this book will be twenty-six chapters, so things are heating up. chapters will be shorter. brace yourself for a few cliffhangers...
on a side note, if you like jeon jungkook, dystopian/cyberpunk fiction, and/or murder mysteries, check out my new novel The Night Thief which will begin updates in april immediately after busan boy is finished. it would be mean the world to me.
with that said, thank you again for reading, and enjoy ♡
all my love,
krissy
❦
recap: nari and seungho are in busan to look after their sick mother, whose health isn't doing well because of poor self-care. eomma tells nari that the only way to live well is to live selfishly. the press has recently discovered from the jeju situation that park jimin is jm. jimin has taken the day off and surprises nari at the rooftop, but the uncertainty of the future—particularly his debut on the same night of retribution's release—hangs over him and nari.
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NOVEMBER 2000
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ON SUNDAY MORNING, the sun smiles on appa's grave.
We sit side by side, eomma and I, in front of a humble mound adorned with flowers and plates of fruit. Peaches and apples and fat white pears. Winking bottles of his favorite rice wine.
After we bow in our little pools of sunshine, we bask in shadows to reflect, drinking in the bittersweet winds of autumn. Eomma says appa loved to drink, especially when he was happy. She says he was one of those men that came home with a charming dimpled smile, said his thanks to God for a beautiful day, and swept her off her feet in a heart-stopping hug. Showered her with embarrassing kisses. Held me in his arms when I cried from hunger and laughed as he tapped my button nose.
I can't take my eyes off her when she speaks. A strange type of youthfulness overtakes her. Smoothes the wrinkles from her skin and turns years of age to ash until she's a girl again. Like me.
When her stories slow to a stop, she shakes her head with a sigh. Slips cashews into her mouth.
"Only men with eyes above can live like that," she says airily.
I frown. "Above where?"
She glances at me, but she doesn't really see me. The wind ruffles her soft hair, and I remember thinking, amidst my puzzlement, how beautiful my mother is.
