The neighbor’s curtains snapped shut like a drumbeat. "Who is that?" hissed Mrs. Jeon, her voice muffled through the thin walls. Outside, Tae shifted her weight against the moving truck’s rusty bumper, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

She’d chosen this quiet street deliberately—a peeling-picket-fence neighborhood far from the city’s flashing lights. Here, hydrangeas burst like blue fireworks between the sidewalks, and the air smelled of cut grass and damp earth. Peace. Warmth. Two things her old life rarely offered. She dragged the last suitcase up the cracked driveway, its wheels catching on dandelions. Inside, unpacked boxes formed crooked towers. Silence settled thick as dust.

Across the yard, Jungkook froze mid-sip, his coffee mug hovering near his lips. He’d been studying spreadsheets at the kitchen window, sunlight glinting off his laptop screen. Now his pulse hammered against his ribs. He knew that face. That cascade of dark hair. Those— He snapped his gaze away, cheeks burning. Impossible. Yet there she was, lifting a fern from the truck bed, her thin sundress riding up her thigh as she stretched. More real. More terrifyingly beautiful. He ducked below the sill.

By evening, Tae had arranged her bookshelf—memoirs beside romance novels—and microwaved instant noodles. The scent of soy sauce filled the tiny living room. Stepping onto the porch, she breathed in honeysuckle dusk. Next door, Jungkook fumbled with a green hose, spraying water over wilting petunias. Their eyes met. He stiffened, knuckles white on the nozzle.

"Hi," she called, her smile a slow sunrise. "I’m Tae."

He dropped the hose. It writhed on the lawn like a startled snake. "J-Jungkook," he stammered, scrambling to grab it. Water soaked his sneakers. His ears flushed crimson. She laughed, soft and low—a sound he’d heard only through headphones before.

For the first time that day, Tae didn’t feel the familiar sting of rejection. Just warmth spreading through her chest.

Then the Jeons’ front door creaked open. Mrs. Jeon stood framed in the doorway, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze swept over Tae’s sundress—thin straps clinging to sun-warmed shoulders, the fabric hinting at curves beneath—like she’d found something unpleasant stuck to her shoe. "Jungkook," she snapped, voice sharp as shattered glass. "Inside. Now." She didn’t acknowledge Tae at all, turning on her heel with a dismissive sniff that echoed louder than any slammed door. Tae’s smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. She was used to it—the icy stares, the whispered insults—but the ache still settled, dull and heavy, behind her ribs. She breathed out slowly, focusing on the honeysuckle scent, the chirp of crickets. Peace, she reminded herself. It takes time.

Jungkook flinched, water still dripping from his hands. "I’m sorry," he mumbled, eyes darting nervously between Tae and his mother’s retreating back. His cheeks flamed brighter. "She’s… not herself tonight." The apology felt clumsy, inadequate, but Tae saw the genuine discomfort twisting his features. He bent to wrestle the hose shut, avoiding her eyes, his movements stiff with embarrassment.

Behind him, Mr. Jeon appeared in the doorway’s shadow, lingering silently. His stare wasn’t dismissive; it was a slow, heavy crawl over Tae’s body—lingering on the swell of her hips, the dip of her neckline—that made her skin prickle. She instinctively pulled the hem of her dress lower, the fragile warmth from Jungkook’s awkward kindness evaporating under that hungry gaze. It was a look she knew intimately, one that stripped away any pretense of being just another neighbor. Uncomfortable, she took a small step back toward her own porch light.

Inside the Jeon house, the muffled sound of an argument began—Mrs. Jeon’s clipped tones rising, Jungkook’s quieter voice trying to placate. Tae stood alone in the deepening twilight, the sudden silence heavy. She traced the chipped paint on her porch railing. She’d hoped… but hope was a luxury. Gathering her resolve, she turned to go inside, the scent of soy sauce from her forgotten noodles drifting out.

As she reached for her doorknob, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. Jungkook’s face was pressed against his darkened bedroom window upstairs, watching her. When their eyes met through the glass this time, he didn’t look away. His expression was unreadable—a mix of apology, curiosity, and something else, intense and unsettling. Tae held his gaze for a breath, then slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. The click echoed in the quiet street.