—HYUNG! [PT.1]
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"Hyung" is a Korean term used by males to refer to an older male, typically an older brother or close male friend. It expresses respect, affection, and a sense of closeness.
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Kim Dokja stood at the entrance of the school, a deep frown creasing his forehead as he observed the other kids his age laughing and chatting merrily as they hurried inside.
The sound of their cheerful voices echoed around him, making his heart sink even further. He felt a mix of frustration and apprehension surge within him, and his small hands tightened around his older brother's arm, gripping it as if it were a lifeline.
His older brother, a comforting presence, didn’t seem to notice the tension radiating from him; he was too busy glancing at his watch, eager for the day to begin.
Dokja's backpack, worn and slightly frayed at the edges, hung heavily from his shoulder, a constant reminder of the burden he felt about attending school.
The weight of both the bag and his worries pressed down on him, making him feel even smaller among the throng of confident, carefree children.
He shifted his feet nervously, dreading the thought of the long day ahead and the interactions that awaited him inside those walls.
"Dokja, Hyung need to go now," [Name] said softly, kneeling down in front of the younger boy.
A gentle smile curved on his lips, trying to convey comfort in an overwhelming moment.
"I wanna go home," Dokja replied, his small hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of [Name]'s shirt, his expressive eyes wide with uncertainty.
“Dokja…” [Name] sighed, a note of concern creeping into his voice as he noticed the stubbornness in the younger boy’s posture. It was clear he didn’t want to let go.
Today marked Dokja's first day as an Elementary student, a milestone that should have been joyful.
However, reality had hit him hard, and he found himself feeling lost and anxious.
Meanwhile, [Name] was already navigating the challenges of Middle School, stepping into a new phase of life that felt worlds apart from Dokja’s.
The stark contrast was daunting for the little boy, leaving him clinging to the comfort of the familiar.
"How about this," [Name] suggested gently, kneeling down to meet Dokja’s gaze, "when school ends, Hyung will be right here waiting for you, okay?" His voice was soft, laced with warmth, hoping to coax a smile from the boy.
Dokja pouted, his small hands clutching the fabric of [Name]'s uniform with a hesitant grip, as if letting go would mean losing something precious.
There was a flicker of reluctance in his wide eyes, mirroring the battle within him.
"Hyung will read you three bedtime stories," [Name] continued, raising a playful brow and offering a reassuring smile as he extended his pinky finger, the universal sign of a promise. The promise seemed to hang in the air, a lifeline connecting them despite the distance that would soon separate them.
Dokja’s pout deepened, and he sighed dramatically, but eventually, he relented, linking his pinky with [Name]'s.
Their thumbs pressed together, a bond firm for now.
"Three bedtime stories!" he repeated, a hint of determination in his voice as he tried to mask the bubbling excitement underneath his grumpiness.
"I promise," [Name] chuckled softly, a fond smile spreading across his face as he lovingly adjusted Dokja's uniform, smoothing out the wrinkles.
The simple act made them both feel closer, even though the inevitable goodbye loomed.
With one last lingering look, Dokja turned toward the school entrance, his face scrunching up in a mix of determination and melancholy as he watched the distance grow between him and his Hyung.
The world around him felt larger and somehow emptier, but the promise of three enchanting bedtime stories filled him with a flicker of hope as he stepped inside.
School can't be that bad isn't it?
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The bicycle came to a swift halt, tires skidding slightly on the pavement as he patiently awaited the swarm of children emerging from the school grounds.
The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, but his attention was suddenly grabbed by a familiar figure darting toward him from his peripheral vision.
A smile crept onto his face as he turned to see his little brother, Dokja, sprinting up with wild, unkempt hair and cheeks flushed with what appeared to be a mix of exertion and distress.
He couldn’t help but suppress a chuckle at the sight of Dokja’s disheveled appearance and the unmistakable frown etched on his face.
“Hyung! I don’t wanna go to school anymore!” Dokja declared dramatically as he leaped onto the back of [Name]'s bicycle, his voice a blend of frustration and defeat.
He slumped against his brother, launching into a grumble about his horrible day, the words spilling out in a rush as he vented all the little injustices that had piled up throughout his day.
"And they actually have tomatoes for lunch! Who in their right mind eats tomatoes for lunch?!" Dokja exclaimed, [Name] shook his head, a mix of disbelief and amusement evident as he shook his head at Dokja.
They had just rounded the corner and were approaching the familiar sight of their home, the sun casting a warm glow over the quaint building.
With a playful grin, [Name] added, "Well, I eat tomatoes for lunch!"
His declaration was met with an exaggerated shudder from Dokja, who scrunched up his face in mock horror, clearly finding the idea repulsive.
The lighthearted banter between them softened the afternoon, making their routine stroll home feel all the more enjoyable.
They burst into laughter as they hopped off the bicycle, the warm afternoon sun casting playful shadows on the ground.
[Name] effortlessly pushed the bike to the side of the house, leaning it against the weathered wood where it could rest safely.
With joyful energy, they made their way to the front door, both of them exchanging playful nudges and bumps, their laughter ringing through the air.
In a moment that almost sent Dokja tumbling, he teetered dangerously close to his mother’s carefully tended flower pot, vibrant blossoms swaying precariously.
Just in the nick of time, [Name] reached out and caught him, steadying his balance and preventing a floral disaster, their giggles filling the space around them.
Their lighthearted bickering was cut short by the sudden sound of a loud crash, the noise reverberating through the stillness of the quiet neighborhood.
[Name]’s heart dropped as a sharp cry of pain, unmistakably his mother’s, tore through the air.
Without hesitation, he pushed Dokja behind him, his movements deliberate and protective.
Slowly, he cracked the door open, his breath shallow, peering into the dim room with cautious eyes.
Behind him, Dokja clung to his waist like a lifeline.
His small hands, balled into trembling fists, twisted the fabric of [Name]’s uniform, leaving crumpled creases in its wake.
His fear was palpable, his grip tight, his knuckles pale.
“Hyung...” Dokja’s voice quivered with barely contained terror, his wide, watery eyes fixed on [Name]’s tense expression.
[Name] turned and offered a weak, reassuring smile, though it faltered under the weight of the situation.
He reached down to ruffle Dokja’s hair, a silent promise that everything would be fine—even if he wasn’t sure it would be.
The room beyond was a chaotic mess. Empty bottles of alcohol were scattered haphazardly on the floor, their contents pooling in sticky puddles on the worn carpet.
The acrid stench of spilled liquor mixed with the stale air, assaulting their senses and making both brothers wrinkle their noses in unison.
Another shout echoed from the kitchen, this one louder and angrier. The sound made them both flinch, but [Name] recovered quickly, his protective instincts taking over.
He crouched down to Dokja’s level, his hands firm but gentle on the boy’s shoulders.
“Stay here,” he whispered, his tone low and commanding. His gaze was sharp yet full of warmth as he guided Dokja toward the nearest room.
Dokja hesitated, his lips pursed and his brows knitted with worry, but he obeyed.
He shuffled into the small room, casting one last glance at [Name]. The door clicked shut, leaving him alone with his growing fear.
He pressed his ear to the door, his small frame trembling as he tried to make sense of the muffled chaos outside.
The sound of shattering glass made him jump, his breath hitching as [Name]’s voice rang out—louder and sharper than Dokja had ever heard before.
[Name] never shouted.
He was always the calm one, the gentle one.
Hearing his raised voice now, tinged with both fury and desperation, filled Dokja with a cold, creeping terror.
Time dragged on, each second heavy and suffocating.
Dokja slid down the wall, curling into himself as he waited. The silence that eventually followed was almost worse than the noise.
The doorknob rattled, and the door creaked open. Dokja’s head snapped up, his heart pounding.
“Dokja...” [Name]’s voice was soft but strained, like a thread stretched too thin.
He stepped into the room, his figure silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway.
His face was a patchwork of cuts and bruises, the fresh wounds stark against his pale skin.
Purple and blue bruises were already forming, blooming like grotesque flowers along his jaw and cheekbone.
His uniform was wrinkled and slightly disheveled, the fabric damp in places from sweat or something more unsettling.
A faint smear of blood marred his collar, though he seemed unfazed by it.
“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly.
Yet even in his battered state, there was a gentleness in his tone, an unwavering warmth meant to shield Dokja from the harsh reality clawing at the edges of their lives.
Dokja didn’t answer right away. His lips quivered as his wide eyes filled with tears. He could see it—the exhaustion weighing on [Name], the pain he carried not just in his body but in his heart.
Yet [Name] stood there, steady and unyielding, as if determined to bear the weight of the world alone.
He nodded silently, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
[Name] knelt down, pulling him into a firm yet tender embrace.
The scent of blood and sweat lingered on him, but Dokja didn’t pull away. He buried his face in [Name]’s chest, clutching at his rumpled uniform as though it were his anchor.
[Name] closed his eyes, resting his chin atop Dokja’s head. He knew Dokja understood more than he let on.
The boy wasn’t oblivious to the harsh reality of their home.
But [Name] had vowed long ago to protect him from the worst of it, to shield him from the darkness that loomed over their family.
To Kim [Name], Kim Dokja was everything—his light, his hope, his reason to endure.
And no matter how cruel the world became, no matter how much it tried to break them, [Name] would never allow it to touch his precious little brother.
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