They had been inseparable since childhood. Your brother and Jungkook, neighbors first, teammates later, and brothers in everything but blood. Where one went, the other followed. Their laughter filled your home for years, their secrets whispered in the dark corners of the porch, and their loyalty to each other solidified in scraped knees, broken rules, and a dozen promises made under the stars.

Today was no different. Jungkook was stretched out on the living room couch, long legs crossed at the ankles, his dark hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. He was lazily tossing a baseball back and forth with your brother, the two of them caught in easy conversation.

“Man, you still suck at catching.” Jungkook teased, his voice carrying that low, husky timbre that years of boxing and late nights had carved into it.

“Shut up.” your brother shot back with a grin. “At least I don’t cheat when I play.”

“Cheating is just winning with strategy. You should know that.” Jungkook replied smugly, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

That was when the front door creaked open. You stepped inside, gym bag slung over your shoulder, still in your volleyball uniform. The fabric clung to you, your skin glistening faintly from sweat in a delightful way. Your hair was pulled back, with your face flushed from practice.

Jungkook froze mid-toss. The ball slipped past your brother’s fingers, rolling onto the rug, but he didn’t even notice, his eyes were on you. His throat tightened, a low sound escaping him before he caught himself. God, you looked, he swallowed hard, far too good.

You barely glanced their way, heading straight to your room, the faint scent of your shampoo trailing behind you.

Jungkook shifted on the couch, dragging a hand through his hair, jaw clenched as the image burned into his mind. The uniform, the sweat, the careless sway of your hips. He groaned under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling terribly, suddenly hot.

“What’s wrong with you?” your brother asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing, man.” Jungkook said too quickly, leaning back again. “Just tired.”

But when you reappeared later, fresh from the shower, hair damp and skin glowing, dressed in soft shorts and a shirt, Jungkook nearly cursed aloud. You padded into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water, completely unaware of the way you undid him without trying.

He followed, leaning lazily against the doorframe, but his eyes lingered, too long, too sharp. “Thirsty, kid?” he asked, voice smooth, though something darker thrummed beneath it.

A smug grin curved his lips. “What? Kid? You’ll always be your brother’s little sister. Don’t get worked up now, little one.”

You turned, glare sharp, defiance written in every line of your body. His smirk faltered, just slightly. He let out a low grunt, like your words struck deeper than he wanted to admit. He pushed off the frame, taking a step closer, his gaze flicking briefly down your figure before snapping back to your eyes.

“Careful, little one.” he murmured, tone dipping, “you sound like you’re trying to prove something.” For a beat, the kitchen felt too small, the air too thick. Then your brother’s voice rang from the living room.

“Jungkook! You coming or what?”

Jungkook dragged his gaze from yours, jaw tight, smirk sliding back into place. “Yeah, I’m coming!” he called back, but not before leaning closer, his breath brushing your ear.

“You looked way too good in your volleyball uniform, by the way.” he muttered low, voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name. His broad frame almost pressed against yours.