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dream by the fire

Summary:

It was just his luck, wasn’t it? Coming to a remote ski resort high in the mountains for some peace and quiet and immediately bumping into one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. Not only that, a beautiful man who seems intent on befriending Namjoon, completely unaware of the crisis going on in Namjoon's head right now.

So much for that relaxing Christmas getaway, then.

Notes:

Belated Merry Christmas! I hope you all enjoy these soft, wintery boys! many thanks to Moni for being a big support and also an angel! also to the prompter - i hope you like it! <3

title from 'winter wonderland' by michael buble

Work Text:

By the time he finally manages to get inside the resort, Namjoon is starting to think that perhaps this whole thing had been a bad idea.

The taxi drops him off at the bottom of the steps up to the main building, the driver barely stopping to help move the suitcases out of the car before driving off. Leaving Namjoon stood there with his suitcase, as the snow flurries get steadily heavier, wind whipping his long scarf up against his face.

He’d been rather rude the whole journey there to be honest, subtly turning the radio up higher every time Namjoon had gasped and peered out the car windows at the mountains, cloaked in clouds and snow but just barely visible. And Namjoon was certain that the driver had deliberately swerved a little too harshly round some corners, causing him to smash his face against the car window a few too many times. 

But that was. Whatever. It’s Christmas, the season for forgiveness and happiness and all that jazz, Namjoon just wants to get to his destination as quickly as possible and immediately forget everything about the outside world.

Granted, by the time he had dragged his suitcase all the way up those icy steps, narrowly escaping death, he was feeling rather less in the mood for forgiveness and festivity. The snow had properly whipped up into a blizzard by the time he’d forced his way through the heavy oak front doors.

And so there he stood in the front reception, red-faced and panting heavily, snow slowly melting on his coat and dripping onto the floor. The tips of his nose and ears were frostbitten, lips chapped from the cold as.

It was completely empty, the only sounds to be heard were Namjoon’s own pants and the faint tinny sound of Christmas songs playing over the radio. The front desk was abandoned, creaky desk chair empty behind the tinsel-strewn wooden desk.

On the far side of the room, there’s a small sitting area, with a couple of armchairs and sofas, and a large fireplace. Festive garlands and wreaths of greenery, pinecones and ribbon are draped all over the fireplace and across the room, and a large, squat Christmas tree takes up a good portion of the room, twinkling brightly and adorned with decorations.

Namjoon drops his bag to the ground, peering around for any sign of a receptionist. There's no one around, which is to be expected given how late it is, but surely it wasn’t good practice to leave the front desk unattended?

He steps a bit closer to the desk, peeking over the counter-top at the computer and sheets of paper scattered haphazardly around. No signs of life.

Cautiously, he pokes the golden bell sat atop the desk. A small chime rings out, barely loud enough to be heard across the room, particularly not over the sound of Frank Sinatra’s crooning over the radio.

It was quite quaint, really. The whole place was. Old exposed wooden beams supporting the ceiling, a traditional old fireplace and cosy armchairs nearby. Quiet and peaceful too - perhaps a little too quiet at this particular moment - but the perfect place to go and relax, and enjoy his Christmas holidays far away from work and the noise and stench of the city.

As if summoned, his phone buzzes in his jacket pocket, and with a sigh Namjoon reaches in for it. It was probably a colleague, hoping desperately to get in contact with him before his leave officially started, begging Namjoon to just please take a look at these documents and check them over for me quickly, and oh if you could fix any mistakes and send it off to the client too that would be excellent? Maybe if you have time you could have a quick peek at this piece too-

Namjoon barely manages to close his fingers around his phone before the front door flies open, the heavy oak slamming against the wall and causing Namjoon to leap at least a foot in the air, knocking into his suitcase.

His foot catches on the edge of the case, and he goes sprawling across the wooden floor. Landing awkwardly on his arms, his phone goes skittering out of his grasp and across the floor as he groans in pain and annoyance.

The newcomer stands in the doorway a moment, letting the wind blow through the entryway in strong gusts, carrying clumps of snow in that slowly settle and melt.  Namjoon shivers from where he is on the floor.

It’s impossible to tell who was stood in the doorway, so swaddled in clothes that they were barely even recognisable as a person. A frosted beanie is pulled down low over their head, and a facemask and scarf obscures most of the lower half of the face too.

Stomping their boots to get rid of the snow clumped on, the newcomer finally steps properly inside the reception, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. Namjoon lets out a sigh of relief as warmth starts to seep back into the room, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees.

“So sorry about that,” a distinctly male voice says, as the newcomer steps in closer and pulls down his scarf and facemask, offering a helping hand.

Namjoon accepts the large gloved hand, pulling himself to his feet with a pained grunt and dusting down his slacks. “It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting the man a smile. “It was my own fault, really.” He turns his phone over in his hand, taking note of the dark screen and spider web of cracks across its surface. “Well, shit,” he lets out a sigh, tucking the broken phone back into his jacket pocket. That was...not ideal.

“Well, now I feel even worse,” the other man says. He’s stripped away his hat and gloves now too, and undone his large overcoat. “Is it broken?” He seems concerned, big brown eyes looking at the broken phone in Namjoon’s hand with guilt.

“It’s fine, really,” Namjoon assures. “It was only my work phone anyway. At least this way they definitely can’t contact me now.” He forces himself to smile at the stranger.

The man lets out a short laugh, eyes still lingering guiltily on the phone. “That’s true,” he says eventually, with a small smile. “Still sorry, though. I’m Taehyung, by the way. Kim Taehyung.”

Now that he’s stripped of a few layers, Namjoon’s finally able to get a good look at the other man. He’s tall, not quite as tall as Namjoon himself but almost, with a kind face and big boxy smile. Big, kind brown eyes meet Namjoon’s own with a friendly smile, and the man shakes his head slightly, freeing snowflakes from the hair curling around the nape of his neck, not quite covered by his hat.

He’s, to put it honestly, fucking gorgeous.

“I’m Namjoon,” Namjoon says belatedly, sticking out a hand to shake, embracing Taehyung’s cold hand in his own. His eyes don’t move from Taehyung’s. “Do you…” he gestures vaguely back in the direction of the empty reception desk, but Taehyung quickly shakes his head.

“Ah, sorry but no. Hopefully someone will come along soon though, so you can get to bed.”

Almost an hour or so later finds Namjoon settled comfortably in one of the worn armchairs in front of the fire, listening and watching attentively as Taehyung shows him all the photos he’d taken that day. Sprawling across the sofa, Taehyung leans over the armrest of the seat to show Namjoon his camera. His garish, oversized Christmas jumper rides up slightly,  exposing a sliver of tanned soft stomach that Namjoon struggles to tear his eyes away from.

It was just his luck, wasn’t it? Coming to a remote ski resort high in the mountains for some peace and quiet and immediately bumping into one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. Not only that, a beautiful man who seems intent on befriending Namjoon, completely unaware of the crisis going on in Namjoon’s head right now.

“Oh, oh! I really love this one,” Taehyung exclaims excitedly, tilting the screen towards Namjoon. “It’s a bit blurry, but personally I just think that adds to it, y’know?” He’s watching Namjoon, eager and expectant.

Namjoon lets his eyes trail across the scene in the photo, from the bold reds and oranges of the sunset to the stark silhouettes of the mountains,  to the snow-laden trees at the front. “It’s beautiful,” he says honestly. “So are you a photographer, then?”

There’s a laugh from Taehyung, all deep and soft, wrapping around Namjoon like a warm blanket. “Not at all actually, I’m a teacher,” Taehyung replies. He shoots Namjoon a smug little grin at the older man’s surprised face. “An art teacher, really. The art is more of a side hobby though, since eight-year olds aren’t particularly known for their artistic prowess.”

A chuckle makes its way out of Namjoon. “You’d be right about that.” Eight year old Namjoon had been terrible at art, something that definitely hadn’t changed in twenty years. If he remembers correctly, his own art teacher had banned him from the paints after one too many accidents.

“And what about you?” Taehyung sets his camera down carefully on the side-table, rolling onto his side on the sofa to watch Namjoon with bright eyes.   Paint me like one of your french girls, Namjoon’s brain unhelpfully supplies as he takes in the position the other is in. “You look like some sort of professional. A journalist, maybe?”

Namjoon stretches his legs out in front of him with a groan, wiggling his toes at the faint warmth of the fire. “Not quite. I’m a legal translator.” A confused eyebrow raise tells him all he needs to know. “I translate legal documents - patents, contracts, witness statements… those sorts of things. It’s a busy job.”

“I can imagine,” Taehyung replies, a slightly enamoured look in his eyes. It’s quite adorable really, the way he’s watching Namjoon with such an interested expression, eyes bright and lips slightly parted, chin resting on his hand. The flickering coloured lights of the Christmas tree paint his cheeks rainbow coloured. There’s a colorful knitted blanket slung over his legs; he just looks so comfortable. Namjoon definitely doesn’t think about how nice it would be to slip onto the sofa next to Taehyung, have his arms wrapped around him and broad chest pressed against his back. Definitely not.

“So you’re here for a break then?”

The logs in the fireplace crackle loudly as Namjoon hums in affirmation,. The flames dance in the grate, casting long shadows across the room and golden hues onto Taehyung’s face. “Figured I’d come somewhere far removed and quiet,” Namjoon says softly, not wanting to the disturb the moment. His eyes flick between Taehyung and the light twinkle of lights on the Christmas tree. “I’m terrible at skiing and even worse at snowboarding, but-”

They stay there for what feels like hours, losing complete track of time. Namjoon doesn’t even have any idea how late it is when the front door finally slams open again and a stout elderly lady blusters her way in, loudly pronouncing apologies and excuses of a blizzard out on the roads as she flings her coat and bag down onto the reception desk.

While Namjoon deals with getting properly checked in, Taehyung watches him from the side with hooded, sleepy eyes, body propped up against the wall. “I’d better let you get off to bed, then,” he says eventually. His Christmas jumper is sliding down one shoulder, exposing a bare collarbone that teases Namjoon. “It was lovely talking to you, Namjoon-hyung.”

“You too, Taehyung,” Namjoon replies. He hopes he can pass the red dusting his cheeks off as just the heat from the fire. “I hope I’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure you will,” Taehyung says, one last word before he disappears up the nearby stairs to his own room. “Sleep well.”

Before Namjoon can even open his mouth to reply, he’s gone.

 


 

Namjoon would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped to see Taehyung again before he leaves the resort in a weeks time. Despite being complete strangers, something about the younger man had put him completely at ease within seconds of meeting him. Perhaps it had been his smile, or the way he’d listened so attentively as Namjoon had talked about Yoongi and Seokjin and how sickening they were together, a fond look in his eyes. Or maybe the way he’d been so passionate about his photography, and had spoken about the children in his class in such a soft and affectionate voice.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Namjoon is a little bit in love. Only a little bit, though.

He doesn’t see Taehyung for the first two days of his stay, mostly because he spends half the first day in bed, enjoying the peace and quiet. Perhaps smashing his phone really had been a blessing in disguise, it’s rare he gets to enjoy his time off like this without the incessant beeping of his phone.

It had been so late last night he’d barely taken a glance around his room before falling into bed, but he’s pleasantly surprised this morning. It’s a sizable room, clean and well-kept but still adorably rustic. The bed sheets are soft and fluffy, and he burrows deeper in them even as the sun creeps higher above the mountains.

When he finally does pry himself out of bed, it’s only to open the curtains and curl up in the bay window with a long book. The view is absolutely gorgeous, looking out over the snow covered valley. One of the reasons this place had come so highly recommended was the view, and it doesn't disappoint.

After the horrible blizzard he’d traveled in last night, the sky seems to have cleared up, shining bright and blue above the mountains. In the distance, he can just about make out a ski lift and hut, tiny people like black dots making their way down the slopes at speed. In the corner of his view, he catches a glimpse of the forest. Sometimes he sees people passing by underneath his window and can’t help but strain to see their faces. Each time he hopes it’s Taehyung, and each time he’s disappointed.

Despite this, the first day passes in peace, with Namjoon really only leaving the comfort of his room to get food at lunch and dinner. The food’s delicious, as expected, and he finds himself going up for second helpings of mushroom soup in the evening.

He wakes up early on the second day, determined to make the most of the limited daylight hours. Swaddled in a warm jacket and trousers, scarf and hat securely on his head, he heads out to explore the nearby forest.

It’s bitingly cold outside and thankfully not windy, but the bright glare of sun on snow makes Namjoon tug his hat a little lower on his head with a wince. He’d briefly stopped to speak with the elderly receptionist on his way out this morning, and had left the resort with a piping hot paper cup of coffee and a map of the mountain trails pressed into his hands, cheek still smarting slightly from where she’d pinched it.

There’s a couple of routes through the forest that look interesting, and so he heads that way, taking a couple of sips of bitter coffee to warm himself on the way.

Snow muffles sound, Namjoon remembers that from high school, but he’s still surprised by how quiet it is. Most skiing goes on at another mountain, and they’re far removed from any cities or main roads. His boots sink into the snow with a satisfyingly crisp noise with every step, but other than that it’s silent. Occasionally he’ll hear birdsong or squirrels chittering, and once or twice as he strays close to other groups of people, the jarring sound of human voices.

As he walks, consulting the map every so often with frostbitten fingers, his mind wanders back to Taehyung. Wonders if he’s still here, or if his break is over now and he’s gone from the resort. The other man had mentioned being a teacher, but never specified where, and Namjoon can’t help but feel a slight pang in his chest at the thought that Taehyung might have gone home already. Gone back to some remote city far from Seoul, forgetting about Namjoon almost as quick as he’d wormed his way into his heart.

Namjoon sighs. Above him, a grey squirrel skitters and leaps between branches, a clump of snow falling down beside him with a soft whump. His eyes follow the squirrels path through the branches until it finally disappears from view.

He’s being ridiculous. He only met Taehyung the other night, barely knows anything about him other than his name and his profession. It shouldn’t matter that much to him, but for some reason it does.

Yoongi and Seokjin have been trying to nag him into dating for months, after his last girlfriend broke up with him on Valentine’s Day. He’d always rebuffed them, making excuse after excuse. He was too busy with his job, he didn’t like the hassle of getting to know someone and learning how to live with a new person, he just simply couldn’t date someone who didn’t know who Ryan was…

(Okay, perhaps that one had been more of a definite excuse than a real reason.)

And most of it was true. His job kept him extremely busy, and he’d rather not bother with a relationship than commit half-heartedly to one. But there was just something about Taehyung.

Namjoon didn’t know what it was exactly. All he knew was that the idea of coming home to Taehyung after a long day at work, coming home to his bright box grin and his deep soft voice, and his questionable fashion sense… it made something warm unfurl inside his chest, a little fuzzy feeling spreading through his body. You’re in love , is what Yoongi would tell him. You’re a sappy bastard, is what Seokjin would say.

Another shower of snow falls down near him, this time closer than before. The tip of his nose was starting to go numb from the cold, despite how high he’d pulled his scarf up. Perhaps it was time to leave these thoughts for another time. Or maybe never, that seemed good too.

He puffs out another sigh, breath misting in front of him, as he turns back the way he came following his footprints in the snow.

 


 

He’s cleaning the snow and mud off his boots when he finally sees Taehyung again, returning back from a failed attempt at skiing on the beginners slope the next day.

(Turns out that skiing required a whole load of bodily coordination that Namjoon definitely didn’t possess, and that parents didn’t appreciate it when a grown man ploughed their children down on the slopes, even if it was by accident.)

Stomping his feet down on the welcome mat in the entryway, he’s so engrossed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice the younger man watching him for a good few minutes.

“Oh!” is what he exclaims when he finally spots Taehyung, leaning over the back of a nearby sofa, arms crossed beneath his chin and a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s wearing glasses today, little clear-framed lenses perched on the end of his nose. “How long have you been sat there?”

There’s a mischievous hum from Taehyung. “If you’re asking how long I’ve been sat in this particular spot: pretty much all morning. But if you're asking how long I’ve been watching you… about five minutes now.” His face splits into a smirk, wide like a cheshire cat. “You’re quite cute when you frown like that.”

“Oh,” Namjoon says again. Like a damn idiot who can’t form a proper sentence in front of his hopelessly gorgeous crush. God, he’s going to end up red like a tomato by the end of this trip, considering how much he’s been blushing. “Thanks.”

Taehyung’s lips twitch at Namjoon’s awkward response. He slumps back onto the sofa seat, and pats the cushion beside him gently. “Come sit with me.”

Like a siren call, Namjoon is helpless to resist. He shucks his shoes off and pads over on socked feet to where Taehyung lounges, blanket thrown across his lap and bare-feet pulled up on the seat next to him to make room for Namjoon.

They’re not alone in the lounge. There’s an old couple perched in the armchairs before the fire, teacups in hand, and what looks like a young businesswoman tapping away at her laptop in the corner. None of that matters however, because Namjoon only has eyes for Taehyung.

“What’s that you've got there?” Namjoon picks up the courage to ask, stumbling slightly as Taehyun turns his intense gaze upon him.

“Ah, this?” Taehyung asks, holding up a small black notebook. It’s leather bound, a little rumpled and quite worn around the edges. It’s been well-loved, is what Namjoon’s mother would have said. She was a firm believer that nothing was ever worn or old, just well-loved. “I like to draw, sometimes,” Taehyung admits haltingly, as Namjoon pays rapt attention. “It’s nothing much, just some scribbles.”

Judging by the weight of the words and Taehyung’s nervous twitching, it doesn’t take much to realise that it’s not ‘nothing much’. It’s something to him.

“Well, I’d love to see them, one day,” Namjoon says gently. He leans back against the sofa cushions a bit more, taking in the view of Taehyung at the other end of the seat, looking as devastatingly gorgeous during the day-time as he did the other night. “I’m sure they’re great. In the meantime though, perhaps you could tell me a little more about that artist you were telling me about the other night. Baskeet?”

Taehyung’s whole face lights up. “Basquiat!” he says, scrambling to dig his phone out of his pocket and shift closer to Namjoon. “Yes! You’d love his art.”

He wriggles so his body is pressed up against Namjoon’s side, legs tucked underneath him and knees prodding Namjoon’s thighs. “I visited a gallery showing his works earlier this year,” he says excitedly, swiping away on his phone to find photos. “It was incredible.”

Taehyung’s voice is so close to his face, Namjoon can practically feel the soft exhale of warm breath on the shell of his ear. He quashes the urge to shiver, and focuses in on Taehyung’s voice, pointedly ignoring the movement of the others’ lips as he speaks.

“... this one was probably my favourite, if I’m being honest, but I never like to pick favourites because they’re all so unique, and…”

 


 

Taehyung, as Namjoon soon discovers, is a complete contradiction. He’ll happily sit for hours in silence and draw, singing under his breath in a sweet deep voice and only acknowledging Namjoon when the other asks him a question, but mention anything about art or his students, or his best friends Jimin and Hoseok, and it’s impossible to get him to stop.

He speaks like he’s been around for centuries, like he doesn’t know how to put what he’s feeling into words and express it to those around him because there simply isn’t the vocabulary for what he wants to say.

But other times he laughs with such childish, unrestrained glee that it’s hard to believe he’s twenty six years old.

(It takes a full ten minutes for him to stop rolling around with laughter on the floor after Namjoon shows him how the painted soldier Nutcracker in the hallway works. A disgruntled cleaning lady watches on from the side.)

After those first two days of nothing, Namjoon sees Taehyung every day now. Without ever talking about it, they’d established a sort of routine.

Each morning, Namjoon would get up early, shucking off his pyjamas in exchange for warm clothes. He’d clean his teeth while enjoying the view out his window. When he was done, he’d head down to the reception to meet Taehyung for breakfast.

The younger was always there first, rubbing sleepily at his eyes with closed fists, barely restraining his yawns. By the time they’d gotten coffee and food, he’d be a bit more awake, and they’d plan their day out together.

It was sickeningly domestic, sitting there over breakfast every morning, discussing their plans for the day. Namjoon finds his mind wandering, imaging Taehyung in his sleek apartment kitchen, perched at the breakfast bar with mussed up hair and sleepy eyes, watching Namjoon prepare breakfast for them both.

Fantasy Taehyung would chat with Namjoon as they ate breakfast together, and then press him against the front door to kiss before Namjoon finally pried himself away for work.

In reality, they both return to their separate rooms to finish getting ready, and then meet back up again, more awake now. Depending on the weather, they find themselves doing all sorts of things from skiing to day trips to the nearby village, to long walks in the snowy forest, talking quietly amongst themselves as to not disturb the quiet.

Sometimes, Taehyung brings his camera along and they snap photos as they walk - photos of squirrels and cool icicles and the mountains at sunset. And Namjoon too, Taehyung takes a lot of photos of Namjoon. Some of him posing, modelling his warm winter clothes or squatting down to mimic snow rabbits, and sometimes even photos of the two of them together.

When they look back at the photos later, Namjoon can’t help but blush. Not only at the completely besotted, lovesick look on his face when he looks at the camera, but at all the candids Taehyung takes of him when he’s not looking too.

Namjoon’s favourite time of day is in the evening, however. After they’ve had dinner, when they’ll settle down onto the sofa together with full stomachs and just talk. Sometimes Namjoon will bring out his phone to show Taehyung photos of him with Yoongi and Seokjin, or quotes from writers and philosophers he likes. A couple of cute photos of Rapmon make it in there too, and Taehyung coos over those.

In return, Taehyung tells him exciting stories about his kids, shows him hundreds of photos and videos of his own dog, Yeontan. They’re all just little things, but with each photo and each story, Namjoon feels as if he’s one step closer to understanding exactly who Taehyung is, and likewise with him.

With every story he tells about his life, Namjoon feels as if he’s giving a little bit of himself to Taehyung. Saying, here, take this, and in return, give me something of yourself. And from the way Taehyung watches with such a soft and open expression as Namjoon talks, he feels as if the younger feels the same way.

I’ll give you all of me, Namjoon thinks, if you give me all of you.

 


 

“You know…” Namjoon says, a slight slur to his voice. He thrusts his finger out accusingly at Taehyung. “You’re like, really beautiful. How dare you.” It’s getting late into the evening now, and they’re at the resort’s bar. Namjoon is perhaps more than slightly drunk, bordering on the edge of wasted. God, he hasn’t been this drunk since Seokjin’s twenty fifth birthday.

Taehyung throws his head back and laughs, a soft pink blush dusting his cheeks, or maybe that’s just the alcohol. “Thanks, hyung.”

“No, no,” Namjoon says with a frown, pushing himself closer to Taehyung. “You don’t get it. I’m like… wow whenever I see you. Woah! Pretty!”

Ducking his head shyly, Taehyung smiles, runs a finger round the rim of his glass. “You’re pretty too, Joonie-hyung,” he says eventually, patting Namjoon’s hand gently. Namjoon frowns. That felt like a rejection.

“Was that a rejection?” he asks bluntly. Goddamn alcohol.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his orange juice, but doesn’t reply. He taps his fingers rhythmically against his glass. Huffing, Namjoon reaches to try and grab his hand. Almost reluctantly, Taehyung lets Namjoon pry his hand away from his cold glass and lace his fingers with his own.

They’re the last two left in the bar, most people either gone home by now or spending Christmas Eve actually resting and sleeping, rather than getting progressively drunker at the bar. Down the far end of the bar, the bartender is cleaning glasses, checking on them every few minutes or so.

“Talk to me,” Namjoon says, giving Taehyung’s hand a small squeeze. “I know I’m drunk right now but that doesn’t mean you should ignore me. Or I’ll be a sad bear.”

That finally cracks Taehyung’s mask, a little grin slipping into place on his face. “As opposed to what?” he says, glancing at Namjoon out of the corner of his eye. “Drunk bear? Stupid bear?”

Namjoon pouts. “Now that’s just rude, Tae-bear.” That gets him a giggle, a sweet little sound that he wants imprinted on his memory for years to come. Licking his lips, Namjoon drunkenly reaches for his drink again, only for Taehyung to shove it out of reach with his free hand.

“No more,” the younger says in an unusually serious voice, tugging on Namjoon’s arm. “Come on, it’s getting late.”

“No,” Namjoon whines - full on whines, like a child, and god he’s going to be so embarrassed about this in the morning. Arms hook themselves under his armpits as Taehyung attempts to heft him from his bar stool.

With another pained whine, Namjoon slumps down onto the bartop, resisting Taehyung’s attempts. “I’m not finished,” he moans, cheek pressed against the cool, varnished wood of the countertop. There’s tinsel tucked all along the back of the bar, and it tickles his cheek gently as his face rests on the bar. “Another drink, please? I’ll just have water, promise.”

Taehyung sighs, gives another tug. “I want to go to bed,” he says forcefully, and oh-

That tone of voice, that sound of annoyance at Namjoon… that doesn’t make him feel good. Something in Namjoon’s stomach twists at the sound of Taehyung’s frustration, at that annoyed crease in his brow. His stomach feels all topsy-turvy, and it’s not because of the alcohol.

Making Taehyung upset, that’s bad.

He’s never seen the man like this before, huffing impatiently as he (unsuccessfully) tries to pull Namjoon out of his seat, brushing his long fringe out of his eyes with a forceful motion.

In that moment, all Namjoon’s drunken brain can seem to process is that he messed up. He made Taehyung sad, and mad (Smad). And he needs to fix it somehow.

He sits up finally, startling Taehyung who’s still trying to budge him from his spot. “Okay, I’m ready to sleep now,” Namjoon declares. “Sorry for being difficult,” he says, gripping tightly onto Taehyung’s shirt sleeve as he hoists himself up off the chair, standing with wobbly legs like a baby deer.

“It’s fine,” Taehyung replies with a gentle smile, but it doesn’t seem as happy as Namjoon is used to. There’s a little disappointment in his eyes, a sad little downturn to his lips. “I just don’t like being toyed with,” he adds under his breath, barely loud enough for Namjoon to make it out over the rustle of fabric.

Namjoon stays quiet, letting Taehyung pay their bill and pull him out of the bar.

“‘M not,” is what he says eventually, catching Taehyung’s attention again as they’re struggling up the stairs.

“Not what? Drunk? Because I definitely think you are,” Taehyung forces out a laugh, averting his eyes as he clearly knows what Namjoon means. Knows that Namjoon heard him, earlier.

“Not toying with you,” Namjoon says bluntly. “Wouldn’t do that.”

Taehyung sighs, helps lift Namjoon up another step. “You’re drunk,” he says quietly. “There are plenty of things you wouldn’t do if you were sober.” They’ve finally reached the top of the stairs now, Taehyung proceeding in dragging Namjoon along the corridor to his room. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it anymore, but Namjoon with alcohol is nothing but persistent.

 

“I just needed the courage,” Namjoon exclaims, waving his arm around and accidentally smacking it against the wall with a small ‘ow’. “You’re very intimidating, you know. Too beautiful, they should put you in an art gallery.”

Taehyung’s face is flushed bright red as he attempts to open Namjoon’s bedroom door with his key card, studiously ignoring Namjoon’s laser-focused gaze on him. He finally manages to wrangle the door open, shoving the both of them inside as soon as he gets it open.

Everything else is momentarily forgotten when Namjoon catches sight of his bed, letting out a soft moan and flopping forwards into the soft sheets. He lies there for a few moments, relishing the feel of soft fabric against his cheek, until he feels a gentle hand on his lower back.

“You feeling okay?” The hand rubs softly along his spine as he lets out a soft puff. “Do you need any water?”

“I’m fine,” Namjoon gets out, voice muffled by the bedsheets. “Just need you.”

Taehyung sighs. Namjoon pouts.

“Please? Just a cuddle? I’m a good hugger, I swear. Swear it on my dogs life.”

He can see the exact moment Taehyung’s resolve wavers as he watches Namjoon shuck off his shoes and wriggle under the bed sheets, shifting over to make room for Taehyung. He pats the spot next to him. “Come on, it’s getting cold.” The buzz of the alcohol is fading now, leaving him feeling loose-limbed and soft, ready to curl up and sleep.

He’s halfway to dozing off when he feels the sheets shift behind him, Taehyung slipping under the covers with him, and turning the bedside lamp off with a small click. The room is suddenly bather in darkness, only the faint glow of the moon left behind. Namjoon huffs out a sigh as he feels Taehyung’s warm weight settle in behind him, and one arm cautiously wrapping itself over Namjoon’s torso, holding him tight.

“Goodnight,” Namjoon murmurs, hovering on the edge of consciousness, warm and secure in Taehyung’s arms.

He isn’t awake long enough to hear Taehyung’s reply.

It’s comfortably warm when Namjoon slips into awareness the next morning with a soft grunt. It takes a moment to remember where he is, that he’s on holiday. At the resort. It’s Christmas. His hangover isn’t too bad, just a little stuffiness in his head and a bad taste lingering in his mouth. That would have been the whiskey.

With a groan, he stretches. And then freezes.

Against the back of his neck, Taehyung snuffles in his sleep, and wraps his arms tighter around Namjoon’s midsection, pressing him against his body. There’s the sound of lips smacking, and the warm, wet movement of a mouth against his nape.

Oh fuck.

The events of the night come back to him in bits and pieces, misted by the haze of drunkenness. They’d been out all day trying to take photos of snowy owls for Taehyung’s kids in class, and then after dinner they’d decided to head to the bar for a few drinks to celebrate their trip almost coming to an end in a day or so.

Perhaps Namjoon had been more celebrating the fact that Taehyung miraculously lived within an hour of him more so than anything else, but no one needed to know that.

Taehyung had started off light with the drinks, Namjoon hadn’t. He vaguely remembers gulping his drink down a lot quicker than usual when Taehyung had run a hand through his hair casually, stretching his neck out with a groan. Namjoon had quickly averted his eyes and called the bartender over again.

He lets out a groan, head flopping back onto the pillows. God, he was such a mess. What was he thinking?

There had been something there between them, these past few days. Something he wasn’t imagining - a spark. Somehow the two of them had just clicked. But that chance had probably been blown after last night.

“Stop thinking so hard.” Taehyung’s gravelly voice startles Namjoon, right next to his ear. “It’s still too early.” Subconsciously, one of Taehyung’s hands starts to rub small circles on Namjoon’s bare stomach under his shirt. It’s a comforting movement, and Namjoon feels himself relaxing underneath the others ministrations.

And then he stops. Namjoon can feel his pause behind him as the reality of what happened last night sinks in.

“Sorry,” Taehyung says quietly. He removes his arms from around Namjoon’s waist and retracts the hand rubbing against his stomach, rolling onto his back and away from Namjoon.

It’s very cold all of a sudden, the gap between them feeling wider than ever.

“I’m...sorry about last night,” Namjoon ventures softly, propping himself up on his side to watch Taehyung. He can see how the other man tenses at his words, and scrambles to explain. “Sorry for being a drunken mess, I mean. Not sorry for trying to hit on you, though.”

Taehyung’s eye cracks open. “Really?” he asks. His voice is still gravelly from sleep, but there’s an undertone of hopefulness in there that Namjoon can make out.

“Only regret is that I didn’t do it sober.”

This gets a full smile out of Taehyung, the younger rolling back to face Namjoon. “Hmm, I don’t know,” he starts, an impish grin slipping onto his lips. “Would I have been able to experience the joy of you saying that I belonged in an art gallery if you’d been sober?”

“I’ll tell you that every morning, if that’s what you want to hear,” Namjoon says in reply, reaching out a hand to find Taehyung’s, entwining their fingers. “As long as you’re willing to put up with all my rants about the environment.”

“I’m a big supporter of the environment,” Taehyung enthuses. He doesn’t seem to have moved any closer, but somehow his face is just inches from Namjoon’s own. Up close, Namjoon can make out the moles on his face - the one on the end of his nose, on his eyebrow, on his soft pink lips that look like flower petals.

“Personally,” Taehyung continues in a husky tone, “I’d have to say I’m a big fan of mistletoe.”

“Oh?” Namjoon asks. His breath leaves him in a stutter as Taehyung pulls a hand up to frame his face, brushing errant strands of hair off his skin and running his thumb across the swell of Namjoon’s cheek.

“Mhmm,” Taehyung murmurs. “Like, did you know that there’s some right outside your window?”

Namjoon frowns. “There is?” Reluctantly, he rolls over to look out his window, squinting through the bright morning light at where Taehyung points. And sure enough, there it is. A dainty bundle of creamy-white berries and long green leaves, hanging just outside his window. It’s tied with a light blue ribbon, and it’s a miracle Namjoon had never noticed it before.

He rolls back over, face-to-face with Taehyung once more.

“So there is,” is all he can say when faced with Taehyung’s intense, sleepy-eyed gaze again. Taehyung smiles softly, Namjoon’s eyes drawn to his lips once more. “It is Christmas,” Namjoon finally speaks again slowly, gathering all his courage and tearing his eyes away to meet Taehyung’s gaze head-on. “There are a couple of Christmas traditions we should stick to, I think.”

“I agree.”

He doesn’t have time to get another word out before Taehyung’s pressing soft dry lips against his own, hands sliding back up again to thumb at Namjoon’s face as he pulls him in close.

As Taehyung presses in closer, Namjoon moves his own hands to run through the birds nest of hair on Taehyung’s head, fingers sliding through the silky strands at the back of his neck and dragging soft little noises out of Taehyung’s mouth, panted against Namjoon’s own.

When they finally pull apart with spit-slicked lips and wide-blown eyes, they’re both a little lost for breath. Namjoon feels as though he could hardly string two words together, let alone a full sentence. It’s everything he’d imagined it would be but so much more, so much more intense.

“Merry Christmas,” he manages to get out, still dazed, as Taehyung pulls him back in for another hard kiss, arm looping round his waist to tug him closer.