Murder Mansion • BTS

2 : Who-who are you?

Written by JJ

Edited by LM

HAEJIN POV

This was definitely one of those days when I regretted coming into work. The congested, oppressive restaurant kitchen was swarming with bustling people dressed head to toe in stained white aprons and tees, thronging around benches and countertops, attempting to do their assignments without delay. It was a Saturday afternoon, which naturally meant that the restaurant would be brimming with raucous groups of people insisting they had booked a reservation with a party of twelve.

I was rostered on dish duty tonight, which had me in a plastic hair net and long, yellow rubber gloves, diligently scrubbing at seemingly infinite stacks of plates and cutlery containing half-finished meals from our patrons. Beads of sweat had started to dot my forehead, and being dressed in these compressive clothes was definitely not cooperating with the heat building up underneath them. My cheeks were flushed red, and the muscles in my forearms were starting to ache with the monotonous and tiresome movements of side-to-side and up-and-down.

Besides this, I kept getting jostled by teeming cooks and waiters shoving past behind me. As the night forged onward, I could no longer keep up with the redundant overflowing dishes being piled onto the metal sink extension like an extravagant overbalancing jenga tower. It would only be seconds until it toppled over, due to the unsturdy grooves in the metal handy for draining. True to my assumption, a loud clatter was lost to the din of the small workspace as platters plunged into the sink before me.

Water lapped at the metallic rim of the basin, cascading over the edges, soaking my shoes and splattering onto the floor unceremoniously. It followed the indents of the tiles, flowing across the cubic slabs of black and white. Panic crossed my features, and I scrambled around my mind for what to do in this type of situation.

"Spilled water here!" I called out into the cacophony, yet the masses of sweaty, agitated bodies rushing around preparing and cleaning meals did not offer a response... except for the one I had hoped would not.

"Yah! Lee Haejin!" I hear his irritated voice and turn to the source. I see a young man, the owner's son, storm towards me in vexation.

His short-sleeved cook's jacket was drawn tight over his toned chest and abdominals, and he wore his apron from the waist down, both garments a despondent black to indicate he held authority in this kitchen. His jawline was sharp, yet his cheeks were round and his eyes large and doe-like. He wore his ebony hair in bangs and an undercut underneath his hair net. Although even with his fringe pulled underneath the fishnet material, I had to admit to myself he still looked stunning.

Beneath all the ruckus, I'm sure one could hear my defeated exhale of breath, and the squelch of my moist rubber gloves as I clenched them into fists, knowing I would get what was coming to me later. On his way over, I saw him swiftly bend his knees in order to reach a yellow sign which he propped open a few feet away from me. He halted his stride a foot in front of me, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. I eyed the sign warily, understanding it read 'CAUTION: SLIPPERY WHEN WET', and mentally facepalmed myself for not thinking of this stupidly simple health and safety code guideline.

I glanced back up to the male in front of me, and he began rocking back and forth on the heels of his shoes, unsure of where to begin. I gulped, and looked down; I was never one for confrontation. Besides that, when one is expected to talk to their extremely attractive boss, not only when they are clearly in hot water (no pun intended), it takes a toll on one's nervous system, deeming them incapable of forming coherent sentences or even of proper social etiquette.