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"They're back."
Seokjin, from his place underneath the satin sheets with Yoongi's lithe body clinging onto his thigh, the younger's chubby dumpling cheeks smushed to his pants with a pool of drool, flinched and visibly startled, looking up at Jimin with tired eyes. The events of the morning had drained him and Seokjin had found himself seeping gradually into unconsciousness. Although, upon registering the words Jimin had said, he sat up with carefully as to not disturb the slumbering boy hanging onto him.
"Where are they?" Seokjin asked. As much as he wanted Yoongi's tiny fists to hold onto him longer, he need to get out of the bed and make sure his husband and friend were alright. Gently untangling Yoongi's hands from his pants, Seokjin double checked he remained asleep when he tugged the blanket up to the small shoulder. He refrained from bending down to give a kiss, perhaps anymore physical touch could just retch Yoongi from his well needed rest and into a state of panic which was the last thing Yoongi needed.
"I heard something," Jimin said, standing up and looking through the tall glass windows. "I'm sure I did."
Charred and brassy clouds dominated the sky, the silhouettes of the skeletal trees shook relentlessly in the storm's angry gust and rolling booms of thunder reverberated overhead as heavy rain fell like bullets, welting the glass with such force Seokjin was left wondering how it hadn't cracked. The bitterly sweet scent of ozone had slithered through the tiniest slits in the closed vent but it was somehow still better than the musky fog of the city. Silently the two stood and watched the grisly weather continue its rampage, listening out, but nothing pushed past the deafening disorientated chaos of the thunderstorm.
"What was it?" Seokjin pondered, a speck of hope flickering low in his gut.
"I don't know," Jimin confessed, glancing at the elder. "It wasn't what we have been hearing, though. Sort of sounded like an engine but the car would be here now if it was."
"The wind is heavy and there are a lot of old trees in this forest, one could've fallen," Seokjin said, turning backwards briefly to check on his baby. His round ample cheeks were rosy with health and his breaths were neither shallow and stuttery nor panicky and harsh, but regulated and evenly soft.
"Maybe," Jimin murmured, toying with the silver chain fastened loosely around his neck, short stubby fingers shaking ever so slightly with nerves. Seokjin empathised, as he himself was struggling to remain calm with the situation. Each breath he took, every inhale, felt thick and heavy like the air inside the garden house was tighter and tighter and lesser and lesser than it had been just minutes earlier, and it was instead the storm taking place outside that would be his saviour. His lungs were aching and while Seokjin knew it was just the wreck of anxiety coursing aimlessly through him, it was like lard coating his organs and slowly filling up until he couldn't breathe at all. But Seokjin ignored it, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, because Jimin needed him now.
"It'll be okay, Jiminie," he promised, even though he wasn't sure if it would be okay himself.
Jimin appreciated the support silently, and the two stood there in comfortable quietness until a rustle behind them made them turn around. Yoongi was curled up in the blankets, lips smacking together drily, but he slept soundly and content in the midst of the raging storm, like the tiny garden house was the ball of light in dangerous darkness.
