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Even ten minutes in to their walk, Spot is still straining against his leash. Were they home — or, Yoongi corrects himself, were they in Oxford, because home is Korea and they’ll be there again soon — and retreading their usual route Spot would have calmed down by now, but here, in the Highlands, in a new place, he seems to have completely forgotten how to walk. He zigzags across their path. He stops suddenly and circles back. Everything needs to be sniffed. Everything needs to be peed on.
This early Yoongi can’t manage more than a slow shamble, so when Spot stops suddenly, pulling the leash taught, Yoongi hardly stumbles at all. Namjoon turns to look back first with a furrow in his brow, then with a fondness in his eyes as Spot drags them over to investigate a low stone wall, overgrown with hardy green plants, his tail whisking the air with vigor.
Spot spends a full ten seconds smelling a section of wall almost a foot long thoroughly before he finally finds the spot to mark his territory.
“C’mon Spot,” Namjoon whines at last, when it’s painfully evident Spot is standing with one leg raised as a stalling tactic to keep sniffing the stonework. He’s a smart dog. He’d learned long ago that as long as he was balanced on three legs they wouldn’t start walking again.
“You’ll have plenty of time on the beach,” Yoongi grins. He knows what the true source of Namjoon’s impatience is. “The crabs aren’t going anywhere. They won’t disappear in the next thirty seconds.”
“But it’s right there,” Namjoon says, pointing toward the rush of grey water visible down the road and bouncing excitedly on his toes. Yoongi is put in mind of helium balloons carried by children, bouncing on the breeze. He tightens his grip instinctively. He wouldn’t want Namjoon to be carried away on the cold, damp breeze that comes off the slate-grey waves unfurling under dreary lilac clouds.
Namjoon squeezes back, probably out of sheer excitement, and Yoongi tries to steal a little extra of the heat it provides him. The weather is much colder than he’d thought it would be when he hastily got dressed. He’s warm enough now with his three layers of shirt (thermal, long-sleeved t-shirt, thick, Scottish-wool cable knit sweater), but he’s familiar with this kind of damp, cool air. It’s going to seep through every chink in the yarn, creep down the back of his neck, sink right into his bones if he isn’t careful.
Well, he thinks wryly, as Spot continues to sniff, At least we have a whisky tasting later. If nothing else worked, not the coffee, not the full breakfast, not the heat from the fireplace he’d seen beside the dining table, he’d have the whisky to fall back on.
Namjoon bounces again, impatiently this time, his hand gently tugging against Yoongi’s as he does so. “If you want to go down now, Spot and I can catch up,” Yoongi offers, without actually letting go of Namjoon’s hand. “You’re just going to disappear to find crabs as soon as we get there.”
Namjoon scrunches up his face, although if it’s at the idea that he should walk ahead or that he’ll abandon them to find crabs Yoongi can’t tell. He’s endeared anyways.
They wait, watching their dog balance precariously on three legs as he stretches his nose out as far as possible in the pursuit of smells. At last Namjoon says, “Well, when you put it like-” and as though Spot had been waiting for his cue he lowers his leg.
“Crisis averted?” Yoongi laughs, seeing the relief on Namjoon’s face that he’ll no longer have to choose between leaving them behind and having more time to look for beach-dwelling critters.
Namjoon grins back at him, saying, “Maybe,” with a cheeky grin, before starting off toward the beach again with almost as much enthusiasm as Spot. Yoongi lets himself be pulled along.
Just before the intersection the low stone wall grows into a higher stone wall, and runs its way around a graveyard and associated church. Beyond the intersection Yoongi can see the beach, or at least, what is technically a beach, in that it is where the water and land meet. It certainly isn’t what Yoongi thinks of when he pictures a beach. It might be August but it sure as hell isn’t warm, and there are no vistas of white sand, beach umbrellas, or leftover sandcastles from the previous day’s visitors.
There’s an ocean, sure, (The North Sea, corrects a voice in his head that sounds quite a lot like Namjoon. It’s the Atlantic on the other side of the island.) and some land, but that’s about where the similarities end. Instead of wide white-sand beaches there’s a sliver of a substance that is hardly sand at all, dark, gritty, filling in the narrow space between the brush edging the road on one side and the dark patterns of glistening seaweed on the other.
There are exactly as many cars on the road that runs along the back of the beach as there have been on every other road they’ve walked along all morning, meaning none. It’s a bit eerie, to have the roads to themselves, but Yoongi appreciates the quiet. Spot is the only one who bothers to pause before crossing the road, and even then it’s because there’s an interesting pile of rocks he wants to sniff balanced against the wall at the corner. From where they stand Yoongi can’t see another building in any direction, let alone any people. Some of that has to do with the pale grey mist hanging in the air, but he suspects quite a lot of it simply has to do with this area of the island being practically deserted.
He wonders, briefly, at who would have lived here long enough to die and be buried in that graveyard. The highlands are beautiful, yes, but if this is what summer feels like he’s not sure he wants to know anything at all about the winter.
They step carefully from the road onto the grass, and then to some stones, damp with mist, and then at last onto the grey of the beach. It might not match picture perfect white-sand beaches in tropical climates, but it certainly has its own haunting charm - the greenery vibrant with life, the weathered grey stones a pleasing colour combination. Yoongi mentally pats himself on the back for having thought to sling his camera bag over his shoulder before they slipped out of their room at the manse. He should be able to get some good pictures, full of atmosphere, just as soon as he gets his boys settled.
Namjoon takes very little settling on Yoongi’s part. Three steps on to the gritty sand he turns to Yoongi, his grip already loosening, and says “Hyung, I-”
“Go!” Yoongi lets go of his hand before he’s even done speaking, using it to wave him off in the direction of some quite interesting rock piles. “Go find your crabs, and whatever else. I’ll watch Spot, and the time.”
Namjoon doesn’t go. Namjoon leans in close, wrapping his large hand around Yoongi’s neck. His thumb brushes the shell of Yoongi’s ear, light as a feather, just as gentle, and then he pulls Yoongi forward and into a brief kiss. “Thanks, hyung.”
Yoongi isn’t awake enough to do anything more than put a hand to his lips, still warm from Namjoon’s mouth, and say, “Don’t mention it.”
It’s at least an hour earlier than he’d usually be awake, let alone out of bed, and it’s all Namjoon’s fault. He’d woken when Namjoon rolled out of bed, and he’d been just about to drift off again when his brain, still foggy from sleep, had puzzled out what was going on.
“Joon-ah?” he’d said, because he wanted to make absolutely sure he was right before he did anything rash, like waking all the way up.
Namjoon had jumped, and turned away from his suitcase with jeans in one hand and a pair of socks in the other. His expression shifted from shocked to soft as he took in the sight of Yoongi, sleep rumpled and half awake. Yoongi had done his best to give off come back to bed and cuddle me vibes but the crustacean-related glint was already in Namjoon’s eye. The battle was lost before he’d even known there was one to fight.
“You keep sleeping.” Namjoon had kept his voice low as he padded to Yoongi’s side of the bed, then brushed Yoongi’s hair back with careful fingers so he could place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Breakfast isn’t for another hour. I’ll take Spot down to the beach for his walk-”
Spot, to all appearances dead asleep, had bolted upright at the word and wagged his tail. Yoongi wouldn’t have expected anything less.
“-and be back before it’s ready. We won’t be more than an hour. You’ll barely even know we’re gone.”
Yoongi hadn’t laughed at that, but it was a near thing. For one thing, he always knew when Namjoon was gone, especially if he was trying to fall back asleep and there was only a warm place in the sheets to curl into instead of a warm body to curl up against. For another there was absolutely no way Namjoon, in pursuit of crabs, wouldn’t lose track of time.
And so, when Namjoon had emerged from their bathroom Yoongi stood ready by the door, new wool socks on his feet, new wool sweater on his body, Spot’s leash dangling from his hands and Spot dancing excitedly around his feet. Namjoon had only said, “Are you sure?” once before taking his hand and gently leading him downstairs.
Spot is dancing excitedly around his feet again now, alternating between looking up at Yoongi with a beseeching expression and trying to look at everything on the beach at once. There isn’t really much to see except Namjoon, already off in the pile of interesting rocks, bent over until his body makes an inverted L, peering with every ounce of focus in his body at the ground ahead of him, but Spot is excited to see it anyways.
“If I let you off leash, are you just going to chase after Namjoon?” Yoongi asks, trying to work the clip free. It’s a bit stiff, and he can’t seem to get the right angle bending over the way he is. His camera bag keeps swinging around to bump his elbow. He kneels down, hoping he’ll be able to get a better angle on it. Spot takes the opportunity of having Yoongi’s face at dog-height to immediately try and lick into his mouth.
Yoongi yelps loud enough Namjoon looks over, tilting his head back as far as he can so it’s out of immediate licking danger. The last thing he wants to do is give Spot a better opening. The only tongue he wants in his mouth is Namjoon’s.
“Everything okay?” Namjoon yells. Yoongi sends him a thumbs up instead of trying to yell back. Spot is still keyed up, and Yoongi would like to avoid accidental french kissing if at all possible.
He gets the leash un-clipped and sure enough Spot is off like a rocket, tearing down the sand toward Namjoon, paws kicking up damp grit and sand. Yoongi is about to yell a warning when Spot gets distracted by a poor pair of some Scottish birds startled out of their nest by his passage. He switches to chasing after them, yapping enthusiastically.
No one’s quite sure what breeds make up Spot beyond probably some terrier and maybe some poodle? but whatever he is, he definitely has a strong chase-small-animals instinct. With his white fur with black spots (hence the name), he makes a nice contrast to the grey and green that surround him, made even better by his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he leaps in the air in a futile attempt to get his teeth on some feathers.
It makes a good picture, so Yoongi loops Spot’s leash over his shoulder, swings his camera bag around, and pulls his camera out. Seconds later he has a few photo-bursts of Spot jumping, then a few more pictures of Spot glaring at the sky in defeat, then spinning in circles as he tries to decide what to do next.
He gets a few shots of Namjoon too, and when he reviews them on the small screen he can’t help but shake his head. In his scratchy, oatmeal cable-knit sweater, moss-green toque, khaki pants and sturdy hiking boots, standing and staring out at the ocean, the mist hanging low and close, he might as well be an advertisement for Tourism Scotland.
“Ah!” Namjoon yells. Yoongi looks up, startled, just in time to see Namjoon straighten up and yell again. “Hyung!”
“Oh,” sighs Yoongi. He recognizes that tone. It’s the one that says Namjoon is about to show him something.
Sure enough, the next words out of Namjoon’s mouth are, “Look! Look!”
As if Yoongi wasn’t already looking, the moment Namjoon had started yelling. There’s enough distance between them Yoongi can’t quite make out what it is Namjoon is holding, pinched between his fingers, but he does have a guess. Namjoon’s face his bright, his shoulders tense with excitement. There's only one thing that elicits this kind of response.
“What is it?” he asks, pretending to be puzzled. There’s only one possible answer, and he could guess it easily, but he likes to see Namjoon’s excitement as he says the words.
“Ach, hyung,” Namjoon laughs, ducking his head instead of saying It’s a crab, hyung, look! A shore crab! He even stops walking, his shoulders drooping. Yoongi feels himself frown in response. “Nevermind, it’s just-”
“You went through all the trouble of catching it and you aren’t even going to show me?” Yoongi asks, reaching out his hand to catch at Namjoon’s wrist. It seems likely that in his pre-coffee state, his pretending to be puzzled tones came out wrong, and that Namjoon now thinks he’s actually annoyed Yoongi by interrupting his work. “Hey, Joon-ah, you know-”
Namjoon makes a funny, breathy noise, and Yoongi finally catches a glimpse of his expression.
“Yah!” he says, making sure to colour his voice with a large amount of definitely fake displeasure this time. Namjoon’s smirk grows a pair of dimples. “Kim Namjoon! It isn’t nice to prank your elders before you’ve even let them have their coffee!”
“You could have stayed in bed,” Namjoon points out mercilessly, reaching out with his crab-free hand to poke at Yoongi’s ribs through his sweater. Yoongi squirms sideways, yelping. “Don’t go blaming me for your lack of coffee.”
“We could have come here after breakfast!” Yoongi protests.
“And then you would have found something else to grumble about.”
Yoongi pouts, but Namjoon isn’t wrong. “Sometimes grumbling is fun,” he grumbles. “Go on then, show me the crab.”
Namjoon does, smiling so wide his dimples look like they’ve been carved in his face, cooing, “Isn’t it so cute?” as he displays it on his palm. The crab is cute, about the size of a one pound coin, tiny pincers waving as it scuttles indignantly around Namjoon’s hand, but Namjoon is objectively cuter. Yoongi makes sure to get pictures of both, as well as one with Namjoon holding it up by his face. It’s not the first picture of Namjoon-and-crab that will soon be stored on his external hard-drive. He doesn’t find that he minds.
“I’ll just drop him back in the rocks, and then be right back,” Namjoon says when he’s done, gesturing behind them. “We can walk down the beach a bit further if you want, and maybe check out the graveyard before we go back?”
Yoongi hums noncommittally at the plan, fighting to keep a disbelieving smile off his face. Namjoon is many things, kind, patient, intelligent, but able to be right back when he’s in an area with the potential for finding small critters he is not.
He’s reminiscent of a small child when he runs off, arms spread to help him balance while he picks his way through the slippery rocks. Yoongi has to bite back the urge to tell him to be careful as he goes. They have a week left in their Scottish Highland Adventure (at least, that’s what Namjoon has been calling it, complete with capital letters, and their translator and driver/guide have picked it up), two left before they go back to Korea. The seven months they’ve spent in the United Kingdom while Namjoon has been writer-in-residence at one of the Oxford Colleges have been remarkably injury free. Yoongi would like to keep it that way.
Still, it makes a good picture to add to his Namjoon-in-Scotland collection, and he presses his camera against his eye to take a few shots, one of them in tight on Namjoon’s hand, the edge of a pincer just barely visible.
Over the low rumble of the waves Yoongi’s ears pick out the sound of a dog yapping. He knows it’s Spot, the same way he can pick Namjoon’s voice out of a crowd, but the sound isn’t coming from the direction he’d last seen him. It’s behind him, and faint, as if Spot has gone running off down the beach. He takes one last picture of Namjoon, arms extended like a bird about to take wing, balancing precariously as he hops over some stones, then stows his camera to find out what their dog has got up to now.
For the most part Spot has been a model representative of Korean dog-kind to his brethren in the United Kingdom. He hasn’t dug up any of their host Joyce’s flower beds, even though Yoongi has let him out into the fenced yard unsupervised. He hasn’t chewed on any of her old furniture. He's barely growled, except during their first week in the country, when they were all jet lagged and cranky no matter how much Namjoon might try and deny it.
He hasn’t been any trouble on this trip either, not really, although watching as he runs directly into the probably freezing-cold waters Yoongi wonders if this is going to be the first time of the first time for everything axiom.
“Spot!” he yells. Spot freezes in place, the presumably cold waves lapping periodically around his ankles. He turns to Yoongi and barks briefly before his gaze snaps back to something floating in the water. Yoongi can’t quite make it out at this distance, but through the lens of his camera he identifies…
A ball. Of course.
“Oh, if that’s all it is, go ahead,” Yoongi says, waving his arm toward it.
Spot stays rooted to the spot, barking furiously as he looks between Yoongi and the ball. Being a dog he can’t actually speak, but his expression asks Aren’t you going to get that for me? quite plainly.
Yoongi crosses his arms. “No. Not on your life. You want that ball, you’re going to have to go get it yourself.
At last Spot’s paws become unstuck enough that he can pace, first three steps right, then three left. He pauses in his barking to whine, tail quivering with the energy humming through his muscles. He looks to Yoongi again.
“I’m not sure which part of ‘go get it yourself’ you didn’t understand, Spotty,” Yoongi says with a half laugh. “Go on then, if you want it so badly. Can’t tell me you’re afraid to get your paws wet, you’re already in.”
Spot stays where he is, water swirling around his legs.
Yoongi isn’t wearing the appropriate footwear to be going anywhere near the water, not even in as far as Spot is standing. He takes a few pictures, dog having a stand off with the waves, and after a final “G’won then Spot!” he manages to catch the exact moment that Spot gives in to the siren song of the ball.
“Knew you would,” Yoongi laughs, putting his camera away again. He knows what happens next. “Good boy.”
Spot doesn’t disappoint, bounding over with his usual ridiculous amount of energy to show Yoongi what he rescued. In a past life it might have been a tennis ball. In its current life it has the faintest whiff of fuzz on it but is no colour Yoongi has ever seen on a tennis ball, the same green as the seaweed sticking wetly to the sand all along the beach. Yoongi is willing to bet that if he were to throw it against a wall it wouldn’t bounce at all, just smack against it wetly and dribble away.
“That’s possibly the grossest thing you’ve ever found,” Yoongi says conversationally, bending over with his hand extended because he knows what Spot is looking for. “I can’t throw it for you until you drop it, you know.”
They play fetch, once Spot finally deigns to let go of the ball the first time, and once Spot figures out that Yoongi being willing to stand in one spot and throw the ball does not mean he’s willing to chase after Spot to get him to drop it.
The ball is exactly as wet as he expected it would be, pulled from the ocean as it is, and it doesn’t warm at all to Yoongi’s touch as he throws it. Instead it’s Yoongi’s fingers that change temperature, going numb with cold thanks to a combination of the wet ball and the wind. He tries to warm them up while Spot chases the ball down and prancing proudly back, tucking his fingers in the cuffs of his sweater and then tucking his hands under his armpits, but it doesn’t work very well. His throwing arm gets warm. The rest of him continues to cool, the damp wind leeching away his heat.
When he starts to shiver he finally decides to check on Namjoon who, sure enough, hasn’t been right back. As much as he doesn’t want to interrupt Namjoon’s communing with nature he’s cold, and hungry, and would really, really like his first caffeine dose for the day. Yoongi throws the ball hard, as hard as he can, and instead of watching Spot chase after it in yet more raptures of joy he turns to try and figure out what the love of his life has gotten up to now.
Only Namjoon isn’t back in the water-slick rocks, where Yoongi would have expected him to be. He isn’t anywhere on the beach in fact, and Yoongi has to scan all the way to the edge of the road to find him. He’s carefully picking his way through the lush green plants huddled there. Yoongi takes a deep breath, ready to yell I’m cold, but then Namjoon crouches. He’s probably spotted a frog, or a lizard, or some kind of bug, and Yoongi doesn’t want to spoil his fun.
There’s still time before they absolutely have to head back, and Spot is still full of energy, and it’s a good idea to tire him out a bit more before they leave him in the care of the admittedly doting owners of the bed and breakfast where they are staying for the day, while they go off to taste whisky and see the sights. Yoongi can put up with the cold for a bit longer, if it will make his boys happy.
Spot yaps impatiently at his feet, ball already dropped. “What, you are actually going to let me have it this time?” Yoongi asks as he stoops down to get it.
There is no way Spot is going to let him have it without a fight. Sure enough, he takes the opportunity to lunge for the ball, growling playfully as he dances just out of Yoongi’s reach. Yoongi growls back, because he wants to, because he can, and because playing with Spot helps him forget about the cold of the wind. Spot takes this as an invitation to speed off with the ball already in his mouth.
“You’re supposed to wait for me, dumbass!” Yoongi yells, laughing as the wind gusts and spins his words away. It’s a strong enough gust he has to lean into it, just a little, or else stumble backwards. It’s also very cold, cutting through his sweater and jeans with equal enthusiasm. He shivers, glancing first at Namjoon, still crouched in among the greenery, and then at his phone to check the time. He can hold out a bit longer.
Away in the distance Spot stops and drops the ball. “You know you’re supposed to bring it back here for me to throw it!” Yoongi’s teeth chatter together this time as he yells. Spot ignores him, dancing around the ball like he’s doing some sort of Yoongi-summoning ritual. It has a decent chance of working too. At least walking over to collect the ball will help produce body heat. Maybe some of it will even choose to stick around.
He’s within six feet of Spot, whose tail is once again vibrating with anticipation at the impending chase, when it happens. He’s got his hands held away from his sides, one ready to try and grab Spot’s collar while the other goes for the ball, and that’s what leaves him vulnerable to attack.
Two strong, sweater-clad, thankfully familiar arms wrap under his arms and across his ribs, right where they narrow into his hips. There’s nothing he can do but shriek with helpless surprise as he’s picked up and swung around in a circle, his cold, cold hands gripping automatically at the place where Namjoon’s are clasped firmly together. Unsurprisingly, Namjoon’s hands are just as warm as usual. It’s unfair, how warm he is all the time. Yoongi’s just glad he’s willing to share.
Namjoon will keep spinning him, boots in the air, stomach swooping, head getting more and more dizzy, until he stops shrieking and laughing. The thing is, having Namjoon pressed up against him like this is the warmest he’s been since they left the manse, and as dizzy as he’s getting, he doesn’t want it to stop. He’s torn between letting it go on a bit longer than usual and being able to stand properly when it’s done when Namjoon, preparing them for another spin, stumbles.
Yoongi’s laughter cuts off abruptly as Namjoon steps out of the spinning to catch himself and, in the process, set Yoongi down with a bit more force than usual. As he gets his feet under him properly he has to lean heavily on Namjoon’s shoulder to make sure he doesn’t get a face full of sand. He’s gratified to feel Namjoon leaning back, one steadying hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, the other on Yoongi’s waist. He’s grinning broadly too, his eyes alight with affection and mirth, and just as Yoongi is thinking that kissing him would probably be a good way to warm up Namjoon draws back.
“Namjoon-ah!” Yoongi complains, and then spots what Namjoon is holding in his hands. It’s a ring of flowers, or, no, when he squints the rings resolve into three rings of flowers.
He recognizes flower crowns when he sees them, if not from their pervasiveness in popular media then because Joyce had insisted on making him one in late May. He’d been helping her in her garden on that kind of cloudless, hot day that feels like a preview of summer. The daisies were in bloom, and the sweetpea, and the peonies, and she’d woven the stems together deftly with the help of a few long-stemmed green things to make them each a crown of flowers. They’d taken tea in the garden like that, flower crowns perched on their heads, the sun warming the bench, and Yoongi had thought I could get used to this.
“What’re those?” he asks anyways, tucking his hands into his armpits when it becomes obvious Namjoon isn’t going to hold them yet.
“Jillian mentioned it in the car yesterday, probably while you were napping,” Namjoon says, some of his smile turning shy. “We drove past just, a whole hill covered in heather, and she said that she and her friends used to make flower crowns out of it all the time, when they were kids.”
Their driver Jillian’s Scottish accent was one of the thickest Yoongi had ever had the misfortune to encounter. Jillian could probably have enthused about flower crowns while he was wide awake and paying attention and he’d still have to wait for her words to be translated.
“And so you made some.” Yoongi says it as a statement, not a question, and fights hard to keep his lips pursed tightly together.
“And so I made some,” Namjoon agrees, holding the three hoops of heather out. Yoongi can see the stems on one already fighting to break free of the clumsy braid Namjoon has forced them into. He opens his mouth to say something, then catches sight of Namjoon’s face.
His expression is exactly the same as it is whenever he’s just finished the first draft of his next book. He looks so, so happy at having made flower crowns. Yoongi decides not to mention it. “They look great, Joon-ah,” he says instead, and before he’s even finished speaking Namjoon has put one on his head.
“They do, don’t they?” Namjoon says, putting his on his own without taking off his toque first. The wool catches on the flower crown so it sits on an angle, the green of the stems blending in with the green of the wool. “And I’ve got one for Spot, too. I thought it might be nice if we took a family picture.”
Yoongi looks at the last flower crown in Namjoon’s hand and then to Spot. Now that the humans aren’t paying attention to him he is lying down, happily trying to peel off what little fluff has managed to survive the ball’s time in the water. He’s about as still as he gets unless he’s napping. If they’re going to manage it, now is the time.
“Think he’ll cooperate?” Yoongi asks, cocking his head to the side. He can feel the flower crown shift. Namjoon reaches out, nudging it back into place. Before he can draw his hand back Yoongi wraps his cold fingers around Namjoon’s warm wrist and brings his hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss against his kind fingers.
Namjoon isn’t expecting it, Yoongi can tell, from the way his mouth hangs open for a brief second before spreading into a wide smile. Yoongi wants to kiss it, too, but before he can there’s a noise behind them, like Spot choking on green fluff. They both turn to look at their dog, busy trying to extract fluff from between his teeth.
“He never learns, does he,” Yoongi sighs. It’s not life threatening, but it is something they’ll have to deal with.
“C’mere Spot!” Namjoon calls, following it up with a whistle.
Spot likes the whistle. Spot associates the whistle with treats, and when he gets to them and finds only flowers in Namjoon’s hand his face adopts an expression that says, quite plainly, Is this all?. Yoongi grabs Spot’s snout to pull the fluff away. Spot doesn’t like it, but he submits to it well enough. When Yoongi’s done he gives him a quick scratch behind the ears and says to Namjoon, “He’s all yours.”
“Now Spot,” Namjoon says, crouching down to dog level. Spot does not, Yoongi notices, try to lick in to his mouth. “You’re going to be good for us, right? You’re going to sit very still while we take a picture, and not eat your crown, and then have a treat, right?”
Yoongi snorts. Spot will probably get the treat regardless, but whether or not the other two things happen are really up to how keyed up Spot is.
Still, Namjoon wants this, and Yoongi isn’t going to be the wet blanket in the situation, so he hunkers down beside the both of them and says, “Spot, sit,” in the Tone that he’s practised. He has to repeat the command a few times before Spot finally sits himself down, and once he’s there Yoongi puts one hand on the dry, wiry fur of Spot’s back and the other on the wet, softer, definitely gritty fur of his chest to hold him in place.
“He’s going to need another bee ay tee aitch when we get back.”
“I’m not surprised.” Namjoon is distracted, trying to get the crown, now starting to fall apart for real, settled around Spot’s ears well enough it doesn’t just tip off when Spot turns his head. He pinches his lower lip between his teeth while he works. Yoongi doesn’t even bother trying not to stare.
“There, I think I’ve got it. Ready?”
Yoongi blinks, meeting Namjoon’s amused, fond gaze. “Ready,” he says, the pink of his blush well hidden behind the pink of his cheeks brought on by the wind.
Namjoon has his right arm extended already, phone in hand. His left he drapes over Yoongi’s shoulders, shuffling closer so he can tuck Yoongi in along his side properly. Yoongi leans into the warmth, smiling even before Namjoon instructs him to.
It takes a full thirty seconds and countless pictures to get one where Spot is looking almost in the right direction. At least half have Spot with his mouth open wide, tongue hanging out, but that adds to the charm. They give Spot scratches for his good behaviour, completely dislodging his flower crown. Neither of them bother to pick it up. It’s already falling apart.
Namjoon hands his phone to Yoongi, so he can scroll through the pictures, then picks up the soggy, cold tennis.
“Mind if I steal one of these for StorySpot?” Yoongi asks, as he swipes with numb fingers onto a picture of Spot, head tilted, staring at the camera directly with an expression that quite plainly asks what are my humans doing? Yoongi had started the social media account shortly after they’d gotten Spot, the urge to share pictures of him irresistible. This one is no different. Their followers will love it.
“Go for it,” Namjoon says as he throws the ball. Spot speeds off after it. Yoongi taps at the phone a few times to send it to himself, then hands it back to Namjoon. His fingers are warm where they brush together. Yoongi seriously considers reaching around to grab Namjoon’s non-throwing arm, and then he catches sight of Namjoon’s flower crown.
Much like Spot’s, Namjoon’s is definitely starting to come apart. Yoongi’s looked okay in the pictures, but he reaches up to touch it anyways. It seems a shame, after Namjoon put so much effort into making them, and is so proud of the work he’d done, to let them fall apart so quickly. He’ll hold Namjoon’s hand when he’s done, he decides, and takes a few quick steps back so he’s out of Namjoon’s direct line of sight so he can take his crown off his head and examine it in private.
Namjoon… Namjoon tried, and it’s a solid attempt, but for the crown to have any kind of staying power at all the stems need to be wound together more tightly than he’s managed. Yoongi works as quickly as his cold-stiffened fingers allow, tucking the stems in more firmly and making sure a few of the more flexible pieces have at least one end knotted off to help hold things in place.
When he’s satisfied that it probably won’t fall apart in the stiff breeze blowing in off the water he sticks it back on his head and this time he sneaks up on Namjoon, tucking his arms in under Namjoon’s armpits and his nose in at Namjoon’s neck.
Namjoon yelps, but doesn’t draw away after his initial flinch. “Hi, hyung.”
“Hi,” Yoongi says, into the itchy wool of Namjoon’s collar.
Namjoon’s neck shifts as he cranes his head to the side. “You all good back there?”
“Yep.”
Namjoon raises his eyebrow skeptically. Yoongi doesn’t have to see it to know it’s happening.
He doesn’t have any warning before Namjoon is pulling away, which would be an absolute travesty, except that he’s pulling away in order to turn around. Now Yoongi’s hands aren’t stuck in Namjoon’s armpits, they’re being held, drawn toward the pockets in Namjoon’s sweater, tucked in tight with their fingers still linked. Yoongi can feel the way his hands are leeching the heat from Namjoon and can’t find it in himself to care. He’s cold, and isn’t sure he’ll be warm again until they’ve spent at least half an hour in front of the fire with coffee.
“Better?” Namjoon asks.
“Much.” Yoongi tips forward so he can hide his face from the wind in the thick wool of Namjoon’s sweater. It’s a good thing he reinforced the flower crown. He’s surprised when his ear is suddenly warm, the unmistakable feeling of Namjoon’s lips lingering there even after they’re gone.
Now it’s his turn to pull back. “What was that for?”
Namjoon’s shoulders shift as he shrugs. “It looked cold.” He leans forward and kisses the tip of Yoongi’s nose next, his mouth hot, his lips a bit chapped, while Yoongi gapes at him. “That looked cold too.”
“Do you know what else is cold?” Yoongi asks, letting a hint of pout sneak into his tone, into the corners of his lips.
Namjoon tilts his head to the side. Another stem makes a determined bid for freedom.
Yoongi extracts his right hand from Namjoon’s left pocket. It’s worth the cold of the air to have the ability to point at his lips. They aren’t blue with cold, he’d be far crankier if they’d misjudged the weather by that much, but they’re definitely cold.
There’s a long pause, where Yoongi can hear the crashing of the waves against the shore, as Namjoon cocks his head to the side, then leans in. Yoongi automatically holds his breath.
“But hyung,” Namjoon says, barely above a whisper, “That looks so warm already.”
Yoongi shivers, and it definitely isn’t from the cold. In violation of his very specific orders his eyes flutter closed as Namjoon leans in, and Namjoon-
Kisses his cheek.
Yoongi’s eyes fly open.
“Joon-ah,” he whines. His cheek might have been cold, but that wasn’t what he was looking for.
“You’re shameless, you know that?” Namjoon asks, laughing, then licks his way into Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi briefly considers putting up token resistance in retaliation for the laugh but the kiss is too nice, too warm, and while they’re kissing Yoongi can almost ignore how cold the air is. Almost.
He notices when Namjoon’s flower crown comes apart completely because it slides down Namjoon’s forehead and gets caught by their noses, pressed very close together. They pull apart, Yoongi laughing, Namjoon saying, “On no, my crown!” in morose tones.
“Here,” Yoongi says, taking the crown off his head and holding it out. “Trade you?”
“But mine’s all busted,” Namjoon laughs. “Wouldn’t be a fair trade.”
“Crown for your toque,” Yoongi says. “It’s cold. Why didn’t you tell me to bring mine?”
Yoongi has a toque, is the thing. It’s safely stowed in his suitcase, packed under his raincoat, and if he’d been more awake when they left, or had longer than thirty seconds to throw on his clothing he might even have thought to get it himself.
Namjoon doesn’t point that out. Namjoon just chuckles, deep and rich and rolling through Yoongi’s body like the waves crashing against the sand but warm, and before the last echos of it have faded from the chambers of Yoongi’s heart Namjoon’s hat is in his hands. Yoongi takes the flower crown off his head and holds it out. Instead of exchanging, Namjoon pulls the toque down snugly over Yoongi’s ears, running his fingers along the inside edge to make sure the fit is right.
Yoongi’s crown sits much better on Namjoon’s head than Namjoon’s ever did. He looks fetching, with the cheery purple flowers nestled against the dark of his hat-mussed hair. Yoongi cocks his head to the side, considering.
“Hyung?” Namjoon asks, when it’s been a few seconds where he hasn’t moved, or said anything.
In sixty years Yoongi will remember how Namjoon looks in this moment, on this nameless beach, his lips drawn in an uncertain smile, his thick sweater, the pink on his cheeks and nose, the love in his eyes. There are some feelings too big to put into words, especially before he’s had his coffee, so Yoongi doesn’t even try. He takes a step forward, puts one hand on Namjoon’s shoulder to steady himself, the other on Namjoon’s jaw, rises up on his toes, and kisses him.
Namjoon’s arms come around his back automatically, pulling him closer, and for a while the crash of the surf and the chill of the wind fade into non-existence as Yoongi’s universe shrinks until it feels only just big enough for the two of them to squeeze inside. Unfortunately the cold wind eventually squeezes in with them. It isn’t long before he’s cold enough that not even Namjoon’s hands, spanning the skin on his lower back, warm and firm, can counteract the chill.
Yoongi shivers, and not because of the admittedly nice way Namjoon is nibbling his lower lip. With his hands where they are there’s no way Namjoon can miss it, or the way it keeps going long after kissing-related shivers would stop.
“Let’s head back,” he says, pulling away from Yoongi with a sigh.
“But Joon,” Yoongi says, drawing out the vowel. It’s a token protest — now that they aren’t actively kissing he can feel exactly how cold he is. It’s a problem he’d like to fix, and quickly.
Namjoon leans down anyway to give him a quick, chaste kiss. “The sooner we get back the sooner you can have coffee. Besides, it’s not like we can’t kiss once we’re inside and warm again.”
One of the many reasons Yoongi loves Namjoon is how good he is at thinking before he’s had coffee.
“Spot!” Yoongi yells, grinning as Namjoon winces at the volume. “Spot, no, Spot, Spot! Drop it! What do you have in your mouth?”
It takes them a full two minutes to wrangle their dog, who keeps dancing out of reach whenever either of them try to grab his collar. There’s something that looks like an old, soggy sock dangling from his mouth. Yoongi hopes he can be persuaded to drop it before they start walking back. They’re both breathless and laughing by the time they get him under control, but Namjoon’s flower crown is still firmly in place. Yoongi takes a second to appreciate his handiwork, and then another second to appreciate Namjoon, before grabbing his hand and starting back toward the manse.
The road isn’t any more busy when they walk back — the only cars they’ve seen at all are the two parked in the bed and breakfast they’re staying at — and Yoongi has the sudden thought that their home is going to seem very loud when they get back. Not their Oxford home, either. They’ve been living on a quiet residential street, the kind lined by tall trees with thick branches, houses fully detached from each other with fenced in yards. No, it’s their apartment in Seoul he’s thinking of, tiny, filled with the noise of their neighbours, in a bustling neigbourhood and not quite high enough to escape the noise of traffic even with the windows closed. He’s looking forward to the food, and his friends, and being able to eavesdrop on strangers without having to translate, but he’ll miss the calm, and the quiet.
He surprises himself by voicing the thought out loud. Well, most of the thought, anyways. “I’m going to miss this.”
Namjoon looks at him sideways. “The beach?”
Yoongi had not meant the beach, and Namjoon knows it. Yoongi can tell from the way he’s got a grin lurking around the corners of his mouth. Yoongi swats at his shoulder instead of replying. Namjoon laughs, delighted with himself, and bumps their shoulders together.
For a few seconds he thinks about elaborating, but a sideways glance at Namjoon convinces him it isn’t necessary. Namjoon’s expression has morphed into one that speaks loud enough for the both of them, soft and tender and just a bit wistful. Yoongi recognizes it as the way he looks whenever Yoongi catches him looking at real-estate . Until recently it hadn’t make sense for them, not with Yoongi’s office job, and then Yoongi’s studio, and then Yoongi’s insistence that the only way anyone was getting him out of the city was in a casket.
Well, it hadn’t been a casket. It had been to follow Namjoon to another country, because seven months apart was seven months too many, and now that he’s out of the city he finds he’s open to the idea of keeping it that way. He wouldn’t mind too much, he thinks, if they ended up somewhere Spot could run off-leash, and where he can have a bit of a garden for himself. He’s never had a garden like Joyce’s to work in before, chock full of flowers and vegetables and life. It’s been nice to watch the seeds they planted together in spring sprout and grow into vegetables they ate in summer, flowers they cut and put in vases on window sills and end tables.
“You know,” Namjoon starts, conversationally, “Kihyun was saying we should stay here longer.”
Yoongi snorts. “He was only saying that because he likes subletting our place and hasn’t found a new one yet. Besides, it’s in a good location.”
Namjoon laughs. “Probably has something to do with how cheap the rent is too.”
“Hmm,” Yoongi hums in agreement.
There’s silence again, broken by the sound of Spot’s tags as they clink together and the scrape of their boots against the road. Yoongi can feel Namjoon holding his breath through the stiffness in his arm, the way his hand is starting to get sweaty. If he looks over Yoongi knows Namjoon will have his top lip trapped between his teeth, the way he does when there’s something he desperately wants to say but he doesn’t want Yoongi to feel pressured.
Yoongi very carefully doesn’t look at him.
“Maybe” he says, as the low stone wall gets broken by a gate. “Maybe, before we make him move, we should poke around a bit. Before we evict Kihyun. See what’s out there. In case we want to go somewhere bigger.”
“Maybe,” Namjoon agrees.
He doesn’t say anything else, waiting for Yoongi to make the next move again. When Namjoon wants to be he can be as patient as a rock. Yoongi knows it’s a learned skill, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive or effective. They both already know where Namjoon stands on the matter.
“And I already have to find a new studio space,” Yoongi adds, sighing. “Since I stopped renting when we moved here.”
“And our place is sort of small,” Namjoon adds, the words running together in their rush to get out of his mouth. “I mean, hyung, we’ve been there since before my book- ah.”
Yoongi turns to look, and sure enough Namjoon has his head ducked, his eyes staring pointedly at his shoes, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. He’s cute enough when he’s being bashful about his success even without the flower crown. With it he’s devastating.
“We’ve got a bit more financial security now, is what you mean,” Yoongi prompts, in his cheesy salesman voice, "Because I am now a much sought after consultant, with a very successful private company, not to mention a stunning book due out in bookstores this fall.”
“Someone’s got to support us,” Namjoon giggles.
“Don’t you enjoy being a kept man?”
Yoongi squawks as Namjoon uses his excessively long arms to yank Yoongi into an awkward side hug as they walk and plant a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek. “As long as you’re the one keeping me.”
“Yeagh!” Yoongi protests, letting go of Namjoon’s hand so he can push his face away. Spot continues to walk ahead, unperturbed by their antics. “Namjoon!”
“That was sort of a lot, wasn’t it,” Namjoon laughs. “Just channelling my inner Seokjin-hyung, or maybe Hoseokie.”
“Maybe I want my own place,” Yoongi grumbles. “Maybe me and Spot have had enough of your bad jokes.”
“You’d be over at my place within three days and living off my couch after a week,” Namjoon says comfortably. “Plus, if I wasn’t around, who’d bully you into showering? You’d lose all your clients from smell alone.”
“You’d die of nutrition deficiency trying to survive only on ramyeon.”
“And I’d miss you.” Namjoon says it so easily, like it’s nothing, but it still makes Yoongi’s heart flip over. “But we can afford to rent one of those short-term places for a bit, while we’re making up our minds. We could look for something with a guest room maybe, and a study, and a bathtub big enough for two?”
Yoongi might not like showers, but Joyce’s house has an amazingly large tub that they’ve discovered can easily fit the both of them and a mountain of bubbles. It’s a nice way to unwind after a long day, and something Yoongi wouldn’t mind having back home.
“Yeah,” he says, gathering his determination. “Yes. And maybe… maybe we shouldn’t look at apartments. We should look at houses.”
“Houses?” Namjoon is so shocked he doesn’t even try to play it cool, or keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Houses,” Yoongi continues determinedly. “With a garden. Spot likes having one.”
The wind is dying down as they get farther and farther away from the ocean, and Yoongi feels suddenly hot under the collar. He knows better than anyone that there is no shame in changing, in growing, as the years pass, and yet it still feels like he’s admitting something horribly embarrassing with this request. He’d fought so hard to stay in the city, before.
Namjoon sees right through him. “Spot is the one who likes having the garden.”
“Yes. Definitely. He told me so himself. Right, Spot?”
Spot, trotting happily forward, doesn’t so much as glance back at the sound of his name. “Traitor,” Yoongi mumbles, while Namjoon pulls him in close again.
“A house with a garden it is. You’ll get no complaints from me.”
Yoongi grins. “Didn’t think I would.”