credit: daequ
It’s a rarity to come home to a silent house. Silence means death, sometimes something even worse, and with the people who occupy this house — one knows they are anything but silent.
However, it’s a Tuesday night around eight when Yoongi steps through the front door, to a silent house. The door latches shut quietly behind him and his Nike’s squeak annoyingly against the hardwood until it reaches the carpet of the living room.
The living room is spotless, not a single toy in sight scattered around the TV or the coffee table, the toy chest stuffed full in the corner of the room.
There’s a full plate of food waiting for Yoongi in the microwave and a neon green post-it note stuck to the microwave door, a sloppily written We love you! scribbled in purple crayon — unmistakably in Jimin’s handwriting.
Something is incredibly off, and Yoongi narrows his eyes, trying to pinpoint any sound coming from anywhere in the house to give away that something.
He walks over to stand at the bottom of the staircase, training his ears to listen for any peep whatsoever and — ah, there it is.
A quiet thud comes from the kids’ bathroom upstairs, someone shushing someone else. Chuckling softly to himself and rolling his tired eyes, Yoongi makes it up the stairs, sight landing on the light bleeding out from underneath the bathroom door.
His knuckles lightly hit the wood of the door, opening it with a small smile on his face, thinking about the kids playing in the bathtub together, driving boats up each other’s arms.
Yoongi’s smile falters though as a bleary-eyed, red-nosed, wet-cheeked four-year-old leans against his husband’s chest; his big, pink, fluffy, hooded bunny towel wrapped tightly around his small, heaving frame.
Namjoon’s hands are cradling their son, fingers rubbing circles into his back, trying to calm him down.
“What happened?” Yoongi finally asks, fatigue kicking in after a long shift at the clinic. His son is his number one priority at the moment, though.
He steps into the bathroom, the air moist and warm from the shower or bath that was just taken not long ago. Namjoon sends a look his way; his eyes drooping due to exhaustion as he leans up against the cabinets under the sink.
Yoongi comes a little closer, almost missing the wet sounds coming from underneath his shoes. Looking down, the bathroom tiles are covered in what seems to be: every single fucking towel in the Min-Kim household.
Sighing, Namjoon shifts Jungkook slightly, making the boy whimper and stick a small fist out to tighten onto his dad’s wet t-shirt.
“I was giving Jungkook a bath and helping Jimin and Taehyung with their alphabet. I look away for one second—” Jungkook’s bottom lip juts out sadly, big doe eyes wide and teary. “Taehyung and Jimin thought it was a good idea to take Boram and flush him down the toilet, flooding the bathroom.”
Jungkook lets out a little sob at the mention of his beloved rubber ducky, gone forever, or so he truly thinks.
Yoongi leans over to look in the toilet, a big yellow, plastic duck butt sticking out from the hole in the toilet. It almost makes him want to burst into laughter because of how actually ridiculous the sight is — but he doesn’t, purely for his son’s incredibly upset face that creates a wrinkle in his heart.
