sorry about the slow chapter. Mother's Day! We had a party at my son's friend's house with a whole bunch of food and presents and my son kept saying "Happy birthday, eomma!" instead of "happy mother's day". It was really cute even though he thinks any holiday with presents is a birthday. He's told me happy birthday on Valentine's day. Silly kid! Anyway, enjoy this chapter (however short) and make sure you call your mothers up today! Tell her you love her!

All the sarangs,

Drg-Lee

            When Minho walked away he left a puzzled Jonghyun behind. Jonghyun stared at his friend’s retreating form before he was asked for another cigarette. He directed his attention to the short grubby man.

            People like these were normally his clients. He wasn’t sure if they were a step-up from him (because they could afford smokes and drinks) or if they were a step-down (because he never saw them with anything else). It didn’t really bother him, because all he cared about was the money. Jonghyun was starting to think that raising money to bail his father out of jail was futile for him and his mother. Even though Kim Hyunchoo had been financially stable before his arrest, the money quickly disappeared when Jonghyun’s mother fell ill. Now the two were left in a state of constant worry. They worried about when they would be kicked out of the house, when they would run out of food or water, and what they would do if one of them got sick.

            This was stupid, Jonghyun thought. They could be spending that money that they had saved on food or blankets. He didn’t even know how much money they would need to get his father out, but it must have been a ridiculous amount because they wouldn’t let a murderer go out for just one paycheck.

            And sometimes Jonghyun wondered, for a short minute, if his father really had killed the pretty foreign woman, but he shaked the thought aside and waited, raising money. He was well aware that this was illegal and if he got caught, he would wind up in the same place as his father. This didn’t worry him. Jonghyun didn’t mind if he got arrested, if it meant he could stay with his father and because the sentence for him selling alcohol and drugs wouldn’t be that long, he wouldn’t ask his mother to get him out; he would just serve it.

            Jonghyun opened a bottle of beer and passed it to his left. Some man pressed the money into his palm and smiled. Jonghyun nodded at the man and asked for the time.

            “Two to midnight,” someone said, sounding dejected as he realised that the “party” would be over soon.

            Jonghyun stood up and began packing his things away as quickly as he could. He knew the penalty was higher for a minor to be caught with beer after midnight.

            “You need help with that?” someone slurred. His sweaty round face was beet red and he stumbled towards Jonghyun.

            He didn’t answer and just walked away, happy the man was too drunk to follow him home. He arrived home about fifteen minutes later. His mother was nowhere to be seen, which he didn’t worry about. Instead, Jonghyun pushed the bag into the corner and pulled the blankets on top of himself.

            He woke the next cold morning to loud, annoying banging outside. He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, groaning. Who would be making so much noise so early in the morning?

            “Mom?” He called, getting to his feet. When he didn’t hear a response, he opened the front door. “Mom?” He asked, once he saw her outside on her knees. “What are you doing?”

            She squinted up at him, stopping her banging. “I was wondering how thin these walls were,” she laughed. “But I guess they’re really thin because it woke you up. Sorry,” she stood, dusting her hands on her pants.

            “What were you doing that for?” he asked.

            “Well, there’s supposed to be a storm coming in a few weeks, and I was hoping we would have thick enough walls so that we’d be safe,”

            “Oh,” he replied, banging on the wall himself. “So they aren’t?”

            “Not at all. We’ll have to go to a shelter when the storm happens and pray that our house is fine when we return.”

            Jonghyun nodded. “Okay,”

            Since he was already awake, he decided it would be best for him to dress himself for school and head out. His mother, who was still inspecting the walls, waved bye to him and watched him cross the street.

            Once he arrived at school, he was met with a forever-silent Minho who seemed in a bad mood. “Still messed up from yesterday?” Jonghyun asked, standing beside his younger-but-taller friend.

            Minho nodded.

            “Well, what’s wrong?”

            “I don’t know,” Minho said. “It feels like everything is going to come crashing down soon.”

            Jonghyun nodded in agreeance. “That storm in a few weeks might knock my house down. It’s happening for real. But what’s happening in Minho’s world?”

            Minho shrugged. “I just feel it. In my gut. That something is going to happen and mess everything up.”

            Jonghyun chewed on his lip. “I feel it too, and somehow I think it’s bigger than my stupid old house.”

            “It’s major.”

            Jonghyun nodded. “Quite.”

            The two stood in comfortable silence until a somber Taemin showed up. He was obviously still shaken from the news about Jonghyun’s father and he stood about a foot away.

            “What’s wrong, Taeminnie?” Jonghyun asked. He began to feel like a therapist.

            “Nothing,” Taemin said. “Did you hear about the storm? It’s so big they’re giving it a name.”

            Minho and Jonghyun stepped back. “Really?” Minho asked, surprise evident. “What kind of storm is it?”

            “A hurricane,”

            “This early in the year?” Jonghyun asked. “It’s spring and the oceans are still cold.”

            “It’s supposed to be powerful. Supposed to knock a whole bunch of stuff down and mess everything up.” Taemin said, eyes wide.

            “That’s what Minho just said.” Jonghyun said. “‘mess everything up’. You still think it isn’t that storm?”

            Minho shook his head. “It’s a storm, but it isn’t that one. It’s worse than a storm,”

            The boys grew quiet and huddled closer, each one thinking about the storm coming ahead.