LostSole
Registered User
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2024
- Messages
- 41
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- 18
The wind howled like a distant banshee, its haunting wails brushing against the windows with a restrained ferocity that seemed to taunt the fragile divide between the sheltered and the chaos outside. On the horizon, Hurricane Melvin loomed, its relentless advance turning the sky into a seething cauldron of dark, menacing clouds, swirling with the promise of impending doom.
Inside the small, dimly lit house, the air was thick with tension, a palpable weight pressing down on every breath. Mason moved with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation, his steps quick and sharp as he darted between the kitchen and living room. His arms were piled high with supplies—water bottles, flashlights, batteries, and the spare portable charger, still wrapped in its box from the bottom drawer. The frantic rustle of plastic and clatter of gear echoed the storm's growing fury outside. Every noise seemed louder in the oppressive silence, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable chaos to descend.
Mason’s wiry build belied his strength, the kind of quiet power earned from endless hours spent pounding the city pavement on his morning jogs. His muscles, taut with anticipation, seemed to vibrate with a nervous energy, as if every fiber of his being was wound tight, ready to react to the slightest provocation. His sandy-blond hair, normally kept tidy, now hung in damp strands across his forehead, clinging to his skin with a mix of sweat and the heavy, humid air that crept through the weathered cracks of the old house. Each frantic motion sent droplets sliding down his temples, his breath coming in ragged gasps that he couldn’t quite control.
His dark eyes, sharp and usually calm, flicked nervously around the room, scanning for anything he might have missed, any possible crack in their fragile preparations. Panic simmered just beneath the surface, glinting in his gaze, barely held at bay as his fingers gripped the supplies with knuckle-whitening force. His slender hands, shaking ever so slightly, betrayed him more than the expression on his face; his lips pressed into a tight, pale line, and his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
Outside, the dim evening light wavered as if taunting them, the occasional flicker from the sky a cruel reminder of the power outage that loomed over them like the storm itself. Inside, the oppressive heat mixed with a suffocating tension. Mason’s breath hitched in sharp bursts, the rising panic clashing with his need to remain in control. They had spent days preparing for this—stockpiling essentials and running through checklists again and again—but the weight of impending catastrophe gnawed at his resolve, a creeping sense of dread that no amount of preparation could shake.
He barely noticed the trembling in his hands as he carefully placed the last of the supplies on the coffee table. Water bottles, batteries, flashlights, and chargers were arranged with precision, every item placed with meticulous care, as if organizing them could somehow fend off the storm outside. He had done this a hundred times, but this time felt different, more desperate. As the wind screamed and the house groaned, Mason couldn’t shake the sense that the storm was not only outside, but building within him, ready to break at any moment.
Meanwhile, Wyatt lounged on the couch, his posture the picture of effortless calm, as if the chaos brewing outside was nothing more than a passing inconvenience. His long legs stretched out lazily, one foot propped on the coffee table, his worn jeans hanging low on his hips with casual indifference. The way he sprawled across the couch, with the broad solidity of his chest and arms evident even through the soft fabric of his faded t-shirt, gave off a sense of unshakable confidence. His biceps flexed subtly as he shifted, arms resting behind his head, revealing the faint outline of his abs beneath the shirt’s thin cotton. His skin, bronzed from countless hours under the sun, contrasted with the tousled dark brown hair that framed his face, a few stray strands hanging just above his sharp, scruffy jawline.
Wyatt’s grin was lazy, as though the approaching storm barely registered as a threat. It was the grin of someone who had faced worse and come out the other side, a grin that both irritated and reassured. His eyes tracked Mason’s every frantic movement with a hint of amusement.
"Hey, Mase," Wyatt drawled, his voice carrying that slow, teasing quality that made Mason pause in his tracks. "Relax a little. You’re making me dizzy with all this back and forth."
Mason froze mid-step, his arms still clutching a stack of batteries, his face a mix of exasperation and disbelief. The room seemed to shrink as he stared at Wyatt, who hadn’t moved an inch despite the growing storm outside. "How can you be so calm right now?" Mason’s voice wavered, his panic barely masked by the sharpness in his tone. "It’s a category 4 hurricane, Wyatt. Category 4! That’s serious—like, really serious!"
Wyatt stretched leisurely, the leather couch groaning under his weight as he stood up, his broad shoulders rolling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He moved with a deliberate slowness that only heightened Mason’s frustration, his towering frame somehow making the room feel smaller. Every step was unhurried, controlled, the calm in his demeanor an almost physical force against Mason’s rising tide of anxiety. Wyatt’s lips curled into his familiar laid-back smirk, the one that never failed to make Mason’s heart skip a beat, no matter the situation.
"Been through worse," Wyatt said, his voice a low rumble, casual and unbothered. "Charley was a real bitch of a storm, you know? This one? Well, we’re prepped. We’ve got everything we need: emergency supplies, food stocked, batteries charged. All that’s left to do now is sit tight and ride it out." He stepped closer, the heat of his body a reassuring presence in the charged air. "Trust me, we’re good."
Mason blinked, his mind still racing with the 'what ifs' that Wyatt seemed so oblivious to. His fingers twitched, nervously fiddling with the hem of his damp shirt as he looked up at Wyatt, whose calm demeanor felt almost surreal in contrast to the chaos outside. "But what if—"
Before Mason could finish his sentence, Wyatt closed the gap between them with two swift strides, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. In an instant, he tackled Mason back onto the couch, the two of them landing with a soft, cushioned thud. Mason let out a startled yelp, his arms flailing wildly in a futile attempt to regain his balance. But Wyatt was already straddling him, his strong thighs pinning Mason down effortlessly, fingers poised for mischief.
"Wyatt! NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!" Mason's protest turned into a fit of high-pitched laughter as Wyatt's fingers dug into his sides with a devilish precision. The panic that had been gnawing at him all evening melted away, replaced by an overwhelming wave of helpless giggles. Wyatt's fingers danced across his ribs, teasing and unrelenting, every touch sending electric jolts of laughter coursing through Mason’s body.
Wyatt’s grip held firm, his grin widening as Mason wriggled beneath him, trying in vain to escape. "Come on, Mase," Wyatt taunted, his tone full of playful challenge. "You’re stressing over this storm, but what’s more dangerous right now: a hurricane or me tickling you until you can’t breathe?" He punctuated the words with quick jabs to his ribs and sides before snaking his hands under Mason’s arms, sending a fresh wave of laughter spilling from Mason’s lips.
"NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!" Mason managed to squeal between bouts of uncontrollable laughter, his body bucking beneath Wyatt’s as he struggled to escape. Wyatt’s fingers found their way to his hips, drawing out another shriek of laughter, and Mason’s attempts to twist away only made it worse.
Wyatt chuckled lowly, leaning down so that his lips brushed the edge of Mason’s ear, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Told you, Mase. I’m scarier than the storm, huh?" His fingers slowed, just enough to let Mason catch his breath for a second, but then they skittered across his stomach, sending Mason spiraling into another fit of helpless giggles.
"WAHAHA! PLEHEHEASE! WYATT! I CAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT!" Mason gasped, his chest heaving with laughter, his limbs flailing uselessly as Wyatt’s relentless fingers continued their assault. Tears of laughter began to gather in the corners of his eyes, and every touch sent another shockwave through him, keeping him pinned to the couch in a fit of giggles.
"Can’t?" Wyatt teased, his voice full of mock disappointment. "I thought you’d be tougher than a little tickling. Guess I’ll just have to keep going until you admit I’m right." His fingers slowed, becoming featherlight as they ghosted over Mason’s ribs, each touch drawing out more breathless giggles.
"HAHA! OKAY! HEHEHE! FINE! YOU’RE RIHIHIHIGHT!" Mason's hands weakly pushed at Wyatt’s shoulders, his laughter slowing as the tickling eased. But Wyatt, ever the tease, gave him one final, slow tickle down his ribs before finally relenting, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
With a contented sigh, Wyatt flopped back onto the couch beside Mason, who lay sprawled out, catching his breath. The storm still rumbled ominously in the distance, but inside the house, there was a calmness now, broken only by the occasional aftershock of giggles that escaped Mason’s lips, his body still tingling from the playful onslaught.
"See?" Wyatt’s voice had softened, the teasing edge gone, replaced with a quiet warmth. "Told you, Mase; nothing to worry about."
Mason shot him a glare, though it held no real anger. The smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him, though his dark eyes still carried traces of the unease he’d felt earlier. "You’re such a jerk," he muttered, the slightest hint of fondness laced in his words.
Wyatt chuckled softly, reaching over to brush a stray lock of Mason’s damp hair from his forehead. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the wild energy of the storm swirling outside. "Yeah," Wyatt said with a grin that held a touch of affection, "but you love me anyway."
Mason rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. The tension from earlier finally began to loosen its grip, and despite the chaos roaring outside, in this moment, things felt just a little bit safer.
Then, the air changed. It was almost imperceptible at first—a shift, like the room itself was holding its breath. The low hum of the storm faded into the background as something else took its place, a creeping stillness that prickled at Mason’s skin. The easy banter that had filled the space between them moments ago seemed to evaporate, replaced by a thick, quiet anticipation.
The radio on the coffee table crackled to life, its static-filled voice sharp and intrusive, cutting through the fragile calm. For a few seconds, there was only the hiss of static, loud and foreboding. Then the voice emerged, tinny and distorted but unmistakable, carrying the news they had been bracing for:
“Hurricane Melvin has officially made landfall as a Category 5 storm.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than the storm itself. Mason’s smile faded, the sense of safety slipping through his fingers as quickly as it had come. It felt like the room itself exhaled in response, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating stillness. Mason’s stomach dropped as if the ground had suddenly disappeared beneath him. Category 5. The worst-case scenario. His heartbeat quickened, pounding in his chest like an alarm.
He looked at Wyatt. His partner’s face remained calm, almost too calm. The usual carefree smirk that Wyatt always wore—the one that could make Mason feel like everything would be okay—faltered just slightly. It was a subtle shift; his jaw tightened, and the corners of his mouth twitched downward for just a fraction of a second, but Mason noticed. Wyatt’s hazel eyes, which normally sparkled with mischief, seemed darker now, the light in them dimmed by a shadow of concern. His broad shoulders tensed, his hands resting still on his thighs, and the ease with which he normally carried himself was replaced by a rigid stillness.
The wind outside, which had been nothing more than a distant howl, now slammed into the house with more fury, rattling the windows in their frames.
The storm was here.
“It’s here,” Mason whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Wyatt or himself.
The house responded to the storm with unsettling groans, the old wooden beams creaking and protesting as the wind pressed hard against the walls. The house seemed to steady itself against the relentless assault, yet each shudder and creak only deepened Mason’s sense of vulnerability. His lean frame tensed, every fiber of his being on edge, as if bracing for the next gust. His fingers, still curled tightly around the flashlight he had picked up absentmindedly, had gone pale from the pressure, his knuckles white.
The wind whipped through the trees outside, the eerie howls growing louder with each gust. It sounded as if the storm had grown teeth, hungry and determined to tear through anything in its path. Every crash of wind against the walls felt like a physical force, each impact making the house tremble under its weight. The dim light in the room flickered as if the storm itself was toying with them, threatening to plunge them into darkness at any moment.
Wyatt sat still, his eyes fixed on the wall as if he could see through it, into the heart of the storm. His solid, reliable muscles were taut with suppressed tension, a strain Mason couldn’t help but notice. Wyatt was always the calm one, the steady rock in their relationship, but even he couldn’t hide the subtle strain that this storm was putting on him. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Wyatt broke the silence, his voice lower, more serious than before.
"Alright," he said, turning to Mason, his deep voice rumbling like a calm undercurrent to the storm’s chaos, "let’s go over the plan again, yeah?"
Mason nodded, though his mind was already racing through the plan. They had gone over it a dozen times already. His throat felt dry, and he didn’t trust his voice to work; the fear had lodged itself there, making it hard to swallow. They had prepared, of course; they had a closet in the hallway that they had designated as their safe spot. It wasn’t big, just large enough for the two of them to squeeze into, but they had packed it with blankets, pillows, a flashlight, and enough snacks and water to last them for hours if needed.
Wyatt stood, his large frame towering over Mason for a moment as if his very presence could shield them from the storm outside. He glanced toward the hallway closet and back at Mason, his gaze softening. "We’ll be fine," Wyatt added, his voice quieter, almost like a promise. "We’ve got this."
Mason wanted to believe him. He wanted to let the warmth of Wyatt’s confidence seep into his bones, but the relentless howling outside kept pulling his mind back to the storm. Still, he took a deep breath and nodded, trusting Wyatt as he always did, even when the world around them felt like it was falling apart.
Outside, the wind roared with renewed fury, the gusts now violent enough to make the walls tremble. The house groaned under the pressure, every creak amplified in the tense silence between the two men.
Then, suddenly, a sharp, violent crash split the air like a gunshot. Mason flinched, his pulse spiking as the sound of shattering glass rang through the house. The storm had breached their defenses, tearing into the sanctuary they had so meticulously prepared.
He barely had time to process before another crash echoed from the kitchen. Mason's breath caught in his throat, the reality hitting like a tidal wave. It felt like a domino effect as the crashing sound of another window shattering could be heard, this time from the bedroom, the fragile glass no match for the hurricane’s rage. Then, with terrifying clarity, the glass in the living room window shattered. The deafening sound of it sent Mason's heart racing, the wind now wailing through the house with brutal force. Cold, biting gusts tore at their clothes, whipping the curtains into a frenzy as debris rattled against the walls. The storm was now inside with them, the very air alive with menace.
“GET TO THE CLOSET, NOW!” Wyatt’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding, all traces of his earlier nonchalance erased in an instant.
They bolted down the hallway, their feet pounding against the floor as the wind roared behind them, chasing them through the house like a living thing, a monster clawing at their heels.
The hallway seemed impossibly long, the noise of the storm overwhelming as the walls vibrated with its power. The air was thick with the scent of rain, salt, and the sharp tang of panic. They reached the closet just as another deafening crash came from somewhere behind them. Wyatt yanked the door open, and they dove inside, slamming it shut behind them. The darkness was immediate, wrapping around them like a second skin.
Mason’s breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as they hurriedly shoved blankets and pillows into the cracks around the door, trying to seal out the howling wind. The closet was small and cramped, but it was their only refuge now. The wind shrieked outside, louder than ever, like the tortured wail of some furious, relentless beast. The sound of it tearing through the broken windows filled the house, turning everything into a cacophony of destruction.
Mason pressed his back against the wall, his whole body trembling as if the storm had seeped into his bones. The pressure was suffocating, the weight of the air heavy with the storm’s wrath. His chest tightened, the oppressive force bearing down on him, making each breath feel like a battle. Across from him, Wyatt was silent, his presence a solid anchor in the midst of the chaos. But even he couldn’t hide the tension that radiated from his body, his jaw clenched tight, muscles rigid.
Outside the door, the storm raged on, the wind battering the house with a merciless fury. Every gust felt like a hammer blow, shaking the walls, the roof, the very foundation of the house. Mason swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the fabric of a blanket, knuckles white with the effort. The storm felt like it was alive, pushing against the house with terrifying force, trying to get in, trying to tear them apart.
For a moment, Mason closed his eyes, focusing on steadying the rise and fall of his chest, trying to drown out the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. The storm was outside. For now, they were safe in the small closet. But how long could their fragile barrier hold? He couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm wasn’t just outside, it was a force pressing down on them from every direction, an unstoppable tide of chaos that was inching ever closer.
And then, over the din of the storm, Mason heard something else: a soft, broken sound. It was barely audible at first, but it cut through the chaos, drawing his attention. He flicked on the lantern flashlight and raised it toward Wyatt, his stomach twisting as the beam of light illuminated his partner.
Wyatt was sitting there with his head bowed, his broad shoulders hunched as if the weight of everything had finally become too much to bear. Tears streaked his face, glistening in the dim light, and his chest heaved with each uneven breath. His hands, the same hands that had been so steady just moments before, now gripped his knees tightly, his fingers trembling as they clung to the fabric of his jeans. Wyatt, who had always been so strong, so unshakable, was breaking before Mason’s eyes.
"I’m sorry, Mase," Wyatt choked out, his voice rough and thick with emotion. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, but the tears kept coming, his usually steady gaze now clouded with pain. "I thought I was okay—I thought I could handle it—but it’s… it’s just like Charley. That storm… I was just a kid. I watched the roof get torn off my house. I… I just didn’t want you to be scared."
Mason’s throat tightened, his heart clenching painfully at Wyatt’s words. He had known Wyatt had lived through Hurricane Charley, but they had never talked about the details, never talked about the trauma that still lingered beneath the surface. Wyatt had been strong for him this whole time, putting on a brave face to keep Mason from panicking. But now, as the storm outside mirrored the storm inside Wyatt’s mind, all of those buried fears were rushing to the surface.
Mason reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it gently over Wyatt’s, feeling the tension in his partner’s grip. "Hey, it’s okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm’s relentless howl. His fingers brushed against Wyatt’s leg, sensing the barely controlled tremors of someone struggling to hold it together. "You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. I’m here."
Wyatt’s shoulders shook as a sob escaped, his face dropping into his hands. His tall, strong frame seemed smaller now, folded in on itself as he tried to suppress the waves of emotion breaking free. Mason scooted closer, wrapping his arms tightly around Wyatt’s broad back, feeling the tremors that revealed the weight Wyatt had been carrying in silence.
"I’m sorry," Wyatt murmured, his voice muffled against his hands. "I didn’t want you to see me like this." Mason tightened his hold, resting his cheek against Wyatt’s shoulder. "I’m glad I’m seeing it. You’ve been holding this in for too long. You don’t have to do it alone."
For a while, they stayed like that, huddled together in the cramped closet as the storm raged on outside. The air between them was heavy with shared vulnerability, the roar of the winds now seemingly distant against the quiet sobs that reverberated through Wyatt’s chest. Mason had never seen him so raw, so open, and it stirred something deep within him; a fierce, protective need to ease the burden his partner had held inside for far too long.
"I just—" Wyatt's voice cracked. "I’ve always been the one who’s calm. The one who's steady, even when everything else is falling apart. But tonight… I’m scared. Really scared, Mase."
Mason’s heart clenched at the admission. Wyatt had always been the rock, steady and unshaken, and it was easy to forget that he carried fears of his own; scars left by Hurricane Charley, the storm that had marked him deeply in his childhood.
Mason held him close, his arms strong and steady, while one hand began to rub gentle strokes along Wyatt’s back. "I know," Mason whispered. "But we’re together, and we’ve got each other. You don’t always have to be the strong one. I’m here, Wyatt, and I’ve got you. No matter what happens out there, we’re getting through this."
Wyatt sniffled, his hands slowly lowering from his face as he leaned into the hug. His broad shoulders began to relax as he allowed himself to sink into Mason’s embrace. Outside, the storm raged, the house groaning under its relentless assault, but Wyatt found a fragile sense of peace in Mason’s arms, soothed by the gentle patterns traced along his back.
He drew in a shaky breath, his arms hesitating before finally returning the embrace, holding Mason tightly as though anchoring himself. A small nod followed, as if he was trying to believe Mason’s reassurances.
They stayed that way for a while, listening to the storm’s fury as it battered the world beyond the closet walls. Gradually, Mason felt the change in Wyatt—his breathing steadied, the trembling in his shoulders subsided, and the sobs that had wracked his body faded into silence. Only the roar of the wind remained, its fury still present but fading into the background, overshadowed by the fragile quiet between them.
Mason wasn’t one to let someone he loved linger in pain, especially not Wyatt. As calm settled over them, a spark of an idea flickered to life in his mind. Wyatt had always been the one to pull him back from the edge. Now, it was Mason’s turn to do the same. With deliberate slowness, Mason brushed his fingers lightly against Wyatt’s side; just a featherlight touch at first. Wyatt stiffened slightly, but Mason was undeterred.
"Mase, what are you—" Wyatt tried to ask, but before he could finish, Mason’s fingers dug a little deeper, poking him in that familiar spot under his ribs.
A soft, involuntary snicker slipped out of Wyatt’s mouth. Despite the tear-streaked face and the lingering weight of fear, Mason saw a smile begin to break through the sadness.
"I’m just trying to put a smile back on your face,” Mason replied, his voice taking on a mischievous lilt. His fingers began to knead gently at Wyatt’s ribs, drawing out another giggle. "You know, sometimes the best way to get through fear is to laugh."
Wyatt squirmed, wiggling in the small space as he tried to shield himself from Mason’s probing fingers. His body shook with deep chuckles, the laughter bubbling up against his will. "Nohoho! Hahaha! Mase, quit ihihit!" Wyatt’s voice cracked between fits of laughter, his earlier sadness now rapidly being replaced by uncontrollable giggling.
Mason’s grin widened. "Oh no, not yet. You’ve had your turn being the strong one, and now it’s my turn to pay you back for earlier."
Wyatt twisted and flailed, desperate to block Mason’s relentless attack, but the cramped space of the closet offered no room to escape. Mason’s fingers were quick and unpredictable, flitting from one vulnerable spot to the next. Wyatt tried to shield his ribs, only for Mason to slip his hands up to his armpits, or down to poke his sides.
"STAHAHAHAP! HAHAHA!" Wyatt gasped, his laughter turning hysterical as Mason’s relentless tickling found every sensitive spot. His hands darted wildly in an attempt to block Mason, but he couldn’t keep up, his defenses no match for Mason’s determined fingers.
"Feeling a little better now?" Mason teased, his grin softening as his fingers slipped under Wyatt's arms, coaxing another burst of laughter from him. Wyatt’s body convulsed with helpless mirth, his arms flailing as the tickling sent his defenses crumbling.
"HAHA! YES! STAHAHAP!" Wyatt gasped, his face flushed and streaked with tears, laughter spilling from him in breathless waves. His protests, though earnest, were drowned out by the frantic, desperate streams of laughter spilling from him as Mason’s fingers dug mercilessly into his armpits. “PLEAHEHEHESE, MASE! I SUHUHURRENDER!” he managed to choke out, his body twisting and writhing helplessly under Mason’s relentless assault.
Finally, Mason relented, leaning back and withdrawing his hands, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Wyatt slumped against the wall, gasping for breath as faint tremors of uncontrollable laughter still shook his chest. The tension that had once filled the cramped closet was gone, replaced by a lightness as the oppressive weight of earlier fears dissolved in the wake of their shared laughter.
Wyatt shot Mason a look, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and reluctant gratitude. "You’re the worst," he muttered, though the soft edge to his voice gave away his fondness.
Mason grinned, his satisfaction evident. "What can I say? I learned from the best."
A soft chuckle escaped Wyatt, breaking the last remnants of the heaviness from before. He leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a long, deep sigh. "Fair enough," he murmured.
The wind howled, rattling the walls and windows with renewed force, but neither of them paid it any mind. After a moment, Wyatt shifted, stretching his legs out in the cramped space. Mason adjusted, settling between Wyatt’s legs and leaning back against his chest, where a quiet sense of safety enveloped him. Wyatt’s arms came around him instinctively, and together they found solace in the closeness. For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, their breaths falling into sync as the tension from earlier slowly melted away.
Wyatt finally spoke, his voice soft and reflective. "You know, I never thought I’d be the one falling apart. I always figured I’d be the one keeping us steady."
Mason smiled, threading his fingers gently through Wyatt's. "You are steady. Just because you had a moment doesn’t mean you’re not strong. Besides, I needed to see that side of you too."
Wyatt chuckled, glancing at Mason with a playful glint in his eye. "And I didn’t expect you to be so ruthless with the tickling."
Mason grinned, leaning back slightly against Wyatt’s chest. "Had to bring you back somehow."
"Yeah, yeah. Guess I deserved that," Wyatt said with a shake of his head. After a beat, he added with a smirk, "But payback’s fair game, right?"
Mason raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious as Wyatt’s fingers twitched near his sides. "Oh no, you wouldn’t."
"Oh, I would," Wyatt replied with a mischievous grin.
Before Mason could react, Wyatt’s fingers darted to his ribs, expertly pressing against the sensitive spots that made Mason dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. "HAHA! WYATT! NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!" Mason cried, his body twisting as much as the tight space allowed, but Wyatt was relentless.
"Payback," Wyatt teased, his tone light and full of mischief as his fingers danced across Mason’s sides and stomach. "You said I didn’t have to be strong all the time—guess I’ll take that as permission to have a little fun."
Mason’s laughter erupted, frantic and breathless, echoing in the tiny space. "IHIHI TAHAHKE IT BAHAHACK!" he managed to gasp, his hands flailing helplessly in Wyatt’s firm hold.
Wyatt chuckled, finally slowing his assault as Mason sagged against him, breathless and trembling with aftershocks of giggles. They collapsed together, Wyatt’s arms wrapping snugly around Mason as laughter faded into quiet warmth. The stillness between them grew, broken only by their steady breathing and occasional soft chuckles. Mason nuzzled into Wyatt’s chest with a contented sigh, and Wyatt pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Wrapped in each other’s embrace, the chaos outside felt distant, muted by their shared warmth.
As exhaustion took hold, the rhythm of the storm seemed to lull them into slumber. The howling winds and battering rain blurred into the edges of their dreams, until eventually, the tempest began to fade.
When Mason stirred awake, it was to a profound silence, the kind that only follows chaos. The storm’s relentless roar had vanished, leaving behind the faint creaks of the house settling after its violent ordeal. Inside the closet, the air was heavy and humid, carrying the lingering scent of rain and salt that had seeped through the cracks. Wyatt’s steady breathing filled the small space, a comforting rhythm that contrasted with the chaos of the night before. From beyond the closet door, Mason thought he could hear the faint patter of water dripping onto the floor and the rustle of wind shifting debris outside. The world felt quieter now; broken but waiting to rebuild.
Mason squinted at the dim light filtering through the cracks, moving carefully to avoid disrupting the peace. Wyatt’s eyes fluttered open in response, gentle as they found Mason’s gaze.
“It’s quiet,” Mason murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
Wyatt nodded, listening closely before whispering, “The storm’s over.”
They stayed like that, holding onto each other as the weight of relief slowly settled in. The tension and fear of the night seemed to fade, replaced by a fragile calm that wrapped around them like a warm blanket. Mason exhaled deeply, his breath carrying the remnants of days filled with worry and unease. “We made it,” he whispered, his words almost a prayer of gratitude.
Wyatt’s hold tightened slightly, his smile soft but sure. “Yeah,” he said, his voice as warm as the first rays of sunlight after a storm. “We did.”
The silence that followed felt natural, unbroken except for the rhythm of their breathing. After a time, Mason’s voice gently filled the stillness, tinged with affection. “Guess we’ve proven we can weather anything together.”
Wyatt chuckled, his laugh low and reassuring as he pressed a kiss to Mason’s temple. “Damn right we can,” he said, his arms holding him just a little closer.
The world outside slowly brightened as dawn began to break, soft hues of pink and gold streaking the horizon. The storm had passed, but its memory lingered, a reminder of the strength they had drawn from each other. And as they stayed wrapped in warmth and quiet certainty, Mason knew that no matter what storms lay ahead—literal or otherwise—they would face them the same way they had faced this one: together.
THE END
Inside the small, dimly lit house, the air was thick with tension, a palpable weight pressing down on every breath. Mason moved with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation, his steps quick and sharp as he darted between the kitchen and living room. His arms were piled high with supplies—water bottles, flashlights, batteries, and the spare portable charger, still wrapped in its box from the bottom drawer. The frantic rustle of plastic and clatter of gear echoed the storm's growing fury outside. Every noise seemed louder in the oppressive silence, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable chaos to descend.
Mason’s wiry build belied his strength, the kind of quiet power earned from endless hours spent pounding the city pavement on his morning jogs. His muscles, taut with anticipation, seemed to vibrate with a nervous energy, as if every fiber of his being was wound tight, ready to react to the slightest provocation. His sandy-blond hair, normally kept tidy, now hung in damp strands across his forehead, clinging to his skin with a mix of sweat and the heavy, humid air that crept through the weathered cracks of the old house. Each frantic motion sent droplets sliding down his temples, his breath coming in ragged gasps that he couldn’t quite control.
His dark eyes, sharp and usually calm, flicked nervously around the room, scanning for anything he might have missed, any possible crack in their fragile preparations. Panic simmered just beneath the surface, glinting in his gaze, barely held at bay as his fingers gripped the supplies with knuckle-whitening force. His slender hands, shaking ever so slightly, betrayed him more than the expression on his face; his lips pressed into a tight, pale line, and his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
Outside, the dim evening light wavered as if taunting them, the occasional flicker from the sky a cruel reminder of the power outage that loomed over them like the storm itself. Inside, the oppressive heat mixed with a suffocating tension. Mason’s breath hitched in sharp bursts, the rising panic clashing with his need to remain in control. They had spent days preparing for this—stockpiling essentials and running through checklists again and again—but the weight of impending catastrophe gnawed at his resolve, a creeping sense of dread that no amount of preparation could shake.
He barely noticed the trembling in his hands as he carefully placed the last of the supplies on the coffee table. Water bottles, batteries, flashlights, and chargers were arranged with precision, every item placed with meticulous care, as if organizing them could somehow fend off the storm outside. He had done this a hundred times, but this time felt different, more desperate. As the wind screamed and the house groaned, Mason couldn’t shake the sense that the storm was not only outside, but building within him, ready to break at any moment.
Meanwhile, Wyatt lounged on the couch, his posture the picture of effortless calm, as if the chaos brewing outside was nothing more than a passing inconvenience. His long legs stretched out lazily, one foot propped on the coffee table, his worn jeans hanging low on his hips with casual indifference. The way he sprawled across the couch, with the broad solidity of his chest and arms evident even through the soft fabric of his faded t-shirt, gave off a sense of unshakable confidence. His biceps flexed subtly as he shifted, arms resting behind his head, revealing the faint outline of his abs beneath the shirt’s thin cotton. His skin, bronzed from countless hours under the sun, contrasted with the tousled dark brown hair that framed his face, a few stray strands hanging just above his sharp, scruffy jawline.
Wyatt’s grin was lazy, as though the approaching storm barely registered as a threat. It was the grin of someone who had faced worse and come out the other side, a grin that both irritated and reassured. His eyes tracked Mason’s every frantic movement with a hint of amusement.
"Hey, Mase," Wyatt drawled, his voice carrying that slow, teasing quality that made Mason pause in his tracks. "Relax a little. You’re making me dizzy with all this back and forth."
Mason froze mid-step, his arms still clutching a stack of batteries, his face a mix of exasperation and disbelief. The room seemed to shrink as he stared at Wyatt, who hadn’t moved an inch despite the growing storm outside. "How can you be so calm right now?" Mason’s voice wavered, his panic barely masked by the sharpness in his tone. "It’s a category 4 hurricane, Wyatt. Category 4! That’s serious—like, really serious!"
Wyatt stretched leisurely, the leather couch groaning under his weight as he stood up, his broad shoulders rolling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He moved with a deliberate slowness that only heightened Mason’s frustration, his towering frame somehow making the room feel smaller. Every step was unhurried, controlled, the calm in his demeanor an almost physical force against Mason’s rising tide of anxiety. Wyatt’s lips curled into his familiar laid-back smirk, the one that never failed to make Mason’s heart skip a beat, no matter the situation.
"Been through worse," Wyatt said, his voice a low rumble, casual and unbothered. "Charley was a real bitch of a storm, you know? This one? Well, we’re prepped. We’ve got everything we need: emergency supplies, food stocked, batteries charged. All that’s left to do now is sit tight and ride it out." He stepped closer, the heat of his body a reassuring presence in the charged air. "Trust me, we’re good."
Mason blinked, his mind still racing with the 'what ifs' that Wyatt seemed so oblivious to. His fingers twitched, nervously fiddling with the hem of his damp shirt as he looked up at Wyatt, whose calm demeanor felt almost surreal in contrast to the chaos outside. "But what if—"
Before Mason could finish his sentence, Wyatt closed the gap between them with two swift strides, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. In an instant, he tackled Mason back onto the couch, the two of them landing with a soft, cushioned thud. Mason let out a startled yelp, his arms flailing wildly in a futile attempt to regain his balance. But Wyatt was already straddling him, his strong thighs pinning Mason down effortlessly, fingers poised for mischief.
"Wyatt! NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!" Mason's protest turned into a fit of high-pitched laughter as Wyatt's fingers dug into his sides with a devilish precision. The panic that had been gnawing at him all evening melted away, replaced by an overwhelming wave of helpless giggles. Wyatt's fingers danced across his ribs, teasing and unrelenting, every touch sending electric jolts of laughter coursing through Mason’s body.
Wyatt’s grip held firm, his grin widening as Mason wriggled beneath him, trying in vain to escape. "Come on, Mase," Wyatt taunted, his tone full of playful challenge. "You’re stressing over this storm, but what’s more dangerous right now: a hurricane or me tickling you until you can’t breathe?" He punctuated the words with quick jabs to his ribs and sides before snaking his hands under Mason’s arms, sending a fresh wave of laughter spilling from Mason’s lips.
"NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!" Mason managed to squeal between bouts of uncontrollable laughter, his body bucking beneath Wyatt’s as he struggled to escape. Wyatt’s fingers found their way to his hips, drawing out another shriek of laughter, and Mason’s attempts to twist away only made it worse.
Wyatt chuckled lowly, leaning down so that his lips brushed the edge of Mason’s ear, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Told you, Mase. I’m scarier than the storm, huh?" His fingers slowed, just enough to let Mason catch his breath for a second, but then they skittered across his stomach, sending Mason spiraling into another fit of helpless giggles.
"WAHAHA! PLEHEHEASE! WYATT! I CAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT!" Mason gasped, his chest heaving with laughter, his limbs flailing uselessly as Wyatt’s relentless fingers continued their assault. Tears of laughter began to gather in the corners of his eyes, and every touch sent another shockwave through him, keeping him pinned to the couch in a fit of giggles.
"Can’t?" Wyatt teased, his voice full of mock disappointment. "I thought you’d be tougher than a little tickling. Guess I’ll just have to keep going until you admit I’m right." His fingers slowed, becoming featherlight as they ghosted over Mason’s ribs, each touch drawing out more breathless giggles.
"HAHA! OKAY! HEHEHE! FINE! YOU’RE RIHIHIHIGHT!" Mason's hands weakly pushed at Wyatt’s shoulders, his laughter slowing as the tickling eased. But Wyatt, ever the tease, gave him one final, slow tickle down his ribs before finally relenting, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
With a contented sigh, Wyatt flopped back onto the couch beside Mason, who lay sprawled out, catching his breath. The storm still rumbled ominously in the distance, but inside the house, there was a calmness now, broken only by the occasional aftershock of giggles that escaped Mason’s lips, his body still tingling from the playful onslaught.
"See?" Wyatt’s voice had softened, the teasing edge gone, replaced with a quiet warmth. "Told you, Mase; nothing to worry about."
Mason shot him a glare, though it held no real anger. The smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him, though his dark eyes still carried traces of the unease he’d felt earlier. "You’re such a jerk," he muttered, the slightest hint of fondness laced in his words.
Wyatt chuckled softly, reaching over to brush a stray lock of Mason’s damp hair from his forehead. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the wild energy of the storm swirling outside. "Yeah," Wyatt said with a grin that held a touch of affection, "but you love me anyway."
Mason rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. The tension from earlier finally began to loosen its grip, and despite the chaos roaring outside, in this moment, things felt just a little bit safer.
Then, the air changed. It was almost imperceptible at first—a shift, like the room itself was holding its breath. The low hum of the storm faded into the background as something else took its place, a creeping stillness that prickled at Mason’s skin. The easy banter that had filled the space between them moments ago seemed to evaporate, replaced by a thick, quiet anticipation.
The radio on the coffee table crackled to life, its static-filled voice sharp and intrusive, cutting through the fragile calm. For a few seconds, there was only the hiss of static, loud and foreboding. Then the voice emerged, tinny and distorted but unmistakable, carrying the news they had been bracing for:
“Hurricane Melvin has officially made landfall as a Category 5 storm.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than the storm itself. Mason’s smile faded, the sense of safety slipping through his fingers as quickly as it had come. It felt like the room itself exhaled in response, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating stillness. Mason’s stomach dropped as if the ground had suddenly disappeared beneath him. Category 5. The worst-case scenario. His heartbeat quickened, pounding in his chest like an alarm.
He looked at Wyatt. His partner’s face remained calm, almost too calm. The usual carefree smirk that Wyatt always wore—the one that could make Mason feel like everything would be okay—faltered just slightly. It was a subtle shift; his jaw tightened, and the corners of his mouth twitched downward for just a fraction of a second, but Mason noticed. Wyatt’s hazel eyes, which normally sparkled with mischief, seemed darker now, the light in them dimmed by a shadow of concern. His broad shoulders tensed, his hands resting still on his thighs, and the ease with which he normally carried himself was replaced by a rigid stillness.
The wind outside, which had been nothing more than a distant howl, now slammed into the house with more fury, rattling the windows in their frames.
The storm was here.
“It’s here,” Mason whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Wyatt or himself.
The house responded to the storm with unsettling groans, the old wooden beams creaking and protesting as the wind pressed hard against the walls. The house seemed to steady itself against the relentless assault, yet each shudder and creak only deepened Mason’s sense of vulnerability. His lean frame tensed, every fiber of his being on edge, as if bracing for the next gust. His fingers, still curled tightly around the flashlight he had picked up absentmindedly, had gone pale from the pressure, his knuckles white.
The wind whipped through the trees outside, the eerie howls growing louder with each gust. It sounded as if the storm had grown teeth, hungry and determined to tear through anything in its path. Every crash of wind against the walls felt like a physical force, each impact making the house tremble under its weight. The dim light in the room flickered as if the storm itself was toying with them, threatening to plunge them into darkness at any moment.
Wyatt sat still, his eyes fixed on the wall as if he could see through it, into the heart of the storm. His solid, reliable muscles were taut with suppressed tension, a strain Mason couldn’t help but notice. Wyatt was always the calm one, the steady rock in their relationship, but even he couldn’t hide the subtle strain that this storm was putting on him. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Wyatt broke the silence, his voice lower, more serious than before.
"Alright," he said, turning to Mason, his deep voice rumbling like a calm undercurrent to the storm’s chaos, "let’s go over the plan again, yeah?"
Mason nodded, though his mind was already racing through the plan. They had gone over it a dozen times already. His throat felt dry, and he didn’t trust his voice to work; the fear had lodged itself there, making it hard to swallow. They had prepared, of course; they had a closet in the hallway that they had designated as their safe spot. It wasn’t big, just large enough for the two of them to squeeze into, but they had packed it with blankets, pillows, a flashlight, and enough snacks and water to last them for hours if needed.
Wyatt stood, his large frame towering over Mason for a moment as if his very presence could shield them from the storm outside. He glanced toward the hallway closet and back at Mason, his gaze softening. "We’ll be fine," Wyatt added, his voice quieter, almost like a promise. "We’ve got this."
Mason wanted to believe him. He wanted to let the warmth of Wyatt’s confidence seep into his bones, but the relentless howling outside kept pulling his mind back to the storm. Still, he took a deep breath and nodded, trusting Wyatt as he always did, even when the world around them felt like it was falling apart.
Outside, the wind roared with renewed fury, the gusts now violent enough to make the walls tremble. The house groaned under the pressure, every creak amplified in the tense silence between the two men.
Then, suddenly, a sharp, violent crash split the air like a gunshot. Mason flinched, his pulse spiking as the sound of shattering glass rang through the house. The storm had breached their defenses, tearing into the sanctuary they had so meticulously prepared.
He barely had time to process before another crash echoed from the kitchen. Mason's breath caught in his throat, the reality hitting like a tidal wave. It felt like a domino effect as the crashing sound of another window shattering could be heard, this time from the bedroom, the fragile glass no match for the hurricane’s rage. Then, with terrifying clarity, the glass in the living room window shattered. The deafening sound of it sent Mason's heart racing, the wind now wailing through the house with brutal force. Cold, biting gusts tore at their clothes, whipping the curtains into a frenzy as debris rattled against the walls. The storm was now inside with them, the very air alive with menace.
“GET TO THE CLOSET, NOW!” Wyatt’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding, all traces of his earlier nonchalance erased in an instant.
They bolted down the hallway, their feet pounding against the floor as the wind roared behind them, chasing them through the house like a living thing, a monster clawing at their heels.
The hallway seemed impossibly long, the noise of the storm overwhelming as the walls vibrated with its power. The air was thick with the scent of rain, salt, and the sharp tang of panic. They reached the closet just as another deafening crash came from somewhere behind them. Wyatt yanked the door open, and they dove inside, slamming it shut behind them. The darkness was immediate, wrapping around them like a second skin.
Mason’s breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as they hurriedly shoved blankets and pillows into the cracks around the door, trying to seal out the howling wind. The closet was small and cramped, but it was their only refuge now. The wind shrieked outside, louder than ever, like the tortured wail of some furious, relentless beast. The sound of it tearing through the broken windows filled the house, turning everything into a cacophony of destruction.
Mason pressed his back against the wall, his whole body trembling as if the storm had seeped into his bones. The pressure was suffocating, the weight of the air heavy with the storm’s wrath. His chest tightened, the oppressive force bearing down on him, making each breath feel like a battle. Across from him, Wyatt was silent, his presence a solid anchor in the midst of the chaos. But even he couldn’t hide the tension that radiated from his body, his jaw clenched tight, muscles rigid.
Outside the door, the storm raged on, the wind battering the house with a merciless fury. Every gust felt like a hammer blow, shaking the walls, the roof, the very foundation of the house. Mason swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the fabric of a blanket, knuckles white with the effort. The storm felt like it was alive, pushing against the house with terrifying force, trying to get in, trying to tear them apart.
For a moment, Mason closed his eyes, focusing on steadying the rise and fall of his chest, trying to drown out the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. The storm was outside. For now, they were safe in the small closet. But how long could their fragile barrier hold? He couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm wasn’t just outside, it was a force pressing down on them from every direction, an unstoppable tide of chaos that was inching ever closer.
And then, over the din of the storm, Mason heard something else: a soft, broken sound. It was barely audible at first, but it cut through the chaos, drawing his attention. He flicked on the lantern flashlight and raised it toward Wyatt, his stomach twisting as the beam of light illuminated his partner.
Wyatt was sitting there with his head bowed, his broad shoulders hunched as if the weight of everything had finally become too much to bear. Tears streaked his face, glistening in the dim light, and his chest heaved with each uneven breath. His hands, the same hands that had been so steady just moments before, now gripped his knees tightly, his fingers trembling as they clung to the fabric of his jeans. Wyatt, who had always been so strong, so unshakable, was breaking before Mason’s eyes.
"I’m sorry, Mase," Wyatt choked out, his voice rough and thick with emotion. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, but the tears kept coming, his usually steady gaze now clouded with pain. "I thought I was okay—I thought I could handle it—but it’s… it’s just like Charley. That storm… I was just a kid. I watched the roof get torn off my house. I… I just didn’t want you to be scared."
Mason’s throat tightened, his heart clenching painfully at Wyatt’s words. He had known Wyatt had lived through Hurricane Charley, but they had never talked about the details, never talked about the trauma that still lingered beneath the surface. Wyatt had been strong for him this whole time, putting on a brave face to keep Mason from panicking. But now, as the storm outside mirrored the storm inside Wyatt’s mind, all of those buried fears were rushing to the surface.
Mason reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it gently over Wyatt’s, feeling the tension in his partner’s grip. "Hey, it’s okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm’s relentless howl. His fingers brushed against Wyatt’s leg, sensing the barely controlled tremors of someone struggling to hold it together. "You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. I’m here."
Wyatt’s shoulders shook as a sob escaped, his face dropping into his hands. His tall, strong frame seemed smaller now, folded in on itself as he tried to suppress the waves of emotion breaking free. Mason scooted closer, wrapping his arms tightly around Wyatt’s broad back, feeling the tremors that revealed the weight Wyatt had been carrying in silence.
"I’m sorry," Wyatt murmured, his voice muffled against his hands. "I didn’t want you to see me like this." Mason tightened his hold, resting his cheek against Wyatt’s shoulder. "I’m glad I’m seeing it. You’ve been holding this in for too long. You don’t have to do it alone."
For a while, they stayed like that, huddled together in the cramped closet as the storm raged on outside. The air between them was heavy with shared vulnerability, the roar of the winds now seemingly distant against the quiet sobs that reverberated through Wyatt’s chest. Mason had never seen him so raw, so open, and it stirred something deep within him; a fierce, protective need to ease the burden his partner had held inside for far too long.
"I just—" Wyatt's voice cracked. "I’ve always been the one who’s calm. The one who's steady, even when everything else is falling apart. But tonight… I’m scared. Really scared, Mase."
Mason’s heart clenched at the admission. Wyatt had always been the rock, steady and unshaken, and it was easy to forget that he carried fears of his own; scars left by Hurricane Charley, the storm that had marked him deeply in his childhood.
Mason held him close, his arms strong and steady, while one hand began to rub gentle strokes along Wyatt’s back. "I know," Mason whispered. "But we’re together, and we’ve got each other. You don’t always have to be the strong one. I’m here, Wyatt, and I’ve got you. No matter what happens out there, we’re getting through this."
Wyatt sniffled, his hands slowly lowering from his face as he leaned into the hug. His broad shoulders began to relax as he allowed himself to sink into Mason’s embrace. Outside, the storm raged, the house groaning under its relentless assault, but Wyatt found a fragile sense of peace in Mason’s arms, soothed by the gentle patterns traced along his back.
He drew in a shaky breath, his arms hesitating before finally returning the embrace, holding Mason tightly as though anchoring himself. A small nod followed, as if he was trying to believe Mason’s reassurances.
They stayed that way for a while, listening to the storm’s fury as it battered the world beyond the closet walls. Gradually, Mason felt the change in Wyatt—his breathing steadied, the trembling in his shoulders subsided, and the sobs that had wracked his body faded into silence. Only the roar of the wind remained, its fury still present but fading into the background, overshadowed by the fragile quiet between them.
Mason wasn’t one to let someone he loved linger in pain, especially not Wyatt. As calm settled over them, a spark of an idea flickered to life in his mind. Wyatt had always been the one to pull him back from the edge. Now, it was Mason’s turn to do the same. With deliberate slowness, Mason brushed his fingers lightly against Wyatt’s side; just a featherlight touch at first. Wyatt stiffened slightly, but Mason was undeterred.
"Mase, what are you—" Wyatt tried to ask, but before he could finish, Mason’s fingers dug a little deeper, poking him in that familiar spot under his ribs.
A soft, involuntary snicker slipped out of Wyatt’s mouth. Despite the tear-streaked face and the lingering weight of fear, Mason saw a smile begin to break through the sadness.
"I’m just trying to put a smile back on your face,” Mason replied, his voice taking on a mischievous lilt. His fingers began to knead gently at Wyatt’s ribs, drawing out another giggle. "You know, sometimes the best way to get through fear is to laugh."
Wyatt squirmed, wiggling in the small space as he tried to shield himself from Mason’s probing fingers. His body shook with deep chuckles, the laughter bubbling up against his will. "Nohoho! Hahaha! Mase, quit ihihit!" Wyatt’s voice cracked between fits of laughter, his earlier sadness now rapidly being replaced by uncontrollable giggling.
Mason’s grin widened. "Oh no, not yet. You’ve had your turn being the strong one, and now it’s my turn to pay you back for earlier."
Wyatt twisted and flailed, desperate to block Mason’s relentless attack, but the cramped space of the closet offered no room to escape. Mason’s fingers were quick and unpredictable, flitting from one vulnerable spot to the next. Wyatt tried to shield his ribs, only for Mason to slip his hands up to his armpits, or down to poke his sides.
"STAHAHAHAP! HAHAHA!" Wyatt gasped, his laughter turning hysterical as Mason’s relentless tickling found every sensitive spot. His hands darted wildly in an attempt to block Mason, but he couldn’t keep up, his defenses no match for Mason’s determined fingers.
"Feeling a little better now?" Mason teased, his grin softening as his fingers slipped under Wyatt's arms, coaxing another burst of laughter from him. Wyatt’s body convulsed with helpless mirth, his arms flailing as the tickling sent his defenses crumbling.
"HAHA! YES! STAHAHAP!" Wyatt gasped, his face flushed and streaked with tears, laughter spilling from him in breathless waves. His protests, though earnest, were drowned out by the frantic, desperate streams of laughter spilling from him as Mason’s fingers dug mercilessly into his armpits. “PLEAHEHEHESE, MASE! I SUHUHURRENDER!” he managed to choke out, his body twisting and writhing helplessly under Mason’s relentless assault.
Finally, Mason relented, leaning back and withdrawing his hands, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Wyatt slumped against the wall, gasping for breath as faint tremors of uncontrollable laughter still shook his chest. The tension that had once filled the cramped closet was gone, replaced by a lightness as the oppressive weight of earlier fears dissolved in the wake of their shared laughter.
Wyatt shot Mason a look, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and reluctant gratitude. "You’re the worst," he muttered, though the soft edge to his voice gave away his fondness.
Mason grinned, his satisfaction evident. "What can I say? I learned from the best."
A soft chuckle escaped Wyatt, breaking the last remnants of the heaviness from before. He leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a long, deep sigh. "Fair enough," he murmured.
The wind howled, rattling the walls and windows with renewed force, but neither of them paid it any mind. After a moment, Wyatt shifted, stretching his legs out in the cramped space. Mason adjusted, settling between Wyatt’s legs and leaning back against his chest, where a quiet sense of safety enveloped him. Wyatt’s arms came around him instinctively, and together they found solace in the closeness. For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, their breaths falling into sync as the tension from earlier slowly melted away.
Wyatt finally spoke, his voice soft and reflective. "You know, I never thought I’d be the one falling apart. I always figured I’d be the one keeping us steady."
Mason smiled, threading his fingers gently through Wyatt's. "You are steady. Just because you had a moment doesn’t mean you’re not strong. Besides, I needed to see that side of you too."
Wyatt chuckled, glancing at Mason with a playful glint in his eye. "And I didn’t expect you to be so ruthless with the tickling."
Mason grinned, leaning back slightly against Wyatt’s chest. "Had to bring you back somehow."
"Yeah, yeah. Guess I deserved that," Wyatt said with a shake of his head. After a beat, he added with a smirk, "But payback’s fair game, right?"
Mason raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious as Wyatt’s fingers twitched near his sides. "Oh no, you wouldn’t."
"Oh, I would," Wyatt replied with a mischievous grin.
Before Mason could react, Wyatt’s fingers darted to his ribs, expertly pressing against the sensitive spots that made Mason dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. "HAHA! WYATT! NOHOHO! STAHAHAP!" Mason cried, his body twisting as much as the tight space allowed, but Wyatt was relentless.
"Payback," Wyatt teased, his tone light and full of mischief as his fingers danced across Mason’s sides and stomach. "You said I didn’t have to be strong all the time—guess I’ll take that as permission to have a little fun."
Mason’s laughter erupted, frantic and breathless, echoing in the tiny space. "IHIHI TAHAHKE IT BAHAHACK!" he managed to gasp, his hands flailing helplessly in Wyatt’s firm hold.
Wyatt chuckled, finally slowing his assault as Mason sagged against him, breathless and trembling with aftershocks of giggles. They collapsed together, Wyatt’s arms wrapping snugly around Mason as laughter faded into quiet warmth. The stillness between them grew, broken only by their steady breathing and occasional soft chuckles. Mason nuzzled into Wyatt’s chest with a contented sigh, and Wyatt pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Wrapped in each other’s embrace, the chaos outside felt distant, muted by their shared warmth.
As exhaustion took hold, the rhythm of the storm seemed to lull them into slumber. The howling winds and battering rain blurred into the edges of their dreams, until eventually, the tempest began to fade.
When Mason stirred awake, it was to a profound silence, the kind that only follows chaos. The storm’s relentless roar had vanished, leaving behind the faint creaks of the house settling after its violent ordeal. Inside the closet, the air was heavy and humid, carrying the lingering scent of rain and salt that had seeped through the cracks. Wyatt’s steady breathing filled the small space, a comforting rhythm that contrasted with the chaos of the night before. From beyond the closet door, Mason thought he could hear the faint patter of water dripping onto the floor and the rustle of wind shifting debris outside. The world felt quieter now; broken but waiting to rebuild.
Mason squinted at the dim light filtering through the cracks, moving carefully to avoid disrupting the peace. Wyatt’s eyes fluttered open in response, gentle as they found Mason’s gaze.
“It’s quiet,” Mason murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
Wyatt nodded, listening closely before whispering, “The storm’s over.”
They stayed like that, holding onto each other as the weight of relief slowly settled in. The tension and fear of the night seemed to fade, replaced by a fragile calm that wrapped around them like a warm blanket. Mason exhaled deeply, his breath carrying the remnants of days filled with worry and unease. “We made it,” he whispered, his words almost a prayer of gratitude.
Wyatt’s hold tightened slightly, his smile soft but sure. “Yeah,” he said, his voice as warm as the first rays of sunlight after a storm. “We did.”
The silence that followed felt natural, unbroken except for the rhythm of their breathing. After a time, Mason’s voice gently filled the stillness, tinged with affection. “Guess we’ve proven we can weather anything together.”
Wyatt chuckled, his laugh low and reassuring as he pressed a kiss to Mason’s temple. “Damn right we can,” he said, his arms holding him just a little closer.
The world outside slowly brightened as dawn began to break, soft hues of pink and gold streaking the horizon. The storm had passed, but its memory lingered, a reminder of the strength they had drawn from each other. And as they stayed wrapped in warmth and quiet certainty, Mason knew that no matter what storms lay ahead—literal or otherwise—they would face them the same way they had faced this one: together.
THE END
