Somewhere Above the City
Summary: He never plans big moments. But this one becomes unforgettable when a ride into the night leads to endless stars.
It starts the same way it always does with him. A message at an unusual hour.
“Put something warm on. Don’t ask questions.”
You don’t even hesitate anymore. When you step outside, the night air greets you first, cool and but not cold against your skin. Then you see him.
Jungkook is already waiting by his bike, helmet in one hand, the other tucked into his jacket pocket. He looks up the moment the door closes behind you, like he’s been waiting for that exact sound. His expression softens instantly when he sees you.
“Hey,” he says quietly, like the night itself might hear him. You walk toward him, and he pushes off the bike to meet you halfway. Without thinking, he fixes the collar of your jacket, tucking it closer around your neck.
“You didn’t dress warm enough,” he mutters.
“I trusted you,” you reply. That earns you a small shy smile.
“Yeah?” he says. “Good.”
He helps you onto the bike with care that feels almost too gentle for someone who looks like he belongs to speed and adrenaline. Before he puts your helmet on, he pauses. Just for a second. His fingers hover near your cheek, brushing a strand of hair back like he is memorising the moment.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod. Only then does he settle the helmet on you properly, adjusting the strap under your chin with focused concentration, like it matters more than it should.
“Tell me if it’s too tight,” he says.
“It’s fine.”
He doesn’t move right away. Just looks at you for a second longer than necessary.
Then he nods once, like he has decided something important, and gets on the bike in front of you.
The engine hums to life. And when you wrap your arms around him, he immediately reaches down and covers your hand with his, squeezing once before he starts driving.
Not letting go. Not even for a second.
The city slowly dissolves behind you.
Lights blur into gold streaks. Streets grow quieter, and the world feels like it is being left behind on purpose.
At some point, he slows down without warning and shifts one hand off the handlebar just long enough to tap your knuckles.
A silent check-in.
You squeeze back.
He nods slightly, like that is all he needed.
The road climbs higher and higher, the air turning colder, clearer. You notice the way his shoulders relax the further you leave everything behind, like this is where he finally knows how to breathe properly.
Eventually, the bike rolls to a gentle stop at the top of a hill.
He kills the engine, and suddenly, everything is still.
No city noise. No rush. Just wind and sky.
The stars are overwhelming here. Not scattered. Not faint. They look close enough to touch.
He gets off first, then turns back toward you immediately, offering his hands like it is instinct.
You take them.
He steadies you as you step down, but doesn’t let go right away. Instead, he keeps your hands in his for a moment longer than necessary, thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles.
“You’re cold,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
He shakes his head, he doesn’t believe you at all, then slips his jacket off without a word and drapes it over your shoulders.
You try to protest, but he just leans in slightly and fixes it properly.
“Keep it,” he says.
That is the end of the argument. You sit together on the grass near the edge of the hill.
At first, there is silence, it is not uncomfortable, quite the opposite. He leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky.
“You know,” he says after a while, “I come here when I can’t think straight.”
You glance at him. “And is it working tonight?”
He exhales a quiet laugh.
“No,” he admits. Then, softer, “because you’re here.”
That makes your chest feel strangely warm. You bump your shoulder lightly against his. He looks at you then, and it is different from before. Less guarded and distracted. Like he has stopped trying to hide whatever has been building in him.
“You always do that,” he says.
“What?”
“Make things feel… calmer.”
His hand finds yours in the grass again. This time, he doesn’t hesitate at all. He just holds on.
“I didn’t plan anything big tonight,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t want to be up here.” A pause, then he adds, almost like it slips out before he can stop it, “Not when I think about you all the time.” His thumb moves gently over your hand, grounding you, steadying himself too. “I think I’m in love with you,” he says.
No performance. No drama. Just truth.
The kind that feels heavier than silence. He watches you carefully after he says it, like he is ready to pull back if he needs to.
But you don’t move away, you move closer instead.
“I think, you brought me all the way up here just to tell me that.”
That makes him let out a small, relieved laugh.
“Maybe,” he admits, then you squeeze his hand.
And that is when his expression finally breaks into something soft and real, like he has been holding his breath for too long and finally remembered how to exhale. He leans in first, slow and careful, giving you every chance to stop him.
You don’t.
The kiss is quiet and warm. A little unsteady at first, then certain, like something long overdue finally finding its place.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead lightly against yours.
“You’re really not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he murmurs.
You smile. “No.”
He laughs softly, and it turns into another kiss almost immediately.
Longer this time.
"I think I'm in love with you too." you whisper against his lips, out of breath.
He pulls you closer, with a smile on his lips.
Neither of you is in any rush to go back down the hill. And neither of you notice the shooting stars.
A/N: All photos used on this blog are from Pinterest I do not own them, credit goes to their owner!