Work Text:
It’s been three weeks since the little For sale! sign on the house next to Seokjin’s has been replaced with a Sold! one. Two weeks since a truck had dropped a surprisingly small amount of boxes and very enthusiast Seoul boy. One week and six days since Seokjin had knocked on his door with a tupperware of food in his hands, ready to welcome the newcomer in true countryside fashion (One third courtesy, two third nosy curiosity.) and had almost dropped when his new neighbour had opened with a smile that had blinded him.
One week and six days since Seokjin, upon first gazing at his new neighbour, had blurted out Hello I'm your Seokjin, neighbour! and had promptly felt the ardent desire to disappear from the surface of the earth, immediately.
His new neighbour had laughed kindly which, honestly, hadn’t helped Seokjin calm down at all and had introduced himself, making Seokjin hope he wouldn’t point out his shameful slip.
“I had no idea the house came with a Seokjin,” Namjoon had then said, eyes twinkling, “But this is not an unwelcome surprise.”
And though Seokjin had been annoyed at being teased by someone he’d just met, the possibility that his new, young, gorgeous neighbour might maybe eventually hopefully be a little bit into men had make it all better.
So he’d twirled in front of Namjoon, finishing with a little ta-da! gesture and smiling to hide his embarrassment. “Congratulation!” Namjoon had invited him to come in and Seokjin had managed to not embarrass himself for the rest of their discussion. He still considers that his biggest accomplishment.
He'd learned through the discussion that Namjoon was a writer and that he'd come to live in the countryside because he needed a change of scenery to find his lost inspiration. Seokjin had searched his name on the internet immediately after going home and had discovered three out of three books Namjoon had published had an underlying gay theme at least, and a very out-in-the-open gay theme at best. The first one had actually sparked a little controversy when he'd came out and Seokjin remembers Taehyung telling him excitedly that he should definitely read it.
Maybe he could ask him to lend him the book now. Out of pure courtesy for his neighbour, obviously. Knowing what your neighbour does for a living just seem to be polite.
So Seokjin new neighbour isn't just young and gorgeous; he's also gay as fuck, as he'd said himself in an interview for a pretentious literature magazine. And Seokjin, who's had a fling with almost all men attracted to men who aren't his cousins in a 10km perimeters, as it usually is when you’re a countryside gay, finds that news particularly interesting. And particularly intimidating.
He spends the next week holed up in his house, reading all of Namjoon’s work hungrily. Taehyung calls him out halfway through it, asking what the fuck does Seokjin expect from playing a game of gay cat and gay mouse with a cat who probably doesn’t even consider him a mouse, to which Seokjin retorks that every cats should consider themselves very lucky to have a mouse like himself willing to play the game. Taehyung sighs and says I’m so happy we never dated each other and Seokjin answers We’re literally cousins and, since Taehyung merely shrugs, he drops the subject entirely.
He’s a damn handsome mouse. He just needs to get his cat of a neighbour to realise that, hopefully sooner than later.
That doesn’t mean he feels even remotely ready to face Namjoon when his doorbell rings that exact same afternoon. Namjoon looks gorgeous and sweaty and he’s wringing his hands nervously, greeting Seokjin with a sorry little smile.
“Hey!” He says, raising both hands in front of himself. They’re covered in dirt. “I, um. I bought some plants? For my garden? But I don’t have any garden tools so I was wondering if you, uh, had something to lend me. For the sake of my zucchinis.”
“Your zucchinis,” Seokjin answers, slightly dumbfounded. He almost makes a joke about letting Namjoon take care of his zucchini but decides it might be a little too much for a second discussion. He gestures vaguely with his hand who’s coincidentally still holding Namjoon’s third book, his index finger caught between the pages so he doesn’t lose the chapter he was on. Namjoon looks at it and raises his eyebrows very slightly. Seokjin feels himself blush. “I should have something in my shed, if you want,” He says, putting the book on the table next to the door and slipping outside, closing the door behind himself. “Follow me.”
Truth is Seokjin has no idea if he does have any tools in his shed: he’s not one for gardening himself and he hasn’t put a foot in the damn shed in at least six months. He’s pretty sure the last time he went was to retrieve some horrible painting his mom had gifted him for his last birthday to hang it on his wall because she was visiting. He’d put the painting under his bed after she left and never went to the shed after that.
“So, uh,” Namjoon says behind him, hesitantly. “Are you enjoying it?” Seokjin slows down at that, sending him a curious glance over his shoulder. “The book, I mean.”
“Oh!” Seokjin says, speeding up immediately. Don’t tell him you’ve read the other twos in six days, his brain begs him. Don’t tell him you’ve lost sleep over his writing. “I do. Very, uh. Very relatable.” It’s Namjoon’s soft Oh? that reminds him this particular book talks about the author’s memories as a young closeted gay guy. Well, he thinks, feeling his cheeks burn, At least now the cat knows I’m in the game. He half expects Namjoon to comment further but he doesn’t, thankfully.
Seokjin stops in front of the door, feeling around in a little crevice to find the key. He steps inside the dark shed and Namjoon follows him, carefully watching where he puts his feet.
“I must have something,” Seokjin mumbles under his breath, looking around to locate what he’s searching for. He lights up when he finally sees what he wants: abandoned on the little workbench he finds the homi his father had left there, the one that comes from his great-grandfather. Legends say the man carved its handle himself, and his father used to treat it as a magic tool. He’d been quite offended when Seokjin had said it wouldn’t be of any use for him, claiming that such a tool is always useful. Seokjin thinks he can agree with him, now. Maybe the legendary homi can help him seduce his sexy neighbour.
He walks decisively in its direction, trips on an old rabbit garden gnome Jungkook had gifted him for some reason, prepares himself for the fall with a high, ridiculous yell… But he stays in precarious equilibrium, strongly held by two (Big) hands. Two big dirty hands.
“Alright?” Namjoon says in his ear when he tugs him backward and safely onto his feet. “You almost broke yourself and that, uh…” He looks down at the gnome over Seokjin’s shoulder. Seokjin thinks he might have never experienced pure shame before today. “Thing. Would be a pity, if it broke down.”
“Right, thanks,” he kicks the gnome, sadly not hard enough to break it. The poor thing falls to the ground and contemplates them with its big, empty eyes. “I should throw it away but I don’t know how to recycle it, so…” Namjoon hums, so close to his ear. Seokjin realises belatedly that he’s still holding his waist. “It’s there,” He says, pointing at the homi in front of them. Namjoon releases him and walks carefully over the clutter of old shoes to reach for the tool.
He beams happily at Seokjin when he takes it, waving it in front of himself. “Are you sure I can take it?” The metaphoric ghosts of his ancestors appear behind Namjoon, glaring at Seokjin with all their ectoplasmic furor.
“Yeah, obviously,” He says, showing the ghosts his middle finger in his mind.
They walk back outside, Namjoon holding the homi like it’s his most prized possession. “Thank you so much, really! I’ll give it back as soon as I buy my own tools I promise.”
“Oh, you don’t have to!” Namjoon’s hand looks very good, wrapped around the handle of the homi. Very, very good.
They part with a awkward little dance of I’ll give that back to you soon! and I swear you really don’t have to! that turns even more awkward when they realise they’re going the same way: Namjoon to his garden to plant his zucchinis, Seokjin to his own to watch Namjoon plant his zucchinis as discreetly as possible.
His whole afternoon consists of reading Namjoon's book while pretending to not look at Namjoon becoming increasingly more and more sweaty and dirty. His arms flex in a way that Seokjin can't describe in any way other than delicious and his thighs in those ridiculous jorts are a wonder but most of his time is spent looking at Namjoon's long fingers and the way they wrap around the homi's handle.
He tries very hard to conjure images of his great grandfather carving it to stop his thoughts from getting dirty, but all he can think about is how big those hands look, and how soft they probably are, and how he'd like to see if they can do miracles on his body the way they do when putting words on blank pages.
And that night when he's half drunk on wine with his friend Yoongi (A not cousin gay he dated briefly when they were fourteen and fifteen, before they decided they were way better as friends.) Namjoon's hands is still the only thing he can talk about.
He drinks what remnant wine there was in his glass in one go, sighs and tips his face to the night sky. "I just… I wish I could experience what it feels like to be touched by him like that, just once. You know?"
Yoongi laughs and points at the sky. "I hope whatever I saw over us was the shooting star of desperate horny wishes and not a plane." Seokjin glares at him and hits his biceps.
"I hope you had the time to make a wish too, in that case, because I'm not alone in the desperate horny train." He mimics pulling a train's whistle handle. "Choo choo, bitch. All aboard!"
He's more than a little drunk when he crawls in his bed in the little hours of the morning, the sun already starting to show on the horizon.
He's jolted awake too few hours later by the feeling of being held by a giant hand and he immediately panics.
He tries to scream but no sound leaves his mouth. He tries to move but it's like his body isn't answering him anymore, like he's made of wood, and…
For some reason he can see, though he knows on instinct that he doesn't have eyes. The surrounding is oddly familiar, something Seokjin knows he's seen once, not enough to properly recognise it. And then there's the hand holding him, large and soft, the hand of someone who writes books for a living and is used to holding a pen all day long.
He wants to cry but he isn't sure if it's out of despair or happiness. The shooting star of desperate horny wishes really, truly listened to him, in a way only mischievous shooting stars or genies could. He's been turned into his great grandfather's homi. He's about to get his head, or whatever he should call his blade, buried into the soil.
"Today's such a beautiful day," Namjoon says softly, directing a smile at his potted plants. "We're going to find you a really nice place to grow, yeah?"
The way his fingers are curled around Seokjin's body (His handle, damn. Not his body!) feels divine, the right amount of pressure Seokjin can just imagine leaving slight dents on his skin. His thumb strokes the handle once with a reverent look. Seokjin wonders if wood can blush, and if yes if Namjoon can feel it heating up.
"So beautiful," Namjoon sighs. "A real work of art. Such hard work to get such a pure but powerful looking line."
Namjoon caresses a leaf in front of him, still dreamily looking at Seokjin.
"Isn't your owner a gorgeous man, hm? And really generous. Lending me something that valuable."
Seokjin feels himself get hot, then cold, then hot again. The cat is interested; he can't wait to tell that to Taehyung. The cat wants to play the game.
Namjoon is still softly talking to his zucchinis. Seokjin thinks he might become emotionally horny for him, if he keeps going.
And then suddenly, his whole head is buried in the ground.
The torture keeps going for what feels an eternity but probably actually is only one hour because Namjoon takes his phone from his pocket and says Oh, I've been out there for one hour already!
He gets back to his house, whining quietly about the kinks in his knees. As soon as Namjoon places Seokjin on the counter his mind leaves the homi and goes back to his body, so violently he falls out of bed under Yoongi's amused but concerned gaze.
"Are you alright, hyung? You kept making those noises, like you were having a dirty and deranging dream."
“Did you look at my neighbour from the window?” Seokjin asks instead of replying. Yoongi just gives him a flat, uninterested look. “Did you see him gardening maybe? Replanting zucchinis?”
“I saw him get out of his house with some plants, yeah.” Seokjin lets out a soft, desperate oh my god. “Are gardeners a new kink of yours? Should I warn your poor neighbour about your twisted tendencies?”
Seokjin wants to protests, but he also has to admit he did felt things when having Namjoon dirty hands on him. He didn’t like the part where his head was in the dirt, though, so maybe it has less to do with gardening and more with Namjoon himself. He wonders for one terrible, cursed second if some people with garden tools degradation kinks really do exist.
But then thinking about Namjoon’s hands reminds him that the soul traveling bullshit happened when Namjoon put his hand on the homi and he realises it could happen again, at any moment, if his neighbour decides to buy some other vegetables to keep the zucchinis company. He stands up so quickly that he feels dizzy and Yoongi jumps in surprise.
“I’ll tell him myself,” He says, leaving a dumbfounded Yoongi alone in his room.
His reflection in the bathroom’s mirror doesn’t look too bad, maybe just a little rumpled, but he doesn’t have the luxury to change or make himself more presentable. At any moment Namjoon can grab the homi, and Seokjin can brain himself on the sink when his soul literally leaves his body. He needs to act, and he needs to act quickly.
He’s a little out of breath when he knocks on his neighbour’s door. He tries to compose himself before Namjoon opens the door, and fails spectacularly when the door opens and Namjoon smiles at him.
“Hello, Seokjin ssi!” He says before he takes in Seokjin’s dischevelous state and probably notices how terribly oily his skin is and how he’s presently wearing a pajama covered in tiny alpacas. “Are you… Are you alright?”
“Yes! I’m okay yes, I… Namjoon ssi, are you finished with the homi I gave you yesterday?” Namjoon frowns, clearly confused. “It’s just… It’s my father’s and he just told me he would come to take it in the morning and he’s kinda stupidly attached to that thing so I don’t want him to know I lent it to you. Sorry.” Seokjin thanks his improvisation lessons for how easily and naturally the lie came to him, especially when Namjoon nods slowly, apparently convinced by his ridiculous excuse.
“I’m going to get it for-”
“No!” Seokjin shouts before Namjoon can finish. “Sorry, I mean. Don’t bother. I can grab it myself, yeah?” Namjoon frowns again and Seokjin sadly realises no improv classes would be enough to invent a believable lie for that part. He probably looks like a creep who wants to find a way to get into Namjoon’s home, which is just very, very scary.
“Alright,” Namjoon answers very slowly. He gestures to his left. “It’s right there, you can get it”
Seokjin steps inside and immediately locates the homi waiting for him on Namjoon’s console. He sighs when he takes it in his hand, feeling relief crash through his veins when he remains in his own body and doesn’t jump into the tool instead. “Thank you,” He says to Namjoon. “I know I’m acting weird, I’m so sorry, really.” Namjoon looks pensive, nervous. Obviously he thinks Seokjin’s way of acting is strange. He probably doesn’t think he’s gorgeous anymore, or generous. Seokjin probably sabotaged all possibilities of getting with Namjoon, if he ever had one in the first place.
“It’s okay, Seokjin ssi, really, but…” Seokjin’s heart sinks. It’s probably the moment Namjoon tells him to never talk to him, or look at him, ever again. “This is going to be straightforward, I’m really sorry if this is embarrassing...” How can Namjoon be embarrassing, when Seokjin is a walking, living embarrassment himself? “But you seem like a really good person and I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me one of those days?” Seokjin freezes and Namjoon must read his stupefaction because he adds quickly, “As friends. To get to know each other!” And, when Seokjin’s face twists even more in a frown. “Or a date. Whatever you want.”
Seokjin stands there in his alpaca pajama with oily skin, his hair a mess, homi in his hand raised in front of him like a weapon.
“Yes,” He says.
Maybe his wish to desperate horny shooting star wasn’t in vain, in the end.
Maybe he’ll get to experience the feeling of those hands on him in the near future.