The rain fell in heavy sheets, turning the quiet suburban street into a sea of shimmering silver. The wind howled through the trees, rattling windows and shaking the world awake.

Taehyung tightened his robe around his body as he gently bounced Jiho in his arms. His baby boy had been restless all night, fussing against his chest, refusing to sleep despite the warmth of his embrace. He sighed, brushing his fingers over Jiho's tiny nose.

"Shh, baby... I know," he whispered softly. "It's just the rain, hmm?"

Jiho let out a small, tired whimper, his chubby fingers gripping the fabric of Taehyung's robe.

Taehyung turned toward the living room window, watching as the storm raged outside. The world was dark, empty—no one in their right mind would be out in this weather.

And yet...

A shape moved beyond the gate.

Taehyung frowned. He stepped closer, squinting through the rain-splattered glass. A man stood just beyond the iron fence, swaying on his feet, drenched, unmoving. Even through the darkness, Taehyung could tell something was wrong.

Then, without warning, the man collapsed.

Taehyung's heart leapt into his throat. Oh my God.

Without thinking, he rushed toward the front door, clutching Jiho tightly. He hesitated only for a moment—he was alone, with a baby—but the thought of someone dying outside his home made his stomach twist.

Carefully, he placed Jiho in his crib, pulling the covers up before rushing outside.

The cold hit him like a slap. The rain immediately soaked through his robe, but he ignored it, running toward the fallen figure. His breath caught when he got a closer look.

The man was young—maybe in his mid-twenties. He was tall, broad, built like someone who had spent years fighting. His dark hair stuck to his face, water running down his jawline. His hands were scraped, knuckles bloodied as if he had been in a fight.

Taehyung should have been scared. A man like this, unconscious on his doorstep, meant trouble.

But then he saw the way his chest rose and fell—shallow, struggling, in pain.

And suddenly, fear didn't matter.

"Sir?" Taehyung knelt beside him, reaching out carefully. He touched his shoulder, shaking him slightly. Nothing.

His fingers trembled as he pressed against the stranger's neck. His pulse was weak, but steady.

Taehyung swallowed hard.

What do I do?

He glanced back at the house, at Jiho's window glowing softly in the dark. The rain pounded against his back, cold and unrelenting. If I leave him here, he might not make it through the night.

That was all it took.

Taehyung moved quickly, hooking the man's arm over his shoulder, using all his strength to lift him up. He wasn't as strong as he wanted to be, but he refused to let go.

With slow, careful steps, he dragged the stranger inside.

⸻

The warmth of the house wrapped around them like a blanket. Taehyung locked the door behind him before lowering the man onto the couch, his own breath shaky from the effort.

For the first time, he could see him properly.

The stranger's tattoos peeked from under his soaked shirt, dark ink trailing along his collarbone and down his arms. His face, despite the exhaustion and bruises, was handsome—sharp jawline, full lips, long lashes trembling against his cheek.

Something about him looked... broken.

Taehyung's chest ached.

He hurried to grab a towel, gently dabbing the rain off his skin. The man barely stirred, only letting out a faint groan when Taehyung carefully pressed the cloth against his forehead.

A fever. He was burning up.

Taehyung bit his lip. He needed to clean his wounds and get him out of these wet clothes before he got worse.

⸻

An hour later, the stranger was dry, patched up, and wrapped in Taehyung's thickest blanket.

His fever hadn't gone down completely, but at least his breathing had evened out. Taehyung sat beside him, knees tucked to his chest, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Who are you?

Jiho stirred in the crib nearby, letting out a soft, sleepy coo. Taehyung immediately turned, scooping his baby into his arms.

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing his temple.

Jiho squirmed, nuzzling against Taehyung's chest, searching. Taehyung sighed, loosening the front of his robe to let Jiho latch onto his breast.

As his baby started suckling, Taehyung hummed a lullaby, rocking him gently.

He didn't notice the pair of eyes slowly blinking open.

⸻

Jungkook awoke to warmth.

It was the first thing he felt—the soft pull of something comforting, something safe.

His body ached, head pounding as he slowly came back to himself. His instincts kicked in immediately—where am I? Who brought me here?

His fingers twitched against the blanket covering him. He listened. The sound of the rain outside, the quiet crackle of a candle burning somewhere nearby.

And then—a voice.

Soft, sweet. Humming.

Slowly, Jungkook turned his head.

And froze.

A young man sat just a few feet away, curled up on the couch, bathed in golden candlelight.

He had plump lips, soft skin, long brown curls cascading down his shoulders. A loose robe barely clung to his frame, the fabric parting slightly as he held a tiny baby to his chest.

Jungkook's breath hitched.

The baby was nursing, eyes fluttering shut in pure contentment. The man—beautiful, delicate, glowing in the dim light—held him so tenderly, completely lost in the moment.

Jungkook had never seen anything like it.

He tried to speak, but his throat was dry. Instead, he shifted slightly, causing the couch to creak beneath him.

The humming stopped.

The man turned toward him, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh." His voice was soft, like silk. "You're awake."

Jungkook swallowed hard. His pulse roared in his ears.

For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar.

Something dangerously close to peace.