are wide and open, with calm blue walls covered with children's drawings in marker and crayon. There's a massive TV in one corner, playing Cinderella, and there are five or so kids sprawled out on the many couches surrounding it, engrossed in the movie and eating popcorn, paying no attention to Jeongguk.
He gulps, remembering how the living room had always been off limits to everyone, lined with alcohol bottles and whatever drugs the ahjumma could get her hands on.
"Oh, you must be Dr. Jeon!" a cheery voice comes from behind Jeongguk, and he turns around to see a smiling woman come out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel with the scent of cinnamon trailing behind her.
"Uh... the door was open so I... let myself in," Jeongguk manages to say. There's a sting of tears burning at the back of his eyelids, because for a fleeting moment he wished it was Sojin coming out of the kitchen, smiling at him. She would have loved this, Jeongguk thinks with a jolt.
The lady clicks her tongue in annoyance. "Youngjae probably left it open, that boy always has his head in the clouds," she says, annoyed, but there's no real malice in her voice, just fondness.
"You're here to see Jimin, right?"
Jeongguk just nods, not quite trusting himself to speak. "He's in the backyard, he's there with--"
"I'll go myself, I don't want to burden you," Jeongguk says quickly. He doesn't want anyone to be around if he really does have a breakdown. The woman nods, and steps back into the kitchen.
