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The violets are gone, and the wind is howling like no other day.
Taehyung’s father is busy with kingly deeds, and the empire has fallen into a daze. Not despair, per se, because even fools realise that no army can beat Gwacheon and it’s cavalry. But the words are still silently spoken between citizens, the sorrow of death hanging by their throats.
Many people have died, a few of them their own, and Taehyung has never been concerned before.
He’s never had a need to be, growing up as a prince, he’s never been permitted to mourn a war. Taehyung is a strong, able man. The heir to the throne, if you must. A war can barely rattle him.
But as his robe flutters due to his fast pace, the halls echoing with his footsteps, the beating of his heart begs otherwise.
Other than his small figure roaming through the halls of the castle, not even a squeak is heard. The people of the castle are grieving, but for what? Taehyung shall find out.
Find out, he shall.
The wooden door is before him within seconds, and he does not bother knocking, swinging it on his hinges and the smell of the burning oil lamp hits his nose immediately.
The room is yellow and stale, but Taehyung looks past it all.
The general stares back at him with slightly abridged eyes, soft despite his posture. Taehyung’s pupils widen.
Contrary to his previous aggression, all Taehyung is able to whisper is, “Jeongguk?”
And he presses a limp hand against the wall in order to stabilise himself, afraid he should faint due to surprise and relief.
The general has his hands completely bandaged up, face all blown up, old wounds healing and new ones bleeding through poor bandages. There is a frail map placed upon the table before him, it’s battered state resembling Jeongguk’s itself. Taehyung desperately wishes he has an excuse, but it is undeniable.
He cannot bear to look at Jeongguk in this manner.
“My prince... you should not be here,” Jeongguk says, all so gentle and reserved in the way he talks. Unlike how he used to be, always aiming too high, always talking with a raised nose to the prince himself.
Jeongguk’s words and actions contradict each other, as he steps towards Taehyung with shaky legs, eyes just as innocent as they had been when he had left.
He is so young. Too young to have seen the pain and deformity the world has to offer, Taehyung wishes he could make Jeongguk unsee it all.
But alas, he is nothing but a spoilt prince.
“Do not start with me,” Taehyung mumbles, instinctively falling into Jeongguk’s embrace as his eyes widen with tears because he had though that Jeongguk had been staked right through the fucking heart.
Even whilst in pain, Jeongguk attempts to hold Taehyung up as meekly as he can. The prince is standing somewhat upright on his feet, but he just wishes to feel Jeongguk’s arms around him.
They bring him comfort, like nothing else in the empire can. Gwacheon is a beautiful kingdom, but it is barren to the likes of Taehyung. Luckily, it seems that Jeongguk reciprocates the sentiment.
The faint thump, thump, thumping of Jeongguk’s heart in his ears, Taehyung never realised how much it meant to him. How sometimes he’d just be idling on Jeongguk’s naked chest months back, never thinking of what would happen if the repeating sound just... stopped.
Quite foolish on his part, considering that Jeongguk is, in fact, a warrior. Pride of the troops and what not, the youngest prodigy.
“They told me you were dead,” Taehyung’s voice breaks, holding back a pitiful sound. He does not dare initiate eye contact.
“I am, to everyone. No one should know, Taehyung-ah,” Jeongguk rests his chin on the crown of Taehyung’s head, shutting his eyes briefly. Perhaps the most peaceful moment he has had within the past several weeks. Not the sounds of canons blowing up in his ears.
“They told me you were dead, and- and I believed them. I had to remove my hat at your funeral Jeongguk.” Wet, angry tears make their way down Taehyung’s face, dampening his blouse, but Jeongguk does not wipe them away.
Cannot, because his hands are bandaged.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love,” Jeongguk repeats, over and over. Even in situations like these, Taehyung acts like a fucking child.
Jeongguk had always refuted, told him he was just emotional and it was alright to grow upset. But this feels insensitive when Jeongguk cannot even breathe correctly.
“No- we must talk about this later. For now, give me your hands, yes? I’m positive I have some better aid to bandage you up with, and not these rags that they’ve put on you. Do more soldiers accompany you? Yoongi, perhaps? Do they need some kits too? Do they-” Taehyung speaks and frets hurriedly, picking at a bled through bandage on Jeongguk’s arm. He’s interrupted gently.
“Listen to me, Taehyung-ah. Darling, please look at me. Can I look at you once more?” Taehyung stops speaking.
“Why are you talking like that?” He whispers, gazing right back into Jeongguk’s bigger, melancholic eyes.
“I came here to say goodbye, Taehyung.”
The violets will only be missed, until the roses grow.