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Tintin sighed softly, taking in the majestic steel beauty of the S.S. Karaboudjan. The S.S. Karaboudjan was a large merchant vessel that Haddock would often captain.
A rough hand landed on the young man's shoulder, derailing his train of thought. Turning on his heel, Tintin stared at the scruffy face of his lover, the captain himself. The raven-haired man’s usually booming Stentorian voice had softened to a husky whisper.
"It’s only a quick trip,” the captain assured the boy. “What is there to worry about, lad? I'll always return back to ya, mon amour. Don’t you worry about this old salt.”
Haddock smiled sweetly, letting the rough pad of his thumb glide across his lover’s cheek.
Tintin smiled softly, letting his head rest on the captain’s calloused palm. Haddock had assured the reporter that he had far more important things to manage while he spent a few weeks out at sea.
It was only going to be a few weeks. What was the harm?
Another soft sigh escaped Tintin’s mouth as he studied Haddock’s blue eyes and dark, scraggly beard.
“I know you’ll be alright, but I still worry for you,” Tintin had told the captain. “Anything can happen out there. The sea can be just as cruel and dangerous as the wind it carries.” The worrying knot in Tintin’s heart began to tighten at that thought.
But Haddock's warm chuckle and loving smile loosened the knot, if only slightly.
“Worry not, lad. I'll always return to ya, Tintin.” Haddock assured him. His calloused hands pulled away from the ginger’s face only to wrap his arms around the young man and pulled him toward his solid form.
Tintin could only giggle at the captain’s reassurance, pressing his face into Haddock’s firm shoulder. Tears threatened to trickle down his freckled cheeks. Pulling away from his lover, Tintin swiped at his face, trying to hide any trace of tears.
With a husky chuckle that brought a flush across Tintin’s face, Haddock pulled his young lover in close one more time, pressing a chaste kiss firmly on the boy’s lips. Tintin grasped Haddock’s hand, holding it to his side timidly.
“Ready, mon amour?” Haddock spoke with a soft smile.
Tintin nodded softly, a bittersweet smile stretching across his face.
“Ready, mon amour,” he finally said.
Both men turned on their heels as they walked side by side, fingers intertwined and hidden between their bodies as they approached the crowd of young sailors boarding the steel beauty of the S.S. Karaboudjan.
Tintin stopped short of the crowd as Haddock continued on tugging the reporters hand along with his own until their fingers slipped apart. He could only watch with a heavy heart as Haddock slowly disappeared within the crowd of men boarding the ship.
As soon as the whistle blew, the ship slowly began to pull away from the port. From atop the stern of the ship, Haddock waved goodbye to Tintin down below.
Pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket, Tintin waved back to the captain as the ship left the port, sailing towards the unknown horizon ahead.
~~~~~~~~~~
Despite his heavy longing heart, Tintin spared no time to grieve the short departure of his beloved.
Between Calculus, Castafiore, Thompson and Thomson, and the usual array of petty criminals he had encountered, Tintin kept himself busy with new mysteries and new crimes to solve. And each case seemed to move along slowly as he worked at half the capacity.
Maybe that’s why two weeks seemed to slip by so fast.
Haddock would return soon, he thought to himself. It was only a matter of time...
Every day before heading back to his flat, Tintin would linger around at the port, awaiting the return of the S.S Karaboudjan, along with his lover. Tintin would wait for hours until the crack of dawn, before eventually giving up and sleeping away the rest of the morning.
Tintin had waited for weeks, but it was then that those weeks turned into months, and his fear began to envelope every waking minute.
That was until Professor Calculus called for the reporter and shared the tragic news about the Karaboudjan. The ship itself had never reached port; only a SOS in the form of a telegraph that had been dispatched from the ship.
Tintin refused to believe that she had never made it to port, and refused to think that Haddock might have gone down along with her.
As months full of grief slipped by, Tintin grew anxious. There was no way the captain would be gone. Haddock had promised he would return, and Captain Archibald Haddock was a man of his word.
The holidays had come and gone, and with each new day, each night spent at the port seemed to slip by without word from the ship or its captain. With waning hope, Tintin tried to return to normal, hoping that sooner or later he would hear from Haddock.
“My captain will return, sooner or later,” Tintin sighed to himself as he made the trek home, with little Snowy trotting by his side.
Thompson and Thomson were standing at the stoop of the apartment building, with a glass bottle in hand. Tintin’s heart gave a leap as his pace quickened.
“Any news, gentlemen?” The ginger asked as he trotted up to the pair, staring at the glass bottle with anticipation.
Thompson cleared his throat, his voice low and somber. “The slip of paper inside this bottle is a personal message for you Tintin...from Captain Archibold Haddock,” he had said.
Handing the bottle to the reporter, the pair tipped their hats, wishing him the best and walking away.
With fear tying his heart strings into knots, Tintin rushed upstairs to his flat, pulling the cork out of the bottle. Pushing past the door, he settled on top of his bed, nearly panting in fear.
What would the message say?
Was Haddock in danger?
Did he need help?
The possibilities seemed endless.
Taking a deep breath, Tintin shook the rolled slip of paper out of the bottle and set it aside.
Unravelling the paper, Tintin’s breath caught in his throat. He felt his stomach knot up.
The slip was an old photograph of the pair, arm in arm, and their sides pressed closely to one another.
But that wasn’t enough to prepare Tintin for what he saw next.
Scribbled down on the left side of the photograph read one single line of sloppy black ink that made Tintin’s heart shatter like fragile porcelain:
"I’m so sorry, mon amour."