a/n: thank you so much for 1k reads on the edited version of busan boy! your support means everything and i truly hope you enjoy the next few chapters.

also may i say...the first scene in this chapter really got me emo when i was writing it so let me know your thoughts!

stay safe,

krissy

___

JULY 2007 

BUSAN, SOUTH KOREA

ON THE EVE of Jihoon's departure, eomma's smuggled rice wine tastes sour.

It's in a thick fogged-up glass bottle that I've stolen from the kitchen cupboard, and it tastes like absolute shit. I wince from the sting, releasing a sharp breath, and watch the liquid slosh inside.

I'm stretched out across a blanket draped haphazardly over the worn couch, on the rooftop above our row of houses. It looks like a garage sale from the nineties up here—faded crewnecks, MP3 players and cassette tapes, some H.O.T. boy band magazines. A paint-stained green table—the hard piece of furniture that marks the center of this rooftop—remains bare. Over the rim of the roof, our neighborhood spills out around us, a tangle of yellowed streetlights and clothing lines that give way to the dark sea.

I sniff the bottle and take another sip. It's cloudy today, no stars to see. Just a blistered moon and an ugly purplish haze, as if some foul-smelling tobacco has fogged up the silky midnight.

Footsteps arrive at the top of the stairs. Jihoon strides across the rooftop, his hair knotted in a tousled mess. A fat duffel bumps against his thigh, slung haphazardly across the hoodie dwarfing his lean frame. The silver chain around his neck swings angrily. It's a pendant that bears his surname in hanja, gifted to him from his dad during his baek-il celebration. I still don't understand why he doesn't take it off even after his dad abandoned him.

My eyes trail him as he strides to the cooler across the roof and snatches up a Melona popsicle. I move my legs just as he plops down on the other end of the couch.

His eyes are bloodshot from tears as he tugs open the popsicle wrapper.

"What?" I prod, pushing myself up. "Was it that bad?"

He only shakes his head, gaze wandering the air with fury.

I release a heavy sigh. His mom isn't the type of woman to take nicely to Jihoon's decision to leave. I know, especially after witnessing his father leaving years ago. It doesn't help that his career means restricted contact with even his family. And now that Jihoon really is going, that his bus ticket to Seoul is for tomorrow morning...

Jihoon takes a big bite of his popsicle, then flinches from brain freeze.

I nudge his arm. "Take it slow," I chastise, then hold out my bottle. "Eoh. Have some. Liquid courage."

But when he sees it, frustration passes over his eyes. I've barely blinked before he's taken the bottle from my hands and set it firmly on the table.

"Yah," I snap, startled.

"Stop drinking so often," he urges, eyes searching mine with frustration. "Are you going to keep drinking when I'm in Seoul? Who's going to watch over you at night? What if someone comes up here and you're just passed out?"

I glare at him and swear under my breath. Jihoon has never been like this—he's always leaned back and passed freedom without judgment.

"What's gotten into him..." I reach for the bottle, but again he swipes it out of my reach.

My temper flares. "Ryu Jihoon."

"What?" he challenges.

"Give it back."

He arches his brows stubbornly. "What if I don't want to?"

"You little shit—" I launch myself at him, wrestling him for it, then release an irritated huff as he holds it out of my reach. The liquid splashes on us as his hand flails. He surges forward with a frustrated grunt and climbs on top of me to hold me still. Instantly, I shriek and lash out at him—

Only to knock the bottle from his hand.

It shatters across the cement. Alcohol sprays across the ground.

We freeze.

A stunned silence follows. My shoulders are heaving. The rice wine stains the floor, glass bits gleaming. Across the floor. Under the table. Under the couch.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh, Nari, eomma will have your ass for this--

I open my eyes, dragging in air, and find Jihoon's face inches from mine.

My body goes still.

His eyes hold mine. He hovers just above me, his arms braced on either side of my head. I forget how to move or breathe.

Our breaths mingle. His lashes flutter, uncertain, as his eyes dance across my face. It occurs to me, vaguely, that they're the color of dark honey, the color of sugar as it simmers to a copper-ish boil on the stove.

His gaze lowers.

Do something, Nari. My heart pounds at a million miles per hour. Do what? What do I want to do?

Before I can decide, Jihoon turns away. My heart slams against my ribs as he collapses on the other end of the couch. Air rushes back into my lungs. I'm starting to think this was all in my head—but one look at the flush in his cheeks tells me that he felt it, too.

Awkwardness hangs thick between us. I clear my throat, straighten, and point uselessly at the glass across the floor. "We should clean up the mess," I mumble.

"Eoh." He climbs to his feet, gaze elsewhere. "I'll grab a few towels." Then he pauses, eyes meeting mine. "Don't move, okay?"

His absence leaves the roof feeling strangely empty. I stare idly at his melon popsicle as it melts against its wrapper, abandoned.

Relief fills me when his footsteps return. I move to help, but he shoots me a worried look. "Just stay there," he urges. "There's glass everywhere."

"I'll be fine," I mutter stubbornly, but I stay in place anyway, not in the mood to argue as he dumps the broken shards gingerly into a plastic bag.

Fear hangs thick in the air between us. When he moves onto paper towels, I join him on the ground to wipe off the sickly sweet mess. The stuff is everywhere. We toss out the towels in the trash.

"Eomma's going to kill me," I mumble.

He smiles at the floor. "Yeah, you'll really get it."

I drop my head and lean back into a defeated squat. "I'm so tired of hearing her yell."

He laughs. "Sounds like we'll both be going home to our moms throwing a fit, huh?"

"Eoh. When are we not?"

Now he does look at me, his mouth pulling up all the way.

The moment fades just as quickly. Silence falls over us as we linger there on the floor, unwilling to move. I'm too scared to. It's stupid, I know—after all, this isn't really goodbye, right? I'll see him tomorrow when eomma and Seungho and I see him off at the train station with his mom. This isn't it, right?

An ache fills my chest. I can't look away. I don't want to let this moment go.

"Take care of yourself, Nari," he says, brows furrowing. "Stop drinking up here. It makes me sad, seriously."

I tuck my chin into my neck and stare at the floor. The last thing I want to do is cry.

"Promise me. Okay? I mean, alcohol doesn't even taste good. It's just...it's bad."

I knot my fingers tight around my knees. Don't cry. My cheeks grow hot. It's okay, Nari. You can best this.

"And stop being late to school," he adds with a laugh, "or else you'll be stuck there holding your hands up until your knees get all calloused." He pauses. "Remember that time..."

I shut my eyes, trying to withhold a smile. "Please don't—"

"...with the water and it spilled..."

"Stop," I murmur, but he's already laughing about it, the sound soft enough to make my smile break free.

He scoots forward and nudges my foot with his. "Nari."

"Hm?"

"Can you look at me?"

"...No."

He hesitates. "Why?"

"Because I'm crying." My sniff breaks the silence. Getting all congested in the shadows feels awful. "I'm too embarrassed."

"I've seen you blow snot all over Woojin's sweater. Nothing should be embarrassing."

I groan and cover my face as he laughs. "Can you not?"

Jihoon scoots forward to pull my hands gingerly from my face. I need a tissue, I think, glancing away with a hasty wipe of my tears.

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, when I meet his eyes, he's studying my face quietly. I don't know why this breaks my heart, but it does, as if proving to me that life really does run its course, driving all things and all people apart when it chooses.

He tucks away my hair and taps my chin.

"Uljima," he murmurs. "Don't cry. We'll be okay."

___

PRESENT DAY

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

"THERE SHE IS!" Park Woobin rises to his feet as I step through the restaurant's rice paper doors into a private room. "Everyone, this is Yoo Nari, the Creative Director who's on Retribution."

I smile and dip my head. A chorus of hellos follow. A few long, low tables are already filled with wooden platters of sushi and sashimi with bowls of edamame and fried calamari baskets. Jasmine steam wafts from a stone teapot, and a tangle of conversing voices fills the air. Everyone's seated on cushions on the floor.

Woobin announced belatedly this morning that EA South Korea graciously invited the new doctor's office to a welcoming lunch at Shunmi, our go-to Japanese spot down the street. At the look on my face, he quickly added, Don't worry. Their office isn't even that big. Only a few researchers are coming. Among the attendees will be Kaede and her team, as well as a few people from engineering, finance, and PR. I thought maybe I'd get lucky and we'd only be eating with some polite medics over forty.

All it takes a simple scan of faces to let me know I was wrong.

Beside the only empty seat at the table is Seo Minseok, grinning along at some joke his peers made.

"Ah," interrupts Woobin, laughing hastily as he misreads my hesitation. "These are a few medical students who will be trained at the office. And...Joo-man, would you like to..."

"Oh, yes, of course." A round-faced man beside him wipes his mouth and shoots me a smile that swallows his eyes. "Nice to meet you. I'm Kim Joo-man, head physician at the office. I'm also helping a friend of mine complete research—he's a professor of cognitive science over at SNU. My peers couldn't make it, but at least my trainees are here to save face, huh?"

The words fly over my head as Minseok's eyes lock on mine. His gaze is hesitant at first, but when I don't look away, they grow warm with relief.

Hyerin watches over the rim of her teacup, apprehensive. The room tilts. Oh, God. I can't do this.

"Yah, what are you being all quiet for?" shoots Jooman with an appalled laugh. He gestures with a finger. "Introduce yourselves."

I blink as a woman beside Minseok rises to her feet. "Nice to meet you. I'm Choi Eunha."

"Eoh, nice to meet you," my mouth says, glancing to her distractedly. She's has pretty smiling eyes, her shining dark hair in a low ponytail. And then suddenly Minseok is standing.

"Seo Minseok," he says, his eyes on mine. There's a smile playing on his lips. Then he hesitates, glancing at Woobin, who seems to sense the tension in the air. "Actually..."

He laughs a little. Everyone's staring at him, waiting with confusion for what comes next, but I know exactly what's coming. "Actually," he finishes, "this is a little awkward. Yoo Nari and I are a couple."

Hyerin's brows furrow. The entire room bursts into amused gasps. Jooman's eyes bug out of his head. Woobin's eyes dart from my face to Minseok's face, and from my peripheral vision I see Bongsoo's jaw drop.

"Daebak," exclaims a voice.

"That's cute, honestly."

"Power couple, aren't they—Kim Jooman-ssi already said he was Jaeseok's son—"

"Sorry, I don't mean to make this a big deal or anything," interrupts Minseok, his face glowing as he eats up the attention. "It just felt too weird to stand here and introduce myself as if we're not already familiar with each other." His eyes slide to mine, smiling. "Right, Nari?"

I can't speak. Jooman chuckles with a wave of his arm. "Look at her, she's all flustered."

"Are you going to stand there the entire meal?" says Woobin with a puzzled laugh. "Take a seat."

"Oh, would you look—there's even an empty seat next to him—"

"He must have saved it for her. That's so sweet of him..."

Minseok takes a seat and tilts his head at the empty cushion beside him. "Come on, Nari."

I can't breathe. Is this why he didn't call? Because he knew he could use this moment to make it seem as if nothing changed? What about everything he said after Milania? Who will want to be with you when you live like this? What, was that all in the moment?

I've barely sat down when he leans in. "Don't be so upset," he murmurs. His breath touches my skin. "Just play along. We can talk after."

My gaze hardens. "How about now?"

His handsome features contort. "Now? But—"

I rise to my feet and retrace my steps. Woobin calls after me, but I can't hear him. My hands are trembling.

"Nari—"

Tatami and wood blurs past me. I shove my way out the door into the sunlit street.

Daylight burns my eyes, a harsh change from the dim light within. My lungs squeeze. Why does this bother me so much? I was doing fine this past week, keeping myself busy, feeling motivated.

"Nari!"

I keel over. A rush of nausea fills me. God, Nari, don't be throwing up now—

"Nari. Hey." Minseok's hand tugs me upright. He squints his eyes against the sun—a halo of light surrounds him, turns his styled hair a neat shade of hazel. For some reason, the sight makes my stomach churn. "What the hell is wrong with you, Nari? Come on. I know there's a lot to unpack here but at least put on a show for my boss, okay?"

"Why did you say that?" I suck in a breath. My voice cools. "Why did you think that was necessary?"

He narrows his eyes. "Okay, would you rather have me lie and tell the whole building we're not dating?"

"Lie? We're done, Minseok. What part of that can't you get?"

"Well, that's the issue, isn't it." He studies me as if he's confused as to why I'm not getting it. "I thought we were going to talk about this. It was just a fight."

"What? No, it wasn't just a fight, it was—" I'm breathless, so many words piling up I can't get them out. "It was everything leading up to it, the conference, that girl, you showing up drunk and high out of your mind to my place—"

"Yeah," he argues, eyes widening with hurt, "because I felt fucking guilty for what I did. Shoot me."

"I wish I could."

He shoots me a look of disgust. "That's mature."

I close my eyes. "I don't want this anymore." It surprises me how much it hurts to say it. "I mean it. I don't want to do this. So stop pushing it on me. Tell people we broke things off. Or else I'm going to tell everyone that you lied, and they're going to believe me, because most of the people in that room have known me for years."

He shifts, face twisting. "Why are you being so difficult? Everything would have worked out. How can you let one night make five years nothing to you?"

"No. That five years was everything to me. That five years is why I'm rethinking this." I can't stop shaking. "It's making me wonder why it wasn't enough for you. Why you stopped looking me in the eye. After SNU, after you took your dad's loan for the apartment, you stopped being present. I don't even know who you are anymore. Did you even realize?"

Pain flashes across his eyes. "A lot has happened since then, Nari, you can't just expect—"

"Then tell me what happened instead of ignoring me and pretending everything's okay!"

"But I wasn't pretending!" he shoots back, eyes wide. "Everything was okay with you! It was easy, it was—"

"Then why was your mind always on something else?" I exclaim. He glances away, annoyance in his arrogant eyes. "Even when we were at Milania eating, and I was trying to talk to you, you weren't there. You were never there. Every time. Eoh, sure, it was easy," I go on, voice sharpening, "but was it easy because we were together, or because you had a nice, quiet presence to distract you and give you company? Huh?"

Minseok turns his eyes on me furiously. But he doesn't answer.

"Yeah," I say coldly. "You think hard about that." I shove past him and storm away.

A part of me expects to feel satisfaction at throwing the words back at him. But all I feel is hurt.

___

I DON'T RETURN to the office. Not that I can—without a decent excuse for walking out, anyway.

My most recent message stares back at me on my phone.

To: Park Woobin

Been sick with a stomach bug, but the pain worsened during lunch. I'll be working from home.

The faint song of traffic filters through my bedroom window. I've just exchanged coats and sweaters for a dark set of sweats, my short hair tucked back in a knot. Daylight bathes my wooden floor, the plain white walls, the crinkles on my dark sheets.

I stare at the lone plant on my desk. It's a dying succulent. I pause. A dying succulent. I remember eomma gifting it to me for my birthday, saying even a workaholic like me couldn't kill a plant that only needed to be watered a few times a month. The memory makes me laugh. Little does she know.

Actually, she will know. When she comes to visit...and finds out, also, that Minseok and I are over.

I wince and drag a hand over my face, shuffling into the kitchen with my laptop tucked under an arm. My eyes are bloodshot in the passing reflection of the microwave. At least Seungho has class, so there's no one to disturb the silence and no one to interrogate my appearance.

Sunshine bathes my living room. The room feels as if it's sleeping—linen blankets tossed over the couch, last night's snacks clamped shut with clips, a few beer cans gathered on the corner of our low eating table. Patio curtains are peeled back to reveal men and women hiking up and down the sloped street, carrying bags of convenience store goods or meeting coworkers and friends at cafés.

I'm stunned by how much comfort the emptiness of the apartment brings me. Like room to breathe. Light spills across our bright furniture and smooth flooring, stirring dust. I don't think I've ever paused like this before. Is this what Jihoon meant by taking a break?

I turn over the memory of his voice curiously in my head. Sunlight all over his room every morning, a blue sky, birds chirping as the sea rose and fell nearby. The wildflowers that swayed in the wind. I've been to Jeju once, when I was little, and I remember wide sloping hills, wheat fields, baby crabs burrowed in wet sand, the smell of tea. Jihoon sharing a meal of steaming hot soup with his mom. Jihoon has always loved soup—tteok guk, kimchi jjigae, seolleongtang. These are all things that can light his face.

Even as Jihoon was suffering a loss, the sadness in his eyes was the peaceful kind. Because there were little joys in paying attention.

I turn away. It was never like that with Minseok. I guess we were always too ambitious.