Love Maze | BTS Poly

Somebody

"Just doing your job, huh?" I scoff. "Does that also include withholding information from your partner?"

"Look, Wilson, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just—"

I put my hand up. "Save it. I'm done talking to you."

"Wilson," Alex calls out as I head for the door. "Wilson!"

But I don't stop. I keep walking as fast as I can until I'm out of the room and down the hallway. Then, another hallway. And another one, just to be safe. I would've kept going, but the final hallway in this direction is blocked off at the moment due to construction—they're adding onto the building. As if this place isn't big enough already.

Only a large tarp stands between me and getting as far away as possible from my partner without leaving the country entirely. I look around. Not a soul in sight.

Signs warn of the dangers of entering the construction zone and the fine that comes along with it, but I ignore them and move the tarp out of my way. I just need to go somewhere quiet for a while; somewhere where I know I won't be disturbed.

The hall has been completely gutted, and all that's left is the drywall and the concrete floor. There are some flimsy wooden boards strewn around, too, wobbling whenever I'm forced to walk on top of them.

The dust quickly finds its way into my nose and throat. I feel the intense urge to cough; however, I hold it in, worried that someone working nearby would hear.

Soon, I stumble upon a bathroom with an out-of-order sign taped to the door.

"No shit," I murmur before opening it to take a peek inside. This triggers the motion sensor and the lights turn on, illuminating the bathroom with their blinding, fluorescent glare. And like the rest of the area, it's dead empty. I head inside.

The counters and sinks are a little dusty, but overall, it isn't a bad place to hide out for a bit. I can't lie, though. There's something very eerie about being in an old bathroom in an abandoned part of a building. It makes me feel like the next victim in a '90s slasher movie.

Man, I seriously need to stop watching so many horror movies.

Putting my paranoia aside (and after checking the storage closet to make sure Ghostface wasn't lurking in the shadows), I brush the dust off the counter and hop on. I sigh in relief at finally having some time to myself.

I haven't even been here three full days yet and I'm already seeking isolation. If it had been my choice, I would've chosen to stay behind in the States. At least then I'd have somewhere to go after a stressful workday—home. But here, there's nowhere to run to. Instead, I have to resort to sitting on a dirty countertop in a condemned bathroom. I can't complain too much, though. This place is paradise compared to everything out there.

Five to ten minutes go by of me leaning my back against the mirror, eyes closed and trying to maintain a positive mindset, while also trying not to fall asleep in the process. This jet lag has been kicking my ass so badly that I could probably fall asleep anywhere right now, and this counter is getting comfier with each passing second.

Just as I feel myself beginning to doze off, the sound of faint footsteps can be heard down the hall. I hold my breath, listening carefully as the click-clack of the person's shoes grows louder and louder. I then realize where those footsteps are headed: the bathroom.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

If I get caught, I'll have to pay that huge fine, and the FBI doesn't pay as well as people think. So, in order to keep my bank account from crying, I jump off the counter and make a beeline for the storage closet. Boxes of cleaning supplies and stacks of paper towels line the walls. I nestle behind a few packs of toilet paper, hoping that whoever is about to come in here doesn't need a roll.

When the door opens, I place my hand over my mouth, holding my breath once more.

I really jinxed myself with all that '90s-slasher nonsense.

I again hear their click-clacky shoes as they walk across the linoleum. They definitely don't sound like work boots—more like heels or dress shoes—so I don't think it's one of the construction workers. Could it be someone like me then? Someone just looking for some peace and quiet? Well, whatever the case, I'm not taking any chances.

I peek over one of the packs of toilet paper, and through the crack underneath the storage closet door, I see the person stroll right past me. Relieved, my shoulders drop as I finally allow myself to take a breath.

The person continues on, the sound of their shoes fading ever so slightly. They must be at the end of the bathroom now, near the very last stall. My suspicion is confirmed when I hear the click of a lock. There's a rustling noise followed by a brief silence. Then, the lock again.

Suddenly, the mystery person starts heading back my way. I make myself as small as possible, thinking that if I do, maybe I might be able to disappear completely. My effort turns out to be unnecessary, though, because they practically sprint out of the bathroom without even stopping to check themselves out in the mirror.

Just to be safe, I wait a few extra minutes after the door closes before exiting the storage closet. Curious as to what someone (besides me) would be doing in a restricted area while the whole building is out to lunch, I go to the very last stall.

Like everything else around here, it's covered with a light layer of dust. Everything except for the sanitary disposal bin, that is.

It's improbable that that person's sole reason for coming in here was to clean the bin and only the bin. No, they had business with it. And unfortunately, I'm going to have to find out what that business was.

Please don't let it be a used tampon fetish, I grimace as I prepare to open the bin, gloveless.

Thankfully, there's nothing of the sort when I lift the lid; there's only a folded-up piece of paper. It's a note.

Although the note was the only thing disposed of, it's glaringly obvious that the bin hasn't been cleaned since long before the construction even began. I can't believe what I'm about to do, but I need to know what's in that note.

Hoping I'll be able to pull a print from it later, I reach in and grab it as fast I can with a piece of toilet paper; however, once I've unfolded it, I realize that the note is written entirely in Japanese. I dig into my pocket and pull out my phone. Using a translator app, I take a picture of the note, allowing the app to scan the writing. After a couple of seconds, the English translation pops up on my screen.

They're getting closer, Orochi. I know it, and so do you. You keep telling me to stop worrying so much, but how can I when you have the fucking FBI breathing down your neck? And this is not me trying to say that we should call the whole thing off—I'm just saying we need to be more careful. More creative, too, perhaps.

I love you, and I can't bear the thought of us being locked away and ripped apart from each other. I need you, darling. So, please, let's be a little more careful from now on.

We'll begin planning our next move tomorrow night, same time as usual.

My mouth hangs open, stunned by what I've just read. I screenshot the translation before dialing Alex's number. He picks up after three rings.

"Wilson, are you alright?" he asks. "Where'd you go?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," I reply, ignoring his second question for the time being. "Do you happen to know how long Big Hit has been doing construction for?"

"Seokjin had mentioned that it's a fairly recent thing," Alex imparts. "Couldn't be more than a few months. Why?"

"I think I just found our guys' secret hideout."

[AN] Yes, I'm still alive! 🥳

If you're interested in what I've been up to (the reasons behind my absence), check out the post I made a few weeks ago in the Conversations tab. I've missed you guys, and I'm so happy to be back! ☺️