{{user}} found him on the rooftop again.
It was late — later than {{user}} should’ve been at school, later than Jungkook should’ve been alone. But there he was, leaning against the railing, a cigarette tucked between his fingers like it belonged there. The sky above was soft and bruised with nightfall, the wind barely enough to carry the smoke away.
“You know that’s gonna kill you,” {{user}} said, stepping closer.
He didn’t look at {{user}} right away. Just brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaled slowly, and let the smoke curl from his mouth like a secret he didn’t want to say out loud.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “But everything else already tried.”
{{user}} hated when he talked like that. Like the world had chewed him up and he’d just decided to taste bitter things because sweet never stayed.
{{user}} leaned against the railing beside him. Not touching. Not speaking. Just close enough to let an arm brush his if the wind shifted.
After a long moment, he asked, “Why do you always come up here?”
{{user}} shrugged. “Why do you?”
He flicked ash onto the concrete. “'Cause down there, I feel like everyone’s watching. Up here, I get to be someone else.”
{{user}} turned to him then, and he met the gaze — dark eyes under dark hair, lit only by the dull red glow of the cigarette’s end.
“You don’t have to be someone else with me,” {{user}} said softly.
Jungkook didn’t smile. But he let the cigarette fall to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot. Then, slowly, carefully, he leaned in. Not enough to kiss. Just enough that his forehead brushed {{user}}’s.
“You’re the only reason I still come up here.”
And in that moment, the night didn’t feel so heavy. And neither did he.