Yoongi has always spent most of his waking hours searching for the Dome : a vast city, bright and shining on the horizon -- should be easy to spot, no? No. Time is falling short; he and Kookie are growing weaker; resources are dwindling. Yoongi is d...
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"Hyung, it's been a month!"
"I know."
"What are the chances–?"
"I know."
"Then let's go back home, please hyung!" Jimin pleaded, desperate and teary. He clung to Namjoon's arm, grip tight against the elder's heavy cargo uniform. Each individual soldier had been sent to an A ranking tailor housed in Daegu. Troops had been measured and styled with textiles unlike any other outfit within the city. Then, the uniforms had merely been ugly, but during the mission, they clung to damp skin rendered sticky by sweat. All soldiers were uncomfortable, chafing beneath the arms.
Namjoon took in a weighted sigh; it wavered on the exhale. His eyes closed, eyelids fluttering with anxiousness and stress. Head lowered to the ground, he seemed to ponder.
"No," came out curt and strict. It was an order from the leader of Bangtan, impossible to ignore or refute.
A pained sob escaped Jimin as he harshly let go of his friend's arm, acting as if it had burned him. He stared in nothing short of rage at Namjoon for quite a long while. His once warm eyes had turned stone cold somewhere along with their rancid mission. A fire has been lit beneath him, akin to a futile passion. He wanted home. And home was what he was going to get. His hyung stared blankly at him, eyes empty, void of reaction, only igniting the younger further. Before Jimin could think against it, he pulled a resilient rubber-clad fist back, about to plunge it into Namjoon's gut.
As it came down, a second much larger hand came to pull at his forearm, preventing his fist from reaching its target. Jimin went to swing his fist back, aiming to clock whoever had stopped him. His hand met nothing but air until painfully smashing against the hard titanium shell of their aircraft. A hardly fazed whimper escaped Jimin's lips, the only proof of feeling being the quiver in his fading voice. His eyes still burned, scowling.
"Minnie, you have to calm down," Hoseok's voice filled the atmosphere. It fought hard against the constant whir of working propellers keeping the craft suspended in the air. He had successfully pulled Jimin's hand back, swiftly avoiding the harsh hit that would've made contact with his jaw.
A broken sob filled the air. Jimin crumbled to his knees, curled into a tight ball on the flat floor. He gasped repeatedly, the other's simply watching him with pained expressions. Namjoon soon knelt over, reaching a hand out to rub at Jimin's back. Spindly fingers dragged along the younger's spine, knocking up now and then whenever a disk was felt beneath the thick fabric of his uniform.
"We're all tired Minnie," came an empty voice from the cockpit. Jin had joined the conversation, one hand on the controls, another soothing at Taehyung's left shoulder blade. The younger sat beside him, twitching amongst the search and rescue instruments. Jin's bagged eyes never strayed from the grey ground, only flicking now and then with anomalies from heat waves radiating off the black aircraft. His lungs were empty and words exhausted, "Tomorrow we complete our tour of the outer rim. After that's done, we'll be able to use the jets and rush home in less than an hour."
