The Second Quarter of The First Day of The First Month of My First Time in Korea

The dorm is relatively large. On TV it seems compact compared to the houses I’ve lived in, but in reality it is pretty big. The clutter sort of ruled that out—but it gave it a home-y feel, which I was in much need of. Hell, I’d been in need of a home-y feel since birth.

The living room and kitchen are separated by merely a slice of wall, and from the doorway to the kitchen I can see that the light is on and hear someone moving about. There is a hall past these rooms, leading to two doors, both open, across from one another. Past the door on the left is another door, closed. I’m assuming it’s the bathroom; I can hear the shower running, and a loud noise as something falls in the tub. Nobody twitches.

Mir is at one end of the couch, on his computer, with his phone lit up on the arm rest. Flannel pajama pants grace his legs and a tan hoodie cover his head. G.O is at the opposite end, staring at the TV (seemingly) blankly as he swallows cereal. He’s wearing those really annoying sweatpants that make noise every time the person moves and a black shirt. I’m not really sure you could call what he’s doing eating, because eating would insinuate pauses for breath and chewing…But G.O doesn’t seem to be doing that.

My stuff has been dropped off. Cheondung left directly after the recording, while Rain-oppa and I stopped to get some food. He told me to get acquainted with them. How am I supposed to do that when we can barely talk to one another?

After a few awkward breaths, Mir notices me, and does this adorable, “Oh” thing. It makes me smile. I glance between the two of them. “My stuff?”

G.O points to a room across the way, the door open and light on. I nod my thanks and walk towards the room. But as I’m walking, Joon comes running out of the kitchen (which I happen to be passing) and stumbles into me. I’m embarrassingly familiar with the hole-y tank top and red sweatpants he wears. Practice must not be far away, which , because I really just want to curl up in a ball and die for a few hours, at least until I can get my head on straight and figure out exactly how I got here—everything’s moving way too fast. I catch myself against a recliner, ignoring the gorgeous body pushed against me. He also makes the “Oh” sound and backs up. He gives me a small smile, “I’m sorry.”

I’m instantly brought back to Star Golden Bell, when I first heard him say that. And I’m positive that when I looked up at him, I gave him the same embarrassing, adoring, fangirl look I used to give him through the computer screen. How do I know? When he looked at me, he looked surprised, embarrassed, and something else. But I am not quite that good at reading all of him yet.

I nod, “It’s all good.” And he gives me a sort of strange look, but shrugs and walks away. Man, I need to seriously work on my English.

When I walk into the room, I’m thrown for a loop. There is only one bed. One empty bed and lots of space and there should be a bunk bed…What? In the corner my suitcase and duffel bag rest, begging to be put in their place so that I feel less like a foreigner. There’s a full body mirror against a wall, right next to an empty closet and across from these two things, to the left of the door is a computer and dresser. I call out, just loud enough to (hopefully) be heard wherever he is, “Cheondung?”

“Ne?” He calls from a room across the hall, door also open. I walk in to see him lying on his bed playing some kind of game on his phone. He’s in jeans and a hoodie. I’ve always thought he was weird for that; he practices in jeans. Who does that?

“Why do I have a room?”

He rolls onto his stomach, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Would you like to sleep in the kitchen?”

Smartass. I roll my eyes, “No. What I mean is why do I have a room to myself? Don’t you all share rooms?”

“Oh,” he rolls back over, “you’re a girl. So you get the room to yourself.”

And in a way I haven’t done since middle school, I burst. “Oh! So because I have a I can’t share a bedroom with someone with more testosterone than me?!”

He just starts at me. Blinks. Did I say that one too fast? Maybe I should lay off the weird words…

“Ye,” I hear a small reply from G.O in the living room, who probably didn’t even understand what I said. And then Joon and Mir explode in laughter.

I resist my agitation. “So where are all of you sleeping?”

He shrugs, “Four of us fit in here. Somebody else can sleep on the couch.”

“That’s just stupid!” I exclaim. “There’s a perfectly good bunk bed that will fit in my perfectly sized room! I don’t date guys my age or younger, let Mir sleep in there!”

He snorts, “We’re not that Americanized. Be thankful, don’t worry about us B2ST sleeps in one room together, I’m sure we can.”

And that seemed to be the end of that for the surprisingly smirky Idol. I growl, stalk out of the room and into mine.

Immediately I grab my iPod, slipping the chunky piece of technology into the elastic waistband of my sweatpants and turning the volume all the way up. Jay Park's "Abandoned" blares from the earbuds, and I find myself twirling across the room to my bags, where I slowly begin unpacking. I was on the poor side, so my clothes are old and some are torn, but they’re mine and they smell like my home. I almost start crying at the thought of home, but refrain.

It was never really a home, anyway.

Next is “RingDingDong” by SHINee, and it makes me squeal. Because, really, who doesn’t love the way that song makes you feel? I spin around, dance, ignore the Asian guys that I know can hear me, and continue unpacking. And I’m almost ashamed to admit that it takes me less than an hour to unpack every single one of my belongings.

When I finish, I lay on the rough carpet floor. I’ve put RingDingDong on replay, and the elastic part plays. And then I notice the eyes on me. I turn my head, seeing all of them crowded in the doorway, staring at me with strange eyes. Except for Cheondung, who just looks entertained by whatever they’re saying.

Have you ever turned your music up all the way and tried to communicate with someone? Try it; it’s the best way I can describe what it feels like here. Like you know what you want to say, and you’re desperately trying to understand the other person, but there are lots of other loud, distracting things that are in the way.

I take an earbud out as the song ends, wince as it starts again. “What’s up?”

I look at Cheondung to avoid contact with the other boys. He jerks his head to the right, “Practice. Hyung wants you there. Let’s go.”