TAEGI SMUTS [ᵃᵒ3]

Artillery Lane

Ao3 by - dionseok (vorejutsu)

Summary:

Yoongi didn’t respond, blinking slowly and tipping his head back for a moment before letting out a sigh. Taehyung felt more frustration bubbling up as he saw him struggling to hold back his tears, wishing he had bit his tongue before yelling at him.
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The tone of the muted London painting was disrupted by a loud gregarious clap of thunder. Rain poured down over the city with a roar, each almond drop smudged the image, rendering it watery, like a reflection in a rippled puddle. Taehyung clicked his tongue, burying his face deeper into the warm scarf shielding his neck from the stinging cold air, feet discretely speeding up over the sidewalk. Soon, rivulets ran down the grey stone walls and gushed over the tops of his soft leather shoes. He glanced around at the familiar street from under the black panama hat that covered most of his face.

Red double-deckers and black cabs rumbled through the busy London roads, as umbrella bearing pedestrians flowed from both sides, occasionally bumping into his shoulder. In this painting they moved so randomly, pushing against one another, flowing, like rain. They moved in the circles of their own lives, hundreds of inhales and exhales passing him, with different goals and identities, blissfully oblivious to each other. Oblivious to him. His goal. His identity.

Old street lamps glowed in the living darkness as he rounded into a narrow ally, barely wide enough for two people. He slowly approached the end of the ally where their apartment was, a soft glow seeping from the window of a small vintage shop and the cosy bakery next to it, coating the brick walls with a faint golden shade.

Taehyung climbed the metal stairs, cold fingertips hurriedly slotting the keys in place as he reached the door. His palm stung as he twisted the freezing door knob, entering the warmth of the small entryway with a sigh. He locked the door, making sure the key clicked twice before toeing his shoes off, neatly tucking them inside one of the shelves. He dropped his heavy messenger bag to the floor next to the oak shoe cabinet.

His husband silently padded to the door, dragging his fuzzy white socks across the brown floor vinyl. Taehyung hung his hat and trench coat on the coat hanger to his left, feeling the shorter man wrap his arms around him in a warm embrace, resting his ear against his heartbeat, brown fluffy hair tickling his chin.

“Welcome home.”

He hugged him back silently, briefly, taking in his cedar and blackberry scent mixed with a hint of the coffee he must have been drinking all day. He felt the velvety fabric of his pyjamas under his cold fingertips for a split second before pulling back and making his way past him into the living room. Words and eye contact forgotten, his brain deeming them not on the list of priorities amongst the flood of thought clouding his mind.

He plopped on the couch with a barely audible groan, resting his feet on the low coffee table. Half-full papers and a black fountain ink pen discarded in a messy manner, probably where his husband was sat writing before Taehyung’s return. Finally being blanketed in the homey scent of cedar and coffee feeling the warmth from their fireplace caress his numb nose felt heavenly. It was quiet, with hardly any sound but the flames in the fireplace curling and swaying, flicking this way and that, crackling as they burned the dry wood into char. He wished his mind was as quiet. His eyes fell shut, as he tried to clear the worries of the long work day and the loud bustle of London away from his ears.

He felt the couch dip beside him, a warm hand resting on his cold one.

“You should change. Shall I run you a bath?” Yoongi asked, the husk in his voice blending with the crackling ambience around him.