TAEKOOK / TIGER LILY

o2.

Namjoon and Taehyung get along very well; the younger can't help but cherish every moment spent with him. From the simple way he'd prepared croissants for breakfast, spreading them amongst a feast of fruit and jam upon their wooden table, to the songs he and Jin had sung as they performed the mundane task of hanging up their washing across the line, the man was immensely good at captivating the brunette. He'd watched, as Seokjin picked peaches from one of their trees, had sat on the fence, observing the long line of drying cloth; subdued pinks and pale tourmaline, as they whisper in the still air, billowing so colourfully against the intrepid blue sky.

Even their laundry was captivating.

After a morning of ambling amongst hummingbird reveries and a bumblebee delights, Namjoon had brought him into town — which really was just a few shops, a gas station and bistro. It was strange how much the emptiness of it made the boy feel so full.

"There's a farmer's market on Sundays." He tells the boy, as his eyes scan over a crate of fish. Their smell is acrid, so distinctly infused with the ocean, and their corpses look so unappetising in the sun. "We sell our fruit there," He continues, his eyes flickering into a depiction of joy, "you can come help next week if you want?"

"I'd love to." Taehyung beams back at him. He can't help but hate the fact his dad had been right: time away from home really was making him feel better, in fact, he already feels his heart loosening up, like the grip a ghostly hand had on it was starting to fade. He finds himself becoming a little more talkative, reverting back to his more likeable self as he asks, "is that how you make all your money?"

Namjoon's brow raises, his expression playful.

Taehyung's tone is a mirror to that very expression, refracting into a timbre of serenity, as he purrs, "come on, I know my grandparents were rich, but, they're not exactly very generous with their money, are they? I mean, the only reason they helped my mother, is 'cause she wouldn't be able to get a law degree without sufficient funding. I doubt they'd ever give her money to move away to the countryside." Namjoon bites out a smile at this, nodding his head softly, despite the awkward topic. Taehyung forces himself to continue, "How'd you end up living in such a huge house just selling fruit?"

The older scoffs in jest, and his legs begin moving again, toward another shop — one of the seven that the town had — and the brunette follows him around like a lost puppy, looking up at the man so wondrously. "Seokjin," He begins, after a short breath of contemplation, that leaks in a gold-tinted plume of life, "he may seem really relaxed now, but he's very hard-working, very business orientated. He and I worked on a lot of expensive software after we got out of uni; it only took a few jobs here and there to get a good sum of money, and, thus, we were able to retire early, move to the countryside."

"You're retired?" Taehyung's brows furrow, shocked.

His uncle chuckles, and his pretty dimples appear, his mouth upturning as he replies, "technically, yes."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty." Namjoon laughs even more at the boy's reaction. "Seokjin's thirty two."

"You're in your thirties and you're retired?"

"No need to be so exasperated," He chuckles, as his fingers brush across the clothes on a rack outside a shop, all brown earth tones, nothing compared to the silks and satins on their own washing line. A trail of dust swirls in the space his fingers leave behind them. "It's what happens when you work hard."

"Hm."

They walk in silence for a minute, and the older man is strangely childish in the way his eyes widen at the various hats hanging on display from that same store, drifting across the stone-street toward them, as if on impulse. They're ugly hats, Taehyung thinks, but he supposes his uncle would be able to pull them off.