Chapter Text
You hadn't planned on meeting your new neighbor today.
But after a week of relentless begging from your six-year-old son, Eiden, you found yourself standing outside the biker's house next door.
Before you could knock, the garage door rolled open.
Jeon Jungkook looked up from where he was working on his motorcycle, grease smudged across his hands.
Your son immediately lit up "Whoa!"
Jungkook chuckled, then met your eyes.
"Well," he drawled, wiping his hands on a rag, "you must be the neighbor who's been spying on my bike."
For a second, neither you nor Eiden moved.
The man standing in front of you looked exactly like the kind of person you spent your entire life avoiding.
Tattoos disappeared beneath the sleeves of a fitted black t-shirt. Silver piercings glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Dark hair fell into his eyes, slightly damp with sweat, and there was an effortless confidence about him that immediately put you on edge.
The motorcycle beside him didn't help.
Neither did the fact that he was annoyingly attractive.
You tightened your grip on Eiden's hand "Um... hello."
Your voice came out softer than intended.
Balancing a plate of freshly baked cookies and a glass bottle of milk in your hands, you stepped off his porch and crossed the short distance towards the garage.
You couldn't exactly show up empty-handed to greet a new neighbor.
Even if that neighbor looked like he belonged on the front page of a motorcycle magazine rather than in your quiet suburban neighborhood.
"We just came to say hi."
A lie.
Well, half a lie.
The real reason was currently vibrating beside you with enough excitement to power a small city.
"Mom," Eiden whispered loudly.
You squeezed his hand.
"No."
"But—"
"No."
"Mom."
"Eiden."
The boy sighed dramatically, as if he was the one raising you.
Across from you, Jungkook bit back a smile.
You noticed. Unfortunately.
His mouth curved upward just enough to reveal a tiny dimple in one cheek.
Dangerous. Very dangerous.
Because dimples weren't supposed to belong to men who looked like they rode motorcycles at reckless speeds and probably got into bar fights for fun.
Your ex-husband had worn pressed shirts and expensive watches.
This man looked like trouble wrapped in black leather. The smart thing would be to leave. Drop off the cookies. Introduce yourself. Go home.
Instead, Eiden finally slipped free from your grasp.
"Your bike is so cool!"
You closed your eyes.
Of course.
When you opened them again, Jungkook's attention had already shifted entirely to your son.
His gaze flicked from the plate of cookies, still warm enough that faint wisps of steam curled into the air, to Eiden's awestruck expression.
Something softened in his features.
Without hesitation, he tossed the rag onto a nearby workbench and crouched down until he was eye level with the little boy.
No sudden movements. No exaggerated enthusiasm.
Just calm patience. Like he'd done this before.
"Yeah?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
Not rough. Not intimidating.
Warm.
The kind of voice that belonged around campfires and late-night conversations.
Eiden nodded so hard you worried his head might fall off.
"Is it yours?"
"It is."
"Did you build it?"
"Most of it."
"No way."
"Way."
Eiden gasped. Actually gasped.
And just like that, Jungkook earned the same level of admiration usually reserved for superheroes and dinosaurs.
You watched, momentarily caught off guard.
Then Jungkook smiled. Not the teasing smirk he'd given you earlier.
A real smile.
Soft.
Almost shy.
It transformed his entire face.
The tattoos, the piercings, the intimidating appearance, suddenly none of it mattered. Without thinking, he reached out and gently ruffled Eiden's hair.
The gesture was so natural. So brotherly. So unexpectedly sweet.
And for reasons you couldn't explain, your heart stumbled.
Just slightly. Just enough for you to notice.
Jungkook glanced up then.
His eyes met yours.
For a moment, neither of you looked away.
There was grease smudged across his forearm. A streak of dirt along his jaw. The late afternoon sun caught the gold flecks hidden inside his dark eyes.
And suddenly you became painfully aware of how long it had been since you'd looked at a man this closely.
Since you'd noticed things. Since you'd cared.
The realization hit like a splash of cold water.
You looked away first.
"Sorry," you said quickly. "He's been talking about your motorcycle all week."
A laugh escaped Jungkook's lips.
Low and genuine.
"I figured."
Eiden nodded enthusiastically "I told Mom we should come meet you."
"Oh, did you?"
"She said no."
"Eiden."
"What?" he asked innocently.
The biker laughed again. And to your horror—
You found yourself fighting a smile too.
Trouble.
That was your first thought when Jeon Jungkook moved in next door.
Standing in his garage while your son looked at him like he'd hung the moon, you had the sinking feeling that you might have been right.
Just not for the reasons you originally thought.
—-----------------—-----------------—-----------------—-----------------
By the time you got Eiden bathed, fed, and tucked into bed, the sun had long since disappeared beyond the horizon. The house had settled into its nightly silence.
Your favorite time of day.
And your loneliest.
Eiden was asleep upstairs, sprawled across his bed in a way only children could manage, one sock mysteriously missing despite having worn two only hours ago.
The dishes were done. Lunches packed for tomorrow. Laundry folded. Emails ignored.
For the first time all day, you were alone.
You sank into the couch with a mug of chamomile tea warming your hands. The familiar ache in your lower back greeted you immediately.
You groaned.
Late twenties, your ass. You moved like somebody's exhausted aunt.
The soft glow of the table lamp illuminated the living room, casting warm shadows against the walls. Outside, the neighborhood was quiet.
No children playing.
No lawnmowers humming.
No retired neighbors gossiping from their porches.
Just stillness. You took a slow sip of tea.
Two years.
It had been two years since your divorce.
Two years since a random Friday afternoon had shattered the future you'd spent nearly a decade building.
You still remember it vividly.
The office party. The accidental text. The look on your husband's face when he realized you'd found out.
No guilt. No remorse. Just panic. Three months later, the marriage was over.
Eiden stayed with you.
And somewhere in the chaos of rebuilding your life, you stopped existing as a person.
You became Mom.
Not a woman.
Not someone with hobbies or dreams or desires.
Just Mom.
Your life revolved around school lunches and parent-teacher meetings.
Favorite cereals. Favorite cartoons. Lost crayons. Bedtime stories. Questions. Endless questions.
"Do fish get thirsty?"
"Can dinosaurs swim?"
"If the moon follows us, does it follow everyone?"
You smiled despite yourself. Eiden was your entire world. You'd do it all again in a heartbeat.
But sometimes... Sometimes, after he fell asleep and the house became quiet...
The silence reminded you that there was nobody waiting for you anymore.
Nobody asking about your day. Nobody reaching for your hand during movies. Nobody noticing when you were tired. The realization no longer hurt the way it once had.
But it lingered. Like an old scar.
Your phone buzzed against the coffee table.
A work notification. A report due tomorrow.
You stared at it.
Then deliberately flipped the phone face-down.
Tomorrow's problem.
Tonight, you simply wanted five minutes of peace. Outside, crickets sang softly in the darkness. Then another sound drifted through the night.
Low.
Familiar.
The deep rumble of a motorcycle engine.
Your eyes lifted automatically toward the window. Across the street, headlights flashed briefly before a motorcycle rolled away from the curb.
Even from this distance, you knew exactly whose it was.
Jungkook.
The bike disappeared around the corner moments later, leaving only silence behind.
You found yourself smiling. Just a little.
Maybe he was going for a late-night ride.
Clearing his head. Enjoying the freedom of an empty road. The thought settled heavily in your chest.
Freedom.
The word tasted strange.
You couldn't remember the last time you had it.
Not real freedom. Not the kind where you could decide at ten o'clock at night that you wanted to go somewhere and simply... go.
No babysitter schedules. No school pickups. No responsibilities. Just you and the open road.
A bitter laugh escaped you. What were you even thinking?
Of course Jungkook had freedom.
He was young.
Single…maybe. No kids. No obligations. No tiny human depending on him for literally everything.
The comparison was unfair. Yet it lingered anyway. Maybe that was why your chest felt tight. Maybe you envied him.
Or maybe—
Your thoughts betrayed you.
Maybe it was because when he'd looked at you that afternoon, something had happened. Not much. Just a flicker. A tiny spark. A feeling you'd forgotten existed. One you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in years.
You groaned loudly and dropped your head back against the couch "Get a grip."
You were tired. That was all.
Sleep-deprived. Overworked. Hallucinating chemistry with the neighborhood biker.
Normal behavior. Completely normal.
To distract yourself, you reached for your phone.
A few taps later, you found yourself opening the neighborhood resident app
“Homebound” You snorted.
The one that all the retirees treated like it was national security.
You told yourself it was practical. Responsible. Knowing your neighbors was important. Especially as a single mother.
Your fingers typed in the house number next door before your conscience could intervene.
The profile loaded slowly.
You snorted again.
Half the neighborhood still thought passwords were government conspiracies.
Eventually the information appeared.
Jeon Jungkook
Age: 28
Occupation: Custom Motorcycle Builder
Emergency Contact: None Listed
Your eyes lingered.
No emergency contact.
Not even a parent.
A sibling.
Anyone.
Just blank space.
There was a photo attached, a generic headshot from some local license or permit, probably taken when he registered his business. He looked serious in it: dark hair neatly brushed back, no piercings visible (he must’ve removed
them for official stuff), sharp jawline shadowed with stubble.
He looked different. More serious.
Yet somehow it was unmistakably him. You remembered those same eyes looking at Eiden earlier.
Patient. Warm. Gentle.
The complete opposite of the reckless biker you'd imagined before meeting him.
Your thumb drifted lower.
Hobbies & Interests
Blank.
You frowned. Who leaves that blank? Then your gaze caught another detail.
No spouse listed.
No children.
Nothing.
Just Jungkook.
Alone.
And beneath "Registered Vehicle"
Motorcycle: Storm
You immediately rolled your eyes. Of course he named his bike.
Eiden had spent the entire walk home talking about it.
"Mama! Did you know Storm has custom handlebars?"
"Mama! Did you know Storm is faster than regular motorcycles?"
"Mama! Did you know Jungkook built most of Storm himself?"
You smiled despite yourself. Then the smile slowly faded. Because beneath the amusement came something quieter.
Something deeper.
The realization that, behind the tattoos and easy confidence, Jungkook lived alone in that house.
No family. No partner. No kids. No emergency contact.
Just him.
For reasons you couldn't quite explain, the thought made your chest ache. Not with attraction. Not entirely.
But with curiosity.
And that, perhaps, was even more dangerous. Because attraction could be ignored. Curiosity had a way of growing roots.
You stared at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary. The neighborhood app suddenly felt ridiculous.
A motorcycle builder.
Twenty-eight.
No emergency contact.
No family.
No spouse.
No children.
Nothing.
Just a few lines of information that somehow managed to tell you absolutely nothing about the man living thirty feet away.
With a sigh, you exited the app. That should have been the end of it. Instead, your thumb drifted toward Instagram.
You paused. Then opened it anyway.
At this point, you weren't entirely sure what you were doing. The search bar appeared at the top of the screen. A blank white box waiting patiently for your bad decisions.
You typed before you could stop yourself.
Jeon Jungkook.
Several profiles immediately appeared. You clicked the first one.
Wrong guy.
The second.
Wrong again.
The third looked like a middle-aged accountant from the city who posted nothing but pictures of golf courses. You groaned and dropped your head back against the couch.
"What are you doing?" you asked yourself in confusion.
The question echoed through the empty living room. There was no answer.
Only the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the distant chirping of crickets outside.
You were seconds away from closing the app when your eyes landed on a fourth profile.
A black Ducati motorcycle is in the profile picture.
No face. No name beyond a simple jk.
Just a motorcycle.
Your stomach did a strange little flip. Like a teenager. You hated it immediately. Then clicked on the profile anyway.
The page loaded. And for a moment, you simply blinked. It wasn't what you'd expected.
There were no shirtless mirror selfies. No gym photos. No pictures of expensive watches or motorcycles lined up outside bars.
Instead, there were photographs. Hundreds of them.
Sunrises spilling over mountain ridges. Rain-soaked roads disappearing into forests. The ocean at dusk. Clouds lit pink by a setting sun. Coffee cups forgotten beside open books. Streetlights glowing against wet pavement. Random moments frozen in time.
The photographs were beautiful. Not in a flashy way. In a thoughtful way.
The kind that suggested the person behind the camera noticed things other people walked past.
You found yourself scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. The tea in your hands slowly grew cold.
"Maybe he likes photography." you mumbled to yourself. Though your voice sounded oddly loud in the empty room. The realization unsettled you.
Because every photo seemed to reveal another contradiction. The tattooed biker next door wasn't supposed to have an eye for soft lighting and composition. He wasn't supposed to stop his motorcycle to photograph wildflowers
growing through cracked asphalt. He wasn't supposed to have entire highlights dedicated to sunsets.
Yet there they were. You continued scrolling until the photographs gradually became older. The quality changed. The colors grew warmer. The dates stretched further into the past. Then your thumb stopped.
A photograph filled the screen.
A younger Jungkook smiled at the camera. His hair was longer. His face softer somehow. The tattoos were mostly absent. The piercings gone.
One arm was wrapped around a woman standing beside him. She was laughing at something outside the frame. Not posing. Not looking at the camera. Just laughing.
The kind of laugh that came from happiness. The kind that couldn't be faked. For reasons you couldn't explain, your chest tightened.
You glanced at the date. September 1st, 2021. Five years ago.
A lifetime.
Your eyes lingered on the photograph.
Who was she? A girlfriend? A fiancée? A sister?
The questions arrived before you could stop them. And perhaps that was the first warning sign. Because curiosity had transformed into something far more dangerous.
Investment.
You clicked the photo. Zoomed in slightly. Studied the details. The smile on his face. The ease between them. The way his arm rested around her shoulders. Then—
A tiny pink heart appeared on the screen. Your soul left your body.
"Oh my God." You froze.
The heart hovered there. Mocking you.
Bright. Visible. Horrifying.
Your finger slammed against the screen. The like disappeared. A full second passed.
Then another. Then the realization hit.
"Oh my God." You shot upright. "Fuck."
Your voice came out in a horrified whisper. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
You immediately locked your phone and tossed it onto the coffee table as if it had personally betrayed you. For several seconds, you simply stared at it. Waiting. As though the device might suddenly explode.
Nothing happened. The silence was almost worse. A groan escaped you as you collapsed face-first into the couch cushions. The fabric muffled your scream. Your entire face felt hot, mortifyingly hot. The kind of embarrassment that made you want to relocate to another country. Maybe another planet. Because he was going to see it.
Of course he was.
Even if he wasn't actively using Instagram, notifications existed. Technology existed. Your humiliation existed.
Somewhere in the world, there was now evidence that you'd accidentally liked a five-year-old photograph while stalking your attractive neighbor's social media.
You pressed your forehead harder into the cushion. This was how true crime documentaries started. The woman in the photograph resurfaced in your thoughts.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Don't. Don't do this. Don't start wondering who she was. Don't start creating stories.
Don't start imagining old heartbreaks and lost loves and reasons why a man who photographed sunsets and smiled like that lived alone now.
Because that wasn't your business.
And because the moment you started wondering about those things, you were already in trouble. The realization settled somewhere deep inside your chest.
Quiet. Uncomfortable. Impossible to ignore.
You hadn't thought about dating in years. Hadn't wanted to. Hadn't allowed yourself to. Your life was Eiden. Work. Bills. School forms. Dinner. Laundry. Survival.
Yet somehow, after one conversation in a garage and a few photographs on a screen, you found yourself wondering about the man next door.
Not because he was handsome. Though he was. Not because he was younger. Though that fact lingered embarrassingly often.
But because for the first time in years, somebody had made you curious.
And maybe that was what frightened you the most.
Because attraction fades.
Crushes disappear.
Curiosity lingers.
Curiosity asks questions.
Curiosity makes room for people.
And after spending two years carefully rebuilding your life, the last thing you needed was someone finding a way inside it.
—------------—------------—------------—------------—------------—------------—------------—------
Eventually, embarrassment won over curiosity. You groaned into the couch cushion one final time before dragging yourself upright.
The tea had gone cold hours ago. Your dignity had gone cold right alongside it.
With a dramatic sigh, you switched off the living room lamp and shuffled toward your bedroom.
"I've officially lost my mind," you muttered to yourself. The words sounded ridiculous in the quiet darkness.
Because what exactly had you done? Looked up your neighbor? Scrolled through some photographs? Accidentally liked a five-year-old post?
The reaction was wildly disproportionate to the crime. And yet your face still burned. You changed into your pajamas, washed your face, and climbed beneath the covers. The mattress dipped comfortably beneath your weight.
Finally. Sleep.
No work emails. No school forms.
No motorcycles.
No Jungkook.
Just sleep.
You pulled the blanket over your face like it could shield you from your own thoughts. Unfortunately, your thoughts remained.
A pair of warm brown eyes.
A gentle smile.
A tattooed hand ruffling Eiden's hair.
You groaned "No." The pillow offered no sympathy.
Eventually exhaustion won. Your thoughts blurred. The edges softened.
And slowly, mercifully, you drifted off.
—------------—------------—------------—------------—------------—------------—------------—------
The house settled into silence.
No more thoughts. No more memories. No more overthinking.
Just the deep, dreamless sleep of someone who had been carrying the weight of the world for far too long. Outside, the neighborhood remained quiet beneath the fading night sky.
Hours passed. The darkness gave way to dawn.
Soft golden sunlight began slipping through the gaps in your curtains, painting pale streaks across your bedroom walls.
And somewhere next door, another morning had already begun.
Jungkook had returned late the previous night.
A long ride north. Empty roads. Ocean air.
The kind of ride that cleared his head.
He'd rolled back into the neighborhood shortly after midnight, engine humming beneath him as familiar houses passed by in the darkness.
Normally he would've let Storm growl a little louder. Enjoyed the sound.
Tonight, he hadn't.
Because a six-year-old boy slept next door. And so did his mother. The thought had crossed his mind before he could stop it.
Annoying. Very annoying.
By six in the morning he was already awake. Coffee in hand.
Black.
No sugar.
No cream.
Just caffeine and bad decisions.
The garage door stood half-open, letting in the cool morning air while he sorted through parts on his workbench.
He realized he hadn’t checked his phone all night, it was not as if anyone would reach out to him anyway. He looked for the device and finally found it laying on the nearby table.
He picked it up, sipping on his morning coffee, without thinking, he unlocked it.
Then paused. A notification sat near the top of his screen.
Instagram.
His eyebrows lifted.
@sugaredviolets liked your photo. He clicked on the notification mindlessly.
For several moments he simply stared. Then a slow smile appeared.
Not a grin. Not amusement. Something softer. Interested.
Because that photograph wasn't recent. Not even close. It was buried years deep in his profile. Nobody accidentally found that picture.
His thumb tapped the username. The profile loaded. And suddenly he understood exactly how Eiden had inherited his curiosity.
The account wasn't private.
Family photographs. Beach trips. School events. Birthday parties. Pictures of Eiden growing up. Pictures of her.
A life. A real one. Not curated. Not filtered to perfection. Just honest.
Jungkook scrolled. He probably shouldn't have. Yet he did.
One photograph became two. Then five. Then ten. He learned surprisingly little and far too much all at once.
She loved tea.
She smiled differently when Eiden was beside her.
She rarely posted selfies.
Most of her photographs were centered around her son. As though the camera naturally gravitated toward him. As though her world did too.
A warmth settled unexpectedly in his chest. Then he reached a photograph that made him pause.
Seven years ago. Hawaii. A beach glowing gold beneath the setting sun.
She stood in front of the ocean wearing a silk dress that danced around her legs in the wind.
She looked younger. Carefree. Radiant. Happy.
Not the tired woman he'd met yesterday carrying the weight of a household on her shoulders.
This version of her looked like she belonged to herself. Jungkook found himself staring longer than necessary. Then his thumb moved.
Like.
Like.
Like.
Like.
Like.
He didn't realize how far he'd gone until his coffee had grown cold.
"Shit."
A laugh escaped him. If anyone looked suspicious here, it was definitely him.
Still. His gaze drifted back toward the Hawaii photograph. There was something sad about it. Not because of the picture itself.
Because he had a feeling the woman in that photograph hadn't existed for a very long time.