Episode 2

Jeongguk layers his eyes over him, searching for any clear sign that he is one of the bad guys, but by all indication, he seems to be just a boy. He’s wearing a big, grey t-shirt, certainly not his size and there is something mildly comforting in how bad his haircut is. His eyes are big, but he isn’t scary.

So, Jeongguk reaches forward, wraps his fingers around the detergent, careful not to touch his own. He wants to say thank you, but he doesn’t, only nods. The boy lets go, long fingers peel off and he lets his arm fall down to his thigh. Jeongguk’s eyes trail after if for some reason. His hand perhaps looks a bit nicer to hold. 

He pries his eyes away, snaps them up to his face to venture another nod that he hopes conveys enough of his gratitude. The boy grins back at this as if he has spoken to him. His lips stretch to corners, stretch so far back Jeongguk thinks he sees all his teeth. It makes his eyes crease slightly, his cheeks getting even rounder to accommodate the pull of his mouth.

Jeongguk blinks at him, confused. He hasn’t seen a genuine smile in a while. He’s uncomfortable with how it makes him feel comfortable, so he spins away, gets on his tip toes to reach the faucet and starts the sink. The sound of water running blurs the boy’s presence, blurs his exit from the room. 

“Find a bed.” That’s what Mrs. Park says. Find a bed. She doesn’t tell him where to sleep, doesn’t take his hand and lead him to a warm bed. Find a bed.

There are two rooms for the boys, both of which are full. There are six beds and he doesn’t know if she knows this. There is no bed for him. He has never felt more awkward in his life, hanging by the door of one room, head tilted down toward the floor as his eyes take subtle glimpses around the space to find an empty bed. His fingers coil around each other, pulling at the end of the fabric of his shirt. He’s twisted it so much at this point, palms sweating into it and it makes it all the more wrinkled. His mother didn’t use to like it when he walked around with wrinkles in his clothes, but he needs to do something with his hands.

He shuffles his feet across the hallway to the next room. He doesn’t lift them too much off the floor because it creaks loudly if he does and he would rather his own presence was as small to the others as he feels himself to be. He would very much like to disappear completely if he could. He wants to be where his mother is, he misses her. He wants her to hold his hand and he doesn’t understand why she can’t come back and do just that. She’s always there when he needs her and he has never needed her more, never felt more alone. 

He hovers with raising emptiness at the doorstep of the other room, his fingers twirling restless, palms stretching the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t know how emptiness can be so full. He knows little about feelings as a whole, mainly the basics, so he cannot put into words what goes on in him entirely. Mostly he feels lost.

Slowly, he does start to learn about emotions like this, one by one. He feels as if he forgets all he knows by now and he needs to start all over. Today he learns loneliness, learns helplessness. He learns loss. 

There is one empty bed in that room, but the sheets are thrown off as if someone had been recently there. Two of the boys in the previous room had been murmuring to themselves, but both that are currently in this one are asleep, one of them whistling a soft snore in his slumber. Jeongguk thinks he remembers from the dinner table that he had a runny nose. 

He rubs at his own, chasing away a curious sensation there, too. It feels itchy. 

The sound of a toilet flushing makes him jump slightly where he stands, his eyes peeling wider as he hears running water and then a door open. The steps are distinctive on the parquet flooring. They near. Jeongguk’s heart runs wild in his chest, thumpthumpthump, and he keeps his head down. If he looks down, maybe they won’t notice him.

He counts. Counting helps, counting always helped. He simultaneously counts the steps taken and the beats of his heart.

He loses the number when he feels a palm on his shoulder. He sinks his body immediately down, ducks away from the touch and spins. He’s almost not surprised to see the boy with the big eyes standing there a few inches from him. His eyes shine in the darkness of the hallway, but he recognizes him with the dim light of a night lamp that is turned on in the room he had been observing.

“Hey,” the boy murmurs quiet. It’s a whisper, sounds private. Jeongguk cocks his head, stands there silent, but he is almost convinced by now this boy is not one of the bad guys, so he lingers, nods to him again.

“What are you doing up?” The boy asks yet again in a murmur. “Bed time has passed,” he shakes his head, his wide eyes growing somehow wider, “Mrs. Park doesn’t like it when we’re up past bed time.” 

Jeongguk’s teeth gnaw at his lip, eyes finding the floor once more. He inadvertently sees his palms rub into his shirt, twist more wrinkles into it, nervous.

The boy’s eyes dart behind him through the opened door, flash across both full beds before they land on his own. He raises his brows slightly and glances back at Jeongguk. “You don’t have a bed, do you?”

Jeongguk’s teeth sink into the flesh of his mouth harder. He shakes his head, blinks at the floor. 

The boy watches him silently for a couple of moments which to Jeongguk are filled with the sound of his own heart drumming loud into his rib cage. The boy taps a finger on his chin, once, twice, mulls it over. 

“Come on,” he says next, and Jeongguk’s eyes spark up just in time to see the motion of his head, small and inviting towards the room. “You’re small,” the boy nods to himself. “You’ll fit. Sleep next to me.”

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