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Girl Next Door
♥️
You’ve known Kook your entire life.
From the first day your families moved into the row of new houses on Maple Street, you remember the boy with the messy hair and mischievous grin that ran up the driveway, tugging at your hand like he owned you. “C’mon, Y/N! Don’t be a slowpoke!” he’d shout, and even though you were four, you didn’t question it. You ran anyway, every time.
Even then, he had that instinct to protect and chase, to make sure nothing ever hurt you. There was that time that you fell off your bike into the gravel when you were six, and he sprinted like the wind, yelling your name until he scooped you into his arms. Or the time someone teased you at school and he stood in front of you like a superhero, chest puffed out and dark eyes glinting dangerously like burning coal, daring them to touch you again.
Jeon Jungkook was older by only a few years, but he felt like a force of nature that kept you safe from the world, and you trusted him completely. Over the years, that trust turned into habit and he became the person you shared secrets with and complained to when things were unfair. Even when you started growing up and your interests diverged −Kook with soccer and you with singing− he never left your side.
But destiny had its own plans, and the day came when your life started to change −your debut as a trainee under a small entertainment company. You were only fourteen and nervous as hell, your hands shaking as you entered the practice room for the first time. Kook was already there waiting. He wasn’t supposed to be, he had his own schedule and his own life, but he was there, arms crossed and scowling like only he could.
“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you don’t pay attention,” he said in that matter-of-fact way that he used sometimes when he was obviously trying to be the older, more responsible one of the both of you, the one who knew the most.
“I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, trying not to look at him, though you could feel his eyes on your every move.
Kook didn’t smile or say anything else, but later, when you were trembling from exhaustion after your first week of vocal lessons, he found you sat in a ball with your knees tucked under your chin, crying in the practice room.
“You look ridiculous like that,” he said softly, crouching beside you. “But fine, go ahead and cry if you need to. Just don’t quit, okay?”
You didn’t quit −not because of anyone else, but because of him.
The years passed and you trained hard. Slowly, your name started to appear in trainee line-ups, mini performances, and finally, the announcement of your debut. By then, Kook had already become a rising star in his own right; his group had already debuted and were making waves all around the country. But he never let you forget the promise he made as a kid that he would always protect you.
Except now, ‘protect’ came with an underlying, gnawing possessiveness he didn’t fully understand. He watched as other trainees whispered your name, as older idols complimented you during showcases, and as fans screamed for your debut stage −something tightening in his chest each time.
It wasn’t jealousy, at least, that’s what he told himself. It was care −pure, sibling-like care. That’s what he kept repeating, over and over, to convince himself that the way his gaze lingered on you, the way he draped his jacket over your shoulders, and the way he brushed stray hair away from your face was just normal.
Even though it was anything but.
When you finally debuted, the world knew of your history together −partly because Kook let slip stories of the girl he grew up next to and partly because he didn’t care if people knew how much he cared about you. The majority of both of your fans loved it and even started affectionately referring to you both as ‘the childhood duo’. It seemed as though everyone was waiting for you to catch up to what was obvious to anyone who knew you was −Kook had always been yours.
Backstage at your first major music show after your showcase, your makeup smudged from nervous tears as the relief of getting through it overtook you. You had survived your debut, but the adrenaline hadn’t left your body. Kook appeared beside you, his usual half-smile in place, though you could see the tension set in his jaw.
“You looked incredible, Y/N,” he said sincerely, his eyes glowing like embers with pride. “−You really owned the stage.”
You smiled, the tiredness slipping from your shoulders for a moment. You were so grateful for him being here to support you; even with the hectic schedule his band underwent he made time to be at your side to steady you. Being part of the same company was a huge help.
“Thanks, Kook,” you tell him, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Sure you could,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at you. “But lucky for you, I was here anyway.”
And there it was −that old protectiveness he had always had for you, except now it came wrapped in something heavier that he wasn’t ready to name. He adjusted the collar of your jacket like it was instinct, his touch feeling like a way of keeping you safe. You caught his eyes on yours fleetingly, noticing a flicker of something unspoken.
“You’re still the same brat I’ve known since we were five,” Kook said, shaking his head, though his lips curved into that infuriating half-smile, “−Nothing’s changed.”
“Maybe a little,” you teased, brushing your fingers over the jacket he had just straightened. “You’re still annoying, but maybe I like it now.”
He froze, eyes widening slightly, but he quickly looked away. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Like what?” you whispered, stepping closer, the familiar, bratty-ness-laced sweetness in your tone a quiet challenge.
“Things that make me confused,” he admitted, voice barely audible.
His hands twitched as though he wanted to reach for you, but he stopped himself. You had felt it then, more vividly than ever, that truth −the thing that neither of you wanted to admit to yet− buried under years of friendship and protection.
You laughed softly, because it was easier than saying anything at all. “You’re ridiculous, Kook.”
“Yeah?” he ventured, his gaze finally finding yours, dark and stormy, full of the weight of years he could no longer ignore. “But you’re mine, Y/N. Always have been.”
Your heart hammered at the words, but you didn’t move. You knew the moment where he would have to decide whether to keep pretending this was just a friendship or sibling-like care was coming. When he would finally admit that everything he had felt for you since childhood was something else entirely.
And as you stood there beside him after the whirlwind of your debut, the line between protector and lover blurred more than either of you were ready to admit.
♥️
It wasn’t easy being an idol. The schedules were relentless, the pressure constant, every smile had to be perfect, and every movement meticulously calculated. You learned quickly, but the first few months were a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and fan meetings.
Through it all, Kook was there. Not officially, because you didn’t need him to be and he was even busier than you. He had his own group and his own career, yet somehow he always found a way to appear backstage at your most important times −whether in the audience or even in the parking lot when you had finished a late-night practice.
“You look tired,” he remarked one evening, leaning casually against the wall as you wiped sweat from your forehead after a particularly gruelling rehearsal.
“I’m fine,” you said, brushing past him.
Kook didn’t move. “No, you’re not. Don’t try to lie to me,” he said. “You’ve been like that since we were kids −stubborn, proud, but never honest about what’s hurting you.”
You froze, startled. It was uncanny, the way he always knew. “You still act like my brother,” you said softly, the words tinted with nostalgia. “Even when I don’t need you to.”
He shrugged, leaning closer. “And you still act like a brat,” he teased, the old nickname slipping from his lips effortlessly. You were aware of the tension behind his eyes now, something he was holding back, and it made your heart flip.
“Maybe I like being a brat,” you told him, tilting your head, letting the corner of your lip curve upward.
The nickname always got to him, always drew him in and he glanced away, jaw tight. “I’m starting to think you do it on purpose,” he said gruffly.
“I do,” you admitted, grinning. “You always fall for it.”
His chest tightened. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you closer, to tell you that he hadn’t suddenly ‘fallen for you’ but that he had secretly felt this way about you all along.
“You’re impossible, Y/N,” he said instead.
The fans started to notice.
It was subtle at first −small clips of you laughing together, Kook draping his jacket over your shoulders during a cold outdoor rehearsal, or the way he hovered near the edge of the stage while you performed. Fan communities exploded with speculation about the ‘childhood duo’, dissecting your every interaction or lingering glance that had been captured on camera somewhere.
You knew it, but you didn’t care. To you, Kook had always been your protector, your confidant and your rock. But the day your first win was announced, it became impossible to ignore. Backstage with the cameras flashing and reporters crowding in, your hands shook as your name was called. Kook was there, standing just behind the crowd, his arm brushing yours as if he were claiming some invisible line.
“See?” he whispered, low enough for only you to hear. “They don’t know how lucky they are to even see you in one piece.”
You laughed softly, the familiar warmth spreading in your chest. “You really are ridiculous.”
“Yeah, I know” he admitted, eyes locked on you, dark in their intensity. “But I’ve always been this way. But you, you’ve always been mine.”
This time his words felt different −there was no teasing tone or playful edge, only the steady assertion of a feeling he had tried to ignore for years. But he wouldn’t look at you directly −he never did when he said things like that. He always looked past you, as though he were daring you to respond or prove him wrong.
You took a slow breath, stepping closer, careful not to let your nerves or excitement show too much. “You really think you own me, huh?” you asked lightly, but with a hint of challenge.
“I don’t think. I know,” he said surely, almost too casually, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him. “I’ve always known.”
The next few weeks were a blur of schedules and fan events. Sometimes when you returned to the dorm after a long day, Kook was there waiting, silently observing you as protectively as ever. He would fuss over your meals, make sure you were drinking water, not skipping stretches or simply keeping your hair out of your face. It was almost invisible to anyone else except you, but every small act was a reminder that he was always watching and always present for you.
You started noticing other things too.
The way his hand lingered just a second too long when he helped you with your jacket, the way he watched your performances from the side stage, fingers clenching when someone came too close, and the way he laughed at your jokes louder than anyone else, sometimes just to make you smile.
“Don’t you ever get tired of me being me?” you asked him one evening, sitting on the couch in the practice room while he fiddled with his phone.
He looked up, startled by the question. “Tired of you? Never,” he said immediately. “You’re−,” He stopped, as though realizing the words would betray too much. “−You’re Y/N. You’re perfect in your own way.”
You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “And what about me being a brat?”
Kook snorted, shaking his head. “That too,” he admitted, but his eyes softened. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
It was moments like these that made the tension between you unbearable. It didn’t burn in a dramatic way, it grew insidiously until every glance, every touch, and every laugh carried the weight of the feelings that had been left unspoken between you.
The older members of his group, who had watched him grow from a mischievous boy to a world-famous idol, would occasionally glance at the two of you together. “You’re not fooling anyone, Kook,” one would tease, nudging him as he adjusted your backpack on your shoulders. “You’ve always liked her, everyone can see it.”
He would flush, shake his head, mumbling something about protecting his little sister, but the smirk on their faces told him that the secret was no longer just his.
You felt it too in those moments where his possessiveness almost tipped over into something more, where he seemed to notice everything about you before anyone else did. The truth seemed glaringly obvious to you as you waited for him to admit it.
The fans were impatient, his friends were impatient, and even you were growing impatient as you hoped that maybe Kook was starting to realise that protecting you was never enough −and that he wanted more.
♥️
The air backstage smelled of hairspray, sweat and adrenaline. You were crouched on a bench, adjusting your stage shoes, singing softly to yourself, while the other idols hurried past in rehearsals. The crowd noise from the main stage seeped through the curtains, buzzing with energy.
Kook stood nearby, his gaze fixed on you, fascinated with every flick of hair that fell across your face. He wasn’t supposed to hover or care so much, but there he was as he had always been −the constant in your life, the shadow you could never quite escape.
“You know,” you started, looking up at him with a teasing smile, “−The fans are going to start thinking you’re obsessed.”
“I’m not obsessed,” he said immediately, though his voice lost a little of its confidence when your eyes locked with his. “I just want to make sure nothing happens to you. It’s called responsibility.”
“Uh-huh,” you murmured, grinning. “Responsibility, huh?” You stood, stretching, letting your uniform skirt flutter slightly, testing the reaction in his dark eyes. “Sounds like possessiveness to me.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s called caring,” he said darkly, dangerously close to admitting the truth.
You tilted your head, letting the bratty-ness lace your tone. “Caring, huh? So if someone compliments me on stage, you might get annoyed?”
His gaze flickered, sharp and instinctive, and you saw the tiny, almost imperceptible flare of jealousy that had been hiding behind his calm exterior for months. “Depends on who,” he said, turning his eyes away, though his body tensed as if ready to pounce.
You laughed softly, stepping closer. “Kook−,” you whispered, letting the word hang between you. “You’ve always been protective, but something feels different.”
He stilled, swallowing hard. “Different how?”
You tilted your head, watching the stage lights glimmer in his eyes. “Like you want to be more than just my protector.”
A heavy and loaded silence unfolded between you, until a voice called from the hallway. One of your staff members reminded you it was time for the final rehearsal. You gave Kook a quick smile and turned, but you felt his gaze burn into your back as you walked away.
Later, in the quiet of the dressing room, Kook found you alone, carefully removing stage makeup. You smiled softly, unaware that he had stayed back waiting.
“You’ve gotten so good,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “People notice everything about you, and I−.” His words faltered and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I hate that I notice it all first.”
You looked up at him with a gentle smile. “Hate it?” you asked, “−Or are you jealous?”
Kook didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he edged closer, his voice dropping low in a growl. “Maybe I am,” he admitted finally, eyes dark and serious. “Seeing anyone else notice you, it just shouldn’t happen.”
Your heart skipped. That old feeling, the one from childhood when he would throw himself between you and anyone who dared to hurt you, had grown, twisted into something undeniable you could see now.
You took a careful step closer, reaching out, brushing your fingers lightly against his forearm. “Kook,” you said softly, “−You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly under your touch. “Pretend?” he repeated, voice rough.
“Yes,” you said, letting your playfulness shine through just enough to tease him. “Pretend that this, whatever it is between us, doesn’t mean anything.” You leaned just a little closer, enough for your shoulder to brush against his. “You’re not just my friend who protects me anymore, are you?”
He swallowed audibly, the edge of control slipping from him. “No,” he admitted. “I suppose I’m not.”
Your breath caught. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with a thousand things you’d both been denying for years −longing, tension, fear, and the certainty that this moment had been inevitable.
Then, as if testing the waters, you reached up, brushing a bang away from his forehead. His eyes followed your movement, and for the first time, you saw him without the mask of protectiveness. Just Kook, the boy who had always loved you in every quiet, impossible way.
“You’ve been lying to yourself,” you whispered. “All these years. Protecting me, yeah −but you’ve wanted more. I’ve been waiting for you to see it.”
His lips parted, and he took a small step closer, the heat from his body pressing just slightly against yours. “Waiting?” he echoed. “You mean you knew?”
You tilted your head, smirking softly. “Of course I knew. I’ve always known.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
“You’re impossible,” he said finally, his voice rougher than usual, a mixture of frustration and awe. “You always have been.”
“And you like it,” you teased, letting your hand linger near his chest. “You’ve always liked it, Kook.”
He exhaled, a low, shuddering sound, and stepped closer until the space between you was nearly non-existent. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Yeah, I have.”
It was enough to make your heart pound, but you smiled softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw, letting your forehead rest briefly against his. “Then stop pretending, Kook,” you whispered. “Stop protecting me as if I’m a little kid. We’re more than that.”
His eyes closed for a fraction of a second, the tension in his shoulders melting slightly as he breathed you in. “You’re right,” he said. “You’ve always been right.”
And for a fleeting, perfect moment, it felt like the years of friendship, the endless teasing, the protectiveness, and the unspoken feelings had all led to this simple understanding that neither of you could hold back anymore.
♥️
A week passed. One night, as you sprawled out in the living room couch with a cup of lukewarm tea, the dorm silent as most of the other groups were out for a schedule or sleeping, you heard the door open slowly.
“Kook?” you asked, voice tentative, but knowing his presence instinctively.
He came inside, hands in his pockets, the familiar mischievous glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced with something heavier and more honest.
“You still awake?” he asked quietly, lowering himself beside you until he was close enough that your shoulders brushed against his.
You nodded, sipping your tea. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” he admitted, voice low, almost a whisper. “I’ve been thinking.”
Your heart did that familiar flip. “About what?”
He hesitated, the way he always did when he wanted to be careful with his words. Then he leaned back, letting his arm drape casually across the back of the couch, the proximity deliberate and possessive. “About us.”
Your heart hammered in your chest. “Us?”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, about us. About how I’ve been lying to myself for years, telling myself you were just my little sister, that protecting you was enough−.” His voice dropped, filled with raw, unfiltered emotion. “−But it’s not, Y/N. It’s never been enough.”
Your breath caught. You had seen it coming, felt it in the lingering touches, the stolen glances, the way his body always leaned toward you, even in a crowded room. But hearing his confession made your heart ache and all your senses come alive.
“I know,” you whispered, brushing your fingers along his forearm, letting him feel your warmth. “I’ve always known, Kook. I’ve been waiting for you to realize it yourself.”
He looked at you then, really looked, and you felt the weight of years of emotion in his gaze. “Waiting for me?” he repeated, voice barely audible.
“Yeah,” you said softly as you set down your tea. “Waiting for you to see that this −us− it’s real. That it’s okay to want more than just protectiveness and it’s okay to admit how you feel.”
The words hung between you, fragile and electrifying. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and then, finally, he leaned closer, until your faces were inches apart. “I know,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and reach up to cup his face. “I love you too.”
There was no hesitation now as his lips found yours, tentative at first, testing, and then deeper, more certain. You pressed against him, letting the years of waiting and unspoken desire finally spill into this kiss.
When you pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together as your breaths mingled, Kook chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Took me long enough,” he said hoarsely.
“You were always stubborn,” you teased, rubbing the tip of your nose against his. “I expected nothing less.”
“And you were always such a brat,” he said, smirking despite the seriousness of the moment. “But I’ve always loved it.”
You laughed softly, letting yourself melt against him. “Good,” you whispered. “Because now you can stop pretending I’m just your kid sister.”
He pulled you closer, arms wrapped firmly around your waist, possessive but tender, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah,” he murmured. “No more pretending. You’re mine, Y/N. Always have been, always will be.”
You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “And you’re mine, Kook. Forever.”
You tilted your head, looking up at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “You still owe me a jacket,” you whispered.
“I’ll give it to you,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead softly. “Every day, if you want.”
“Good,” you laughed softly, snuggling closer, “−You better keep that promise.”
And for the first time, neither of you had to worry about pretending or hiding, or even about labels.
You were simply together −finally.
♥️