Stupid Hot Neighbor | Jungkook x Reader

20

Another week passes, and everything remains the same. You still spend most of your time lying on your bed in silence, but now something has shifted. A few days ago, while scrolling through your phone, you found the pictures of you and Jungkook together. Now, you lay there, staring at them, tears silently streaming down your face. The pain feels different, though. It's no longer the sharp, immediate hurt of losing someone you love, knowing they'll never love you back.

Now, the tears come because you realize what you had with him will never happen again. Every smile in those pictures, every laugh you shared, all the stolen kisses, the quiet moments of intimacy—they're gone. What hurts the most isn't just the love unreciprocated, but the loss of what could have been. The memories of him feel distant, yet painfully close, like a dream slipping through your fingers.

And as you lay there, clutching your phone, it's not just about missing him. It's about mourning the version of yourself you were when you were with him—the one who felt hopeful, the one who thought, maybe just maybe, this could be something more.

Love sucks, and that's exactly why you avoided dating in the first place. You knew—deep down—that there's no love without pain, no connection without the risk of heartbreak. But somehow, against your better judgment, you let yourself believe it could be different this time. You ignored the warning signs, the voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the inevitable hurt. You took the risk anyway, blindly hoping that this time, it wouldn't end in pieces.

And now, here you are, with nothing but the remnants of that risk—staring at photos of a love that never had a chance, and a heart full of regret. You thought you were strong enough to handle it, but you realize now, love has a way of breaking even the toughest parts of you.

You sigh, the weight of everything pulling at you as you sit up on the bed. Grabbing your blanket and wrapping it tightly around yourself, seeking some small comfort in the soft fabric you walk to the living room and sit on the couch. With a resigned breath, you reach for the remote, knowing exactly what you'll do next—your new favorite routine. You put on a rom-com, one of those cheesy, feel-good movies that always made you laugh, but now they hit differently. You let yourself laugh at the lighthearted moments, at the ridiculous misunderstandings and grand gestures.

But you know how it ends. You always do.

By the time the credits roll, your laughter turns to quiet tears. You're crying not just because the movie's over, but because deep down, you know that kind of love only happens in movies. The grand declarations, the happy endings—they're fantasies. A part of you used to hope you'd find something like that. Now, it feels like just another reminder of what you'll never have.

As you scroll through the endless list of rom-coms, searching for another movie to lose yourself in, you hear keys jingling at your door. You freeze, watching it swing open, revealing Mila and Lana, both dressed to the nines in stunning, fancy outfits.

"Okay, girl, enough is enough," Lana declares, her heels clicking with each step as she walks over to you with purpose. "I'm not letting you drown in your own shit. You're coming with us tonight."

Mila joins you on the couch, brushing your hair tenderly as she speaks in her usual soft tone. "We decided it was time to intervene. No more lying in bed and crying. We're giving you a little push to feel better."

Lana stands before you, hands on her hips, her smile practically daring you to say no. "Get your ass ready, girl."

You stare back at her, silently pleading with your eyes to just let you stay in the comfort of your blanket, the darkness of your apartment, and the predictable routine of crying through yet another movie. But Lana isn't having it. She leans in, her voice firm but full of care.