Internally

“What are you saying? The cleaning lady hasn’t been sent since August?! They’re not pigs, obviously, but that apartment needs cleaning! No, it’s fine; I’ll find someone and send them over. You can check that off your list.”

I watch as the manager paces the length of the corridor whilst taking an important sounding phone call. He hangs up, stuffs the phone in his pocket and looks up. And that’s when he sees me.

“Ah, Ji Yeon’s daughter!” he says, spotting me just outside the design hall. He’s got that expression that people wear when they want something.

“Um... hello,” I respond, bowing as he nears me.

“What was your name again, miss?” asks the manager.

“Mina, sir,” I tell him. He’s wearing one of those appealing smiles.

“Mina,” he repeats, “Well, Mina, I know you’re trustworthy because you’re Ji Yeon’s daughter...”

I look up at him and raise my eyebrows. He must be leading up to something, only I’m not sure just what. Even so, I reply with, “Thank you.” He did compliment me, after all.

“And you’re from America, if I’m correct?” the manager affirms. I nod and he continues. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of BTS?”

I stare at him blankly. “Sorry?”

“Perfect,” he says. “Well, your mom is likely to be working late tonight so I have a job for you. You’ll be paid, of course, and it’s not a very difficult job. Would you be up for it?”

I take a moment to think about his request. I would give me something to do whilst I wait for Mom to finish up here. I can’t get home until she’s done. I have no money and besides, I’m not even sure which way to go to get back to our apartment. So I take up the manager’s offer. “Sure,” I agree.

His face lights up and he quickly fills me in on what I have to do. With some bin bags and dusters stuffed in the back pocket of my jeans, and a hand drawn map in my hands, I head out of the Big Hit building and down the street. The sun is just starting to set, making the sky a glowing orange.

I follow the manager’s directions down the next few blocks until I reach another apartment building. I go inside and take the elevator up to the top floor. It’s quite a nice apartment building, nicer than mine. The elevator doors open and I’m faced with a corridor. The manager said the apartment I’m supposed to go to is the one on the right, so I get to the door and unlock it.

There is a large open-plan kitchen and living area as you enter. From there, there are about four doors leading out from the main area. I’d have to assume those are bedrooms. As I stand dithering in the doorway, I recall what the manager asked me to do.Cleaning an entire apartment in, like, an hour? Plausible.

I take off my yellow jacket and drape it over the back of the U-shaped couch near the TV. From what I heard, this apartment hasn’t been cleaned for almost two months, but to be fair to the owners, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I roll up the sleeves of my pin-striped shirt and retrieve the bin bags and dusters from my back pocket. I decide that first; I should get rid of all the junk in this place.

I don’t manage to stick at it for long, though, before I get distracted. There’s a huge photo printed onto canvas and hung on the back wall. It’s of a bunch of Korean guys posing in a red elevator, all wearing various outfits. It makes me wonder just who lives here. Tearing my eyes away from the mysterious canvas print, I head over to the bedrooms instead, peering round the first door.

The room has a bunk bed pushed against one wall and a single bed against the other. The walls are white, the floor is wooden, and a forest-green rug sits in the centre. One wall is dedicated to wardrobe space whilst the opposite wall is filled with another canvas print: a photograph of the same guys as before, only this time they are lying in a grassy field.

I get out a duster and run it along the flat surfaces in the room, like the large bedside table. The table is what you’d expect it to be, complete with numerous charger cables draped across it. I straighten up the bedding, smiling at the cute stuffed toys lining the bottom bunk. I put a few more items of rubbish in the bin bag and head into the next room.

This one, though being a similar size to the last, has only one bunk bed. The remaining space is used by a nicely positioned couch and coffee table. The colour theme in this room is mostly oranges and reds, but the canvas print on the wall depicts the same guys dressed all in white, and posing in front of some blinds. It’s kind of freaky how many photos there are in this apartment, all of the same seven guys.

I go into the third and final bedroom and its here that I stop trying to pretend that I’m actually cleaning. This is also a two person room, and the bunk bed has a black frame. In one corner of the room, there is a keyboard set up and on the desk next to it is an open laptop. I tap my fingers on the piano keys and skim my eyes over the laptop, which has just burst into life. There are scores and scores of music on there, and banks of audio documents. I’m about to click on one to have a listen, but there’s a beeping noise from the bunk bed.

I walk over to investigate but there’s nothing there. Then I hear the noise again. It’s like a phone alert sound or a ringtone. I search the bottom bunk but I find nothing. So I climb up onto the top bunk and rummage through the sheets. I pull out a sleek smartphone, which vibrates and beeps again in my hand. I climb back down again, sighing at my lack of height, and turn back to the phone.

The lockscreen turns on and there’s an arty image of more piano keys. I look at the time; it’s getting late. There’s a message as well as the time, written in Korean, of course. I run my eyes over the words and quickly translate to myself in my head. It says: Suga, are you running late? That makes me frown. ‘Suga’? Is that some sort of pet name?

In the back of my mind, as I try to figure this out, I hear a door shut and voices outside.

“Why was the door unlocked?”

“Has someone broken in?”

“Look, they must’ve left their coat.”

“Funny sort of coat for a burglar.”

Then there are more footsteps, coming closer and closer, a door opening, and a yell.

Uh-oh.

“Who-? Why-? What the hell are you doing in my room?!”

I slowly turn my head until I’m looking into the face of a pale face with a mop of fluffy dark hair that belongs to a highly attractive young man who is very, very angry. I swallow. “I can explain-” I begin.

He snatches the phone from my hands and clenches his fists. “Just get out!” he exclaims, pointing one finger to the door.

My heart beating a million a second, I jump to my feet and run out into the main interior of the house. I can feel my cheeks heating up as I blindly search for the door. I grab the handle and fully intend to leave, but another voice stops me.

“Mina?”

My breath catches in my throat because I know that voice. I heard it only today. My fingers loosen on the door handle and I hesitantly turn around, only to be facing a group of young men, some with curious expressions, others with angered ones.

“It is Mina, right?” says Jimin gently, stepping forward towards me. His silvery-blond hair is damp with sweat, but his smile is just as sweet as it was this morning, if not slightly concerned.
I open my mouth to answer but I quickly shut it again. No sound will surface from my throat. No words will form. I simply nod my head, and keep it down.

“What are you doing here?” another man asks. I look up to see the frown forming between his brows. He’s tan, with sandy-brown hair and a stud through one ear. In the corner of my eye, I see the dark-haired man from the bedroom, and he glares in my direction.

It’s stupid, but I feel tears forming in my eyes. I’ve only been in Korea for a week. Why do I keep messing every single thing up?

“Guys, she’s crying,” says another one quietly. “You forgot your coat, Yellow Coat Girl.” He comes over and hands me my coat, which I take with quivering hands. It’s Jin. I don’t even have the motivation to question why a mere worker is living with a music idol.

“Well, it’s not every day we have a break-in,” says another of the guys cheerfully. I can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work.

“Which brings us back to the question of why she’s here,” adds the dark-haired one with the glare rather smoothly.

“Do you like seeing girls cry, Yoongi?” mutters a tall one under his breath.

“It’s fine,” I say suddenly, though the situation makes me break out with English. I give a small cough. “I mean, it’s fine,” I say, switching back to Korean. “Um, well, I was sort of sent here to clean the place, I guess,” I explain lamely.

“Oh, she’s a cleaning lady,” says a blond one in sudden understanding.

“So why were you in Yoongi’s room?” asks the tanned one pointedly.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I apologise quickly, “I was just supposed to be cleaning. I’m sorry.”

They all seem to consider this for a moment. I grip the coat in my hands tightly; unsure of whether they want me to leave. I shift from foot to foot nervously.

“Guys, it’s okay,” says Jimin finally. “I met her this morning. She’s Ji Yeon’s daughter.”

“Oh, the designer,” says the cheerful one. “That’s okay then.” He comes over and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hoseok but most people know me as J-Hope.” His hair is a bright orange and his grin is wide.

“Nice to meet you,” I say shyly.

“You already know me,” says Jimin with a smile. Even so, he comes over to shake my hand and says, “I’m Jimin.” His handshake seems to last forever, but when he lets his warm hands fall to his sides, I realise how cold my hands really are.

“Are you sure you’re not a burglar?” says the blond one with a smirk. He gives a low bow as he grins mischievously. “I’m Taehyung.”

The tall one, well dressed in a white t-shirt, blue jeans and brown shoes, takes a step closer. “I’m Jungkook,” he says simply.

The tanned one considers the situation for a moment longer before giving a deep sigh. “I suppose you meant no harm,” he says eventually. “We should start over. I’m Namjoon.”

“My name is Seokjin,” says Jin, who seems to recognise me, “We met in the canteen before.”

I nod slightly, still feeling uneasy around a group of men who thought only minutes ago that I was a burglar. “I remember,” I say.

All eyes turn to the dark-haired one who seems to have acquired a great disdain for me, unfortunately. He grips his phone in one hand, his arms are folded across his chest, and his expression is unreadable. But as he meets the others’ eyes, a tiny crease forms between his eyebrows.

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself, Yoongi?” says Jin.

“You already did,” he replies, and without another word, disappears into his room.

“Oh,” says Namjoon at Yoongi’s actions, “I was going to suggest we do our group intro, but it doesn’t really matter. We’re BTS.”

The name rings a bell, but I have never really been into Korean groups. It’s all to do with a typically American upbringing. I blame it on my dad.

“I thought I heard you speak English earlier – Mina, right?” says Namjoon curiously, now suddenly speaking to me in English. His accent is husky, but his pronunciation is pretty good.

“Yeah,” I respond, my American accent startling even myself as it comes out. “I’m from America.”

The others didn’t seem to follow, but as soon as I say America, Hoseok says, “Ah, didn’t Ji Yeon mention she was from America?”

“Yes, but she used to live here, I think,” says Namjoon. “Well, Mina, that’s really interesting. I need someone to practise English with.” He throws me a sheepish smile.

“How did you already know Mina, Jimin?” Jungkook asks as he sits on the edge of the U-shaped couch.

“She did my makeup this morning,” says Jimin with another smile, directed at me. The way he says it makes a tingle creep up the back of my neck. I quickly rub it, trying to remain subtle, but confused as to what the feeling is. I brush it off and take a breath.

“Did you finish the cleaning, Mina?” asks Taehyung cheekily, raising his eyebrows.

“No, actually,” I say, a little embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” says Taehyung quickly, “We’ll just get Jin to do it.”

“I’m sure you’ll be helping,” says Jin good-naturedly.

“I can finish, if you want,” I offer, eager to erase the burglar image if possible.

“You don’t have to,” says Jimin. “It’s already a lot cleaner around here. You can go home, if you want.”

I glance up at the time on the wall. It’s getting late already. It must be dark outside. I think about walking the next few blocks back to the Big Hit building on my own in the dark and I shudder. But I need Mom to get back to the apartment. I bite my lip as I try to think of a solution.

“How are you getting home, Mina?” asks Namjoon, acting a little like an older brother.

“With my mom,” I reply. “I was waiting for her to finish work.”

“She’s still at work?” says Jungkook, “Back in the company building?”

“You can’t walk there at night,” says Jimin. “Here, I’ll walk you back.”

That takes me by surprise. I haven’t even known him a day and he’s already willing to walk me back? All of them seem to be far more caring than any of the guys I knew in the States... except Yoongi, of course. I’ll have to find some way to make it up to him, if I get the chance.

“Are you sure?” I ask, brought back to my senses as I notice Jimin stuffing his feet back into his sneakers.

“Of course,” says Jimin. “I can’t let a girl walk by herself at night. Anything could happen.”

“For the record, I was going to offer,” says Taehyung, looking slightly impressed even with himself.

“I’m sure we all were,” says Namjoon. “Be back soon, Jimin.”

“Will do,” says Jimin, slipping his arms into his jacket.

I put my own coat back on and follow his lead out of the apartment. We walk down the corridor to the elevator at the end. He jabs the button and we wait.

“How did you find Big Hit today?” Jimin asks, breaking the impending silence.

“I really liked it,” I say honestly. “It seems like an awesome place to work.”

“Sure is,” says Jimin with a smile. The elevator doors open and we step inside. Jimin presses the ground floor button and the elevator goes down.

“I don’t want to seem stupid,” I begin awkwardly, “But what exactly is your job?”

Jimin laughs, and for a moment I don’t know whether to join in or be offended. “I’m a kpop idol,” he says. “It feels weird saying it myself, but that’s what I am. We’re basically a music group. We’ve got a new album coming out this week, actually.”

“Ah, I see,” I say. So Jin was really a musician? The way he’d behaved the first time we met in the cafeteria hadn’t hit any alarm bells in my head.

The elevator opens and we leave the apartment building behind. For the next few blocks, I wish I had brought a scarf, or at least a thicker coat.

“It’s getting cold now,” Jimin remarks, “Are you warm enough?”

“Not really, but thank you for asking,” I say politely. “We’ll be inside soon, though.”

I feel Jimin touch my hand in the dark and as I look over, I see him frown. “Your hands are really cold,” he says with concern, but he seems to drop the subject as he knows it would be pointless to pursue. We’ll be inside soon, like I said.

“How long are you planning to stay in Korea?” Jimin asks then.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “However long my mom is here, I suppose.”

“And will you be back at Big Hit?” Jimin continues.

“I don’t know,” I say. And suddenly I’m spilling all my problems and I can’t stop myself. “I’m supposed to be enrolling for classes of some sort for this year but I still haven’t gotten round to it. I don’t even know what career I want to go into. College in America was the only thing I ever thought about but that’s not really an option since-” I cut myself off and take a breath.

I shouldn’t be telling him this. I haven’t known him long at all. Yet it feels like I have. He listens patiently and doesn’t interrupt, and I find myself wishing my mom was a little more like that from time to time.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. It’s all personal stuff and you probably don’t even care-”

“Mina,” Jimin interrupts.

I meet his eyes. They look darker in the dim light, but they’re just as warm as they were earlier, back in the makeup suite.

“Don’t be afraid to tell people your problems,” Jimin advises seriously. “They usually do care, and they can usually help you.”

I pause, and my paces slow down. “So what help would you give, Jimin?” I ask.

Jimin takes a moment to think. “Do you like makeup?” he asks. I nod in response. “Kyung Hee seems to think you’re good at it. I think you’re good at it too. Stay at Big Hit for a few more days. Maybe you can find out what you should do.”

That’s when we reach the doors of Big Hit Entertainment and the warm air from inside rushes out to greet me. I turn back to Jimin, who waits a few steps away. “Thank you,” I say, bowing both in goodbye and in gratitude.

Jimin doesn’t seem sure what I’m thanking him for and even I’m not entirely certain. But between walking me back, and giving me helpful advice, I am very grateful to Jimin.

“You’re welcome,” Jimin replies. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mina.” He smiles and walks back down the road.

I take only a few steps into the building before coming to a halt. See you tomorrow? But I never said I was coming back. I find myself grinning. Looks like Jimin’s got tomorrow all planned out for me. Mom will be pleased. Anything’s better than me watching endless TV dramas.

“Ah, Mina,” says Mom, greeting me in the entrance hall.

“Hi, Mom,” I reply.

Mom presses an envelope into my hands. “The manager said to give you this. Apparently you’ve been doing some actual work. I’m impressed.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” I say. I can feel my ears going red again.

Mom just smiles. “We’d better get home. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

As we walk back outside to catch a cab, I find myself grinning all over again. Whatever my fate may be, Big Hit Entertainment certainly seems to be a part of it.

Notes

Hello, everyone!
Just wanted to say hi and thank you to everyone who has read this story so far :)
I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will be looking forward to what the future holds for Mina and the Bangtan Boys. Thank you for reading <3