Chapter Text
Only a day and a half into his vacation, and Seokjin was bored. The city of Salou was beautiful, the air smelled fresh with the slight tang of salt from the sea, and of course the wine was delicious, but Seokjin was still bored.
This vacation, three months of wine tours across the spanish countryside had been meant for two. But two days ago, he’d found himself single. Boarding a plane alone, the seat next to him empty, and the king sized bed in his hotel room were all reminders of a love he’d thought would never end but had slipped so easily from his grasp.
So, that’s how he found himself overlooking Llevant beach from a restaurant patio, eating his early dinner consisting of a salad made of weeds picked from a roadside, and a seared fish that still had eyes. He was never letting a waiter pick his food for him again. He only knew enough spanish to ask where the bathroom was and what wine to order so it was going to be a very long three months.
“Should have just gone to one of the tapas restaurants I saw,” Seokjin sighed to himself. No, he had wanted to go for something more authentic and the guide from the wine tour had set up the reservation weeks ago for him. Of course, it had been a reservation for two and the empty plate across the table was mocking him.
Seokjin resolved to find his own place to eat in the morning, maybe one of the small bistros further down. Hell, he’d even seen a McDonalds on his walk earlier, at least that was familiar. He supposed the idea of going to a foreign country was to eat new things, but there was a limit to Seokjin’s ability to try new things. Everything about Spain was already a culture shock.
It’s not like he’d never traveled before, he’d been to Japan and a few of the south east asian countries, even made a trip the States once. But Europe was new for him, and he’d made this trip with someone who had been fluent in spanish and the culture that he wouldn’t have been so lost. Well, he felt lost either way, and not just because he was in a foreign country.
After he was done with his meal, he crossed the small road to head onto the beach. The sun was still above the horizon, not due to set for a few hours. It had been a rather mild day, not too cold for beachgoers, but not hot enough that the entire town was cooling off in the water.
He meandered along the promenade, avoiding the couples who were walking side by side at their ridiculously slow paces. There were a few buskers singing in spanish with guitars or drums or nothing but their own voices. Seokjin only lingered long enough to be polite before moving on. He considered getting closer to the water, but he would be too tempted to dive in and since he had no towel or change of clothes handy, he stayed to the walkway and looked at the waves from afar.
As he walked, he noticed a man sitting just off the promenade, a folding stool squished into the sand, a canvas on an easel that threatened to tip everytime a strong breeze rolled in off the sea. Seokjin had seen a few other artists capturing the likeness of the beach and the waves, but as Seokjin slowly passed by, he could see the artist was painting the people, the scene on the beach in front of him.
Curious, Seokjin stopped and watched each stroke of the brush laid with practiced ease. Tiny dots of color that by themselves held no resemblance until they were paired and layered with more colors and shapes and a figure was built before his eyes. One moment it was unrecognizable, the next, a boy running with a bucket. Or a man laying down on a blanket reading a book, or a woman treading into the waves, holding a hat flat on her head to keep it from blowing away.
“Wow,” Seokjin hummed, not realizing he’d said that loud enough for the painter to turn and look at him. The man was gorgeously tanned, a broad hat hiding his eyes but slowly lifted up as he looked Seokjin up and down. Seokjin was met with sharp eyes of a fox and a blinding smile.
“Wow?” the painter echoed. “Not often I hear korean on this beach.”
Seokjin opened his mouth then closed it, and couldn’t help the small guffah of a laugh. “No?” he managed to say, still surprised to hear his native tongue.
“No,” the painter echoed. “So, holiday or business?”
“Ah, holiday,” Seokjin said. “You?”
“Live here actually,” the painter said. “Kim Namjoon. Been living here about three years now.”
“Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” Seokjin said, bowing slightly. “Kim Seokjin.”
“Likewise, Seokjin,” Namjoon said. “You here with your family then?”
“No… just me,” Seokjin said, looking out at the beach again. “All alone.”
“That’s no good,” Namjoon said. He was packing up his things, washing his brushes in a glass jar full of murky fluid and closing the lid on his portable palette. “Vacations are supposed to be shared, no fun if you do it all by yourself.”
Seokjin hummed in agreement, watching Namjoon carefully pack up his painting in a protective case. “Well, I do agree, not exactly here alone by choice.”
“No?” Namjoon looked up at him again, his eyes narrowed, calculating. “I see. In that case, why don’t you join me tomorrow for lunch? I’d be happy to show you around.”
“Oh, I um… have an itinerary,” Seokjin said with a laugh. “Wine tour. First stop is tomorrow in um...Monstant? Then it’s on to Valencia… I think.”
“Wine tour hm,” Namjoon chuckled, getting to his feet. Seokjin backed up unconsciously, not realizing how much taller, how much bigger Namjoon was now that he was standing. “Not worth the money. The real wine tour, is the one where a local takes you to the best vineyards, shows you what a real Spanish wine is.”
“Isn’t any wine made in spain, real Spanish wine?” Seokjin asked with a small laugh. “I paid good money for this wine tour.”
“Money wasted,” Namjoon said, grabbing a pen from his shirt pocket. Taking Seokjin’s hand, he scribbled on the back of his hand before letting go. “If you change your mind, that’s my number. I can show you a better time, and speak your language.”
Seokjin blinked a few times down at the numbers marked in black ink on his hand. That did sound appealing. Particularly the language part. And the part where Namjoon looked hot as hell even in his too big of an unbuttoned shirt and white tshirt and his cut off shorts that showed off his thick tanned thighs. Not that Seokjin had been ogling him or anything.
“Um, I’ll think about it,” Seokjin said. He didn’t imagine the way Namjoon was looking him up and down again, but it wasn’t a predatory or sexual look, but critical.
“I hope so,” Namjoon said, looking into his eyes again. “I’d love to paint you, Seokjin. Call me.”
Seokjin was too stunned to know what to say, just watched Namjoon gather up his things and saunter away. He hadn’t been serious, had he?
Through the rest of the night and into the morning, Seokjin did his abject best to not think of the painter and his seductive smile and focus on what he had traveled thousands of miles to do: drink wine.
The tour party met early the next morning to head out to their first stop, piling into a beat up bus. Seokjin was nonplussed that an expensive trip like this was to be embarked on in something that looked like it had been salvaged from a Mad Max movie. Painted a hideous looking red to cover the rust, there was no air conditioning, it smelled of sweat and dirty and the only bright spot was that the seats had been recently reupholstered.
Seokjin could feel the other tour members were wary of him, didn’t try to include him in conversation. He knew passable enough english to tell that they were saying some things he’d rather not know the meaning of. Another reminder that going on this trip alone probably hadn’t been a good idea.
The tour guide didn’t like the fact that Seokjin wouldn’t put his suitcase with the others, kept a tight handle on it and squished it between his knees and the seat in front of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust these strangers in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language and would have no way of finding his belongings if they were lost or stolen, but… yeah. He wasn’t letting anyone but himself take care of his things. Even if that meant carting it around in the winery. This did not endear him to the other tour guests, and he’d likely be subjected to these stares and whispers the rest of their trip.
Three months was a long time.
The tour through the vineyards and the wine tasting was pleasant enough, Seokjin letting his mind wander as he sampled the merlots and the grenache, enjoying the diverse tastes one vineyard could produce. He forgot the name of the place, but he’d have to remember to buy a bottle and send it home so he and-
Blinking a little, Seokjin took stock of where he was, on a patio overlooking the mountains in the distance and the rows of vines that wound their way along the hills. It was late afternoon, nearing dinner, and the group was supposed to be heading to the town to get to their hotel and eat dinner to get an early start the next day.
Seokjin wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing out on the patio, getting lost in the scenery and his own thoughts, but it struck him he hadn’t seen anyone from the tour in a while. Pulling out his phone, he breathed out a curse and headed back inside. He was supposed to meet the group back at the bus a half hour ago and was surprised no one had come to tell him off for making them late.
Hurrying through the rooms of the winery, he could see their tour guide ahead who was looking at him in alarm. He couldn’t remember the girl’s name, and by how wide her eyes were he knew he was fucked. “Tour?” he said, hoping she knew as much english as she did.
The girl shook her head, her smile sympathetic. She motioned toward the doors that led to the drive, but Seokjin could see from there that the big red bus was gone. They’d left him. They’d left him alone in a strange country with no idea of how he was to get anywhere. Not only did he have very little local currency on him, but he had no idea where the group was heading to next. He hadn’t bothered keeping the itinerary on him since he would be with the group and he couldn’t read spanish anyway.
Dejectedly, Seokjin rolled his suitcase towards the door and walked out to the empty drive. Empty. Gone.
Nearby, a bee eater was laughing at him, and frankly Seokjin would be laughing at himself too if he didn’t believe he was going to get robbed and murdered out in the spanish countryside.
Looking down at his phone, his eyes caught the edge of the black in that was still etched into the back of his hand. No amount of scrubbing had got the ink off of his skin the night before, and now, he was kind of glad he hadn’t washed the number off.
Somewhere, someone had to have been looking out for him to present hopefully a savior for Seokjin in his ultimate hour of need. Of course he could go back inside and stumble his way through a game of broken english charades with the tour guide to help him but since he had no clue what kind of help he needed right then, someone who he could understand might be able to offer him some advice. At the very least help him get to the next stop of the tour to find the rest of the group.
The sun hadn’t set yet, so Seokjin wasn’t worried about waking Namjoon (unless he was one of those who kept odd hours), so he tapped his foot anxiously as he wanted for the other to pick up the phone.
“Hello?” The voice from the day before was clear, rich, dark and beautiful, and Seokjin promptly forgot who he was and why he was calling at the sound. “Hello?” Namjoon repeated.
“Hi, Namjoon? This is Seokjin, we met yesterday?” Seokjin rushed to get out when his brain caught up.
There was a brief silence on the other end before Namjoon laughed a little. “Ah, yes, Seokjin,” he said and Seokjin could hear the smile in his words. “This is a surprise, I didn’t think you would actually call.”
“To be honest I didn’t think I would either but I’m in a bit of a situation and I don’t know what to do,” Seokjin said. “The tour group left me at the winery. I’m stranded.”
Another long pause of silence and Seokjin pulled the phone back to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped.
“Oh, well that is an unfortunate situation,” Namjoon said. “How can I help Seokjin?”
“Um, well, I was hoping maybe you could help me figure out how to get to the next stop on the tour, and maybe a ride?” Seokjin asked, his tone hopeful.
“I knew you would be trouble, I just didn’t think it would be this kind of trouble,” Namjoon laughed. “Alright, I can’t exactly leave one of my countrymen stranded in the wilderness. Where are you?” Seokjin told him the name of the winery as best as he could pronounce, and Namjoon let out a groan on the other end. “What’d I say about the pretentious wineries hm? You’re not far from me, I’ll be there in half an hour. Try not to get eaten by a badger before then.”
“I’ll be fine,” Seokjin huffed. “Wait, badgers eat people?”
The workers at the winery were kind enough to let Seokjin sat inside as he waited, the sun was setting and the bugs had been attacking him mercilessly. He at least bought a bottle of wine to give to Namjoon as repayment and that appeased the workers enough to leave him alone.
When hte lights of a beat up pick up truck hit the door and turned to park in front of the entrance, Seokjin was sure it was Namjoon. He could see the painter was squinting towards the doors and looking around in case Seokjin was outside. In the dim light, Seokjin was reminded of how good the man looked. He wasn’t wearing a hat this time, and Seokjin was surprised to see long blond hair swept back into a ponytail. Oh, the bohemian look always did something Seokjin, something about tangled fingers in long hair.
Pushing aside thoughts of how it would feel to grip those bond locks, Seokjin pushed open the door and stepped out, waving and bowing to the workers first before hurrying to the truck.
Namjoon was climbing out, slamming the door closed and held out his hand for Seokjin’s suitcase. “I see you at least kept your luggage,” he teased, hoisting the suitcase into the back of the truck. “You sure this wasn’t planned?”
“Of course not,” Seokjin said, wrinkling his nose. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving my suitcase in that bus and if you’d have seen the bus you’d have understood.”
“Don’t blame you, some of those tours are pretty shady,” Namjoon said, leaning against the side of the truck, looking Seokjin up and down. “So, you said a ride, but not where to.”
Flummoxed, Seokjin cast his gaze about the hills and trees for an answer, but really, he had none. He’d been trying to think of where to go the entire wait but he just didn’t know. “Um, the nearest hotel I guess?” he said. “I’ll have to figure out how to get back with the group in the morning, but somewhere to sleep and shower would be nice.”
“I wouldn’t feel right just leaving you at some hotel with no idea of where you’re going,” Namjoon said. “Tell you what, why don’t I take you home with me, I’ve got an extra bed and a shower.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t, a ride is more than enough,” Seokjin said. “I don’t want to give you any trouble.”
“I think you’re a little late for that,” Namjoon said with a smirk. “Get in, this isn’t up for debate.”
Seokjin felt a little uneasy about climbing into the truck, but Namjoon’s demeanor and smile were so disarming. Plus, it wouldn’t be so bad spending time with the painter would it?
The drive was mostly silent, Seokjin not wanting to distract Namjoon on the winding roads at dusk. Deer and other creatures were active in spring, catching a driver unawares on the blind curves. Night settled in by the time Namjoon turned onto a dirt drive and Seokjin leaned forward a little see a large looking building looming.
“Looks like a castle,” Seokjin murmured as they slowed to a stop. “Where are we?”
“This is home,” Namjoon said, opening the truck door and climbing out. Seokjin was taken aback, needing a second to comprehend that before scrambling to get out himself. The truck lights dimmed but Seokjin’s eyes adjusted to the lone yard light soon enough to walk around without hurting himself. It wasn’t enough to fully illuminate the building, which could have just as easily been a church, and may well have been for all he knew.
“It was a school,” Namjoon said, lifting Seokjin’s suitcase out of the back and motioning for Seokjin to move towards the small fence and gate. “Late nineteenth century. Wasn’t a school for long, abandoned within a few years of being built and was left to rot until someone rehabilitated it in the mid twentieth century.”
Seokjin hummed in acknowledgement, still looking up at the building’s brick work as they moved closer. “Why was it abandoned?”
“Not sure, lack of funds probably,” Namjoon said, opening a door and letting Seokjin go in first. “Spain had several wars back to back and lost a lot of their territory to the Americas around that time. There weren’t any official documents saying why, and if there were, the local clerk’s office didn’t have them.”
“Shame,” Seokjin murmured, ducking inside. Namjoon led him from the entryway into a large open living area that was a mishmash of books and canvas and dilapidated furniture. “Oh, wow.” He could hardly take in all the art on the walls and leaning up against furniture or stacks of books. There were portraits and pencil sketches floating free in piles or rolled up or fallen to the floor.
Paint and pencils and charcoal littered surfaces. Jars with paint brushes in them dotted tables and chairs and Seokjin was a little afraid to touch anything, like it was a giant rube goldberg device ready to go off at the gentles of breezes.
“Sorry about the mess, I don’t have company other than my neighbors often,” Namjoon said, setting Seokjin’s suitcase down in the middle of the floor. “Uh, you hungry? I could see if I’ve got something to make. Might have to make a run.”
“You cook?” Seokjin raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think artists fed themselves let alone cook.”
Namjoon laughed, his bright smile back and he cast a look towards Seokjin that nearly took his breath away. “I didn’t say I could cook, but I can keep myself fed well enough.”
“Ah… well let’s look together then?” Seokjin said, feeling a little brave. “I know my way around a kitchen, and making dinner would be a poor repayment, but I did bring wine.”
“Can never have too much wine,” Namjoon nodded, motioning for Seokjin to follow him. Seokjin picked his way around the mess and followed Namjoon into a kitchen that was surprisingly clean, though if Namjoon was serious about not being a cook then he probably didn’t spend too much time in it.
Seokjin was more at home in this kitchen than he had been this entire trip so far,, easily finding what he needed until he was pushing Namjoon out of the way to go sit.
“So, Seokjin,” Namjoon said, sitting at a barstool up against the counter. “Why Spain?”
“I could ask you the same,” Seokjin replied, glancing over at him as he worked on cutting up some onions.
“I asked first,” Namjoon said, resting his chin in his hand. “I’ll share if you do.”
Pursing his lips, Seokjin went back to what he was doing. “I was supposed to be travelling the countryside with my… partner. But we broke up the day before we were supposed to leave.”
“Sorry to hear that, mutual decision?” Namjoon asked and Seokjin could feel the man’s eyes on him.
“More or less,” Seokjin shrugged. “I guess we just… fell out of love.”
“End of a love affair is a painful thing,” Namjoon said. “But, I’d say going on an excursion into another country to forget them was a good idea.”
“Well, it was already paid for, and I had the time off so didn’t see why not,” Seokjin said.
“What is it you do then?” Namjoon asked.
“Oh no, you promised an answer, quid pro quo,” Seokjin said, pointing the knife in his general direction. Namjoon laughed, holding his hands up in defeat.
“Careful, wouldn’t want to hurt your host now would you?” Namjoon said, eyes locking with Seokjin’s making him turn away again. “But if you must know, I came here to get away.”
“From anything in particular?” Seokjin frowned. It seemed such a non answer to him. Getting away was what he was doing, but Namjoon had been here for years as he’d said.
“Life, I guess,” Namjoon said. “Responsibilities. You may not look at me and see the son of a well to do politician, but well, here we are.”
Seokjin blinked and looked over at him. “Ah, so a silver spoon?”
“So they say,” Namjoon inclined his head slightly. “I won’t make any bones about the fact that I am living a privileged life because of my family, but I’ve long since stopped taking their money. I sustain myself here.”
“With your art?” Seokjin wasn’t sure how well his pieces would do in Seoul, too loose and cerebral for the critics who treated art as any other field of study: something to perfect.
“You seem surprised,” Namjoon hummed. “Well, art is a bit of it, I also give art classes. I’m not well off, but I do get by.”
“Seems like an easy life here,” Seokjin said. “Not have to worry about much.”
“I wouldn’t say that, but life here is slower,” Namjoon nodded. “Seoul was stifling for me. Constantly worried about what others thought of me, trying to fit in when I didn’t want to. Pressures of being an heir to a political dynasty. I never wanted that life.”
“Can’t imagine your parents are happy about you running away,” Seokjin said. He was focused more on the food prep, but he chanced a look over to Namjoon who was staring down at hte counter with a smirk.
“They were happy to see me go,” Namjoon said after a moment. “Packed my bags for me, bought this place and the land, told me not to come back.”
Seokjin frowned slightly at that, but the way Namjoon was looking he figured it was best not to press the matter. He was a guest, they didn’t know each other and Seokjin had no right to his private matters.
Finishing up the meal in silence, Seokjin plated up what he had made and set one of the plates in front of Namjoon. “How long’s it been since you’ve had homemade korean food?” he asked, smiling when Namjoon finally looked up at him.
“Ah, a week?” Namjoon grinned. “My neighbors, they’re korean. They usually keep me fed.”
“Small world to have familiar faces in neighbors,” Seokjin said, poking at his plate with a fork. He pushed away from the counter to retrieve the bottle of wine he’d bought and found two glasses. Uncorking the wine, he poured himself a glass.
“Yoongi is a friend of mine, he moved out here shortly after I did, with his husband,” Namjoon said, meeting Seokjin’s eyes. Seokjin knew what he was doing, gauging his reaction at that tidbit of information.
“You know, the reason we chose Spain, for our vacation?” Seokjin said, pouring a glass for Namjoon. “We were supposed to get married.”
Namjoon’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion at that. Probably confused at the turn of conversation.
“It’s a beautiful country to get married in,” Namjoon said, his hand folding over Seokjin’s when the glass was handed to him.
“That’s what he said,” Seokjin said. “Helped that marriage was legal for us here.”
Namjoon’s lip quirked at the corner, his hand curling around the glass to take it firmly so Seokjin could pull back. “Odd that you would fall out of love before your wedding.”
“Easy to do so when you find out he’s been cheating on you,” Seokjin said mildly. “And that the only reason he was with you was because you had money, not that he was gay.”
Eyes widening, Namjoon leaned back a little at that. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry Seokjin.”
Seokjin shrugged, sipping at the wine and humming at the taste. “Coming to Spain to drink wine wasn’t a hard decision after finding that out. Though I wish the tastings were more about the drinking than tasting.”
Namjoon laughed softly at that, picking up the wine bottle to refilled Seokjin’s glass. “Maybe we should make a toast.”
“Alright, to what?” Seokjin held up his glass.
“To new beginnings, and new friends?”
“I think I can drink to that,” Seokjin nodded, touching the edge to Namjoon’s when he held up his own before taking a longer sip. Seokjin thought the cava he had chosen was a fitting drink for the toast, even if it didn’t go with the meal. A bit of sparkling wine was definitely the right choice for new beginnings.