Reader x BTS

A Day at the Park

"ONEE-SAN!"

You hear Yuko opening the glass door as she called you. You and Seokjin immediately step away from each other, a good six feet between each other. You feel your cheeks turn hot and red, but at the same time, cold wind cooled your them. You peek over at Soekjin and watch him scowl and blush.

"What," you look at him, "is it?" Then back at Yuko.

"Our manager called you. He wants to talk," she said.

You move your gaze toward the ground, at your shivering and near-blue hands, then at Seokjin. At that moment, you could feel time slowing down. You see the slow-paced blinks of Yuko and Seokjin, the hyped BTS through the glass windows, the customers entering the store and others leaving, and an ant on the ground. You blink fast and look up at Yuko. She stares at you waiting for an answer. You slightly nod and said, "Alright, fine." You face the idle man standing beside a brick column and bowed your head, "I'm sorry." He stares at his shoes without a word; disappointment written all over his face. You stroll in front of him and lay your hand on his cheek. "It'll be fine. I won't be in trouble, eomma."

Hearing his nickname, his lips curve up a bit. You step towards the door before you were pecked on the cheek. He smiles innocently and smile back, softly. You noticed Yuko still standing by the doorway watching, with a tiny smirk. She beckons you over to come. You run over and enter the shop.

All members of BTS simultaneously turn their heads at the sound of the bell on the door. You give them a small wave and a reassuring smile as Yuko returns to her seat beside Taehyung. You cautiously walk behind the counter, past the co-worker making a vengeful face from earlier, and into the most avoided room. 'I wonder what he needs...'

You reluctantly walk in with shoulders back and chest up, into a tidy and organized room. You take a seat in front of a brown desk carrying a large amount of paperwork, a lamp, pens and pencils, and a picture frame of a joyous family. You struggle to stay still; your leg going up and down repeatedly. You feel your palms sweating. The man at the desk turned around on his rolling chair, laying his phone on the desk. You didn't realize his mumbling when you came in. The man, Mr. Rios, in his late 20's, is always dressed formally, strict with workers, but is sentimental when it comes to family. He observes you, watching your shaking leg, fiddling thumbs, and constant throat-clearing. He's known to know everything about you from what you're wearing to how you eat.

He takes a deep breath.

"Look, you're not in trouble."

And you exhale. You feel as if there is no more pressure on your shoulders. Your leg stayed still and you couldn't feel the phlegm in your mouth anymore.

"But, they," he says, gesturing to a particular spot in the booths, "are trouble."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, "Trouble? How are they trouble?"

Mr. Rios rubs his temple and sighs a little bit too loudly. "Look, they haven't bought anything in the past hour, they've been a nuisance to the customers here, they've been ridiculously loud, must I continue?"

You look away, silent.

"They're not customers if they don't buy anything. They're only filling up space for customers that actually buy something," he says, firm. "And I am here to tell you that you need to send them out unless those young men are buying something.

"Why don't I buy something for them?"

"You know it's coming from your paycheck, right?"

You nod.

"I know that you're trying to support yourself after your family issues." You flinch and examine Mr. Rios from the corner of your eye. "I don't want you to struggle with finances. Please, just send them out. Dismissed."