Roomies

I stared at the white apartment door as if it were a puzzle, allowing the punctual yet unexpected nerves roll throughout my icy body. At twenty-three years old, I had finally achieved my dream job, yet I was still trying to process the mere idea of meeting BTS, let alone working for them. Despite my excitement, however, I legit could not get over the fact that I had shipped my ass off to South Korea. Holy shit, what did I do?

Hush, ushered my inner self. This was not a mistake, because if it was, I’d let you know—

Okay, thanks...that won't be necessary.

I arrived in Seoul about two and a half hours ago as a wide-eyed and bushy-tailed photographer, excited by the new world that brilliantly revealed itself in a numerous amount of ways. I wanted to explore, but my driver was clearly having a bad day (was assigned by BigHit to pick me up from the airport), grumbling as he helped me pack all of my bags and suitcases into the sleek, black SUV. Mind you, it was freezing out, so I could see where he frustration was coming from.

South Korea was a beautiful although crowded country, and Seoul just happened to be the epicenter of all the commotion. I was raised in the great state of Ohio, so I was definitely not used to hundreds of strangers filling the streets, many who had stared at me with both curiosity and weariness.

Winter was currently in session, and let me tell you, lugging my baggage around on ice was not pleasant, despite the picture-perfect scenery.

As of right now, I’am still rooted in front of the door. “Okay Gem,” I muttered to myself, “Move it, you oompa-loompa.” Sticking the key into the keyhole, I opened the door, and was pleasantly washed over by sunlight pouring through a beautiful, arched window. I dragged my luggage into what looked like the living room, considering a couch, television set, and a complimenting rug occupied the — um, wait. Where did all of this come from??

Last time I checked, apartments just came with toilets, doors, sinks, yada yada yada. Definitely not with expensive-looking, sixty-inch screen television sets and deluxe furniture. In the kitchen to my right, three wooden stools stood against a gorgeous white counter-top, as a stylish driftwood table paired with benches took up space adjacent to the cookery.

Now I’m confused. And somewhat panicked. Either I was given the wrong key and door number, or I accidentally missed the part in the contract about rooming with a coworker. Stressing out only on the first day here? Check.

Okay, let’s take a breather and rewind. Step 1: Take a nice, hot shower, because I’m tired. Oh, and cold. Step 2: Call the nice person at the front desk. Step 3: Hope for the best.

Gathering my towel, clothes, and showering necessities, I headed on a journey of self-discovery to find the bathroom. As I neared the third door on the right, the sound of running water reached my ears. What the hell…? My thoughts about entering the wrong apartment became more questionable. Afraid that the possibility of someone being in there was a strong one, I held my shampoo bottle like a sword, armed for battle.

3...2...1….

I opened the door with full force: “Hands up!” I shouted, violently waving my “weapon” around blindly. Hearing a loud gasp, I opened my eyes in surprise, nearly about to pee myself. And in that very moment, as a startled face popped out from the shower curtain, I screamed. Loudly.

He screamed back.

Covering my eyes in a hurry, I hurled my towel in the guy’s assumed location, as if I could harm him with it, sprinted out, and slammed the door shut. I pressed my back against it, heart beating way over its speed limit. I began to hyperventilate, a nervous tick of mine, as the scene continuously replayed in my mind in rapid motion.

I laughed nervously. “Am I imagining things or—” Suddenly the door jerked open from behind, and I fell backwards, slipping on my fuzzy socks. “Shit!” The abrupt collision sent him skidding on the wet bathroom floor, shooting me into his bare arms.

Scrambling faster than a bolt of lightning, I immediately detached myself from him, breathing heavily. Once I got to a safe distance by the closed door, I allowed my eyes to scan over the mystery man. His bluish hair matted down around his honey face, and a grey towel hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing a sharp and contrasting v-line. Gulp.

I analyzed his features for a split second when I realized.

Oh.

My.

Goodness.

It's fucking Kim Taehyung.

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