Chapter Text
Chapter One
The Fault Line Beneath Us
The morning sun barely touched the windowsill when Taehyung’s fingers trailed over Hoseok’s collarbone. Hobi was already up, checking something on his phone, his brows pulled into a focused line. The smell of coffee wafted faintly from the kitchen downstairs, probably Jin, already bustling.
“You didn’t sleep enough,” Taehyung murmured.
Hoseok smiled, leaning back onto the headboard. “You didn’t either.”
They exchanged a knowing glance—two men driven by dreams and deadlines. But for once, there was something more immediate pressing on Taehyung’s mind than café profit sheets or menu testings.
The ring.
It sat in a velvet box hidden beneath his shirts in the drawer. Silver, simple, with a garnet glint Hobi always paused at when window shopping.
Taehyung’s phone buzzed, breaking the morning’s ease. A group text from the café logistics team.
Tae, we’ve got delays in Jeju. You might need to do the site review. They’ve requested your input urgently.
Another text.
We booked you on a 9 AM ferry from Mokpo. You’ll need to leave in an hour. Sorry 😢
Taehyung sighed. “Jeju trip just got real.”
Hoseok clicked his tongue. “Of course it did. Right before our beach day.”
“Can’t be helped.” He leaned over, brushing his lips on Hoseok’s cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. Ferry. Site. Night stay. Quick in and out.”
Jin peeked in from the hall. “Don’t forget your vitamin D. It’s cloudy in Jeju.”
“Sure, thanks.”
By 8 AM, Taehyung was packed, suited, and in his black SUV headed toward Mokpo. The sky was sullen, clouds hanging like gauze. A quiet unease hummed under his skin but he shook it off. His playlist looped mellow jazz, and the road was clean.
The trip was uneventful until it wasn’t.
Somewhere past the halfway mark, while stopping for gas, a loud emergency broadcast blared from the speakers. A series of sharp beeps followed by panicked announcement.
“Attention: An undersea earthquake has occurred near Jeju. Tsunami warning in effect. Evacuation is underway…”
Taehyung blinked. Earthquake? Jeju?
Almost instantly, someone rapped on his window—safety patrol in orange vests. “Sir, please proceed to the emergency shelter up the hill. Follow the convoy.”
“What—”
“There’s no time. Move!”
The route changed. Taehyung’s car, along with dozens of others, was rerouted uphill into a makeshift safety zone—an elementary school turned emergency center. Matted floors, plastic chairs, chaos.
He texted Hoseok quickly.
Tae: I’m okay. Was near Jeju but I’m safe. Heading into a shelter.
…
Hobi: Oh god. Thank you. Stay safe, I love you.
The bus ride from his design school in Busan had been long and uncomfortably bumpy. Jungkook’s sketchpad lay forgotten on his lap, a trembling pencil line trailing off mid-shape. He hadn’t been home in two months. Jimin’s texts had become more desperate in tone lately.
Jimin: I can’t wait to see you. Please bring that mini Buddha sculpture. I need luck.
He had smiled at that. His hearing aid was buzzing slightly—something he always ignored unless it hurt. His world was mostly quiet, and he liked it that way. Silence had a rhythm. Predictable. Comforting.
But now, the silence was deceptive.
The bus jerked to a sudden stop on the elevated road. People stirred. Murmurs turned to tension. The driver spoke something hurriedly to the front passengers.
Jungkook couldn't catch all of it, but he saw the panic.
Emergency alerts. Phones lighting up. Earthquake warnings.
Someone nudged him. A volunteer in a neon vest, shouting.
“Hey! Are you listening? Where’s your ID? Where’s your phone?”
Jungkook fumbled, holding up his student card.
“Name?”
He opened his Notes app: Jeon Jungkook.
Deaf. Mute. I can read lips a little. Please type.
The man rolled his eyes, muttering, “Another one. Freakin’ time-waster.”
Jungkook’s fingers shook as he typed another message. He tried to hand his phone, but the man slapped it away, grumbling, “Why don’t you speak, huh? Playing games?”
Jungkook’s battery flashed 5%.
His throat tightened.
Around him, the bus station buzzed with alarm. He felt smaller, fading, crowded out by voices he couldn’t hear, instructions he couldn’t follow. People brushed past him. The world moved fast, too fast for silence to keep up.
A sharp yell.
A shove.
His sketchbook hit the concrete.
And then—
“HEY!”
A firm voice.
Taehyung.
He had spotted the commotion while being guided to his shelter section. The crowd parted slightly as the tall man stepped forward, his hair disheveled from the wind, long coat flapping behind him.
He didn’t know who the boy was—but the panicked eyes, the trembling hands, the sheer vulnerability—that struck something in Taehyung’s chest.
Taehyung stepped between the boy and the volunteer.
“Back off. He’s clearly mute and deaf. What do you think you’re doing?”
The man stammered. “He wasn’t answering—”
“He literally can’t answer you like that.” His voice was sharp now. “Do your job, or don’t do it at all.”
Jungkook blinked.
His vision had blurred slightly from tears he didn’t let fall.
Taehyung turned, crouched, and gently picked up the fallen sketchbook, flipping briefly through pages of architectural silhouettes and ink brush strokes. “These yours?”
Jungkook nodded.
A pause.
Taehyung took out his phone and opened Notes.
Are you okay?
Jungkook nodded again, slower this time. He tapped his own phone, then showed a typed message:
Battery dying. No charger. From Busan. Going home.
Taehyung looked at the name.
Jeon Jungkook.
He nodded, then wrote back:
Come with me. Safer inside. We’ll get that charged up.
Jungkook hesitated—but then he followed.
The shelter smelled faintly of floor disinfectant, warm plastic, and tensions. The gymnasium had been stripped of its original purpose—basketball hoops now hanging like forgotten ornaments above rows of hurriedly laid mats and stiff woollen sheets. Cardboard signs marked makeshift zones: Elderly, Families with Kids, Volunteers, Unassigned. The ceiling fans barely turned, giving in to the overloaded backup generator.
People sat in little circles and scattered. Some sobbing into phones. Some laughing nervously, scrolling through disaster updates. Children played with paper cups, chasing shadows, too young to grasp the seriousness.
Taehyung guided Jungkook past the murmurs and stares. Nobody said anything, but Jungkook could feel eyes on him.
On the way he walked, the silence that hung around him like an invisible shell. But Taehyung walked with purpose—like he belonged, like Jungkook was some one he cared of.
They reached a vacant corner near a wall where a portable charger unit blinked with available ports. It wasn’t private, but it was away from the crowd. A small relief in the chaos.
Taehyung took the phone from Jungkook, wordlessly plugging it in. He gestured at the outlet—charging—then gave a small thumbs-up. Jungkook nodded, his hands still gripping the sketchbook close to his chest like a shield.
A volunteer came by with a stack of bed sheets. “Two?” she asked.
Taehyung nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
He passed one to Jungkook and took the other for himself. They laid them out on the vinyl floor. Not soft, not warm, but enough for now.
A radio buzzed loudly near the front, where volunteers crowded around a battery-powered speaker. Static gave way to the firm voice of a government official.
“...no known casualties as of yet. Aftershocks possible. Citizens in affected areas advised to remain in shelters. Emergency food and blankets are being distributed. Please remain calm...”
The words blurred into background noise. Everyone had already begun making calls—mothers whispering assurances, couples arguing about pickup locations, friends checking on bus routes.
Jungkook sat still, silent as ever, trying not to draw attention. His phone, screen cracked at one corner, lay beside him. Charging slow. Only 12%.
Taehyung sat cross-legged beside him, elbows on knees, eyes scanning the space but often drifting back to the boy at his side.
He was beautiful.
Not in the loud, obvious way Taehyung had seen beauty before—not like runway models or influencers. Jungkook had a softness to him, not weakness. There was something fragile, yes—but not breakable. His face was still touched with a flush, likely from stress and cold air. The pale curve of his lips, slightly parted. A jawline sharp, offset by the roundness of his eyes and those long lashes that fluttered down as he looked toward the floor.
He was tall—almost as tall as Taehyung—but curled in slightly, as if trying to make himself smaller. His hands were clenched on the sketchbook, fingers calloused at the tips.
Taehyung looked away for a moment, then back again.
Why do I feel this?
He didn’t know this boy. Not really. But watching him now—he looked like someone holding himself together by a thread. Like he wouldn’t ask for help even if it was right in front of him.
Jungkook, sensing the gaze, turned his head slightly.
Their eyes met.
Taehyung smiled. Just a little. Calm. Not invasive. Just enough to say: You’re safe here.
Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. But his shoulders eased just slightly.
Taehyung picked up his own phone and opened the Notes app again, passing it over.
“Let’s just rest for now. It’s been a rough day.”
Jungkook read it, lips twitching into something unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.
They both leaned back, not speaking, not moving too much. The world outside still felt shaken, but for the first time that day, there was stillness.
Two strangers.
Two stories.
And somewhere between them—a beginning neither of them had planned.