Renn had been in the business of unwittingly, unwillingly, and unavoidably picking up strays for far too long, she had resigned herself to the certain things that came along with it. Shortlisted were as follows: dealing with punks who thought they knew better than her, tolerating the rabble of Lost Boys and Girls who have attached themselves to her name, and co-existing with graduated Lost Boys who seemed to think of her as a friend. The former two were problematic because it reminded her of herself at a similar age, and the latter was only problematic when she wanted to be left alone— which was always.

On the rare occasion that she had spoken with her father, he had told her that the universe brought together those who would bring out the best in each other. On the even rarer occasion that her father said anything meaningful to her, he told her that what she had, attracting and bringing these kids together, was a gift. What he really meant by this was that their family was cursed by the inevitability of being Ineffectual Loners.

Sometimes Renn wondered how different her life would have been had she been wiser and decided not to stay and rebuild Unplugged from scratch. Azure Dragon Records, her father’s company, had been waiting on her official announcement to join the roster. All it would take, even now, was a word from her and she would never have to deal with adult responsibilities ever again. But the offer precluded her from doing what she wanted any time she wanted, and Renn valued her independence and her right to hide under her rock most of all. Which was why coming up to her studio was by appointment only.

But Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi had double standards when it came to the meaning of Appointment Only. No one was allowed in the Bangtan room, but they had no second thoughts making a habit of intruding on her personal space. Today, mint-haired Yoongi spread himself on her black leather couch and silver-haired Namjoon sat on her executive chair. Yoongi, in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, looked liked he always did, bored and annoyed, half-asleep; the look of a man who hasn’t seen the sun in five years. Namjoon, in black from top to bottom, looked pensive and existential; a man on the verge of another Philosophical Bull Episode.

“Well, you look like .”

Renn didn’t immediately formulate a response. If she were being truthful, she felt like , too. Yoongi raised a brow awaiting an insult that always bounced back after his serve. Despite his good ear and his talent, Yoongi was inherently insufferable and Renn didn’t feel like engaging him in another round of snark. The week had been tough on her insomnia, one that involved spending most of her lucid hours convincing a board of directors that Unplugged was relevant and that it was not on the verge of collapsing upon itself. Making her own music was, as any creative endeavor, a personal brand of hell. Having to teach kids how to do the same apparently wasn’t punishment enough. She also had to run the place and make sure nobody died in a ditch.

For the first time in a long while, Renn had decided not to come to the studio that weekend. She deserved a break, and possibly a drink or two because the universe knew she needed to fall asleep. But then, out of the silence of her dark bedroom, she received a distressed call from Jinyoung saying someone broke into Unplugged, a practice studio had been demolished, and JB and Jackson were in the hospital. Minjun and Seokjin had taken care of the injured, while Chansung volunteered to deal with other half of the complication, Jeon Jungkook.

Let the police take care of it, Chansung had said to her. And yet, no matter how excruciating, she couldn’t allow the kid to go down. Really, the reason she let him stay had nothing to do with kindness and everything to do with a gut feeling. It was the same feeling she got when Namjoon showed up at her office asking for a chance, or when Namjoon dragged in Yoongi and the rest of his little crew (against their wills) for her approval. And Namjoon hasn’t failed her yet.

Finally, she gave Yoongi an obscene hand gesture as an answer.

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asked.

The mere thought of concern being thrown her way scraped something raw inside Renn. Because it always started with the simple questions, and Namjoon was not the type to say such things and be satisfied with superficial answers. Yoongi’s concern was inseparable from Namjoon’s. All of the boys in her latest batch of freaks and geeks were, at their very core, genuine, kind, and well-meaning, but some of them stubbornly so. It reminded her too much of her fears. Of the parts of her she had lost.

Renn struggled to maintain her authority in an environment that demanded her affection more than her expertise. The days since she found Lee Jonghyun Underground blurred with multiple brain deaths caused by Kim Sunggyu and now her days were long making sense of Park Jinyoung, and unending with Kim Wonpil. Add the rest of their respective groups and she barely had time for herself, much less her own music. Her boys were far from thoughtless, though derisive at their worst, and had developed a sense of responsibility over her. Renn did not need taking care of.

“Get out of my chair.”

Namjoon relinquished and joined Yoongi on the couch. “We were gonna set up an appointment.”

“So?” Renn turned her back to them, focusing instead on the monitor ahead of her. The mezzanine overlooked the Live Rooms and was connected to the main control room. She did all her mixes and mastering here. Most days she just watched the CCTV footage. “I told you to email me for appointments.”

“We did.” Namjoon trailed off into a heavy silence.

Renn swivelled around and found morose faces looking back at her. She felt a strange hollowness inside her, like she should have just stayed home and stayed drunk.

“Are we gonna be okay?” Yoongi asked. “Park Sungjin’s busking on the streets for money to replace the guitars—“

“Park Sungjin is doing what?”

Namjoon raised his palms, a gesture meant to calm her. “We want to help. What can we do?”

“You don’t have to do anything. None of you have to do anything. Maybe other than haul Sungjin and the rest of them back to the studio.”

“We want to help—“

Renn interrupted Yoongi before her temper got the better of her. She rose from her seat and swung her arm to the door. “Get out. Go back to the Bangtan Room and finish the sound report you’re supposed to be working on.”

Yoongi cursed under his breath and shot to his feet. Renn was afraid. Not that he would hurt her, but that Yoongi and Namjoon would do something brash because they think it would help her. But Yoongi said nothing and dragged Namjoon up to stand and leave. Renn wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this part of her problem yet, but she didn’t need the younger ones taking time away from what was important to them. She didn’t want to trouble any of them as long as she could handle the problem on her own. Things weighed heavily enough on these kids and their dreams.

“The new kid,” she said as Yoongi and Namjoon slipped halfway through the door. “JB said he was looking for you.”

“I know. He came to see me this morning. JB did.”

She had seen them earlier today as well. Im Jaebeom did not simply come to see someone in the mornings. One of the first things Renn had to do when she let Jaebeom in was to break his aggression. Success had been minor, but Jaebeom had not had any more incidents.

“This is about that too, isn’t it?”

Namjoon nodded. “I—“

“Don’t.” Don’t apologize.

She schooled her features, afraid that the boys would see her drifting back to a memory conjured by the non-mention of the unspeakable: Renn was covered in blood and shivering. Not her blood, but from someone almost dying in her arms. Every breath she took streaked red lines in her visions. The blow she took to the head left her temporarily deaf in her left ear, and sounds came to her in uneven tones. Loud and then muffled. Her pulse raced with every move the shadows made. A single light swung back and forth overhead, and whispered words and yells blurred and meshed together.

“Hey.”

Renn turned back to the door.

“Catharsis? It’ll make you feel better.”

The dull thud in her chest was a void, but the music would always be louder. She felt better already, almost.

“Where else would I be?”

After all, Catharsis was called Catharsis for a reason.