37: Anchors Away

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Jimin's footsteps out the door are drowned out by the volume of a torrent of rain.

He opens the front door and sighs at the downpour, eyeing the distance from the safety of inside the house to the door of the car he's driving.

"Perfect," he grumbles in a whiny voice. "I've got no luck, and all is right in the world."

Happy to stay dry and warm inside, you languidly hold out a tiny umbrella to him, hanging it from one finger by the string attached to the handle. "Here. I found this in the living room."

He takes it from you, a less than grateful expression on his cute face, making his cheeks puff out. "Wow. Thanks."

He clicks the button, and a pink and yellow polka-dotted umbrella unfolds into a circle barely big enough to cover his head.

"Delightful," he sighs, with one last glance at the sea of rain. "Well...anchors away, I guess."

His boots clunk off of the hardwood floor, moving outside into the storm.

Then he's gone.

The water falls in a heavy, dense sheet that swallows Jimin whole, along with the bright burst of color that is his umbrella.

You stay at the door, peering into the dismal waterlogged scene, and wait until the sound of an engine cranking growls through the slats in between the streaks of rain.

A cold burst of wind shrieks in toward you, bringing with it icy cold raindrops. Grimacing you shut the door again and lock it against the onslaught.

You can hear the rain still pounding down on the roof from every place in the house. Usually, rain makes you feel cozy and warm inside, but when you're practically alone in a dark, unfamiliar house with echo-y floors and dark corners, it feels more like the setting of a horror movie.

You shiver and turn on every light in the house, except for the bedrooms.

As you flick on the last light in the hall, your stomach begins to growl loudly.

At least you have food now.

Peeking into Jungkook's room, you see that he's still asleep. The way he sleeps isn't like a normal person. Most people turn every now and then, shifting the blankets with the soft moving of the breathing chest.

Jungkook looks dead.

He doesn't move or shift, and the ever-slightest breaths that inflate his chest are barely noticeable unless you're looking hard.

Heck, maybe he is dead.

A tiny burst of panic floods your chest, but it's instantly extinguished when a little snore cuts through the silence of the room.

Your stomach answers in turn, growling loudly again.

Guess it's time for food.

Turning on your heel, you head back down the hall toward the kitchen, your soft footsteps padding lightly on the wood floors, making lonely echoes throughout he empty house.

The rain is painting the entire city monotone outside, and its steady pinging against the roof and walls are making you feel sluggish and lazy.

Slowly, you make two sandwiches with some of the stuff that Jimin left you. It seems like it takes forever to spread the mayonnaise on the bread, and to later on the meat and cheese and vegetables. Your body is moving at a snail's pace.

When you're finished, you balance both plates in either hand and clasp a small packet of chips between your teeth, returning down the path to Jungkook and his dark room.

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