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“The plumber is going to take 4 hours to get here, 4 hours!” Jimin did not realise he was shouting down the phone to his manager until a bird, perched on the camphor tree in his garden, took flight.
“I’m sorry, buddy. Things won’t be as easily available there as they were in the city, you’re going to have to get used to it,” Hoseok replied, disdain in his voice.
“I can’t believe you’d send me here, of all places!”
Trying not to wince in pain, Jimin washed his hands in the freezing water. He was going to get pneumonia and die in this forsaken place. He was sure of it.
If he had been able to keep his hands and mouth to himself, and not gotten into the third scandal of the year, he would not be here. But it was not his fault beautiful people existed all around him, in need of his mouth around theirs at a short notice.
“You’re lucky it’s only 3 scandals that the press are aware of,” Jimin told Hoseok two days before he was shipped off to this lonesome town. “I am very selective of the people I give my time to.”
“Oh, I know.” Hoseok rolled his eyes, writing something on a clear sticky note with a neon green felt-tip pen. “If I got paid for every celebrity I had to decline for you, I’d not have to work as your manager in the first place.”
Tapping on the polished, yet old and worn out, oak table in the middle of the kitchen now, Jimin wondered what he ought to do with his time. His mind whirled with static noise. He had spotted one pub, a bakery and a library on his drive to the house. If the 30-minute ride inside the town gave him access to three public buildings, he did not have much hope for the rest of the town he was still to explore. What surprises lurked around the corner? A bookstore?
Twirling a Pink Lady apple, from the selection of groceries Hoseok had prepared before Jimin left the city, Jimin decided to go for a walk. He was not optimistic about an adventure peeking its head up in this town: he saw one other car on his way here, everyone preferring to walk along the wide-open roads, but with his luck for stepping into uncertain situations, there would be no harm in trying.
The front yard of Jimin’s temporary home was somewhat rectangular, the grass cut short and dark green juniper and purple lupin shrubs lined its edges. The simplicity of it brought a smile to Jimin’s face, but it was his neighbour’s garden that took his breath away.
The acacia shrubs were intermittently interrupted by an array of colourful honey myrtle, magenta azalea sparkled in the mid-morning sun and the clematis climbing wall swayed in the breeze. A miniature fountain flowed near the middle of the garden, surrounded by pebbles and rocks. It was astounding.
Walking across to the low brick wall that separated the two gardens, Jimin leaned over, catching a whiff of the hyacinth that had been hidden from his view from the doorstep.
When he raised his head back up, Jimin tumbled backwards onto the grass in his garden, the edges tickling his heels through his suede sandals: a tall boy, broad in the shoulders and with honey skin, was watching him.
A warmth, sudden and alarming, spread across Jimin's cheeks. He calmed his breathing, hoping it would stop the burning sensation he was drowning in. He was embarrassed, that was why he was feeling this way. It was nothing but embarrassment.
“Hi,” Jimin said, raising his hand awkwardly.
“Hi,” the gorgeous boy replied.
For there was no denying that anymore: Jimin stared at him for roughly a minute and made up his mind that this was one beautiful creature. As beautiful as his front garden. Maybe even more so.
The boy stepped down the four stone stairs of his porch and walked out of his front yard, to the empty street, without saying another word. He had his index finger in a weathered book, the maroon binding threadbare and falling apart.
Maybe there was no bookstore in this town if he was reading the same thing so many times.
Jimin bit into the apple, the sweet sticky juice erupting in his mouth and lacing itself around his fingers: this was not what he had expected. He imagined the people of this town to be more welcoming, with how few people resided in it. Yet, the boy had barely given Jimin a second glance before going about his day.
Hmmm. Jimin was not used to this type of treatment. Park Jimin made people stare, jaws fell at his appearance and heads turned in awkward angles to get another look at him. His social media was rampant with flirty messages from top tier celebrities, the ones his team had a polite yet formal template answer for. He did not bother checking his messages unless they were from his manager or his best friends— Jungkook, Jin and Taehyung. His family preferred to talk on the phone, they were always a chatty bunch, the Park family.
Jimin was going to change this boy’s mind about him. Make him swoon in the six weeks he had in the town. If not, he would eat his arm.
A tote bag in his hand— a gift from the baker since plastic bags were not common in the area— Jimin walked home. The streets were peppered with houses, with no regular spacing. They were mostly bungalows or two-story homes, brightly coloured in creams and oranges and yellows.
“Give these bagels to Namjoon for me,” Yoongi the baker, orange apron dusted with white flour and his hands rough from the years at his craft, had said, “he didn’t come to pick them up today.”
Jimin hid his surprise at how quickly word spread in this town about everyone’s whereabouts. Creepy and unexpected to someone who lived in the capital city where no one gave a flying fuck about anyone else, but something he was going to have to get used to.
He left the bagel under the bench on Namjoon’s front porch after knocking a few times with no success.
Struggling with the internet connection, Jimin failed to load the YouTube video on baby koalas being washed and was forced to take his dinner out to his garden. He was not used to eating alone, or without entertainment at least.
Jimin sat on the back porch, his plate on his knees and his feet on the low square wooden table. He looked straight at Namjoon, who was sipping from a tall mug. Jimin bet it was lemon and ginger tea, or something equally disgusting.
“Hello, again,” Jimin said, showing off his best smile. “I’m Jimin.”
“Hi,” the pretty boy answered, looking behind Jimin at the apple trees that lined the edges of his garden. “Namjoon.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Jimin said, lifting his chopsticks to hand. “I don’t like having dinner alone and had come to dine with the birds and the bees.”
Namjoon looked at the content of his mug. “Um, I see.”
“You’re not very talkative, are you?”
“I am. With people I know.”
“What’s stopping you from getting to know me?”
“You moved in this morning, I haven’t had much chance.”
Jimin laughed. “You didn’t ask me who I was when you saw me earlier, just left with your book. I thought you town folks would be nicer than that!”
Namjoon looked at Jimin, hazel eyes speckled with the sunset, shoulders tense and jaw tight. “I had someone to meet.”
Oh. Jimin lowered his plate on the table, no longer hungry.
“See you around,” Jimin said, rising from his chair and walking into the kitchen.
Later that night, the waning moon alighted the whole of Jimin’s room, painting it in a silver glow, with no city pollution to hinder its elegant dance. He tugged at the thin, black and white striped, duvet cover until it was tucked beneath his chin, knees drawn up.
He was not used to so much silence.
Jimin’s life was filled with the city's ambience, the screams of fans wherever he was spotted, the chatter of friends who stayed over almost every night. His nights filled with the noise of deliveries of late-night snacks, club-goers returning in the early mornings, neighbours throwing parties with music that vibrated along the wall and ended when the next day began.
Jolting awake in bed, Jimin sat up. There was a low rubbing that was coming from outside his room and he was certain it meant something awful. Heart creaking in his chest, Jimin strode over to the window and peered out, spotting Namjoon's window directly opposite his.
“What’s that sound?” Jimin shouted across. “Is that some emergency call-out I haven’t been told of?”
With how low-key this town was, Jimin would not be surprised if their emergency call-outs were as dull as the town itself.
Namjoon turned around, eyes wide and mouth ajar. He wore nothing but his black shorts and Jimin lost the ability to focus on anything but his gorgeous body.
“I forgot you were here,” Namjoon said, hitting himself on the forehead. “I’ve grown used to being alone around this area and just got on with my nightly routine.”
“What’s that got to do with this weird rumbling sound?” Jimin leaned his forearms on the cracked windowsill.
He was already making a list of everything he needed to escape: his phone that was by the bedside table, car keys that were in his denim jacket and his heart-shaped rose lip balm on the dresser table.
“It’s a white noise machine,” Namjoon answered, coming closer to his window. “It helps me sleep.”
Gosh. This town got weirder by the second. “Um, okay?”
“Would you like me to turn it off?”
“If you do, how will you sleep?”
“I can try to go without it.”
How sweet of him. “How about you put it, like, two notches down? So, we can still hear it but it doesn’t sound that awful?”
“Sounds good to me.” Namjoon smiled this time, and Jimin would have toppled over the edge of his windowsill if he had not stood firmly with his feet planted apart: Namjoon had the most adorable dimples!
“Goodnight,” Jimin said, yawning and turning around.
“Goodnight, Jimin.”
Jimin stopped mid-stride to his bed, a smile perching atop his lips: Namjoon had remembered his name.
Cursing everything under the ozone layer, with a lot of grief, Jimin detached himself from his bed the next morning. The clock read something along the lines of ‘too-fucking-early’, he could not be sure, his eyes were too blurred with sleep.
“Yes?” Jimin opened the door, the back of his hands digging into his eyes, trying to strangle the last bit of sleep that kept deterring him.
When no answer came, Jimin forced himself to look at the person at his front door.
It was his gorgeous neighbour. Fuck. Jimin did not know how he looked, freshly rolled out of bed, he was sure his hair was a mess and his eyes far too swollen. Fuck.
“Is everything okay?” Jimin asked, patting down his hair, standing up straighter.
Namjoon nodded, dragging his eyes to Jimin’s face from his naked torso: Jimin slept in his joggers. “Thought you might like some coffee.”
“Coffee. Ah.” Jimin bit his lower lip, he had wondered on many occasions why anyone willing drank something that awful. “I’d love some!”
When Namjoon handed Jimin the coffee flask and turned on his heels to leave, Jimin sighed: he wished Namjoon would have stayed over for breakfast. But it was too late, Namjoon was at Jimin’s front gate, heading towards his home again.
Was this how everyone felt when Jimin, politely, declined their dinner invites? Chose to stay in on the weekends even though he had dozens of invitations for adventures in the city? When he gave his time to his dancing studio more than he did to the people around him?
Emptying half the bottle of milk and far too many spoonfuls of sugar, Jimin drank the diluted beverage that his neighbour had left and lamented over what to do with his morning.
Pulling on his grey t-shirt and a pair of shorts, Jimin decided he was going to practice his old choreographies. This was the perfect time, if any, to get the rust out of his old dance routines, it would save him the embarrassment when a host asked him to perform a routine from years ago.
All the rooms of Jimin’s humble abode being furnished thickly, with little space between each object, Jimin’s best stage was going to be the front porch. Apart from the two houses, there were no other buildings nearby, hence why Namjoon had gotten away with his awful white noise machine for so long.
The sweat dripped down the back of Jimin’s neck and his back, his calves were clammy and his bare feet left wet marks on the stone floor. Yet, Jimin could not help but smile: he was dancing and only for himself. For the way the music thrummed in his blood and orchestrated his limbs alongside it. He was floating on clouds, light and airy, as he spun around in the shimmering sun.
He spent the next week in this routine of dancing through his mornings till his stomach signalled the quick approach of lunch, often napped during the afternoon and spent the evenings on walks. The rainy days were spent indoors, following Youtube tutorials, albeit slowly, for crocheting videos after he had found a spool of lilac yarn in one of the chestnut drawers of the living room. He had so far managed to make six coasters: they were popular amongst the beginners.
Namjoon dropped by some days, only to the front door, with his customary coffee, that Jimin still did not have the heart to tell him he disliked. Their conversations were small yet endearing, like the budding of tulips in spring. He gave Jimin an umbrella on one occasion as they accidentally met on a walk, Jimin was returning home whilst Namjoon ducked into the small store for his groceries that Jimin saw him hurl back an hour later. They waved hello and goodbye, and Jimin became accustomed to his very quiet and reserved neighbour but tried not to give him too much thought as Namjoon had someone of his own already.
If Namjoon had been single, Jimin would have tried harder to lure him in with his charms, but whatever Jimin was, he was not a homewrecker.
And then on the eighth day, as Jimin twirled around on his front porch, the music loud in his ears and the morning sun in his hair, he stopped inches from Namjoon’s nose.
“Whew,” Jimin giggled, putting both of his hands to his chest and leaning against the brick wall of his house, “a warning would be nice.”
“You couldn’t hear me approaching because of the music,” Namjoon stated evenly.
Jimin gave him a small smile. “Is there anything I can do for you, hyung?”
“I wondered if you’d join me on the walk to the bakery after you’ve finished dancing, I’ve run out of bagels.”
“Um,” Jimin wiped the back of his hand on his forehead, pushing his damp, clotted, hair back. “Don’t you have someone to meet?”
He left at the same time each day, usually with a book in his hand or an empty grocery bag, so what was so different today?”
“No, I broke up with her.”
Jimin laughed. Then, at the graveness of the situation, placed his fingers on his lips and contorted his expression to that of remorse.
“I’m sorry to hear that, is there anything I could do to help? An ice cream parlour I could take you to? Or would you like to get drunk and scream absurdities at her? How can I help?”
“Don’t act like you’ve got no parts to play in this, Jimin.”
Jimin smiled slyly. “Me? Oh, how could I have done anything? I’ve left you mostly alone since I’ve been here.”
“You dancing here every day, looking as gorgeous as you do, wearing so little and making my head spin around with each of your pirouettes. The way you help the elderly with their shopping and play football with the kids on the street with your soft smile and easy to go humour. And how you’ve become the ‘cute newcomer’ who everyone can’t stop talking about. The way you drink my coffee even though I know you hate it by the expression on your face that you try so hard to hide and fail adorably at. You’re so fucking sweet.”
“Ah. But I’ve not done any of these things for you, hyung. I went out of my way to not interact with you.”
“I know, and that’s why I’m here: because I know you were being yourself and I like what I saw.”
“You’re one for romantic words, aren’t you?” Jimin laughed.
“I’m known for my bluntness, I hope you’ll be okay with that.”
“You’re gorgeous, and very sweet yourself, I think I can get used to it.”
On the way to the bakery later that afternoon, Jimin twirled a daisy in his hand as they walked along the footpath, the rice fields on either side absorbing their conversation.
“There was no girlfriend,” Namjoon confessed, fixing his black cap.
“Oh?”
“I only said that to deter you from flirting with me,” Namjoon said, looking sheepishly ahead. “Lots of people come here for short vacations, and most of them try to get in bed with me. I’ve not had the best of experiences.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, hyung,” Jimin said, looking at the sun-kissed face of the older boy by his side.
Jimin grit his teeth at the thought of anyone hurting Namjoon. How could they? He was entirely adorable.
“But you seemed different, and although I could tell you may have something for me, you didn’t push it after I’d mentioned someone else,” Namjoon turned to smile at Jimin. “I also liked how you respected my privacy and didn’t try to be nosy about my life. With our two houses being the only ones for some distance, you can’t imagine how many people have knocked on my door during their stay because they thought I was going to be free for them to talk to whenever they wanted.”
Sniffing on the daisy, with its velveteen petals brushing against his hand, Jimin sighed happily. He was glad to have not pushed Namjoon because it had led him to Jimin regardless.
“I’m an idol in the city,” Jimin said after a while, needing to let Namjoon in on his secret before things moved on. “I came here because I got into some scandals.”
“Of course, you are,” Namjoon laughed, as they both nodded to a group of elderly men sitting on a bench playing cards. “With how talented you are at dancing and how beautiful you look, I already guessed.”
The tips of Jimin’s ears burnt. “Thank you, hyung.”
Namjoon blinked slowly at Jimin, smiling.
“If you do decide to search me up, the first few articles will be all about my scandals.” Jimin had searched himself every day in the first days of being in town, and the articles were still being written about his lewd behaviour. “Being an idol, anything more than a fling is too much energy, especially with how fast-paced things are in our lives.”
“I understand,” Namjoon said. “Is there a ‘but’ to that sentence?”
Nodding, Jimin continued. “But, after being here and getting accustomed to this quiet rural life, I think there may be beauty in something a little more substantial.”
Jimin’s stomach twisted: he was confessing to wanting to date his temporary neighbour, whom he wished would not be so temporary if things worked out well for them.
“I’m glad we’ve been able to show you the beauty in life in the quieter moments, Jimin. And I would be heartbroken to be just a fling for you whilst you were on your escape from being an idol.”
With his heart balancing on a thread, Jimin reached out his left hand until it was pressed against the back of Namjoon’s. They walked like that for a few steps, until Namjoon turned his hand around and laced it around Jimin’s. Jimin bit his lower lip at how large and warm Namjoon’s hands were in his, yet how perfectly they fit together on that empty path with the solitude of the green fields on either side.
“I won’t break your heart, hyung,” Jimin smiled, “unless you give me a reason to.”
Namjoon’s dimples peaked out, moon crates basking in the sun. “I will try my hardest not to.”
Walking alongside Namjoon's favourite route on the way back home- one of the many things Namjoon was going to excitedly show Jimin over their combined future together- Jimin leant into Namjoon's side: for once he craved the serenity of a stable relationship over the sugar-rush of a scandal.