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Summary
He wasn’t hungover, just in that state where the world was a little bit fragile and you needed something very salty to hold it together.
“I’m sorry for the stuff yesterday”, Jere said. “Sometimes alcohol is stupid.”
Nothing has been the same between them since Cyprus. Bojan has some theories on what has been going on for the past year. He’s pretty sure he’s right, as sure as someone like him can be about anything. Only one way to find out.
Jere is due to play a private gig in a foreign country and he doesn’t think much of it, but he is in for quite a surprise – or make that a whole handful of watafak. And despite the initial impression, maybe there is actual work for him to do.
“Thank you for saving my life”, Jere said and gave Bojan a kiss on the cheek.
This fic contains terrible misuse of saucepans, timers, Barve oceana and Internet reviews and probably acceptable use of cheese, rakija and trumpets.
Though just as a heads up, despite the title, it does not feature any elements of fantasy/magical realism (if you don’t count it being set in the Balkans, implicitly a form of slightly fucked up magical realism). The title is very relevant still.
Series
- Part 6 of Cyprus 🇨🇾☀️
- Part 15 of Balkan 🇸🇮 🇷🇸 🇬🇷
- Part 1 of Tuu mun luo 🫂