From then on, Tae became a ghost in daylight. She timed her grocery runs for mid-morning when Mr. Jeon was at work and Mrs. Jeon was busy with her garden club. She avoided her front yard entirely if she spotted Jungkook’s mother pruning roses or his father washing the car, their postures radiating disapproval and that unnerving appraisal. The ache she felt wasn’t sharp anymore, just a dull throb beneath her ribs she ignored. Negative energy was poison; she’d had enough doses to last a lifetime. Peace meant pruning it ruthlessly. Yet, she found herself lingering near her kitchen window just before 8:30 AM and again around 6:00 PM, waiting for the distinct rumble of Jungkook’s battered motorbike.

He’d be heading out to campus or returning, backpack slung over one broad shoulder. And Tae would step onto her porch, leaning against the peeling white pillar, wearing perhaps a crocheted halter top barely containing her breasts and impossibly short denim cutoffs that rode high on her thighs.

The morning sun would catch the dew on the grass, the scent of damp earth rising as Jungkook froze mid-stride, helmet dangling from his fingers. "Morning, Kookie," she’d call, her voice thick with amusement as his gaze instantly snapped to the hydrangeas, the sky, his boots—anywhere but her. His ears would flush crimson.

"Morning, Tae," he’d stammer back, fingers tightening on his helmet strap. "Did... did you eat?" or "Is the... the neighbourhood quiet enough?" His kindness was awkward but genuine, untouched by judgment or hunger. It was a small anchor in her new world. She’d watch him fumble with his keys, her smile widening as he risked a fleeting glance—just a fraction of a second—before hurriedly mounting his bike, the engine coughing to life. Seeing him flustered was a tiny spark of warmth, a familiar game played with innocent stakes. As he roared off, Tae would stretch languidly, feeling the sun warm her skin, a small victory humming beneath her ribs. She hadn’t seen his parents all week.

On Friday, the air hung thick with summer heat. Tae pushed open her door wearing nothing but lemon-yellow bikini bottoms and a crocheted triangle top that left her midriff bare and her cleavage straining against the loose weave. The late afternoon sun turned her fair skin golden. She carried a watering can towards her wilting hydrangeas, moving with unhurried grace.

Jungkook was already there, kneeling shirtless beside his mother’s prized rose bushes, sweat glistening on his muscular back as he dug. He looked up as her shadow fell across him, and froze. His gaze snagged low on her hips before snapping instantly to her face, panic widening his eyes. Water spilled forgotten from his own can, soaking the dirt near his knees.

"Kookie," Tae purred, setting her can down with deliberate slowness. She crouched beside him, the scent of sunscreen and her mango body lotion thick in the air. "Working hard, huh? Getting all sweaty." Her fingertip traced a bead of sweat rolling down his forearm. He jerked as if burned. "Bet those muscles... do more than just lift textbooks." Her voice dropped to a husky murmur, eyes locked on his. "Ever wonder what else they might lift?"

Jungkook’s entire body went rigid. His tan skin flushed a violent crimson, spreading from his neck to his temples. He scrambled backwards, gravel crunching under his palms, knocking over his watering can completely. Water pooled darkly around the rose bushes. "I—I—" he choked out, unable to form words. He stared at her, utterly paralyzed, his chest heaving like he’d sprinted a mile. The intensity of his reaction, the pure, flustered shock radiating from him—it wasn’t performative. It was raw, untouched territory. Tae watched, fascinated, a playful laugh bubbling in her throat.

The screen door of the Jeon house slammed open. Mrs. Jeon stood framed in the doorway, her expression a mask of icy fury. Her eyes, hard as flint, raked over Tae’s near-nakedness, then settled on her son’s trembling, flushed form sprawled inelegantly on the grass. "JEON JUNGKOOK!" she shrieked, the sound cracking through the humid air like a whip. "GET INSIDE THIS INSTANT!" Her gaze flickered to Tae, pure venom in her eyes. "And YOU—" she hissed, pointing a shaking finger.

Jungkook scrambled backwards on his elbows like a startled crab. His eyes were wide with panic, darting helplessly between Tae and his mother. "M-mom, I— She didn't—" he stammered, voice choked. Water soaked the seat of his shorts from the spilled can, darkening the denim and sticking to his thighs. He looked utterly exposed, mortification warring with raw panic.

Tae straightened up slowly, deliberately. The crocheted top shifted against her skin as she lifted her chin. The scent of sunscreen and mango hung heavy between them, incongruous against Mrs. Jeon's palpable rage. "Just admiring your roses, Mrs. Jeon," Tae said, her voice smooth as honey, utterly unruffled. She reached down and righted Jungkook's overturned watering can, her movements unhurried. Her fingertips brushed the damp grass near his knee. He flinched violently, scrambling another foot back.

Mrs. Jeon took two sharp steps towards the edge of her porch. "Don't you dare speak to me," she spat. "Don't you dare touch him! Filth! Poison!" Her voice trembled with barely contained hysteria. "Inside, Jungkook! NOW!" Her gaze locked onto Tae’s, promising ugly confrontation. Behind her, Mr. Jeon appeared, lingering silently in the doorway shadow. His gaze wasn't angry; it was dark, lingering, traveling the length of Tae's sun-warmed legs with an unsettling intensity. He didn't speak, just watched.

Tae met Mrs. Jeon’s glare steadily, but the prickling sensation under Mr. Jeon’s stare was impossible to ignore. She forced a small, tight smile onto her lips. "Enjoy your evening," she murmured, her tone dripping with a sweetness that felt brittle. Turning on her bare heel, she picked up her own watering can. She walked away slowly, feeling the weight of three stares burning into her back—the mother’s hatred, the father’s hunger, and the son’s terrified confusion. As she reached her own porch step, she heard the Jeon door slam shut with finality, followed by the muffled explosion of Mrs. Jeon’s voice rising behind the thin walls.

Tae paused, the cool metal of her watering can chilling her hand. The fragile warmth from Jungkook’s flustered innocence evaporated completely, replaced by the familiar, heavy ache settling behind her ribs. Peace, she thought bitterly, pushing open her own screen door. So much for peace. Inside, the faint, lingering smell of soy sauce from her forgotten lunch noodles greeted her, sharp and acidic in the sudden quiet. She leaned her forehead against the cool fridge door, closing her eyes.