Chapter Text
Jiseok felt as if he was going to throw up the sandwich he had eaten before boarding. The ferry shook back and forth with every wave, like a seesaw when you were small, an adult on the other end making you bounce out of your seat every time you got to the top, making his head spin and his stomach twirl. The smell of fish coming from the fishing boats around them didn't help too; he hated the smell of fish. His dad worked at a fish factory, and last summer they let him help in the packaging department. He couldn't deal with having to stand still all day, shivering in a room the temperature of a fridge with the awful smell of fish in the air, sticking to his hair and clothes. He quit after a week, but the smell of fish still gave him flashbacks. Who knew why they gave that job to a 15-year-old anyway.
The rain flowed from the deck into the covered area where he was sitting, soaking his old Converse he had doodled all over with Biro during the most boring maths lesson of his life with water and a mix of salt and dirt. His guitar was in a case on his lap, forbidding him to get up to empty his stomach; it was far too precious to sit on the floor of this disgusting ferry. The pitter-patter of the raindrops on the plastic roof covering his head almost sounded like a drumbeat; he focused on that, trying his very best not to puke all over the floor of the ferry. Focusing hard, he made a melody, one to match the drumbeat of the raindrops. He couldn't wait to find some time to play it on his guitar, his only release.
By the time the ferry was finally pulling up to land Jiseok had already written a whole song in his head, about his friends at his old school, the games they would play during lunch, sneaking out during classes to ride their bikes to the park, him playing his guitar on the swing set whilst his friends lay down on the various other pieces of play park equipment, smoking cigarettes and attempting to make rings with the smoke (they never succeeded). It started to become a blur after that, even though it had only been a day since he left; his memory had always been bad, forgetting everything as soon as he stepped away. He thought he might try to contact his friends, send them a postcard or something once he got to the island, but he's not sure they'd even respond. He wasn't sure they even liked him all that much, anyway; maybe they just used him for entertainment and background music. When he told them he was leaving to live on an island with his grandfather's friend for a while, all they said was “oh alright, have a good time” and continued with what they were doing. Jiseok didn't remember what it was that they were doing at the time he told them he was leaving, nor what they did the day before or the day before that; he never did. He just remembered that he missed playing his guitar at the park, and having an audience, feeling cool.
The horn of the ferry blew, which made Jiseok's head hurt more than it already was. They finally pulled up to the island, mist covering the cobbled streets and brick houses. The island looked empty from afar, probably due to the storm or it being out of season. He carefully stood up; his legs felt like jelly, but he had to push through. The backs of his two suitcases clunked together as he grabbed both the handles with one hand, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. The ramp off the ferry was steep, and with the puddles on the floor, it made it incredibly slippery. He took it slowly, one step at a time, but at one particularly wet section about halfway down the ramp, he suddenly lost his balance, toppling to the floor as if he was a baby giraffe, his suitcases ending up at the bottom of the ramp before he did. He felt the pain shoot up the bones at the bottom of his back. The ramp was made of metal with little pill-shaped pieces popping out in a pattern, maybe to stop people slipping, but it didn't work. Each piece of metal was attached together with a small gap or bump, like when you're going down a waterslide, and the seams scratch up your legs. Jiseok somehow managed to land on one of the seams, grazing the palms of his hands. They felt all wet and bloody, but all he could do was wipe them on his baggy jeans and keep going. Typical, he thought, can my day possibly get any worse? Since he was already soaked, he decided to shuffle the rest of the way down on his bum and pick up his suitcases at the bottom, a crack on the corner of one of the wheels forbidding the suitcase from running smoothly.
When he got to the bottom of the ramp, he caught the scent of coffee in the air; he could see the origin of the scent in the distance, a cafe. With warm lighting shining through the window, almost illuminating the fog in front of it, and smoke coming through the chimney, it looked cosy and warm. It was at the top of the hill, across from the harbour where his ferry pulled in. It was a long cobbled street that looked impossible to walk up. If he could just get to that coffee shop, he could have a break, a hot drink and shelter from the rain, and one thing about Jiseok was that if he set his mind to something, then it would come true, so he got up, wiped down his hands and began to haul his suitcases towards the hill. It was okay when he was walking on flat ground. However, the cobbled streets were a nightmare and announced to anyone within earshot that he was here, pathetically dragging his suitcases through the rain. Yet, as soon as he got to the hill, he was already out of breath, sweat dripping down his forehead. His suitcase wheel got stuck almost every meter, requiring him to kick it back into place to keep going, the crack expanding with each kick until it looked like the wheel would fall off any minute, hanging on by one small piece of plastic. The smell of coffee got gradually stronger the longer he walked, sweat leaking down his back underneath the guitar, his hair and clothes completely and utterly soaked by the rain.
He looked like a wet dog by the time he reached the cafe. He couldn't see inside; the floor-to-ceiling windows completely fogged up by the heat inside. There was a small bar-style table attached to the outside of the cafe with several empty bar stools. Nobody wanted to sit outside in this weather. He could hear chatter and laughter coming from inside the cafe, but when he pushed the door open using his shoulder, pulling two suitcases inside behind him, the whole cafe went quiet. There was a group of old women sitting at one table, another full with high school students completing a project, one family with a small baby and a group of older fishermen taking shelter from the storm. The shop had a wood-burning stove inside, warming up Jiseok as soon as he entered, shelves of books surrounding the walls and more piles on the floor; they had a record player and a wooden box full of records on a table, currently playing some old jazz music that he didn't recognise. This was not Jiseok's genre, but he would always appreciate any genre of music. The atmosphere of the cafe was supposed to be warm, comforting and homely, but to him, he only felt out of place; every set of eyes in the room was on him.
As he moved to tuck his suitcases under an available table in the corner and place his guitar across from him on the table like it was his companion, the chatter in the cafe started back up again, but he could still feel the eyes on his back and the whispering behind him. He went up to the counter, where there was a young man working, maybe a few years older than him. He was broad with muscles, his fingers tapping on the counter to the beat of the drums in the jazz track. Jiseok wondered if he played the drums.
“Hi, what can I get you?” The barista asked.
“Just a hot chocolate, thanks.” He replied, as he tried to dig money to pay out of his pocket.
“Don't worry about it, this one's on the house.” The barista said, “You look like you've been through enough today.”
“Are you sure?” he replied, mouth slightly agape and tears threatened to build up in his eyes. He was not usually this emotional, but it had been a long day and a free cup of hot chocolate might be just the thing to make the dams burst; after all, back in the city nobody would ever offer anything for free at a cafe, you would be lucky if you found anything for less than 10. “Thank you so much!”
“It's no problem really, go sit down, I'll bring it over when it's ready!”
Jiseok didn't know why he cried; maybe it was the mix of the rain in his hair, the whispers behind his back or the sting of the scrapes on the palms of his hands, but the tears welled up in his eyes, and suddenly they were dripping like a water fountain. When you've been through a day like that, what else could you do? An old lady from another table came up to him after seeing his shaking shoulders and shivering body from behind; maybe she took pity on him like you take pity on a stray cat that you see on the street. She smelt like fresh flowers and honey, a warmth radiating off her where her hand met Jiseok’s shoulder; the warmth sunk deep into his body.
“Are you Jiseok?” she asked sweetly as he replied with a nod of the head. “I thought so; after all, it's not often we see someone new around here. I've been told to look out for you by Todd, the man you're going to stay with. Here, I’ll call my son over to give you a ride there in his truck; you'll never make it there walking, especially in this state.” He thought he wouldn't have known the way there even if he tried to walk, but he nodded along anyway. By the time his hot chocolate came, the tears had dried up around his eyes, but they still looked red, and you could obviously tell that he had been crying.
The first sip immediately helped him calm down; the instant relief was obvious in his face, the sip slowing down his heartbeat quickly, almost defrosting him from the inside out. The record in the cafe had been changed to a rock album, courtesy of the barista, who he thought had seen his guitar and thought that he looked like the type who liked rock and so decided to change the record for him, and for that he was very thankful. By the time he finished his hot chocolate, grainy parts of the hot chocolate mix left at the bottom of his mug, a van pulled up outside the cafe. The old lady accompanied him to meet her son, ushering her son to help him put his suitcases into the back seat. The son looked to be around his age; he had expected someone older due to the age of the old lady and maybe because he didn't look old enough to have a driver's licence, but he decided not to question it. He had a skinny build and hair long enough to cover his eyes so much that Jiseok could not get a proper read on him. Jiseok kept his guitar with him to sit in the front.
When they were driving through the town, they drove through the empty promenade that seemed as if it would be busy and booming with tourists in the summer: watersports, cafes, bars, arcades and other summer activities lined the front of the beach, but then it was empty and looked almost post-apocalyptic as if there had been zombies or a deadly virus that wiped out all civilisation, the mist didn’t help at all. The car smelt a little like a mix of incense and cigarette smoke; he wondered if the son of the old lady smoked or if the van belonged to someone else. The scent was definitely an unusual mix for someone his age, he thought. The son played a rock CD on his CD player in the car, and Jiseok felt a little relaxed; music always helped him relax.
“You play guitar?” The son asked, breaking the silence that had been looming between them since he had gotten in the van.
“Yeah,” He replied, happy for the conversation to be about something he enjoyed. “You play any instruments? I assume you like rock from the CD?” He questioned with a laugh.
“Yeah, I also play guitar.”, the son replied, but they said nothing else for the rest of the car ride. He must be very quiet, or maybe he's just giving me space, he thought.
As they drove further they started pulling away from the town yet still along the coast, they swerved down small winding roads with farms on one side and the rugged coast line and beach on the other until they pulled up to something that he could only describe as a lone fishermans cottage, fishing utensils were hung up on the outside, the main building built of stone and painted blue with a chimney that leaked smoke poking out the top of the roof. The windows seemed to have no glass, only wooden shutters to open and close them, big enough to sit out of or climb out of if needed, he thought to himself. Many sheds and benches made of wood were in the garden, a fence leading to a private piece of beach with waves slowly crashing down on the shore in a predictable rhythm.
The old lady’s son helped him unload his suitcases and drove off before he could even say goodbye, and suddenly he was all alone in unbearable silence, so he walked as quickly as he could to get inside the house and out of the rain. The lock for the garden gate was on the inside, requiring him to lean over the gate to see what to do, the lock needing a bit of a shoogle and some arm strength to pull loose. The path to the house was paved with large stones, decorated with an edge of small seashells on either side of the path. There was a small porch covering the door, a lone rocking chair sitting there with a blanket and a pillow, a side table with an empty mug. A windchime hung on the corner of the porch, sounding less pretty than intended with the strong wind, seagulls gawking all around as if singing over the melody of the windchimes. The air smelt of the sea. Gathering up the courage, he walked up to the porch, leaving his suitcases at the bottom of the small set of stairs for now, and knocked with his cold, shaking fist.
It took almost a full minute before the old man, Todd, opened the door, a wave of warmth leaking out of the house as the door creaked open, the old man sticking his head out of the crack as if he was scared of who would be there.
“Are you Jiseok?” He asked, to which Jiseok timidly nodded in reply. “Use your words, young boy.”, he added. “I've heard a lot about you and your antics from your parents; you can't get away with your delinquent tendencies in my house, do you understand? Now come in.” He said as he finally opened the door completely. The door opened to the living room of the small house; from what he could see, there were only a few rooms: a living room, a kitchen, a toilet and two rooms up the stairs. The house was small enough to be able to see every door just from the front door. Jiseok quickly grabbed his suitcases and headed inside the house. ‘You won't get away with your delinquent tendencies in my house,’ he thought back to what the old man had said. Jiseok didn't think that he was a delinquent at all, or bad for that matter. Sure, he may have hung out with the wrong crowd and skipped lessons to play guitar, but he had never been rude or bad to anyone in his life, never smoked nor drank; all he wanted to do was play his guitar and bend a few rules that he didn't think were necessary. What on earth had his parents told the old man, he thought.
“The rules in this house are easy,” the old man began, “one, you wake up early, go to school every day and go to every lesson, complete all homework and get good grades no matter what. Two, you only make friends with good students in school; my grandson can help you out. Three, you keep your room clean, do your own laundry and complete chores every day.” Jiseok was not sure which part of that was supposed to sound easy or reasonable, but he was trying not to get on his bad side on the first day, or due to the fatigue of the day he just had, he wasn't so sure; he decided to let it go. “Four, no playing your guitar; I hate music.”
“What? You have to be kidding me” He spoke before his mind could catch up to his mouth “There is no way that's happening, no guitar?”
“It's happening whether you like it or not; if I catch you even once playing that guitar, it's getting confiscated”
He was not so sure how to react, but to save his precious guitar, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
“This is the living room,” The old man continued. There were some books piled in the corner of the room on the hardwood floor, next to a pile of maps. There was a fish decoration hung on the wall, a few lamps dotted around the room and two uncomfortable-looking wooden-frame sofas with pillows and a matching armchair. There was no TV in the house, just a phone attached to the wall; the only heating was a wood-burning fire, which made the whole house smell like it was burning. “The kitchen,” the old man continued, pointing through a door. There was a gas stove in the kitchen, pots and pans hung up on the wall beside it, a small table covered with a plastic tablecloth and a door that led to the back garden. “Your room is just up the stairs on the right; I’ll let you go and look on your own; you'll be sharing with my grandson” He finally finished. He didn't know he'd be sharing, but he had no energy left in him to care; he lugged his guitar and suitcases up the steep set of stairs, stopping for a breath when he made it to the top and entered the room on the right.
The room looked as if nobody lived there. There was a small set of bunk beds, both sets of sheets perfectly made and matching, making it impossible for him to tell which was supposed to be his; a small desk underneath a big window, currently closed due to the storm; and a small set of drawers and a wardrobe for clothes. He would worry about that later, he thought. He opened his suitcase, pulled out a fresh set of comfortable clothes, changed into them to warm himself up after being out in the rain, too exhausted to even think about showering. He lay down on the bottom bunk and drifted off into sleep.