Chapter 10: Rainy days.

Rain lashed against Seoul’s streets, a relentless curtain of gray that smeared the city into a watercolor blur—neon signs bleeding into puddles, headlights dissolving into streaks of gold and red. The van carrying BTS inched through traffic, its windows fogged with the breath of seven exhausted boys, the heater humming a feeble protest against the chill seeping through the glass. Jungkook sat pressed against the window, seventeen and weary, his dark hair damp from a mad dash through the downpour after a late-night shoot. His breath misted the pane, and he traced a jagged line through the condensation, watching the world outside soften into a haze. The shoot had been grueling—hours of forced smiles, poses adjusted by impatient stylists, his voice hoarse from reciting lines for a promo clip—and exhaustion clung to him like the damp fabric of his hoodie, heavy in his bones.

He was Jeon Jungkook, the quiet one, the boy who’d traded childhood for a dream that now felt both real and impossibly vast. His frame had hardened, muscles carved from relentless practice, his voice a steady force that anchored their songs, but beneath it lingered a fragility—a need to hold tight to what grounded him when the spotlight burned too bright. The dorm, the stage, Taehyung—they were his tethers, though he’d never say it aloud. Tonight, his sketchbook lay tucked in his bag, pages full of Taehyung’s face, a secret he guarded even from himself. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, the rain’s steady drum a lullaby that dulled the ache in his chest, but not enough.

Taehyung slumped beside him in the cramped back row, eighteen and restless, his jacket soaked through, dark waves plastered to his forehead in a messy tangle. He’d been a whirlwind on set—grinning for the cameras, charming the crew with his deep laugh, teasing Jimin until the director begged for focus—but now he was still, his shoulder pressed against Jungkook’s, a warmth that cut through the van’s damp chill. Taehyung’s presence was a constant, a hum Jungkook couldn’t tune out, even when he tried. His voice, soulful and rich, still echoed in Jungkook’s mind from the shoot’s playback, and his grin—boxy, unguarded—had a way of unraveling Jungkook’s defenses, leaving him raw and unsteady.

The others filled the van with a low buzz—Hoseok recounting a near-slip on the wet pavement, his voice bright over the rain’s drone; Jimin giggling beside him, head lolling onto Hoseok’s shoulder; Jin snoring softly in the front, glasses askew; Namjoon tapping lyrics into his phone, earbuds dangling; Yoongi silent, hood up, a shadow in the middle row. But Taehyung’s quiet felt deliberate, his knee brushing Jungkook’s as he shifted, tugging his jacket tighter. “Cold,” he muttered, his breath fogging the air, and Jungkook glanced at him, catching the faint shiver that rippled through his frame.

“You’re soaked,” Jungkook said, voice low, barely audible over the rain’s patter. Taehyung’s jacket glistened with droplets, his shirt clinging to his chest, and Jungkook’s eyes lingered a moment too long before he looked away, heat creeping up his neck. Without thinking, he shrugged off his own coat—a thick, dry hoodie he’d kept under his raincoat—and draped it over Taehyung’s shoulders, the fabric warm from his body. “Here.”

Taehyung blinked, surprised, his dark eyes flicking to Jungkook’s face, then softened into a grin—small, real, crinkling the corners of his gaze. “Thanks, Kookie,” he said, voice soft, pulling the hoodie close, his fingers brushing Jungkook’s as he adjusted it. The touch was brief, electric, and Jungkook’s pulse quickened, a jolt he masked by turning back to the window, tracing another line through the fog. Taehyung nestled into the hoodie, his scent—citrus and rain—mingling with Jungkook’s, and the van’s cramped space felt smaller, the air thicker, charged with something unspoken.

Traffic crawled, the rain a relentless roar against the roof, and Taehyung shifted again, huddling closer, his shoulder pressing harder against Jungkook’s. “This thing’s huge,” he said, lifting a corner of the hoodie, his grin turning playful. “Share it.” He held it out, an invitation wrapped in tease, and Jungkook hesitated, his breath catching at the closeness—too close, too warm. But the chill bit at his own damp shirt, and Taehyung’s eyes held his, steady, daring him to say no.

“Fine,” Jungkook mumbled, sliding under the hoodie, their shoulders now flush, heat pooling where their bodies met. The fabric stretched across them, a makeshift cocoon that shut out the van’s hum, the others’ voices fading to a distant murmur. Taehyung’s warmth seeped into him, steady and sure, and Jungkook’s heart thudded, loud in his ears, drowning out the rain. Taehyung’s breath brushed his neck, slow and even, and Jungkook stiffened, hyper-aware of every point of contact—the press of Taehyung’s arm, the faint tickle of his hair against Jungkook’s jaw.

“You’re warm,” Taehyung murmured, his voice a low rumble, head tilting to rest near Jungkook’s shoulder, not quite touching but close enough to feel. Jungkook’s flush deepened, creeping to his ears, and he shifted, trying to ease the tension coiling in his gut. “Stop moving,” he muttered, but his voice wavered, betraying him, and Taehyung chuckled—soft, intimate, a sound that sank into Jungkook’s bones.

“I’m comfy,” Taehyung teased, his hand finding Jungkook’s under the hoodie, fingers brushing in a slow, deliberate graze. Jungkook froze, breath hitching, as Taehyung’s fingers laced loosely with his, the touch light but searing, a spark that lit his nerves. “You’re blushing,” Taehyung said, his grin audible, and Jungkook yanked his hand away, ears burning, but Taehyung caught it again, holding firm. “Relax, Kookie,” he whispered, thumb tracing Jungkook’s knuckle, a gesture so small it hurt.

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered, voice barely a breath, but he didn’t pull away this time, couldn’t—the warmth too much, the touch too dangerous. Taehyung hummed, a tune from their latest track, low and steady, and Jungkook relaxed, the rain’s rhythm blending with the melody. Their hands stayed linked, hidden under the hoodie, and Jungkook’s mind spun—memories of late-night talks, Taehyung’s grin in his sketches, the ache that grew sharper every day.

“What’s with you tonight?” Taehyung asked, quieter now, his head tilting closer, breath warm against Jungkook’s ear. “You’re all… tense.” His tone was light, but his grip tightened, a question beneath the tease, and Jungkook swallowed, staring at the fogged window, the city a blur beyond.

“Just tired,” he said, dodging, but Taehyung’s hum was skeptical, his thumb still tracing slow circles. “Liar,” he murmured, and Jungkook’s heart skipped, caught by the truth he couldn’t voice—that Taehyung’s closeness was too much, not enough, a pull he didn’t understand. “You’re weird,” he said instead, soft, and Taehyung’s laugh was a vibration against his shoulder.

“You like it,” Taehyung replied, his voice a grin, and Jungkook didn’t argue, the truth settling heavy between them. The van jolted, inching forward, and Taehyung’s head dipped lower, brushing Jungkook’s shoulder now, a weight that felt like home. Jungkook let it stay, let the moment stretch, the rain a steady drum outside, their hands still linked, warm and secret.

They talked, voices low—Taehyung spinning silly stories of aliens landing in the rain, Jungkook huffing laughs despite himself. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, but his smile was real, and Taehyung’s eyes crinkled, catching the dim light. “Keeps you awake,” he shot back, and Jungkook shook his head, the ache softening under the banter.

The dorm loomed ahead, lights cutting through the storm, and the van slowed, the others stirring—Jin yawning, Hoseok stretching. Taehyung pulled back, the hoodie slipping, but his hand lingered on Jungkook’s, squeezing once before letting go. “Thanks for the coat,” he said, soft, standing as the door slid open. Jungkook nodded, throat tight, and followed him out, the rain cold against his skin but the warmth staying, a tether he carried into the dark.

Back in his bunk, Jungkook opened his sketchbook, tracing Taehyung’s hand—long fingers, steady grip—a moment frozen in graphite. The rain drummed on, and Taehyung’s voice echoed from the hall, laughing with Jimin, but Jungkook held the memory close, the ache a quiet companion he wasn’t ready to name.

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