Chapter Text
Yoongi had never seen so much green in his life. Not the muted, dust-coated green of city parks trimmed by landscapers—but loud, stubborn, sun-drenched green that wrapped around the countryside like it didn’t know how to stop. It was July, and the air was thick with heat, buzzing with insects and the smell of cut grass.
His shiny leather boots —designed for nightclubs, not mud— sank into the soft earth the moment he stepped off the bus.
“Fuck,” he muttered, yanking his foot free with a wet squelch. The only other passenger, an elderly man with a wide-brimmed hat and suspiciously quiet laugh, tipped his head in a half-greeting as the bus rumbled away down the gravel road.
Yoongi stood there, sweating in his linen button-down, holding a suitcase that looked absurdly out of place. His sunglasses slid down his nose. His last lifeline to the city—gone.
Exile. That’s what it was. A punishment wrapped in inheritance.
His parents hadn’t taken his refusal lightly. “You won’t marry the daughter of Mr. Han? Then you can live in the house your grandfather left behind. In the country. With no allowance.”
No cell service. No car. No driver. Just… endless sky and the quiet hum of nature.
He squinted down the long dirt path that curved toward the farm. Supposedly it was only a 10-minute walk. He started trudging, muttering curses under his breath with every step. It was hot. The sun was oppressive. Birds were chirping too loudly. His suitcase wheel got stuck in the gravel.
It was going to be hell .
By the time Yoongi made it to the house, sweat soaked the collar of his shirt. He was so distracted grumbling to himself that he almost didn’t notice the figure crouched in front of the barn—until the man stood up.
Yoongi froze.
The guy was shirtless , jeans slung low on his hips, hands gloved and muddy, one arm hauling a bale of hay like it weighed nothing. His body was thick with muscle —not gym muscle, but hard-earned, work-in-the-sun muscle. Tattoos peeked out from beneath the rolled sleeve of his undershirt, and he turned his head at the sound of Yoongi’s approach.
Big brown eyes. A piercing on his lip. A scar along his collarbone. And a slightly surprised frown.
“You lost?” the man asked, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.
Yoongi adjusted his sunglasses and said coolly, “No. I’m supposed to be living here. Min Yoongi.”
The man blinked, and then something passed over his expression —a flicker of realization followed by faint amusement.
“Right,” he said. “You’re the fancy city guy that is moving in.”
Yoongi’s eyebrow twitched. “I prefer civilized guy”
“Sure.” The guy smirked and held out a hand. “Jeon Jungkook, the local Handyman.”
Yoongi stared at the offered hand, then slowly shook it. Jungkook’s grip was warm, strong, and calloused in a way that made Yoongi’s brain do something weird.
Not now.
“So,” Yoongi cleared his throat. “Where’s the house key?”
Jungkook snorted. “There’s no key. The door sticks though, so give it a solid kick on the bottom left corner.”
Before Yoongi could question that, Jungkook turned back toward the barn and grabbed another bale of hay like it was nothing. Yoongi watched him disappear into the barn, sweat sliding down his temple.
He’d been here ten minutes and already felt like an outsider in his own inheritance.
The house was… old.
Not in a charming, rustic way. In a creaky floorboards, questionably wired outlets, and smells-like-damp-wood way. Yoongi kicked the door exactly where Jungkook said, and it popped open.
It was a single-level house, two bedrooms, one bath, and a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 90s. There was a faded photo of his grandfather on the wall. The air inside was stale.
Still, it wasn’t as bad as Yoongi expected. It had potential.
He unpacked slowly, putting away his vinyl records and his beat-up keyboard, and tried to set up his laptop. No Wi-Fi. Of course.
He was halfway through rearranging the furniture in the living room —trying to make it feel less like a museum and more like his— when a knock sounded on the doorframe.
Jungkook stood there, shirt still off, holding two beers and a plastic container of… something.
“Figured you wouldn’t know how to cook,” he said.
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Rude.”
“Just practical.”
Jungkook stepped inside without asking, set the food down, and handed over a beer. The container smelled amazing—stir-fried vegetables, rice, and some kind of grilled chicken.
“You made this?” Yoongi asked suspiciously.
“Yeah. I cook sometimes.”
“You farm and you cook?”
Jungkook smirked again. “I also fix tractors, chop firewood, and give city boys heart attacks, apparently.”
Yoongi choked on his beer.
Jungkook laughed, leaning casually against the wall. “You’ll get used to it out here.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “You sound confident.”
“I’ve lived here my whole life. You’ll either hate it and leave… or you’ll settle in and never wanna go back.”
Yoongi looked at him, really looked this time. At the firm set of his jaw, the way he wore his small town like armor, the twinkle of something softer in his gaze.
“I don’t settle easily,” Yoongi muttered.
Jungkook just smiled. “Neither do I.”