Yoongi hates the beach. He hates the heat and the sand and the sun. He would much rather be in the studio or in his bed with the A/C turned up all the way so he can wear a giant scarf and curl up beneath ten blankets. But despite this, his idiot best friend Namjoon dragged him to the beach (by blackmailing him, of course) solely so that he could take pictures for his fashion blog.

So now Yoongi is sitting on the beach, pissed off at everything, but at least he has this giant umbrella to block the evil sun from burning his skin.

Namjoon is relaxing on a beach chair beside him, his nose buried in some philosophical book called “Why Humans Have the Urge to Defy Gravity.” It’s hot as hell and yet Namjoon is dressed head to toe in black, complete with Ray Ban sunglasses and an athletic headband perched atop his silvery head.

“What the hell are you wearing, Namjoon?” Yoongi had asked him when he arrived at Yoongi’s house to pick him up.

“It’s my aesthetic,” Namjoon simply replied, and that was that.

Yoongi scowls as he struggles to scroll through his twitter feed but it’s no use because it’s too ing bright, even beneath the umbrella, and he can’t get a signal here anyway. He tosses his phone to the side and then curses loudly because it landed in the sand and now there’s tiny crystals caught in the cracks and ugh it’s going to take forever to clean.

After a few miserable twitter-less minutes, a strong gust of wind blows by and Yoongi smiles a bit because finally something has come to save him from the heat—that is, until it yanks his giant umbrella right out of the ground and carries it off down the beach.

“!” Yoongi cries out, jumping up from his towel and taking off after the runaway umbrella but it’s already too late. He watches in horror as the umbrella smacks an unknowing bystander right in the head and knocks him to the ground.

Yoongi runs over to him, the umbrella completely forgotten as it continues its path of destruction down the beach, probably knocking down a few more people and wrecking some sand castles.

“! Are you okay?” He asks, reaching out a hand to help the poor guy up.

“I’m okay,” the guy laughs (it’s a pleasant sound) and takes Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi yanks the guy to his feet and finally he’s able to get a good look at him. He’s still holding a palm to the side of his caramel head and when he looks up to meet Yoongi’s eyes Yoongi’s mouth drops open because woah this guy is freaking gorgeous. His skin is golden and his lips are curved in all the right places.

“I’m Yoongi,” he breathes and it doesn’t matter that he’s never actually introduced himself to a stranger like this before because his brain is short-circuiting and all he knows is that he can’t let this guy go without learning his name.

“I’m Hoseok.” The boy smiles, smiles like the sun, and Yoongi realizes maybe he doesn’t hate it so much after all.