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Seagulls called in the distance, white feathers ruffling as the sea birds circled above the dock. The weather was cloudy and gloomy, not the perfect day to set out to sea on a mission. But that’s exactly what In-ho was going to do.
Jun-ho frowns at the boat anchored at the dock. It was small, ocean blue and white paint chipping off to reveal light brown wood. Big, blocky white letters were drawn near the bottom of the boat, spelling out ‘HWANG’. In-ho had that boat for as long as Jun-ho could remember. It was a family heirloom, you could’ve said, something that both brothers held close to their heart. This was probably the last time that Jun-ho was going to be seeing for a while.
“Do you really have to go?” Jun-ho asked, forcing his voice not to waver.
In-ho looked up from where he was un-anchoring the boat. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, hanging his head, refusing to meet Jun-ho’s gaze.
Jun-ho bit his lower lip to stop it from quivering. “You aren’t even telling us where you’re going, or what you plan to find!” he yelled, gesturing wildly to the ocean. “How do you expect us to let you go if you’re being so… so–”
In-ho placed a steadying hand on Jun-ho’s shoulder. The younger fisherman looked up at In-ho with teary eyes, chanting to himself mentally to not cry. “Jun-ho.”
Jun-ho sniffed.
“I’ll be back,” In-ho continued on, dark hollow eyes looking at Jun-ho as if In-ho was staring through his soul. “I promise.”
Jun-ho looked down. “I find that hard to believe.”
And for once, In-ho cracked a smile. “Swear by the sea.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Cross your heart,” Jun-ho demanded.
In-ho crossed his heart. “Don’t you worry,” he reassured. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Jun-ho watched the tiny boat leave the dock until it became a tiny black speck in the sunset.
It’s almost been five years since In-ho left that dock.
Back before you know it my ass, Jun-ho thinks bitterly as he walks by the empty dock yet again. He’s checked by that very same dock every day now, rain or snow. Something, just any sign that his brother may still come back to him, to his family.
And every single day, he felt his heart sink in disappointment.
Jun-ho wants to cry, or maybe scream, but he doesn’t. He bottles it up and stores it away for when he’s alone. He’s Hwang Jun-ho, a professional of keeping things under control. The town would freak if they ever saw him break down.
When he is alone though, he cries. He stares at pictures of his brother, wishing that he would be here next to him, rubbing his back and comforting him just like he used to. Jun-ho just wants to curl up into a ball and let his brother wrap his arms around him, lulling him to sleep.
But In-ho’s not here anymore. And Jun-ho isn’t a child.
He’s slowly starting to come to peace with the fact that In-ho is gone. That he’s not going to be back. That that dock will forever be empty, that he will never see the big blocky ‘HWANG’ ever again.
(Part of him still wants to hold on. To not let go of the hope that In-ho is out there. To believe that he will smell the familiar scent of his older brother again. But he knows that’s not the case.)
Jun-ho tries to distract himself. He fishes, takes on errands from other townspeople, talks to No-eul. Anything that will get his mind off of that dock. The people around him tell him that he doesn’t have to distract himself. That sometimes it’s okay to sit in grief.
But he doesn’t want to sit in grief. Grief burns and kills. Grief tastes bitter and poisonous. Grief sounds like heavy rain and loud thunder through gloomy clouds. Grief looks like an empty dock. Grief chokes Jun-ho and swallows him whole, drowning him until he can’t even breathe anymore.
Heaven may have gained an angel, but Jun-ho lost his brother.
Part of him is angry. Angry at In-ho, for not explaining himself and leaving, almost as if he wanted an excuse to leave his family so badly. Angry the world, for being the way it is and pushing and forcing people into corners until they can’t even escape. But most of all, he’s angry at himself. Angry at himself for not being able to convince In-ho to stay a little longer, to not leave that dock. Angry at himself for not prying more, asking more questions, asking why.
(I’m sorry that I didn’t make life worth living enough for you.)
“Are you coming home yet?” Jun-ho would sometimes whisper into the darkness when no one’s around, sitting on that goddamn dock again. He would kick off his shoes and dip his toes into the lurking ocean, feeling the icy cold water against his skin. Jun-ho would spill his secrets out into the night sky, somehow knowing that they’re reaching through to In-ho somehow.
Today is one of those days.
“Could you believe it, hyung?” Jun-ho chuckles. “This siren is totally wack. He’s crazy but…” he looks down, “he’s all I have right now.” The fisherman shakes his head. “Oh, you would hate him. I would pay to see you guys interact. When you come home, I’ll introduce you to him, okay?”
(He’s not coming home.)
Jun-ho sits, the silence being too loud. The waves lap and dance around his feet, slightly nudging them to the melody of the ocean tide. “I miss you,” he whispers eventually. “I miss you so much it hurts. I can’t go a single day without thinking of you.” There’s nothing more heart wrenching than seeing something and going In-ho would like this before reality strikes again.
“Why’d you have to leave?” Am I not enough for you?
“Come back already.” Why are you taking so long?
“I love you.” I hate you.
Jun-ho sits on the dock, and he gets no response.