chapter 19: storm shelter

Seoul trembled under a late-night storm, the sky fracturing with jagged bolts of lightning that lit the dorm in fleeting, ghostly flashes, thunder rolling through the walls like a drumbeat too close, too loud. Jungkook sat on the floor of his room, seventeen and restless, his back against the bedframe, knees drawn up as the rain lashed the window in relentless sheets, a gray curtain that blurred the city into a smear of light and shadow. His dark hair, still damp from a shower, clung to his forehead, strands falling into his eyes, longer now, brushing his lashes in a messy tangle, and he hugged his arms around himself, the oversized hoodie a shield against the chill seeping through the glass. The storm had rolled in fast, unexpected, shattering the peace of their post-tour break, and Jungkook’s heart thudded, a rhythm that matched the chaos outside, stirred by the day with Taehyung in Chapter 18 and the love that still felt too big, too new.

He was Jeon Jungkook, the quiet one, the boy who’d forged himself into a pillar of their rise, his voice a steady thread in their songs, his body a testament to years of grit. The stage was his fortress, each cheer a balm, but off it, he was softer—vulnerable, a heart laid bare by a confession that had reshaped his world, a pull toward Taehyung that had grown from their first shared steps into this: a love he held close, a warmth he feared losing in the storm’s roar. The day together—ramyeon, cards, stolen touches in Seoul’s streets—had woven them tighter, a thread of *us* that glowed in the quiet, but the night’s fury rattled him, stirring doubts he couldn’t silence. What if it faded? What if he wasn’t enough? His sketchbook lay open beside him, a rough sketch of Taehyung half-finished—grinning, eyes crinkled, a moment from yesterday—and he traced it, pencil trembling, seeking steadiness in the lines.

The dorm was a patchwork of sound—Jin snoring faintly down the hall, Hoseok’s music muffled through a door, Jimin and Namjoon’s low chatter in the living room—but Taehyung’s absence gnawed at Jungkook, a hollow he hadn’t noticed until the storm trapped them inside. Taehyung had been in the kitchen earlier, joking with Yoongi about the weather, his laughter a light that pierced the gloom, but he’d vanished after, leaving Jungkook alone with the thunder and his thoughts. Eighteen and radiant, Taehyung was the spark—his dark waves a chaotic tumble, his boxy grin a beacon, his voice a deep hum that steadied Jungkook’s chaos. The confession had deepened him, his warmth a constant Jungkook leaned into, and the day together had solidified it—hands held, smiles shared, a love they were learning to hold—but the storm felt like a test, a shadow stretching over their fragile new beginning.

A crack of thunder shook the room, the lights flickering, and Jungkook flinched, his pencil skidding across the page, a dark streak marring Taehyung’s cheek. His breath hitched, the noise too close, and he dropped the sketchbook, pulling his knees tighter, the storm’s fury mirroring the tangle in his chest—love, fear, a need he couldn’t name. The door creaked, and Jungkook’s head snapped up, heart lurching as Taehyung stepped in, barefoot, his loose shirt damp from a dash through the rain-soaked hall, his grin soft but bright, a blanket slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Kookie,” he said, voice warm, closing the door against the storm’s roar. “You look like you’re hiding from a monster.”

Jungkook’s ears heated, a flush creeping up his neck, and he ducked his head, hands clenching the hoodie’s hem. “It’s loud,” he mumbled, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze, but Taehyung crossed the room, dropping to the floor beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, his warmth cutting through the chill. “Yeah,” he said, spreading the blanket over them, a cocoon against the night. “Thought I’d find you freaking out.” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes searched Jungkook’s, catching the tension, the shy flicker of unease, and Jungkook’s throat tightened, the air thickening with Taehyung’s presence—a lifeline he hadn’t known he needed.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook lied, pulling the blanket closer, but his voice wavered, and Taehyung’s grin softened, his hand finding Jungkook’s under the fabric, lacing their fingers in a slow, deliberate tangle that sent a jolt through Jungkook’s veins. “Liar,” he teased, echoing their old rhythm, and Jungkook’s lips twitched, a reluctant smile breaking through despite the storm’s roar. “You’re here now,” he said, softer, meeting Taehyung’s eyes—dark, steady, a shelter—and Taehyung’s grip tightened, his thumb brushing Jungkook’s knuckles, a touch that steadied him.

“Always,” Taehyung said, simple, leaning back against the bedframe, their shoulders pressed tight, his warmth a balm Jungkook sank into. “Storms suck, huh? Remember that time in Busan? You hid under the table.” His voice was a grin, a memory pulled from trainee days, and Jungkook huffed, ears red, but the tension eased, the thunder a distant rumble under Taehyung’s laugh. “I was twelve,” he muttered, and Taehyung nudged him, his knee knocking Jungkook’s. “Still cute,” he said, and Jungkook’s face flamed, turning away, but Taehyung’s hand held firm, pulling him back.

They sat there, the blanket a small world, the storm raging outside—lightning flashing, rain drumming, a chaos they shut out together. Taehyung hummed, a low tune from their latest track, and Jungkook relaxed, the sound weaving through the noise, a thread of calm that lulled him. “You’re okay with this, right?” Taehyung asked, voice dropping, his head tilting to rest near Jungkook’s shoulder, not quite touching but close enough to feel. Jungkook nodded, throat tight, the touch a spark that lit his nerves. “Yeah,” he whispered, letting the warmth stay, letting Taehyung stay, a love that felt stronger in the storm’s shadow.

The night stretched, the dorm’s hum a faint echo—Jin’s snores, Hoseok’s music fading—and Taehyung shifted, pulling Jungkook closer, their legs tangling under the blanket, a quiet intimacy that built with every breath. “Tell me something,” Taehyung murmured, his breath warm against Jungkook’s ear, and Jungkook hesitated, then spoke, voice low. “I drew you again,” he said, nodding to the sketchbook, and Taehyung’s grin turned sly, reaching for it. “Lemme see,” he said, flipping it open, his fingers brushing Jungkook’s as he studied the page—half-finished, smudged, Taehyung’s face caught mid-laugh.

“You’re good,” Taehyung said, soft, setting it aside, his hand finding Jungkook’s again, squeezing once. “Always drawing me.” His tone was light, but his eyes held Jungkook’s, a question beneath the tease, and Jungkook’s chest ached, the truth spilling out. “Can’t help it,” he mumbled, and Taehyung’s laugh was a burst of brightness, his forehead resting against Jungkook’s, a shaky breath escaping him. “Good,” he said, voice a promise. “I like being in your head.”

They talked, voices low—about the storm, the tour, a dog they’d seen in Myeongdong yesterday—and the thunder rolled on, a distant growl now, the rain softening into a steady patter. Taehyung’s head dipped lower, brushing Jungkook’s shoulder, and Jungkook let it stay, his hand tightening around Taehyung’s, the fear fading under the warmth. “You’re warm,” he murmured, and Taehyung chuckled, his breath tickling Jungkook’s neck. “You’re blushing,” he teased, and Jungkook pulled back, ears red, but Taehyung held on, pulling him close again, their chests brushing, a quiet shelter in the storm.

The lights flickered again, then steadied, and Taehyung sprawled out, tugging Jungkook down beside him, the blanket a tangle around them. “Sleep here,” he said, half-asleep, his arm draping over Jungkook’s waist, and Jungkook’s heart raced, then settled, the storm a distant hum under Taehyung’s breathing. “Okay,” he whispered, curling closer, the sketchbook forgotten, the love a steady glow that held them through the night—a bond they’d built, a shelter they’d keep, step by step, heart by heart.

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