The old countryside house creaked gently in the heat, its white paint sun-faded and peeling in a way that only made it feel more lived-in. Ivy crawled up the sides of the porch, and in the distance, the sound of bees buzzed over the flowerbeds Taehyung had planted back in spring—now wild and overgrown with marigolds, lavender, and sun-warmed mint.

The sun was heavy and slow in the sky, casting long rays that pooled over everything. The front yard shimmered in the light. Jungkook stood barefoot on the grass, the blades bending under his weight, freshly cut and smelling green and sharp. He wore nothing but a pair of pale, frayed jean shorts, his bare chest damp with sweat and dotted with tiny flecks of grass from earlier yard work. A long scrape on his shin spoke of a clumsy but passionate attempt to race the dog, who now lay panting beside him in the shade.

On the wraparound porch, Seokjin sat at a small wooden table with a large straw hat shielding his face. He wore a crisp linen shirt, soft blue and barely buttoned, sleeves rolled just above his elbows. A pitcher of cucumber water sat beside him, sweating heavily against the wood. He was slicing peaches with slow, deliberate movements, arranging the golden slivers on a plate in a perfect sunburst.

Inside, the house was cooler but still carried the weight of the day. White curtains fluttered gently at the windows, breathing with the soft breeze. Yoongi was sprawled across the daybed by the open window, one arm over his eyes. His tank top was dark with sweat down the center of his chest, his legs stretched long in loose pajama pants. A book was splayed open on his stomach, forgotten.

Namjoon leaned over the kitchen sink, rinsing fresh herbs—basil, rosemary, lemon balm. Water dripped down his forearms, catching in the rolled sleeves of his soft beige shirt. His glasses slipped to the end of his nose, and he squinted as he glanced up toward the back door.

"Did anyone water the tomatoes yet?" he called out, voice carrying like honey through the stillness.

Out back, Jimin and Hoseok were tangled in a lazy mess on the big picnic blanket spread beneath the pear tree. Jimin wore a cropped sleeveless top, the fabric tie-dyed and clinging slightly to his skin. He lay on his stomach, kicking his feet idly while reading a worn paperback. Hoseok was beside him, head resting on Jimin’s lower back, dozing, his tank top rucked up and shorts riding high on his thighs.

Taehyung, stretched out in the hammock strung between two thick oaks, held a disposable camera to his eye. He wore oversized overalls with one strap unclipped, a white tank underneath, his long hair tied back loosely with a red ribbon. His bare feet hung lazily off the edge of the hammock, toes swaying to the rhythm of the breeze.

"Niko, stay right there," he said softly, snapping a photo. "The light looks like it’s clinging to your skin."

His voice wasn’t rushed—none of them were. There was no schedule, no work, no expectations. Just this endless, golden afternoon, where even time seemed to sweat and stretch.

Jungkook turned, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching Niko with a slow smile.

"You look like you belong in a painting," he murmured, sweat glistening on his collarbones as the breeze ruffled his hair.

Namjoon appeared in the doorway behind them, chewing a sprig of mint absently.

"We’re making dinner outside tonight. Bring your appetite and… maybe a fan."

Laughter rippled through the house like wind through wheat.

This was summer. Slow. Sticky. Beautiful. Shared.