Woozi filled a glass with tap water and raised it to his lips, but the taste was so nasty and metallic that he recoiled and spit violently into the sink. "This water is vulgar," Jihoon rasped. "I can't drink this anymore."

"None of us can." Hoshi was watching Woozi from his seat on the ottoman. The8 was standing by the window, his eyes fixed on the bathroom sink. "But what else is there? Unless we happen upon an underground well, I don't see what choice we have."

Jihoon splashed his face with some cold water and dried his wet bangs with a fluffy hand towel. "What about the supermarket? There's bound to be cases of freshwater there."

"You know what happened the last time we went."

"It's been days," Jihoon argued. "They've probably left by now." He jerked a thumb at The8. "Let him prove himself. We could send him out to get it for us—"

Minghao's stomach filled with dread, so adamant was he not to return to that place; he forced himself to speak up when the time was right. "I'm not going back there."

Woozi's shoulders twitched with surprise. "I thought you were on our side."

"I am," The8 said quickly, "but I'm simply not wanted there, and I don't see any reason for me to go back."

The two of them fell silent. It was like the moment a tsunami surfaced offshore. Hoshi could feel the frustration building up in The8 and threatening to drown them all as Woozi's patience trickled away like sand through his fingers. Hoshi stood up moments before the great wave crashed down on the shore, with the intent of clearing up a potentially dangerous misunderstanding. "Why are you giving The8 such a hard time?" Woozi couldn't answer. "We're all a little tense today, and for some reason we think we have the right to use Minghao as a punching bag. If you're that worried about the water, now that I recall, there's an old pump in the town square. You can take some jugs with you and fill them up. The pump isn't connected to the city's water system, and I'm sure it's much cleaner."

Woozi stared at his reflection in the mirror, as if searching for meaning in those lifeless brown eyes of his, and he wasn't at all pleased with what he saw. "It's not so much the taste," he admitted with a sigh, "but the fear that one of these nights, if the temperature drops too low, the pipes will freeze, and we'll all suffer from dehydration. I don't want that to happen. I care too much..." he trailed off, unable to finish the thought, somehow hoping that they would understand his intent.

"You're short-tempered most of the time, and you worry far too much for your own good," Hoshi said, "but you're kindhearted, and that's why we love you."

Despite the wintry weather, Jihoon's heart warmed in response to his friend's affectionate speech. "There should be some empty jugs under the sink. I've been saving them up from our past breakfasts when we use up the last of the milk in our cereal."

The8 got down on his knees, opened the cabinet doors, and took out the two empty cartons. "Let me go."

Jihoon laughed. "Someone's itching to get out. I already told you I would go."

"I need the fresh air. And the open space. It's been too long—"

"Then take a walk in the garden. I need the exercise, so I'm going."

The8 clenched his fists. He knew that no matter what he said, it would somehow be taken the wrong way, or Woozi would twist his words until it looked like he was at fault, so, in the end, The8 had no choice but to give in. "Fine. You go."

"If you're not back in an hour"—Hoshi waggled a finger in warning—"then I'm coming to find you."

"If I'm not back in an hour, you should all be worried," said Woozi in jest, "for I'm either knee-deep in trouble or drunk to the point of forgetting my own name."

~.~.~

The8 fell back into the wall, one hand clasping his stomach, the other resting against his forehead. He hadn't eaten much since breakfast, and the fatigue was beginning to catch up with him.

Hoshi seemed to be in tune with The8's needs. "Are you hungry?"

Minghao hesitated, and then submitted, "A little."

Hoshi wrapped his arm around The8's shoulders and steered him towards the door. "To the kitchen, we go! It's about time we had some lunch around here."

Once the lights were on, Hoshi opened the cabinets with a flourish, curious to see what he had left to work with, but bare wood coated in dust wasn't exactly what one would call "promising." "It's hard to believe how fast the food seems to go down. I feel like we just went shopping yesterday."

"I think you mean raiding. Coups wasn't too happy bout it, either." It was meant as a joke, but Hoshi didn't take it that way.

"We're not pirates."

"I know."

"We're Kpop idols."

"I know."

"We're just trying to make a living."

The8 backed off and changed topics. "Hoshi-ya, I'm worried about Vernon. Is he going to be all right?"

Hoshi relaxed his shoulders and let his guard down. "I think so. Vernon's been eating even more than usual now that's he's hurt his shoulder. Any normal person would have lost their appetite but not Vernon. And that's how I know he's going to be fine." Hoshi drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter. "Finding something to eat for one of us is one thing. But whipping up enough portions for all of us is going to take a miracle."

Mother. China. Meals. Remember? Hoshi's words had The8's thoughts drifting back to his childhood and all the times his father had to work late just to support them, leaving his mother at home with scarce resources in which to scrape up a meal for the entire family.

"Hoshi-ssi—"

"Don't call me that," Soonyoung growled. "I'm not that much older than you, and we're not friendly enough to play around with the honor system, either."

"I'm sorry." The8 had overstepped his bounds, and he regretted it now, for an awkward relationship was not something he wanted to create. "Do we have any flour?"

"Yes. There's several bags of it in the back. Why?"

"Today, I'd like to teach you how to make Bing."

"Bi-young?" Hoshi echoed. "And that is...?"

The8 ignored the question while he searched the racks for the right size frying pan. Once it was heating on the stove, he answered, "Americans call them pancakes and eat them with butter and maple syrup. We call it Bing, or Chinese flatbread, and eat it with sugar and soy sauce."

"Sounds like an acquired taste."

"The taste of Asia, indeed."

Hoshi dragged the fifty-pound bag of flour across the floor and heaved it against the counter. Then he knelt down and scooped some into a bowl. As he stood up, dish in hand, The8 was making his way to the stove with a jar of coconut oil, and if Hoshi hadn't pulled back, it would have been a disaster.

Minghao giggled. "That was close."

"Mmhmm. I have very fast reflexes, something I owe to seven years of martial arts training."

"You told me. I trained for about four years, then stopped."

Hoshi monitored the process over The8's shoulder, taking note of Minghao's meticulous cooking style. "How can you make pancakes with just flour and water?"

"It's flatbread—and you'll see." The8 turned on the tap and let some water soak into the flour. He kneaded it into a ball with his fingers, dropped it in the hot oil coating the pan, and flattened it with a spatula. While it was cooking on one side, he melted some brown sugar in a smaller pot and shook in a good helping of soy sauce.

Hoshi was tired of standing still with nothing to do. Once the restless gears in his mind began to turn, a few tricks were conceived, and there was no turning back. Taking a pinch of flour between his finger and thumb, he flicked it at The8, smothering his friend's nose in fine white powder.

Minghao's eyes burned angrily. "What do you think you're doing?" He threw a fistful of wet flour back at Hoshi, soiling his friend's white dress shirt.

Soonyoung playfully ground some flour into The8's hair. "Why do you look so offended, Minghao-ssi?"

The8's face softened, he broke into a smile. "I'm not, Hoshi-ssi. I just hope you save some flour for the Bing, instead of bathing in it."

Hoshi frowned at the wet stains on his clothes. "Touché."

The hour was almost up when Woozi returned with two full jugs of water, and Hoshi and The8 were on their last batch of Bing. They'd made quite a mess in the meantime, the floor lightly coated in flour, and Woozi almost slipped and killed himself when he came in through the door.

"I hope you two know that you'll be staying down here until this mess is cleaned up. And let me warn you now: I have no sympathy for either of you. If dinnertime swings around, and you're still down here, fooling around, that's just too bad. I'm heartless, you hear me? Even if you beg, I won't be affected. I will simply stand back and watch you two starve."

There was disapproval in the way Hoshi crossed his arms. "How cold."

The8 shook his head. "Was he born this way?"

Woozi's answer drifted down from the emergency stairway next to the elevator. "Unfortunately, yes—so you have every reason to take me seriously, for I've spent nearly twenty years in this position, and I'm not about to break the mold."

~.~.~

At the far end of the kitchen, along with an endless supply of yeast and flour, sat two water barrels, almost larger than Woozi in size (though, not many things are shorter than Woozi, you must admit). Jihoon had no trouble following Hoshi's directions to the town square, and before the day was over he had made several trips back to the pump to fill the jugs with freshwater, and then roll them home. 

Breathing heavily, Jihoon stopped and closed his eyes. "Something's coming—I can feel it. I don't know what it is yet... nor when it will happen. All I know is... we're going to suffer. I pray to Jisoos that I'm wrong. For the sake of my family, please tell me I'm wrong."