We managed to still have a good meal together, despite the giant elephant in the room- namely, the fact that Namjoon got the kicked out of him by some government lackeys just for turning down their offer. What was even more surprising was that they still wanted him to work with them. I supposed it made sense, but Namjoon’s positivity about the whole thing was borderline insane. If it had been me, I would have avoided the government officials like the plague. But then again, at the end of the day, none of us had a choice in what we did or didn’t do around here. Jin had made such a delicious meal for all of us, but I was too distracted to properly enjoy it.

“Hey,” Hobie gave me a little nudge with his shoulder, “He’ll be okay,” he spoke quietly, keeping the conversation between us.

I sighed a little, setting down my chopsticks, “I know,” I whispered back, “it’s just,” I couldn’t really properly finish the sentence. It’s just… what? Insane? Horrifying?

“I know,” he agreed, and when I glanced to look at him, he had a sad little smile on his long, tan face. I couldn’t really help but smile back. Even when he was clearly upset, Hobie's smile was nothing short of contageous. “He’s a smart guy,” Hobie glanced past me to the man in question, seated with Jin. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that Jin held a cold cloth to Namjoon’s eye as the two spoke quietly to one another, their food still untouched, “he’ll figure out what to do.”

Accepting that there was nothing I could really do, I just nodded, looking back down at my plate. Maybe there was something I could do. Growing up in America, I found that I often just had a totally different mindset from the rest of these guys, and probably from the government officials, as well. From what limited interactions I did have with the officials, they all assumed I was like any other Korean girl. Perhaps I could take advantage of that. I just needed to think. And at that very moment, I was too hungry and too tired to think about much of anything. The fact that I still needed to have my nightly rendezvous with Jungkook felt like nothing more than a chore at that point. It was rather alarming how unaffected by that whole ordeal I was by that point.

When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to find that most of the guys were gone already. I must have slept more than normal. I groaned, stretching my limbs as I began to stir. “Yah, it’s about damn time,” a low, smooth voice came from nearby.

“Morning Yoongi,” I grumbled, easily recognizing that voice. I cracked open one eye, spotting Yoongi seated at the edge of his own cot, already gathering up his tools.

He offered me a sly little lopsided smirk, speaking out of the right side of his mouth, “What, you forget about our deal already?”

I laughed sleepily, “No way.” I was actually looking forward to fixing that damn door. Even more than that, I was excited to work as Yoongi’s apprentice again. Maybe it would help me clear my head and think hard about this whole Namjoon and Jimin situation. “Just give me a minute,” I finally rubbed my eyes, blinking away the sleep. I quickly hopped up, scurrying to the back room to change and get cleaned up.

When I returned to the main hall, Yoongi was already hard at work, moving Jin’s cot to prop open the offending door, securing it against the wall. “Hey America, can you bring me those steel plates?” he asked, pointing with his screwdriver at a little pile of hardware, “Grab a mallet while you’re at it, will you?”

Gathering the requested materials, I approached him, unsure of where to start. “This door looks awfully heavy, Yoongi,” I suddenly spoke, taking a better look at the giant slab of steel. At least we had some fresh air and natural sunlight to accompany us on this venture with the door stuck open like that.

“It is,” he huffed simply before stepping back, seemingly satisfied. With another breath he turned around to look at my handful of supplies. “I’m hoping we won’t have to move it,” he began, grabbing the plates out of my hands, “I’ll use these to hold it at the right level, and Jin’s cot should keep it from tipping over,” he explained as he hastily shoved the plates under the door. Without even looking back at me, he held out his hand expectantly. I dropped the rubber mallet in his hand, and he went to work hammering the plates under the door. Once satisfied, he pulled Jin’s cot further in front of the door. He stood, brushing off his hands, handing the mallet back to me.

Tossing the mallet lazily in my hand, I couldn’t help but laugh slightly, “Yoongi, I have a feeling you don’t need me.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, small eyes wide, “Don’t be silly,” he turned to face me properly, giving me a wide smile, his top teeth resting on his bottom lip, “Just you wait. I’ll get you working, America,” he spoke as he waved his trusty screwdriver at me.

I sat on the short end of Jin’s cot, careful not to disturb Yoongi’s organization of tools and hardware. “Alright then Mr. Min, I am but your humble servant,” I bowed my head dramatically, doing my best to keep a straight face.

“Hey,” I heard him groan, taking one step forward before giving me a gentle smack on the head. When I looked up, his smile had spread, gums on full display, “Don’t call me that.”

Smirking slightly, I couldn’t help but poke fun, “My deepest apologies, Swag Master.”

He simply rolled his small eyes at me, chuckling quietly to himself. “Alright, Seoyeon, hand me that other screwdriver,” he finally spoke, holding out his hand. I handed him the tool, sticking my tongue out at him as I did so, and he went to work straight away, detaching the hinges from both the door and the doorway. Once all three were out, he moved to sit next to me, “Alright, let’s take these apart and see what we can do.”

Side by side, we went to work, dismantling the little hinges. Yoongi had a little jar of mechanic grease that we used to saturate the bits of hardware before working to reassemble them. It was a rather tedious process. I had just about finished the third hinge when I glanced over to him. I began to laugh, “Yoongi,” I started, shifting to face him a bit better. He had managed to get black grease on his pale face and around his collar. “You’re a mess,” I managed to chuckle, looking around for something clean.

“Speak for yourself,” he countered, suddenly reaching for me, swiping his thumb across my cheek. I couldn’t help but squeal a little, trying to squirm out of his grasp as I laughed. He joined me in the giggles, finally showing me his filthy hands, as if that were supposed to be proof.

I wiped the back of my wrist against where he had touched my face, and sure enough, grease was certainly there. “I’m not convinced your hands weren’t already dirty and you just put grease on my face,” I argued, though my smile remained.

“Too bad you’ll never know,” he replied cryptically, his wide smile calming into a little lopsided smirk. He was clearly pleased with himself. I thought quickly, unwilling to let him get away with such madness. The jar of mechanic grease was still open, so I swiped a finger along the rim before striking back, dragging it across his admittedly already dirty face.

He practically mirrored my previous actions, squinting his eyes shut hard as he sputtered, leaning back and away from me, causing the cot to shift slightly, a nasty scraping noise accompanying the subtle movement. “Hey!” he cried before he broke out into a wide grin, “No fair,” he tried to pout, but his smile was already too strong. Instead, he grabbed my wrist before I could fully retreat.

“You started it,” I teased, trying fruitlessly to reclaim my arm, but his long, sinewy fingers had a firm grip. Our giggles finally calmed down, and we sat in silence for a brief moment. Yoongi’s grin relaxed into that unfamiliar warm, relaxed smile that had confounded me before. His dark eyes scanned my face, likely tracing the dust and grease that were supposedly there. He seemed to get distracted, momentarily fixated on my lips. Ew, is there grease on my lips? I thought to myself, resisting the urge to just quickly them. Taking advantage of his momentary diversion, I wrested my wrist out of his grasp, wiping it over my lips quickly. What was odd, however, was that my skin came away just as clean as it had been. What, then, had he been looking at? I didn’t have time to ponder the question as Yoongi quickly stood, garnering my full attention as he coughed once, somewhat awkwardly. “Alright, alright,” he practically sighed, shaking his head slightly, “Let’s get this door back on before the rest of the gang gets home.”

And that was the last thing I heard before my world went dark.

“Yoongi?” a voice sounded very far away. I registered that it sounded vaguely familiar, but for some reason I couldn