Choose Your Own BTS Adventure

Chapter 1: Mops and Bops

"You can't stop me lovin' myself!" you sang to the mop in your hands as you danced around the hallway you were currently scrubbing. If there was one thing that made your days go faster at work, it was music. Even the grimiest toilet was no match for a good tune. "Oh oh ooh oh. Ohh -- oh!"

You felt a hand tap you on the shoulder and whirled around, pulling the headphones from your ears. There stood Eric Carlisle, the man whose home you were currently cleaning... while giving a very heartfelt, yet embarrassing performance to his entrance hallway, might I add.

Mr. Carlisle was the kind of man who looked like he must have been handsome some 30 years prior, before he developed what he lovingly called his "bowling ball" of a belly. He had black hair that was graying at the temples and eyes the color of freshly poured cement. His eyebrows would have been better termed eyeWOWS, as they were as thick as three normal brows stacked on top of each other like bricks.

"Oh, Mr. Carlisle," you stammered out, your face flushing redder than Elmo's. "I - I didn't know you were still home." You looked down at your feet and let out a mortified sound that was too sad to be a laugh, yet too strangled to be considered a cry.

"That's alright, Y/N," he said jovially. "Although I usually save my singing for the shower," he went on with a wink. 

His open personality set you at ease, and the heavy thumping of your heart steadied itself. You forced yourself to breathe easy and let out a gentle laugh but were still too embarrassed to trust yourself to say anything more without stuttering.

"Hey, that was pretty catchy though," he said. "Can't stop me lovin' myself! I like that. Who sings that, anyway?"

"BTS," you answered, happy to tell anyone who'd listen about your favorite band. "They're this really cool K-Pop band from South Korea."

"BTS," he said under his breath, as if lost in thought. "BTS. BTS. Where have I heard that recently? Ah, this is going to drive me crazy until I figure it out."

"Maybe you heard about them on the radio?" you offered, trying to help.

He waved an absent hand at you. "No, no. That's not it. It's killing me that I can't remember though. I think it was important."

"Well, sir, I'll just get back to cleaning then," you said. You were ready for this conversation to be over already so you could put your headphones back in. You could faintly hear the chorus to Fake Love coming from your earbuds and you hungered for more Bangtan bops.

Suddenly, Eric snapped his fingers. A light bulb went on over his head. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "Cleaning."

You looked at the man with a strangled expression on your face, suddenly worried he had suffered some kind of stroke. He had to have been pushing 60. Maybe his blood sugar was low or something. "Uh, yeah. That's what I do," you joked, pathetically. 

"No, no. I know that," he said. "I may be getting old, but I'm not going crazy... yet. I just remembered where I'd heard about BTS before. The other day I was having lunch with my buddy, nice Korean guy named Sejin, and he told me that they were actually looking for a housekeeper."

"Oh," you said. "Well, if your friend lives in the area, maybe you can give him my number. I'm always looking to pick up more clients." Money was always tight.

"Huh?" he asked. "No, it's not my buddy that's in need of help. It's those boys. BTS. Seven guys all living in one apartment. Jeez!" He whistled. "I can imagine why they'd be looking for a housekeeper. Well, they can certainly afford one anyway."

Your eyes expanded like helium filling two incredulous balloons. A thousand daydreams filled your thoughts at once. How cool would it be if YOU were their housekeeper? You could hardly keep from drooling on the freshly scrubbed floor.

Mr. Carlisle must have noticed the change in your expression because he made a gentle coughing sound in the back of his throat that you could tell meant "Earth to Y/N."

In a daze, you apologized and went back to work on making the floor shine like an angel on Christmas morning and shoved the earphones back into your ears. Jealous thoughts swirled through your head like green ribbons. Some luck. You just had to be born in [Your Country] and now some lucky Korean girl was going to be living out your wildest fantasies, while you were stuck here with Mr. Carlisle and his enormous eyebrows.

You went about your day as usual, albeit much more dispirited than usual. At the end of the day, after putting away your cleaning supplies, you spoke with Mr. Carlisle again. It was customary for you to be paid after all your hard work, in cold, hard cash.

"Alright, sir," you said, forcing yourself to sound more chipper and less bitter. That was not as easy as you thought it would be, seeing as your bitterness was currently reaching around black coffee levels. "I'm all done for today."

"I see that," he said. "You did a fine job, as usual. I'm really going to hate to have to let you go." 

He handed you your pay for the day and you looked down at the money in your hand in confusion. What did he mean he was letting you go? Were you really being fired? For what? Singing during a shift? 

"I don't understand," you said. "Am I being fired?"

"I'm sorry," he said, a look of deep regret on his etched face. "I just don't see how you'll be able to handle the commute."

"The same way I always do," you said, trying to keep your voice level, even though you wanted to whack the man on the head with a nearby instrument. You eyed the kitchen and your eyes landed on the stove top. That frying pan would do. "I only live three miles from your house."

"Yes, but I happen to live almost 7,000 miles from Korea," he deadpanned.

That frying pan was looking prettier and prettier by the second. Before you had to clobber the poor man, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a very impressive looking business card and placed it in your hand. It was shaking as you brought it to your stunned face, but you could still make out the words Big Hit through all the trembling.

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief. Could this mean what you thought this meant? No. You dared not hope.

Mr. Carlisle chuckled softly at your reaction. "I spoke to my friend while you were working. I told him I knew someone who'd be perfect for the job. A beautiful, hardworking young [woman/man] who I'll really miss." He placed a soft yet firm hand on your shoulder and you brought your eyes to his. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes.

"The job's yours if you want it, Y/N."