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Self-discipline, a study

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Yoongi is completely soaked through down to his should-not-have-worn white socks. His running shoes are dotted full of black suds. Yoongi’s sad excuse of a foldable umbrella has snapped after the first gust of wind earlier. He should have known better than to rely on an umbrella from a convenience store, he sighs to himself, but it was either that or no protection against the rain whatsoever.

He lets out a huff in a poor attempt of getting his dripping bangs out of his eyes. The effort proves to be futile after a few tries. He swears under his breath. His hands feel almost frozen from the combination of rain and wind chill so he has been burying them deep in his jacket pockets the past few minutes, but it looks like he has no choice. With a groan, he unfurls his right arm and takes off his also soaked cap, sweeps his hair upward and back under the cap again.

His vision is now clear but the sight that greets him is nothing but bleak.

The rain continues to pour down endlessly, and not a ray of light could shine through the dark clouds above. All he sees is a canvas of muted gray with occasional streaks of colours: a blade of green, a touch of vermillion, a flash of yellow.

What will remain of the flowers and the leaves after this downpour, he wonders?

He is currently in a botanical garden. The name is Ed-something Gardens?...Right, Edwards. Can’t blame him, English names are hard to remember.

Well, to be more precise, he is currently taking shelter in a small gazebo in said garden.

As for the reason why he, Min Yoongi of all people, is visiting a botanical garden on a rainy day, when he could have been half buried under bed covers working on his music, you’d only have to look to his left.

He has half a mind to say “I told you so”, because he did say that it was going to rain today—Min Yoongi is nothing but a meticulous man when it comes to travelling itineraries, so he always makes sure to check the weather before making any plans—but a certain someone insisted on going out anyway. Yoongi should have been immune to the 'puppy eyes' by now, really, except he isn't, so what right does he have to scold the other? He should really work on his self-discipline. Ha, maybe that should be the title for his new track: “Self-discipline, a study”.

Or alternatively: “How to resist Jeon Jungkook, a study”.

If he had managed to work that all out before, then he wouldn’t find himself here, five years into marriage with that stubborn idiot.

An idiot who, 1825 days later, still looks as beautiful to Yoongi as he did the day they slipped wedding bands onto each other’s fingers; as the day Yoongi first encountered him, drifting off to lala land and leaning towards his shoulder on their shared bus route to college; as the day he told Yoongi, gaze fixed on some point beyond, the tips of his ears entirely too red, that he wanted to go out with Yoongi, if the elder was willing. Yoongi had stared back, face blank, for almost an eternity (Jungkook’s words, not his) before he managed to eke out the barest whisper of a “yes”.

“I’m sorry,” the man to his left is saying.

Yoongi doesn’t need to look to know what expression his husband currently has on his face. Bottom lip curved inward, with teeth biting down on them. Eyes cast towards the ground. Head slightly tilted. Shoulders bunched tight, from both the cold and guilt. His prediction proves correct when Yoongi turns around. He lets out a long sigh in response, before tugging the other’s arm and pulling the younger into an embrace.

“It’s cold,” he says by way of explanation.

He can feel the slight upturn of Jungkook’s lips at that, his head resting on the elder’s as it is.

In all honesty, he can hardly blame the younger for wanting to go out and enjoy all the sceneries that Toronto had to offer in this short visit. The two of them hardly travel. They had only come here to attend Henry’s wedding. Despite his relatively young age, the Chinese-Canadian man was Yoongi’s music professor in university. Coupled that with his side hobby of dancing, usually accompanied by his violin, and you can easily see how he managed to became a close friend to the both of them as the years gone by.

Henry mentioned in passing about this ‘nice botanical garden up North’ the other day to them during dinner, which immediately piqued Jungkook’s interest, the green thumb he is, and had then made Yoongi promise to visit the place the day after the wedding.

So here they are.

Unfortunately, the gods are perverse and like to toy with humans whenever possible (at least that’s Yoongi’s theory), leaving them with little opportunity to explore the garden before opening up the sky and pouring torrents of water down below.

“Well, we did manage to take some photos before the rain hits, so it’s not too bad, yeah?” Yoongi says.

They are both quite into photography, which was one of the common points that helped them get closer during college, so they always bring their DSLR cameras with them during their travels, however infrequent the trips may be.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything back, prompting Yoongi to lift his head up. Is he still upset?

“What’s wrong, jagiya?”

There is a glazed expression on his husband’s face. He seems to be deep in thoughts. It takes a couple more minutes before Jungkook finally opens his mouth, except the words that tumble out do not make any sense to Yoongi.

“What did you say?”

A tell-tale flush is making its way across his face but Jungkook plunges on anyway: “I said, ‘dance with me’.”

“…What?”

The entirety of Jungkook’s ears are now dyed the colour of anthurium (what? live long enough with a green thumb partner and you’d start to know names of random flowers too), which is an endearing sight, but that is not the point.

“I was thinking about Henry’s wedding, which made me recall scenes of our wedding, and how you had refused to dance with me, your just-married husband, because even though you have done it a hundred times when drunk, you were not going to let either Namjoon hyung or Hoseok hyung witness that, or worse yet, Taehyung, for they would never let you live afterwards. And we’re standing in a gazebo, which is about as romantic as it gets, and I don’t know, I just somehow want to dance with you? Must I need a reason to dance with my husband?”

He is clearly rambling. Jungkook has stepped away from him, fingers twined together, gaze fixed on some point beyond. Yoongi feels like an ass, for what kind of husband is he that he made Jungkook turn into this nervous mess over such a simple request?

“There is no music,” Yoongi says at last.

Jungkook turns back to him, lips slightly parted in surprise. He is well aware that Yoongi didn’t exactly voice out a rejection to his request. A small smile begins to bloom on his face, starting from the left side his mouth, until it transforms into an arch so wide his face must be splitting from the effort. The incandescent glow of that smile can easily rival that of the stars (the stars in Yoongi’s heart, mind and soul).

“Really, what do you take me for, Yoongi?” He holds up a finger before Yoongi can even open his mouth to reply, “Don’t answer that, you fiend. You’re gonna give me some smartass reply, aren’t you? I don’t know why I married such a snark like you.”

Laughter bubbles out of Yoongi’s throat. “Because you are just as sassy and impudent as me, jagiya.”

“No doubt thanks to your terrible influence.”

Yoongi scoffs: “My influence? I believe the first words you said to me were: ‘If you had woken me up instead of letting me fall asleep on your shoulders, then you wouldn’t be complaining about the cricks in your neck now. It’s totally your fault, really.’”

Jungkook makes a swipe at his face in response, which he neatly dodges, years of basketball practice still ingrained in his body. “I was embarrassed, okay?”

“Yes, I did learn later that you tend to get incredibly snarky when you’re embarrassed. It’s either that or you just stand there mutely, face as red as a tomato. But my point is, you were already sassy way before you met me.”

“You made it worse, though.”

“Well, I now know the names of about a hundred different plants, so we’re about even, really.”

“That’s not the same!”

“Yes, it is. You didn’t see the look on Taehyung’s face when I rattled off about a dozen types of flowers he could buy for Jimin on their anniversary.”

The brat had the nerve to mouth the word “whipped” to his face afterwards. Yoongi threatened to spill who exactly broke Seokjin’s favourite mug the week before. Everyone had thought it was Namjoon, but Yoongi knew better. Taehyung wisely kept his mouth shut afterwards. That and he still needed advice on his anniversary gift. Which meant trying to stay on Yoongi’s good side as much as possible. He could have asked Jungkook for advice, but the younger is not much of a liar and would have crumbled under Jimin’s interrogation (he can be quite a hound) very easily.

Jungkook looks like he wants to argue more but decides against it at the last second, choosing to take a sudden step forward instead. He tugs Yoongi closer by the hip with his right hand, entwines his other hand with the elder’s and extends both of their arms out.

“You were really serious about the dancing request.”

“It’s five years late, but I do want that wedding dance you failed to give me then, Yoongi-ah.”

“There is no music,” Yoongi deadpans.

“You married a vocal instructor.”

“That I did.”

“I think I can manage to sing some tunes for us to dance to.”

“I suppose so.”

“You have no faith in me.”

“I must admit, very little. Just enough to trust you with the rest of my life for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us apart.”

“....Oh. My. God. Why are you such a cheeseball?”

Yoongi grins back him, unrepentant: “You married that cheeseball.”

“That I did,” are Jungkook’s last words before he starts singing.

By all means, Yoongi should be disgruntled. After all, he is completely soaked through down to his should-not-have-worn white socks, and his running shoes are dotted full of black suds. He should feel the cold seeping into his bones. But instead, he finds himself slow dancing to the soft lilts of his husband’s voice, under a gazebo in a botanical garden, on the first day of spring in Toronto, because he had never learned how to resist Jeon Jungkook and has no intention of mastering the skill any time in the future.

As Kim Taehyung so eloquently put it, Min Yoongi is whipped, and he is okay with that.

Because you know what? Fuck self-discipline.