At first, the very idea of moving into that tower was insanity. As days went by, though, I came to some stark realizations. I spent time with my parents, I went out and explored my home city, and I even reconnected with some old friends. No matter where I went, or what I did, I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. My friends still complained about the same mundane things from high school, my parents still treated me like a child, and the crowds of the city made me anxious. I told myself that I just needed time. Readjusting was inevitably going to be difficult. Despite all of my self-coaching, I never felt quite so at home as when I was visiting Namjoon. His recovery was slow- he still remained unconscious for a majority of our time together. And when he was conscious, he was quiet, in pain, and still in a state of disbelief. The guilt he felt was oppressive, and it was rubbing off on me. He wasn’t exactly a joy to be around, but when I wasn’t at his side, I felt a sense of loss.

Eventually, Mira informed me that BTS’ apartment was now livable, and she encouraged me to check it out. I knew she was practically bribing me at that point, but even with that in mind, I took her up on the offer. Namjoon had asked me to bring my laptop along so he could watch some videos, so I tucked it under my arm as I left the house. My parents had already gotten used to me being gone most of the time. When presented with the idea of me moving out, my mother was predictably beside herself. “We just got you back,” she had cried. “You can’t move out already!” After a few days, though, she and my father began to come around to the idea. Especially since a vague job offer was involved. My father especially began to notice my sudden tendency for aloofness.

Once I arrived at the tower, laptop in hand, I was surprised to find the lobby completely empty. I had gotten used to enthusiastic greetings from beautiful pop stars whose names I really should start remembering. It had been easy at first- Heechul with his smaller blonde doppelganger Taemin, Kyuhyun the snark master, the tall scary looking Leo, and N the caretaker. After that, it started getting overwhelming. The self-proclaimed old man of the tower’s name was Leeteuk, I believe. He, Kyuhyun, and a short, but regal-looking young man who introduced himself as Suho were Namjoon’s most frequent visitors. Every time I thought I had met everyone in the building, however, I would awkwardly run into another one. I did my best to look each one of them up when I got home, but they all just started to blend together. At some point I sort of just gave up, assuming it would all just come naturally over time as I continued to visit. It would become a slightly more pressing matter, of course, if I decided to live there. To add to the complication, I would meet new people, just to learn that they didn’t even live there, just frequent visitors.

Thankful for the quiet elevator ride, I clutched my laptop to my chest as I stepped out into the familiar hallway, briskly making my way through the door. Right away, I was amazed with how different the room looked. Whereas before, it was pretty much one large open space with just a few bare-boned wall frames. When I stepped in at that moment, though, it was a fully furnished apartment. I was in a little family room with couches, a television, and some comfortable looking chairs. “Hello?” I called absently as I began to meander around the room, peering down a newly built hallway.

“Ah, the silver-eyed guardian is back,” a voice sang out from behind me, so I whirled around to see Heechul pushing Namjoon in a wheelchair from another room. Heechul grinned at me, lopsided gums showing as he released Namjoon from his control. “I suppose I can leave you two be now,” he stepped forward to give me a friendly pat on my shoulder, “Nice place you got here,” he added as he strode out towards the front door.

“Thanks, Heechul,” I called after him before the sound of the door closing signaled his departure. I looked back down to Namjoon, looking listless in his chair. Because of his leg injury, he couldn’t walk, but because of his shoulder injury, he couldn’t use crutches, and he wasn’t even really able to propel himself in the wheelchair. His lack of mobility was really taking a hit on his morale. With a sigh, I moved to take hold of the handles of the chair, tucking my slim laptop under my arm. Pushing him back to the family room, I parked the chair in front of the comfiest looking couch in the room. “I brought my laptop,” I offered meekly as I sat down.

Namjoon struggled out of his wheelchair and scrambled onto the couch. I knew better than to offer help. He would have just swatted me away and grumbled about self-sufficiency. Once he was seated at my side, he huffed slightly before turning to me, “Can I see?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the little laptop. I handed it over. Immediately, he had it booted up and navigated to an internet browser. “Oh,” he began to laugh, “I should have guessed you’d have an English keyboard.”

Glad to see him in decent spirits, I laughed along with him. “Give it here. What did you want to look up?” I asked, shaking my head slightly as I swiped the device off of his lap.

“I want to watch some of our old live performances,” he mumbled, his wide face turning away from me, as if he already knew what I wanted to say. I opened my mouth to speak, but I knew that expressing my opinion that it was a bad idea would only start an argument. With a little sigh, I complied, bringing up YouTube and following his direction to pull up whatever he wanted to see. I wasn’t sure what he wanted out of this. His face wavered between grief and joy as he watched himself and his friends at the height of their performance careers. And then I saw him lean forward, covering his face with his hands. Gingerly I reached out to gently touch his back, unsure of how to properly console him. He was a roller coaster of emotion every time I saw him. “We’re never going to see them again, are we?” he finally choked, the words weak and squeaky.

Sighing, I continued to rub his back. We had had this conversation so many times already. It had been just over a week since Namjoon had been brought to the US, but I felt like I’d heard him ask that question at least twenty times. “Namjoon,” I did my best to keep my tone light, and not droning, “I used to think I’d never escape Korea, and now here we both are.” When, as usual, he had no response to that, I continued, “All we can really do is wait. There’s no use grieving just yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he mumbled, letting his hands slide down his face and into his lap. He took a deep breath before turning to snatch the laptop away, squinting at the screen as he began to click his way through chains and chains of videos, clearly on the hunt for something in particular. Finally he found their old video diaries, and he started up the playlist from day one. When I raised my brow at him, he managed a half-