Namjoon and I walked silently through the large glass double doors of Mira’s Tower and into the marble-floored lobby. Our steps echoed solemnly off of the cold walls and high ceiling, all the way to the elevator. And still, we stayed quiet as we waited before the reflective, chrome doors. The air felt practically solid in the enclosed elevator, the whirring of the gears and the pulse in my head was all I could hear. When the doors opened again, a gentle touch to the crown of my head broke me out of my oppressive reverie, Namjoon’s familiar hand causing me to turn and face him. He simply pulled his lips into a weak, pitiful little smile, but it was comforting all the same. We walked together down the hall towards the door to our apartment. I felt compelled to pierce the heavy quiet once we paused before the doorway. “Ready?” I spoke, my voice cracking embarrassingly as I turned my head to look at his face.

“Yeah,” he responded simply, his voice quiet and flat. He brushed past me to open the door, pushing it open with ease. As soon as it was cracked, however, we were both surprised to hear the distinct, rather loud sounds of music reverberating through the entryway. Namjoon and I glanced at each other curiously for a brief moment before he tore away, stepping into the main hall. It was empty. Following the sound of the music, we both padded hesitantly to the kitchen, where we finally were able to put the pieces together.

An industrial-style extension cord, coated in scuffed orange plastic, draped casually over the kitchen island, reaching all the way from the outlet next to the stove to a shiny, clearly brand new stereo. It was blasting unfamiliar music in Korean while Taehyung and Jimin were practically jumping around singing their guts out. Rather badly, at that.  They were fully dressed in their street clothes, Jimin’s favorite new hat skewed on his head from the vigorous dancing. Their grins were plastered across their faces as they belted along with the song, clearly any sense of shame long forgotten. Jin, on the other hand, was clearly doing his best to cook something, occasionally batting away the extension cord as it got in his way. I cringed slightly, both at the sheer volume of the music and the off-key screeching that accompanied it. At least I had to admit, my mind no longer had the capacity to worry about the meeting from earlier. “Hey,” I shouted out to them, garnering their surprised attention, “I thought you guys were supposed to be professional vocalists.”

The pair ceased their dancing to gape at Namjoon and me. Finally, after a short pause, Jimin had the mind to move towards the speakers, turning them down significantly. “Oh hey, welcome home,” he greeted, his usual cheerful greeting forcefully loud, as if he were still trying to shout over the speakers. “And for your information,” he continued, giving us a toothy grin as he collapsed ungracefully into one of the chairs nearby, “We are professionals, thank you very much.” He opened his mouth, clearly about to belt out a song right in my face, but Namjoon quickly stepped in to stop him, palming Jimin right in the face.

“So what’s all this stuff?” Namjoon finally asked from beside me, clearly unfazed by Jimin and his whining. He stepped forward to inspect the stereo, and the small electronic music player attached to it, releasing his indignant captive in the process.

It was Jin who answered, his back still turned to us as he continued to tend to the stove, “While you and Zoey were away, Ken took us out to the Korea town in the city.” The words were casual, but I paused, considering what he had said. Before The Reclamation, K-Town was occupied by more Spanish speaking people than Koreans. It would make sense, though, for a resurgence of nationalism to follow the return of several Korean-Americans.

Moving away from the island, I approached Jin, taking notice of the pile of ingredients strewn across the counter on either side of him. The colorful packaging and Korean writing made it pretty obvious that Jin had gone a little bit overboard with his shopping. I couldn’t help but smile as I took a whiff of the vaguely familiar stew he was working on. “I assume you got a little more selection here than at the compound,” I mumbled, craning my neck to peer at the contents of the pot Jin was so carefully tending.

He looked down at me, that soft, full lipped smile briefly flashing at me over his shoulder before he turned back to the stove. “You can say that again,” he agreed quietly, reaching around me to grab for what looked like some variety of dried noodles. It was then that I caught sight of an unfamiliar, but shockingly pink little apron tied around his waist.

“Wait,” Namjoon interrupted our quiet little sidebar as he leaned against the kitchen counter, the little music device held gently between his fingers, “You guys bought all this stuff?” He let out a singular little laugh before handing the little mp3 player back to Jimin, who had been waiting patiently to plug it back in. Thankfully, they kept the speakers low as Namjoon continued to speak, “I guess that explains why the kids are so hyper.”

Jin paused for a moment, wooden spoon poised over the nearly finished meal. “Well,” he spoke hesitantly, “not only that,” Jin glanced quickly to Namjoon, their eyes meeting for just a fleeing moment. “We were recognized.”

I had been told by the boys and reminded by my own memories that the boys were celebrities. Even still, the idea still felt so foreign to me. “Recognized?” I found myself asking, almost on impulse.

“Really?” Namjoon was quick to respond. “Was everything okay?” he sounded unnervingly concerned at the idea, his wide face conveying his worry as his brows raised slightly.

Jin merely waved him away dismissively, “Yeah, it was fine. Just a couple of young girls who took some pictures.”

“Yeah, Namjoon, you should have been there,” Taehyung chimed in from behind us. I turned to catch his gaze, his narrow eyes creased from his smile. “You, too, Zoey!” he added, leaning forward on the granite countertop.

Despite Namjoon’s continued fussing, Jin seemed perfectly content to continue preparing our meal, carrying the pot to the sink to drain and cool. “So how was your meeting?” he finally asked, stepping away from the steaming basin, turning to smile calmly at me, his almond eyes meeting mine. His face was serene and inviting, but his gaze held the unspoken eagerness the rest of his body was unwilling to convey.

The rest of the day came flooding back to me, and I felt my heart sink. Thankfully, I felt Namjoon’s familiar pressure on my shoulder as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “It was good,” his deep voice came from just behind me. “We just have to wait and see,” he continued as he let me go, stepping over to stand next to Jin, snaking an arm around his partner’s shoulders.

Jin seemed utterly unconvinced, his eyes fixated on mine, unwilling to follow Namjoon. I caught the slightest twitch of his eyelids as he seemed to come to a conclusion. “That’s good to hear,” he finally answered, his eyes flicking past me to the two younger boys in the room.

“They’re going to rescue Jungkookie?” Jimin was quick to jump into the conversation once he caught on to the subject.

I could feel Namjoon stiffen at the question, so I decided to answer, “The senator agreed to make our case. She seemed,” I paused to choose my words carefully. I didn’t want to lie to my friends, but I also didn’t want to reveal how bleak the entire situation had seemed. After a short breath, I continued, “She seemed to be very empathetic to our cause.”

“We just have to wait some more,” Namjoon repeated, quick to cut me off. We shared a brief look, his eyes telling me to drop the subject all together. “So what else did you guys buy with Mira’s money?”

Jin rolled his eyes, turning back to the sink to retrieve the food, disinterested in the remainder of the conversation. Thankfully, Jimin and Taehyung seemed eager to