He is lost. There’s no denying it now, when all he can see is green. Well, there are two houses and the remains of a fence that’s covered in some sort of vine, but the rest is a canopy of pine. Even the road peters out, cracked and split by tufts of grass until there’s no asphalt left. Well .

He loves his grandma, he really does, but he doesn’t love visiting the remote village she lives in. All he does is sleep, whether it’s in the sweltering heat of his room or the sweltering heat of the living room (which usually leaves him with neck pain; he hasn't mastered the art of couch sleeping yet). And eat. A lot. He won’t complain (much) about that, but he's also a little worried about his figure.

She’d kicked him out of the house earlier in the morning to “explore the town,” but Jongin was cranky and uncooperative so he went in the opposite direction, feeling very smug and smart. But now he’s lost. And sweaty. And angry. He walks over to the fence and gives it a kick, muttering a string of curse words under his breath until a shout cuts him off. He doesn’t pay much attention, continuing his abuse of the splintering wood, but the shout comes again, something that sounds like “stop doing that, get out of there” but in a thicker country accent than his grandmother’s. He finally pauses, foot propped on the fence, when the source of the voice comes into view. Well . He's cute.

Jongin’s ears heat up, and he tries to rest his elbow on his knee, hoping he looks nonchalant and dewy like TVXQ in Summer Dream. The guy who shouts pauses, a look of confusion cutely scrunching his features. He’s in overalls, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows and gardening gloves on his hands. Jongin has no idea how he hasn't had heat .

He tries a smile, the corner of his mouth twitching when he feels the sweat drip down his back. The Cute Guy points to the vines again, which are bunched at Jongin’s foot and along the fence, stirring in the thick breeze. He also says something that sounds like “those grape trees are going to kiss you a rash,” which doesn’t make sense so Jongin just smiles wider and nods. Then he realizes…

“!” he yelps, jumping out of the vine patch and onto the goopy asphalt. He should’ve known better than to trample through unknown plants. Stupid city boy. But really, who can he blame but himself?

The Cute Guy looks a little amused. He comes over and squats, peering at Jongin's ankles, which makes Jongin balk and take a step away.

"You city boys,” the Cute Guy tsks, “Ivy got your tongue too?”

“English,” Jongin grumbles.

Cute Guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, sure."

“I— what? I can’t talk to you,” Jongin splutters. “I can’t speak Korean.”

Cute Guy frowns up at him. “You’re speaking Korean right now.”

“I mean I don’t know more than this!”

“I don’t see how this makes you soft,” the Cute Guy grumbles.

“What?” Jongin squeaks.

“Stop yelling,” the Cute Guy hisses. “You should go home and put on cucumber powder on your legs.”

“Cu..cumber powder?” Jongin asks.

Cute Guy snorts. “Just because you’re a city boy doesn’t mean you have to act so ignorant. I said oatmeal.”

“Oh!” Jongin squeaks. “Right. That makes more sense.”

Then Cute Guy is narrowing his eyes at Jongin and Jongin can’t figure out why. He gulps and tries to scratch his left ankle with the top of his sneaker but Cute Guy smacks his thigh. Ow. But also...that was kinda hot.

“Don’t bold it!”

“Huh?”

But then Jongin realizes Cute Guy actually said don’t scratch it and he blushes. “Right, sorry.”

“Go home and treat that,” Cute Guy says, finally standing up. And now that his face is so much closer to Jongin’s, Jongin can’t help but stare. His lips are ridiculously full and deep pink, and the little sheen of sweat above his lip looks cute. And then there’s the matter of his eyes, wide and wonderfully warm and very expressive. And also giving him a very confused look.

“Right. Okay. I’m leaving now,” Jongin squeaks.

Cute Guy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything else. He just waves and watches Jongin as he stumbles down the road because wow, his ankles are really itchy now. And his shirt is sticking to his back, and he’s just sweaty and grimy all over.

But thankfully his grandma is resourceful, as most grandmothers are. She clucks at him once she sees the red rash that has spread halfway up his shins, then fills up a bucket with warm water and oatmeal for him to dip his feet in. Which he does after he showers, because he needs to wash off before he sweats some more. Then he’s dunking his feet into the bucket, a sigh of relief taking the tension out of his shoulders as the oatmeal bath works its wonders.

Which means his thoughts inevitably turn back to Cute Guy. He doesn’t remember ever seeing him before, but Jongin was even less adventurous as a kid, so it’s not super weird. And he would never have forgotten a face that pretty. Jongin’s cheeks flush. But he’d also made a fool of himself in front of him. Maybe it’s best he just hides in his grandma’s house for the rest of the trip.

❂❂❂

But grandma has a different idea. She lets him wallow around the house until the rash clears up, then she’s waking him up early each morning, dragging him out of bed and throwing him out on the street so he can be a “grown up” and “familiarize himself with the town.” Usually Jongin just hides on the hanok porch that hangs off the side of the house, which isn’t really hiding and ends up being more work because he has to climb off and actually hide under it when his grandma comes near the window, but he’s just not that social. Thankfully, the neighbor to the left of the house is just a field of persimmon trees and the orange tabby that sleeps in them. He won’t tell on Jongin. Or so Jongin hopes.

But his ruse ends the day he falls asleep on the porch and his grandma catches him, splayed out on the warm wood floor and sweating in the afternoon heat.

So she invites someone over the next morning, when Jongin still hasn’t brushed his teeth or splashed his face with some water, when he’s still squinting his eyes because he hasn’t rubbed the sleep out of them. Which means, naturally, that the person his grandma invites is the Cute Guy. .

Jongin balks and runs back to his room, rubbing his face with his blanket and patting his hair down. Not that any of that is of much use. He still looks like a mess. But he doesn’t have much time to think about it because his grandma is barging into the room and dragging him out by his ear. She shoves him into the bathroom, prattling on about how rude he is, then walks out.

He has fifteen minutes to shower and get ready. That’s the time limit his grandma gave him. And he actually (miraculously) makes it, even though his hair is still sopping wet by the time he slides into the living room. Cute Guy is sitting by the open window, the heavy breeze ruffling his thick hair, and he looks at Jongin with startled eyes. Cute. Super cute.

“How are your legs?” Cute Guy asks.

“Legs?” Jongin stupidly repeats. “Oh, um. Good.”

“He’s not very talkative, is he, ahjumma?” Cute Guy asks Jongin’s grandma.

Wow. Rude. But his grandma is giggling at that. Wow. Double rude.

“He’s just shy,” his grandma says.

“I can’t speak Korean!” Jongin squeaks.

“Nonsense, Jongin, of course you can,” his grandma says, waving at him dismissively.

He grits his teeth but doesn’t press it.

“This is Kyungsoo, he can show you around town so you don’t sweat on my porch every day,” his grandma says.

Kyungsoo. Cute name for a cute guy. Jongin approves. And the smile that Kyungsoo is giving him right now is really sweet. So sweet it makes his knees kinda wobbly.

“I’ll keep him out of the ivy for you, ahjumma,” says Kyungsoo.

His grandma laughs and slaps Kyungsoo lightly on the shoulder. “You’ll take good care of him, I know it.”

But the town is so small the tour is over in two hours. And it only takes two hours because it’s so hot out they have to walk slowly, searching for shade whenever possible. Not that it makes much of a difference. And the walk is excruciatingly quiet. Kyungsoo occasionally points to a shop and tells him something about it, and every once in a while an ahjumma in capris will wave at Kyungsoo from her yard and he’ll return the wave while Jongin stands behind him, awkward as ever, hands in his pockets. Kyungsoo seems like he’s on the verge of speaking each time Jongin looks at him, but nothing. Awkward silence. It’s like Kyungsoo wants Jongin to start the conversation, but with Jongin’s toddler-style Korean, that’s not going to happen.

They end up in the smoothie shop with the faded (and outdated) Zico standee, drinking kiwi pineapple juice out of thick straws. They sit on the low wall across the street, the cicadas drowning out any efforts at conversation that Jongin wants to start. He does peek at Kyungsoo often though, just to look at his owl eyes, and to look at his pink, plush lips wrapped around the straw. Oops. No. That’s bad. Jongin gulps, fiddling with his own straw.

Once they’re done, it’s the slow walk back to his grandma’s house. Jongin drags his feet the whole time, trying to make a little tune out of the scraping of his sandals against the asphalt. Kyungsoo watches his feet for a while, but he doesn’t say anything. Jongin is pretty sure Kyungsoo smiles though. He’ll count that as a win.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

It rains for two days. Which Jongin is absolutely ecstatic about. In fact, when he wakes up the first morning and sees the downpour, he dances his way out of his room, and out of the bathroom, and into the kitchen (until his grandma smacks his side and tells him to stay out of her way). On the first day he sits on the porch with the orange tabby by his side, both of them content to watch the rainwater rush off the eaves of the roof for hours on end. On the second day, he lazes about in his room in his boxers, windows open to let in the cool breeze. The tabby follows him in and curls up on his backpack.

But on the third day, the rain stops. Jongin wakes up to the regular hazy sky and kicks his feet in protest. But that doesn’t make it rain. Bummer.

He still hopes he can somehow stay in, but after breakfast there’s a knock on his door.

“Yes?”

“Your grandmother sent me back here,” Kyungsoo says, poking his head into Jongin’s room.

And Jongin’s response is to groan. So much for staying in.

“She said you like peaches,” Kyungsoo continues, but he sounds a little grumpy.

Jongin peeks at him, and— yeah, that’s the face of someone who is offended. There’s a little furrow on his brow and he’s pouting. Great, now Jongin feels like an .

“I love peaches,” Jongin says, and he hopes he doesn’t sound like too much of a creep when he does.

The corner of Kyungsoo’s lips tugs into a smile. A tiny smile, but still a smile. It makes Jongin’s heart warm.

“Well, you’re going to try the freshest, juiciest peaches you’ve ever had, city boy,” Kyungsoo says.

Jongin sputters for a moment, because he wants to respond but his Korean always falters when he’s flustered. “Not city boy!” Well, he is a city boy but not a Seoul city boy, he’s a San Jose city boy, which definitely made a difference.

“Mhm,” Kyungsoo says with a smug smile.

Jongin doesn’t protest any more because that smug smile is actually kind of hot. So he just meekly shuffles out behind Kyungsoo.

The walk is in the opposite direction from the town center, down a paved but dusty road. That the dust is so ingrained in the asphalt despite two days of torrential rain is astounding to Jongin, but it exists there nonetheless, wedged between the creases of the road. Soon the road is enveloped in a canopy of pine, which keeps the sun out but the humidity in. It’s muggy and Jongin knows he’s going to be disgustingly sweaty by the time he gets home. He really hates summer.

But after a while the trees open up to the right, and the ripe, thick scent of summer peaches floods the air. Jongin takes a deep breath.

“Wow.”

“Wait until you taste,” Kyungsoo says, his cheeks dewy as he smiles.

Jongin wants to pinch Kyungsoo’s cheeks. Really badly. And maybe smoosh them a little and rub his nose against them. Okay, he needs to stop. Mostly because he’s been staring too much, but also because they’re almost at the peach grove.

A wizened man in overalls and gloves waves at them. Well, he’s waving at Kyungsoo, and Jongin does his usual hide-behind-the-shorter-person routine with an awkward half smile.

“Can we pick a few?” Kyungsoo asks.

The man nods and waves for them to take a bag, which Jongin does, but Kyungsoo promptly snatches it out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“You’re going to pick them,” Kyungsoo says.

There’s amusement in his voice and it makes Jongin’s ears burn. “I don’t know good fruit.”

“Eh?”

“How to...skip fruit?”

“What?” Kyungsoo scrunches his nose. Then, “Oh, you don’t know how to pick fruit.”

“Yes,” Jongin mumbles.

“Tsk, tsk,” Kyungsoo shakes his head. “It’s simple. Not too soft, not too hard.”

Jongin wants to tell him that it’s really not simple at all, but he’s also not trying to make himself look like too much of a fool so he settles for swallowing hard and approaching the most peach-laden tree. The branches hang heavy with fruit, the perfume so strong it makes Jongin feel like he’s going to smell like peaches for the rest of the summer. He thinks he’d like that.

He reaches for one that’s on the edge, then changes his mind and snakes his hand between the branches for one that looks extra plump. He gives it the gentlest squeeze, biting his lip in triumph when it feels just right. Well, he thinks it’s just right. He looks over his shoulder, blushing when he meets Kyungsoo’s eyes.

“You’re supposed to pick it, not feel it up,” Kyungsoo says.

That makes Jongin blush more, because he’d like to feel up Kyungsoo’s peachy , but he tries to stay serious and focused. He pulls, grunting when the fruit doesn’t budge.

“Don’t!” Kyungsoo squeaks. “Twist and pull, or else you’ll bruise it.”

Jongin’s ears are burning up. Just another box checked on the dumb city boy list, huh. He can’t not make a fool of himself in front of Kyungsoo. But he listens, twisting the fruit; he squawks when it pops right off the branch, almost dropping it in surprise.

“Whoa…”

Kyungsoo snorts, giggling when Jongin frowns at him. “Cute.”

Jongin balks. But then he gets over it because Kyungsoo just called him cute .

Now that he knows the trick, he gets a little too excited picking peaches. He fills the bag quickly, grimacing when a peach threatens to tumble out of the bag. Then he realizes Kyungsoo is about to pay.

“Hey! I was going to pay for this!” Jongin squawks.

“Why?” Kyungsoo asks, wrinkling his nose.

“B-because you’re younger than me!”

“I’m your hyung,” Kyungsoo says, raising his eyebrows at Jongin.

“No you’re not,” Jongin guffaws, but then he sees the Very Serious look on Kyungsoo’s face. “Wait, really?”

Kyungsoo’s answer is to hand the cash over to the farmer. Jongin blushes and twists the final peach off the branch without protest.

“I thought I was older,” he says meekly.

“ I am, you dummy,” Kyungsoo giggles.

“Well sorry ,” Jongin grumbles.

“Come on, don’t drop any of them,” Kyungsoo says.

He leads Jongin through the grove until they come out on the other side. They climb up a hill and sit down on a rock that crests it; Jongin places the bag of peaches between them.

Kyungsoo takes one out and rubs it against his shirt, then hands it to Jongin with a smile. And Jongin takes it with a smile. He feels so awkwardly bashful he doesn’t know what to do with himself. So he starts on the peach.

But holy  it’s super juicy. It drips onto his chin before he’s even realized what happened. Of course, Kyungsoo giggles at him. He whines, wiping the juice off his chin with the back of his hand but now he’s sticky all over. Great . It is the tastiest peach he’s ever had though, so he leans forward while he eats to let the juice drip onto pebbles. And then he stares at Kyungsoo. For peach-eating techniques, not for any other reason. Not at all. Nope.

But that’s a bust because he wants to kiss Kyungsoo now. He wants to know what it’s like to taste bruised peaches on Kyungsoo’s lips. It doesn’t help that the peaches are stupidly juicy, because it keeps glossing Kyungsoo’s lips, which makes things even worse because that means Kyungsoo’s tongue keeps darting out to his lips and ugh , Jongin wants to be the one those peachy lips.

Heat floods his cheeks. He really needs to stop being so obvious with his staring. Thankfully, Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“We should’ve gotten a water bottle,” Kyungsoo says, a fat drop of peach juice off of his latest bite mark. Jongin’s brain goes haywire.

“Huh?”

“Water bottle,” Kyungsoo repeats.

“Oh…why?”

Kyungsoo gives him an amused look, eyes flicking to the mess on Jongin’s chin.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

Kyungsoo giggles. Which means Jongin can’t stay mad. Obviously.

“How are we going to use all these peaches?” Jongin finally asks.

“Eat them with every meal, I guess,” Kyungsoo says with a shrug. “Or share them. I can take a few to my parents.”

Jongin nods at this. Very sensible. The peach fragrance must be affecting his brain because he’d definitely had a mini-meltdown thinking he was going to have to eat fifteen peaches by himself. Not his brightest moment.

“Come on, let’s head back. It’s going to get nasty hot out soon,” Kyungsoo says, pushing himself off the rock.

Jongin wants to whine that it’s always nasty hot, but he figures that’s going to earn him another comment about being a pampered city boy, so he stays silent and follows Kyungsoo down.

When they arrive, his grandma gives him a hug, sticky peach juice and all, for bringing such wonderful fruit.

❂❂❂

“Ice cream?” Jongin asks.

“Hm?”

“Want ice cream?”

Kyungsoo nods, but it’s a little absentminded. Jongin’s starting to realize that Kyungsoo is usually always zoning out, but it doesn’t bother him. It’s actually kind of cute, the way Kyungsoo’s big eyes stare, unfocused, at whatever happens to be in front of him. In this case it’s at the tabby, which has settled under Jongin’s window with a purr.

“So…let’s go?”

“Lead the way,” says Kyungsoo.

“I don’t know the way!” Jongin squeaks.

Kyungsoo giggles. Ugh, now Jongin’s flustered because he feels dumb but also because that apple-cheeked smile makes him want to give Kyungsoo smoochies.

“I should get an extra scoop for being the GPS,” Kyungsoo teases.

Jongin snorts. “Whatever you want, hyung.”

Kyungsoo preens at that. How ridiculously cute.

“If you don’t start walking now I’m going to leave you,” Kyungsoo says. Which he can only say because he’s already got a foot out of Jongin’s door and Jongin’s still sitting on his bed.

“ Oh come on !” Jongin huffs, scrambling to his feet.

Of course, Kyungsoo speed walks to the front door before Jongin can finish untangling his legs. Brat.

Their walk to town is more amicable this time. Still quiet, because Jongin refuses to make an out of himself, but the stolen glances and shy smiles between them make the walk feel shorter. And sweeter.

The ice cream shop doesn’t have too many flavors, which shouldn’t have surprised him, but he looks forlornly at the eight tubs of ice cream on display.

“I want mint choco chip,” says Kyungsoo, peering at the ice cream through the condensation on the glass.

“Oh, ew ,” says Jongin.

He pretends to gag, yelping when Kyungsoo punches his arm.

“Don’t make me tell your grandmother that you’re being a meanie,” Kyungsoo hisses.

Jongin bites back a giggle, flinching when Kyungsoo raises his fist again.

“Fine, I’ll be nice,” he finally splutters.

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at Jongin, but puts his fist down. The man behind the display gives Kyungsoo a pointed look.

“Order,” Kyungsoo says.

“What? No! You’re the hyung,” Jongin squeaks.

“But you’re paying,” says Kyungsoo.

Jongin whines and stomps his feet and pouts enough for Kyungsoo to pinch his arm.

“Such a baby,” he grumbles, but he orders for them: mint choco chip with an extra scoop for Kyungsoo, green tea with chocolate syrup for Jongin.

Bowls in hand, they sit in the corner booth, the glass barely cool against Jongin’s right elbow. He digs in, jiggling his knee in excitement. They’re both too engrossed in eating their ice cream to talk, just the clink of spoons against the bowls.

Kyungsoo is the one to break the silence. He says, “You really aren’t good at speaking, huh.”

And Jongin almost doesn’t catch that because Kyungsoo’s his spoon between words and his tongue is wildly distracting.

“I don’t speak much Korean,” Jongin mumbles. For the millionth time.

But now Kyungsoo is blushing, his ears red.

“I thought you were lying,” he says.

“W-what! Why?” Jongin splutters.

Now his ears are red, because why would Kyungsoo not believe him? Was it something his grandma said?

“I thought you were saying that because you’re a city boy and we have thick accents,” Kyungsoo murmurs.

“I’m from San Jose, not Seoul!” Jongin squeaks.

Kyungsoo guffaws. “ San Hoje ...Cali? America ?”

“ Yes !”

“Wah, no wonder I’d never seen you around before,” Kyungsoo says in a pensive voice, staring very intensely at his half-melted ice cream.

“Yeah, I stayed in pressure at my grandmother’s house,” Jongin says.

“You what?”

“Stayed...inside?” Jongin repeats, sounding it out in his head a few times for good measure.

“Oh. You’re a homebody,” Kyungsoo says, and he almost sounds pleased about that.

“Y-yeah, I guess?”

“That’s good, I like that,” Kyungsoo says, his voice barely a whisper. And…are his ears red? Is he blushing now? Oh, he is. Jongin bites his lip, his own cheeks warm now.

“A-are you a nati— homebody?”

“Sort of,” Kyungsoo says. “More than my brother, that’s for sure.”

“Brother?” Jongin asks. Kyungsoo hadn’t spoken much about his family. This was progress.

“He likes going out. With friends and stuff. Like drinking and all that,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s why he loves the city. This place was too small for him.”

Jongin heartily agrees. But then he stops himself. He’s not one to go out drinking either, but he likes that he can move around in San Jose. There are places to go, things to eat, people to see. He used to think this little village in rural Gyeonggi-do was a dump, but now he’s mature enough (and by now he means two weeks wiser than the Jongin that arrived for the current summer vacation) to appreciate this sleepy place. It’s a nice break from the rush and bustle of city life.

“He doesn’t live here anymore?” Jongin asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “He moved out to Seoul ages ago. He visits sometimes. Not a lot though.” He shrugs.

“I have two noonas,” Jongin says. Because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows. “They don’t visit?”

“The older one lives in Seoul,” Jongin says. “The middle one has a business in San Francisco.”

“Oh,” says Kyungsoo. “That sounds nice.”

“I get free hot chocolate,” Jongin hums.

Kyungsoo giggles at that. “Such a baby.”

They finish up the rest of their ice cream in silence, then step out into the muggy afternoon.

“I hate summer here,” Jongin whines. He looks over at Kyungsoo, who is about to say something. “Don’t!”

“What?” Kyungsoo guffaws.

“I know you’re going to say ‘city boy’!” Jongin says with a pout.

Kyungsoo’s smile is smug. “There are ways to cool down.”

“Ice cream should’ve helped,” Jongin grumbles. He scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the sidewalk and bumps his shoulder against Kyungsoo’s when the shorter snorts.

“Let’s go to the movie theater, they have stronger AC,” says Kyungsoo.

“What are we going to watch?” Jongin squeaks.

“Does it really matter?” Kyungsoo asks.

“I guess not,” Jongin mumbles.

Luckily, the theater is not too far from the ice cream shop; a short walk down the main street leads them to the rectangular awning, the poster for the latest summer flick stretched out above them. Kyungsoo pulls him to the ticket window.

“Everything here is so old,” Jongin murmurs.

The guy behind the counter gives him a dirty look, which Kyungsoo laughs at. Wow. Jongin feels betrayed.

“Oh look, let’s do that one,” Kyungsoo says. He points at the sign, and Jongin thinks the movie title has something to do with jesters and games, so he just shrugs.

Kyungsoo pays for the tickets (even after Jongin practically throws a tantrum), then acquiesces and lets Jongin pay for the nachos and soda. But Jongin won’t let him live this down, so he keeps grumbling all the way to their seats until Kyungsoo abruptly turns around, grabs Jongin’s face in his hands, and presses a really messy wet kiss on Jongin’s nose.

“W-what was that for?” Jongin squeaks, his face all red and hot.

Kyungsoo grins. “I wanted to see if that would get you to stop complaining.”

Jongin gulps. It certainly made his knees weak, and for a split second Jongin thought Kyungsoo was going to kiss kiss him and that made his heart almost leap out of his chest. It was still racing. And he also almost drops the nachos, but Kyungsoo is faster, taking the tray from Jongin’s hands and sitting down.

They eat the nachos before the movie starts, which is kind of a bummer but they were good and Jongin is perpetually hungry. Kyungsoo twines their fingers together and rests his head on Jongin’s shoulders, which almost makes Jongin squeal in delight. He controls himself though. Mostly. He rests his cheek on Kyungsoo’s head and starts to Kyungsoo’s hand with his thumb.

And wakes up almost two hours later to Kyungsoo’s giggles.

“What happened?” he murmurs groggily.

“You fell asleep for the whole movie, that’s what,” Kyungsoo snorts, brushing hair away from Jongin’s forehead.

Well, that explains Jongin’s stiff neck. He groans and stretches then slumps in his seat and sighs.

“The temperature was perfect for a nap,” Jongin sighs.

“Let’s get you home,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle.

“Not yet,” Jongin whines.

A beat of silence.

“You could come to my house,” Kyungsoo says.

Jongin chokes on his spit. Oh great, always making a fool of himself.

“That wo