Even without Invisible Jaehwan issuing reminders, Eunjae remembered to stand tall, to speak with conviction. “We’ll never feel like we're ready. We just have to go ahead and do it the way we always do.”
Kazu smiled at him from the head of the table. “We’re on it, Ari. Just say go.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk this much in my whole life,” Nick whispered to Namgyu.
“Aww, I’m so glad I got to hear an inspirational speech after I missed the last one!”
“Now he won’t talk for another year just to make up for it.”
“Can you guys shut up and get on Instagram? Hyung just said to sign up for new handles. See if ‘Tweedle Dum’ and ‘Tweedle Dee’ are already taken.”
“How can Keiichi be so mean but still sound like an angel when he sings?” Jesse wondered aloud.
“I’ve been asking that question for way too long, kid.”
"Haha, isn't it too bad he always gets more rap lines than singing lines?"
"Gyu, get off me, I can't see the screen —"
Nick threw back some coffee that he probably shouldn't be drinking at such an advanced hour of the evening. “Never thought we might get into this much trouble ‘cause of something Ari came up with. Would've been on brand for Max, though.” He raised his mug in a toast. “No offense.”
“None taken, jackass.”
One by one, the members of Apollo went to work. The Hans’ dining table became a mess of gadgets and charging cables. Galvanized into action, operating on varying levels of sleep deprivation, they compared the notes and screenshots assembled piecemeal during the exodus from Seoul.
Eunjae waded into the thick of it, pulling the disparate parts together, building the case he'd envisioned in his head. He knew the contract left to right and backwards. He knew exactly what they should say in order to be persuasive while also credible. It was only a matter of trusting his own ability to see it through. There was room for neither error nor doubt. This was their side of the story, their chance to show the truth beneath the shining surface. And if that truth came into question, if the company assailed it with lies, it needed the strength to withstand every blow.
Preparing their statement and all its components required careful attention to detail. What was essential to include? What could be left out? Eunjae lost track of time for a while, wholly absorbed in the task at hand. But then he felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Got a minute?” Jiyeon asked, motioning for him to follow. Her tone came across as strained, but determined. “I think I’ve found a way to help you.”
40
AshefollowedJiyeondown the hall, Eunjae wondered if he would ever develop the ability to be alone with her without simultaneously fearing for his life. He kept bracing for impact, searching for Denny in every shadow. At least she didn't shut the door and lock it this time. Eunjae had only narrowly survived that experience and was not confident he'd do any better now.
Jiyeon’s room remained as he'd left it on the night before returning to Seoul. The only difference was a set of clean sheets. “Dad found your camera, by the way,” she said, “and the hat you were wearing when we met you. Look on top of the dresser.” Then she hauled out the cardboard box under her bed. “Can you help me with this one? I have more in the closet.”
Eunjae bent down to grab the box. Crammed with tripods and ring lights, it was the same box he'd stubbed his toe on at least once a day during his stay with the Hans.
“I’ve been telling myself that I need to donate all these things,” Jiyeon mused as she dragged her desk chair to the closet. “I guess it's good that I haven't. You guys can use some of it later, while you're recording.”
He watched as she balanced on top of the chair in order to retrieve another box from a high shelf. This one turned out to be a plastic storage bin stuffed to the gills with more equipment: some headsets, a collapsible green screen panel, even a sound boom that folded down to half its actual size. Entombed somewhere behind a row of winter coats was a jumble of umbrella reflectors for adjusting the lighting.
“Do you know how to set up in there? I can rig something together, otherwise. The overhead light in the living room is decent. You'll all fit in the frame if we move some furniture around, don't you think?”
Eunjae knew a little bit from helping Jungwoo record his YouTube series during the long months of lockdown. He wouldn't claim to be much of an expert, but as he took stock of the evidence, he realized Jiyeon might be.
“Before you threw your phone into the Pacific Ocean,” began Eunjae, only for Jiyeon to shake her head, stopping him from fully formulating the question.
“I'll tell you later,” she answered, breaking eye contact. “I promise I will. Speaking of phones, though, can I borrow yours?”
“You're asking me to let you borrow the phone… that you're letting me borrow?”
This earned him a smile at last. “You heard me, Song Eunjae.”
“Sorry. Had to do it.”
Still, though. Still, something about this was troubling, like a splinter working itself under his skin. He recalled the grim look on Denny's face, glimpsed through the kitchen doorway as he argued with Jiyeon, and the splinter evolved into a sense of pervading unease.
