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It’s a little bit too quiet in the house, even by Yeosang’s standards.
He’s just finished chopping the wood for the fireplace, despite them still being smack in the middle of summer. But he finds that he cannot bear his mate feeling even the littlest bit of discomfort. Especially not now.
The neatly chopped planks are tucked in the crook of his arm when he pushes through the heavy door, the soft sound of the afternoon wind billowing through being the only thing that greets him. Yeosang is used to a much more animated welcome whenever he returns home - be it from a hunt to replenish their food stock, or the various chores that occupy most of his time outside the house, so that they can have as comfortable a life as possible.
“Darling?” Yeosang cups the side of his mouth, trying to project his voice. “Are you in here?”
Nothing.
Yeosang furrows his brows as he sets the chopped wood next to the fireplace, trying to get a whiff of the air to see if he can sense the presence of his mate. It’s very faint, residual, meaning some time has passed.
Yeosang searches the kitchen first. The lights are off, and it’s empty. He then goes to the living room, and San isn’t anywhere to be found, not even on his favorite chair that Yeosang had specially built for him, from scratch using the wood of the trees on their territory, as an anniversary present.
Still nothing.
Yeosang purses his lips, starting to grow more worried with each passing moment. He would have known if something had happened, and eerily there are no sounds of distress, or the sound of anything at all. San could usually be heard humming some made-up tune, or shuffling around the house helping Yeosang get all kinds of random tasks that needed to be completed, done.
He decides that searching the rest of the first floor would be futile, since he can’t catch any glimpse or scent of his mate anywhere in the vicinity. So he makes an unhurried climb up the stairs, senses on high alert in case it warranted a more charged reaction.
Once he’s on the upper floor, Yeosang pauses in the middle first, raising his guard and feeling his own senses sharpen. He slowly filters out the subtle sounds and the mixture of scents until sure enough –
There he is.
He picks up on a more promising trail of San’s familiar pine scent, now mixed with a new note of some kind of wildberry. Yeosang presses on, feeling himself slowly relax when he’s sure that he cannot get any trace of distress in San’s scent.
Yeosang pauses at the doorway to their cosy nook when he hears music – a gentle crooning with lyrics that he knows his mate especially enjoys how tender it feels to the ears. San has always been inclined to a kind of tenderness that’s almost aching to feel. He peeks around the doorframe and in the corner of the room is the turntable, come alive. It was a housewarming gift from Mingi when they first moved into their home.
“Darling,” Yeosang whispers. His footsteps are soft as he pads in with socked feet, and as his mate’s scent grows stronger it calms Yeosang’s protective senses, altering it to something more affectionate.
San’s back is facing him as he sways lightly to the music, seated comfortably where he was. He appears lost in the melody, and it’s almost as if he doesn’t even sense Yeosang’s presence in the room despite possessing an equally acute set of senses too. San also has several of the pillows up to support his back while he remains relaxed on the daybed. Yeosang knows that he must have dragged some of the pillows from their room, nesting instincts at an all time high.
Yeosang takes his time to sit across his mate, watching the way San’s gaze shifted slowly from the turntable to look up at Yeosang. Yeosang turns halfway to adjust the cushions behind himself, finding a more comfortable posture befitting his preferences.
“I couldn’t find you downstairs,” Yeosang says oh so gently, “so I got worried. The house was way too quiet.” Yeosang then goes on to talk about the day he’s had so far, knowing that San was more than content to listen. And San listens patiently as ever to Yeosang’s mild annoyances, his own dreams and the like. He mixes in a bit of the mundane, and San’s smile never fades. Yeosang is probably his favorite conversational partner.
Besides another.
“How’s our little one?” Yeosang glances down at San’s belly. It’s not protruding a lot just yet, but the both of them have not procrastinated with their own plans. San isn’t showing so much for now, and in his oversized wool sweater, he looks extra cosy.
“Good,” San says, smile curling into something feline. “She’s been lovely,” he muses, rubbing at his belly gently, feeling the softness of the fabric over the growing softness of his own flesh.
“I’m glad,” Yeosang murmurs. “I only ever want the both of you to be happy.”
San’s eyes crinkle with an affectionate smile. He shifts a little bit on the daybed to grant Yeosang more space, and when Yeosang notices, he can’t help but grin lopsidedly back.
“Cramp,” San mutters after a while, and he stretches his legs out, tapping against Yeosang’s crossed legs. Yeosang doesn’t take too long to catch the hint, and he reaches over to gently pat San’s legs, massaging him gently, careful with each movement.
San giggles delightedly at the sensation, enjoying this feeling of being pampered by his mate. They savor the next few moments in relative silence, Yeosang content to help massage San’s leg, San feeling close to his mate with his legs gently resting against him.
Yeosang hums to the tune of whatever’s playing on the turntable, paying attention to San’s reactions, easing pressure where he needed. After San gently pulls away, signalling that he isn’t in so much discomfort as before, he shifts closer to rest against Yeosang. Yeosang lets San lean on him, though he’s got a pile of things that need to be done. He stretches out a hand to gently place on San’s belly, feeling something there. San then places a hand over Yeosang’s, the warmth making Yeosang feel all soft inside.
“Are you feeling alright? Unwell anywhere?” Yeosang asks, frowning as he gently rubs at San’s belly.
“No, no,” San chuckles, a hearty, louder sound. “I - we’re feeling great, wonderful, even, so thank you very much.”
“Good,” Yeosang exhales in relief. “I’ll do my best to keep it that way.”
“You’re already perfect,” San pouts as he leans over, setting down his pillow to gently slide Yeosang’s lips against his own. He can feel both the warmth of the sun's rays streaming through the window of their cosy nook, and San smiling against his lips.