Chapter Text
“Hyung! Stop it—what are you trying to do?”
Jungkook scowled as he pushed the king’s hand away from the poor mugunghwa Yoongi was yanking out of the earth.
“What? How else am I supposed to pick it?” the king asked, voice innocent, pout forming on his lips, one that melted Jungkook’s irritation faster than sunlight on dew.
With a quiet sigh, Jungkook unclipped the small shears from his belt and knelt beside him. The faint breeze ruffled his dark hair, a few strands falling into his eyes as he demonstrated, careful and patient. “Here... like this, Hyung. You have to cut it at the stem. That way, it keeps its flow and the rest of the plant won’t get hurt. It’ll thank you by blooming even more next season.”
He clipped the flower precisely, handed the tool to Yoongi, and looked up with a tiny, proud smile.
The king accepted it, but his gaze didn’t move to the flower, it lingered on Jungkook instead, soft and almost fond. It was a smile reserved for no one else, a secret between them, fragile as the petals surrounding them.
“Why are you smiling like that, Hyung?” Jungkook asked, his voice dropping low. He could feel the heat rising to his ears, painting his cheeks with an undeniable shade of pink.
Yoongi’s smile only deepened. Jungkook had always been shy. It had taken him years to dare call the king Hyung, to separate the man from the crown during their private hours. Yoongi found it endearing. No matter how much time passed, the younger’s sincerity never faded. He could listen to him talk about his flowers for hours, his voice warm, his eyes bright, his hands moving gently through the petals as if the garden were an extension of his heart.
He remembered those days vividly... their childhood spent in these same royal gardens, running between rose arches and hibiscus trees until dusk painted their laughter gold. Back then, Jungkook had dreamed of becoming a royal gardener. But when the old king passed and Yoongi took the throne, Jungkook had given up his dream to serve him instead.
Still, they met here almost every day. Their secret corner in the garden had become their world, where titles didn’t matter and silence spoke louder than words.
“You’re such a nerd, you know that?” Yoongi teased, tilting his head with a playful grin.
“Hyung!” Jungkook groaned and smacked his shoulder, though the red spreading down his neck betrayed him completely.
Yoongi chuckled quietly, taking a moment to admire him. Gone was the chubby, awkward boy with scraped knees and dirt-stained hands. Jungkook had grown into a man, his jaw sharp like the edge of a blade, eyes dark and round, reflecting sunlight like scattered stars. His hair, soft and black, brushed the tops of his lashes, and a small mole sat perfectly under his lower lip, framing his smile in a way Yoongi found unfairly beautiful.
And his body... strong now, sculpted by years of quiet labor and late-night training when he thought no one saw. But Yoongi had seen. He always did. And sometimes, a flicker of jealousy burned in his chest when he caught others looking at Jungkook too long.
He told himself it wasn’t that deep, he wasn’t like that. He just liked knowing that even a man so beautiful, admired by so many, still flushed at his words alone.
“Earth to you, Hyung…” Jungkook’s voice pulled him back. The younger was pouting, snapping his fingers in front of his face with mock impatience. "Where is your head at?"
Yoongi blinked and laughed softly. “Sorry, Kookie. Just… nothing important. What were you saying?”
“I was asking why you suddenly decided to kill my babies,” Jungkook said flatly, crossing his arms.
“What?” Yoongi frowned. “Kill your—what babies?”
“The flowers, Hyung!” Jungkook groaned, rolling his eyes.
Yoongi tried to keep a straight face. He really did. But the sight of Jungkook crouched in the grass, pouting and stroking the petals like injured children, was too much. He burst out laughing rich, deep laughter that filled the garden like sunlight.
“Hyuuung,” Jungkook whined, but his own lips curled upward, the sound too contagious to resist. His laughter joined Yoongi’s, softer but genuine. Because for Jungkook, there was nothing more beautiful than his king’s laughter, rare, unguarded, utterly human and for his ears only.
When the quiet returned, Yoongi brushed a petal off his sleeve and said, “Mother arranged a meeting with Lady Mi-Yoong tonight. I thought I’d pick her flowers myself. You know, to make a good impression.”
Jungkook’s smile wavered, but he forced it to stay. “If you want, I’ll help you. Just, please don’t kill my babies.”
Yoongi grinned brightly, his entire face lighting up as he began rambling about Lady Mi-Yoong how graceful she was, how long he’d admired her since they first visited her family estate years ago.
That night, Jungkook had never felt so cold.
The moment he slipped under the sheets, the linen bit at his skin, every fiber a cruel reminder of the warmth he didn’t have. The silence pressed heavy against his chest as his thoughts wandered to the king, to the smile that surely wasn’t meant for him tonight.
He told himself not to think about it, but his mind refused to obey.
Was Yoongi laughing now? Did that girl make him blush the way Jungkook once did, in the garden under the scent of mugunghwa?
He turned to his side, staring at the empty space beside him as if it could answer. “Please,” he whispered to the dark, “let it go wrong. Just this once.”
But who was he kidding? Yoongi was the most lovable soul to ever walk the earth… kind, gentle, the type to make even a stranger feel seen. There was no chance the girl hadn’t fallen for him instantly.
A single tear slid down his cheek, soaking into the pillow. His chest rose with a shaky breath before exhaustion finally pulled him under. The world dimmed, but not even dreams could save him from the ache.
By morning, the sunlight seemed almost cruel. The air smelled of dew and crushed petals, too fresh for a heart so heavy.
Jungkook was tending to the flowerbeds when the familiar voice reached him bright, light, full of joy. He didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to.
“Good morning, Kookie!”
Yoongi’s voice carried a happiness Jungkook had never heard before, and it felt like someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed. He turned, forcing a smile, but the sight of the king nearly stole the breath from his lungs.
Yoongi was radiant. The faint lines of sleeplessness that sometimes shadowed his face were gone, replaced by something glowing, alive. He looked like sunlight itself had taken human form.
“It went so well yesterday,” Yoongi said, lowering himself beside Jungkook among the flowers as if nothing had changed. “She’s incredible, Kookie. So warm, so elegant. We talked for hours. She said she remembered me from that banquet when we were younger.”
Jungkook nodded, smiling, though it trembled at the edges. His hands itched to pull the weeds but couldn’t stop shaking, so he busied them with the soil instead. “That’s… wonderful, Hyung. I’m glad.”
Yoongi grinned wider, oblivious to the storm brewing inside the man before him. “She even likes flowers,” he added with a chuckle, glancing at the morning glories curling around the trellis. “Said they remind her of devotion, how they bloom only for the sun.”
Jungkook’s throat tightened. “Morning glories,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the blossoms. “They bloom early and die before noon. Beautiful, but lonely. They wait for a sun that never stays.”
Yoongi tilted his head, missing the meaning entirely. “You always know something poetic to say,” he laughed softly.
Jungkook smiled faintly, heart aching as he echoed, “I suppose I do.”
The days that followed were slow torture disguised as routine.
Every morning, Jungkook rose before dawn, brushed the dust from his uniform, and made his way to the king’s chamber to prepare his garments, his tea, and his schedule. It was his duty, one he’d done for years without complaint. Yet now, every little task seemed to cut deeper.
Because every morning brought new words from Yoongi, and those words always carried her name.
“Lady Mi-Yoong sent me a letter today.”
“She’s kind enough to worry for my health.”
“She said she’d love to visit the gardens next time.”
Each sentence was a blade, each smile a wound. Jungkook had learned how to nod and smile in all the right places, even when it burned. He poured the tea and folded the robes and bowed at the door, but behind every gesture, something inside him withered like a flower starved of sunlight.
Sometimes, when they were alone, Yoongi would lower his voice to the tone only Jungkook ever heard, the one that made every servant jealous.
“Do you think she’ll like carnations or lilies, Kookie?”
Jungkook forced a laugh. “Lilies, Hyung. They’re pure. Elegant.”
“She’s like that too,” Yoongi replied absently, a smile ghosting his lips.
That smile had once been Jungkook’s favorite thing in the world. Now it was unbearable.
In the quiet hours of the morning, when the castle still slept, Jungkook often escaped to the garden to breathe. He told himself it was to gather flowers for the king’s chambers, but it was really to feel something—anything—that wasn’t pain.
The mugunghwa had started to lose its bloom, replaced by autumn chrysanthemums. Their scent was sharp, almost bitter, but the colors were rich and proud gold, crimson, and white. Jungkook picked them carefully, binding their stems with silk, crafting beauty the way he wished he could craft happiness.
“Those are beautiful,” a voice said behind him.
Yoongi stood there, dressed in deep blue robes embroidered with gold. His hair was slightly disheveled, the faintest sign of rushing, he was preparing for another meeting with her.
“Thank you, Hyung,” Jungkook said softly, clutching the bouquet a little too tightly. “I thought… they’d suit her.”
Yoongi’s eyes softened. “You’re always so thoughtful, Kookie.”
The nickname had always sounded sweet. Now it felt cruel.
“You think she’ll like them?” Yoongi asked, leaning closer to inspect the bouquet. His scent—fresh ink and sandalwood—wrapped around Jungkook, pulling him into a place he no longer belonged.
“She will,” Jungkook whispered. “They’re bright, like her.”
He didn’t mean it, but Yoongi’s grin made it worth the lie.
“Then I’ll tell her my servant knows flowers better than any poet,” Yoongi said, teasing. “Maybe I should send you in my place next time.”
Jungkook forced a laugh, though the sound caught in his throat. “You know she wouldn’t like that, Hyung.”
Yoongi chuckled. “No, probably not. She might get jealous.”
And with that, he took the bouquet, unaware of how his words shattered the fragile composure Jungkook had left.
As Yoongi left for his carriage, Jungkook watched from the shadows of the archway, eyes following the man who carried his heart away in a bundle of chrysanthemums. The autumn wind brushed past, carrying petals across the marble floor golden, fleeting, like the love he could never confess.
Days turned into weeks. Yoongi’s affection for Mi-Yoong deepened with each visit, and the palace whispered with excitement about their inevitable union.
And Jungkook listened. He always did.
Even as each word felt like another thorn pressing deeper into his chest, he kept smiling. Because that’s what loyalty demanded. Because he’d rather die with a heart full of love than show the king how much it was breaking.
He doesn’t know exactly how the king couldn’t hear his heart scrambling into pieces but he was grateful for the years of fake smile practice at this very moment.
Jungkook heard it all. He was always there pouring wine at dinners, carrying scrolls during council, walking two steps behind the king while Yoongi talked about her laughter, her kindness, her gentle voice.
“She’s visiting again tonight,” Yoongi told him one afternoon as Jungkook adjusted the collar of his ceremonial robe. “Mother says we might announce the engagement next month.”
Jungkook’s hands faltered for just a second, small enough that Yoongi didn’t notice. “That’s wonderful news, Your Majesty.”
Yoongi frowned. “Kookie, I told you not to call me that when we’re alone.”
Jungkook swallowed. “Sorry, Hyung. Force of habit.”
Yoongi smiled faintly. “You’ll always be terrible at pretending formality.”
You have no idea, Jungkook thought.
Later that night, when Yoongi left for his meeting, Jungkook cleaned the study in silence. The smell of the chrysanthemums still lingered in the air, a faint echo of the bouquet he’d given days ago. He brushed the petals off the floor with care, as if they were sacred, and tucked one into his pocket before throwing the rest away.
In his chamber that evening, he placed that single petal inside a book of pressed flowers, between a morning glory and a mugunghwa. His heart, too, was caught between what had already bloomed and what would never return.
The day Yoongi announced his betrothal, the palace was buzzing. Musicians rehearsed in the courtyard, maids ran from hall to hall carrying fabrics and decorations. Jungkook moved among them like a ghost, smiling, helping, existing only as part of the machinery that celebrated another man’s happiness.
Yoongi found him in the corridor that afternoon, eyes bright, his excitement too pure to resent. “Kookie! You’ll help me pick the flowers for the ceremony, won’t you?”
Jungkook bowed. “Of course, Hyung.”
“I knew I could count on you,” Yoongi said, patting his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
Jungkook stood there, staring after him until the sound of footsteps faded. Then, quietly, he pressed his hand over his heart. It was still beating but it hurt to know it was for nothing.
The morning of the royal wedding arrived painted in gold.
Every corner of the palace shimmered with anticipation, flowers draped over marble columns, silk banners fluttering against the early breeze. Laughter echoed through the halls, but none of it reached Jungkook.
Inside the king’s private chamber, the air was heavy with perfume and candle smoke. Jungkook stood beside the wardrobe, his hands steady only because they had to be. He fastened the final clasp on Yoongi’s ceremonial robe, the deep crimson fabric gleaming like liquid fire beneath his fingers.
“You look beautiful, Hyung,” Jungkook said quietly, his voice careful not to tremble.
Yoongi met his eyes in the mirror. “You always say that when you dress me.”
“It’s always true.”
A faint smile curved Yoongi’s lips, soft but sad. He turned, adjusting the golden chain across his chest. The crown rested on the table beside them, waiting.
For a moment, silence filled the room comfortable once, now unbearable. Jungkook’s eyes trailed over the familiar details, the folds of fabric he’d ironed himself, the buttons he’d polished until they caught the light, the scent of sandalwood oil he’d applied to Yoongi’s wrists that morning. He’d done this countless times, but today every movement felt like goodbye.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” Yoongi said, breaking the silence. His tone was gentle, almost hesitant. “Is everything alright?”
Jungkook forced a nod. “Just tired, Hyung. Preparations have kept everyone busy.”
Yoongi hummed, unconvinced. “You’ve done more than anyone. I should’ve thanked you properly.”
“There’s no need.” Jungkook smiled faintly, eyes on the floor. “It’s my duty.”
He stepped back once Yoongi’s attire was complete. The sight of him.. the king, his king, dressed for another, stole the air from Jungkook’s lungs. The ceremonial robe framed Yoongi’s figure perfectly regal, powerful, heartbreakingly beautiful.
Jungkook bowed slightly. “You should take your place soon, Hyung. The guests are waiting.”
Yoongi hesitated. “Kookie…”
The nickname made Jungkook look up. He shouldn’t have, Yoongi’s expression was too heavy, too conflicted.
“What is it?”
Yoongi inhaled deeply, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “Before you go… I have to ask something of you.”
Something in his tone made Jungkook’s stomach twist. “Of course. Anything.”
Yoongi’s eyes flickered to the ground, then back to Jungkook, full of guilt. “Mi-Yoong… asked that the ceremony remain among nobles only.”
Jungkook blinked. “Oh.”
“She said it wouldn’t be proper to have attendants of lower birth among the guests. That it might… draw attention.” His words faltered near the end, as though each one tasted bitter on his tongue. “She knows you’re dear to me, but she insisted. And I…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The silence said enough.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The world outside continued music, laughter, bells but inside the chamber, time stopped.
Jungkook’s throat felt dry. “You don’t want me there.”
Yoongi’s head snapped up. “That’s not true.”
“But you’re asking me not to attend.”
Yoongi’s voice cracked just slightly. “I have no choice, Jungkook. You know how delicate these matters are. The council already watches me too closely, and Mi-Yoong—”
“—will be your queen,” Jungkook finished for him, his voice quieter than a breath.
Yoongi looked away. His jaw clenched, guilt etching sharp lines across his face. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
A small, almost broken laugh escaped Jungkook. “You didn’t, Hyung. I understand.”
“Jungkook—”
He raised a hand, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Please, Hyung. Don’t apologize. She’s right. I’m just a servant. I shouldn’t be there.”
“You’re more than that.”
“No,” Jungkook said softly, shaking his head. “I’m not. And it’s okay. You should do what makes her comfortable. A husband should always listen to his wife, right?”
Yoongi’s lips parted, but no words came. His eyes glistened, something unspoken burning behind them regret, affection, something dangerous that had no place on a day like this.
Jungkook turned before he could read it. He reached for the table, picking up a small bloom from the bowl of freshly gathered flowers. A single blue hyacinth.
He stepped closer, fingers trembling as he slipped it into Yoongi’s chest pocket. “For luck,” he said, forcing his voice steady. “It means happiness and good fortune.”
Yoongi looked down at the flower, his chest rising with a slow, unsteady breath. “Thank you.”
Jungkook’s smile barely held. “It suits you. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”
He bowed once more and turned toward the door. The moment his hand touched the handle, Yoongi’s voice stopped him.
“Wait.”
Jungkook froze but didn’t turn.
“Will you at least wait for me here after the ceremony?” Yoongi asked, almost pleading. “So I can see you before the feast?”
Jungkook hesitated, his heart beating painfully in his chest. Then he nodded, though Yoongi couldn’t see it. “Of course, Hyung. I’ll be right here.”
He stepped into the corridor, letting the heavy doors close behind him.
Only when the echo faded did he let himself exhale, a soft, shattering sound that disappeared into the empty hall.
He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. His fingers brushed the spot on his own chest where the flower should have been, where it would never be.
The hyacinth had another meaning, one Yoongi didn’t know.
The ceremony passed in a blur of gold and light.
The entire kingdom seemed to breathe in unison, drunk on celebration. But for Yoongi, the sounds, the cheers, the songs, the endless blessings felt distant. Like they were happening in another world.
When the final vows were spoken and the crown was placed upon his bride’s head, he smiled as expected. He played the part perfectly, every motion polished and poised. Yet beneath the surface, a strange hollowness stirred in his chest.
He thought of the chamber and the promise lingering there.
“I’ll be right here.”
So when the procession ended and the newly crowned queen was escorted toward the great hall for the feast, Yoongi gently excused himself. “I’ll join shortly,” he murmured, and Mi-Yoong’s brow furrowed.
“Now? The guests will ask for you.”
“I just need to fetch something,” he said, already turning. “I won’t be long.”
He walked quickly through the corridors, his steps echoing softly against the marble. The music grew faint behind him, replaced by silence. His heart beat faster with every turn he took, almost nervously, an emotion that made no sense, not for a king, not on his wedding day.
When he reached his chamber door, he paused. The faint scent of sandalwood still lingered in the air, a memory of another pair of hands dressing him earlier that morning. He pushed the door open quietly.
Empty.
The single candle by the window had burned low, its wax spilling over like melted tears. The chair he’d asked Jungkook to wait on sat untouched, perfectly still.
He waited one minute, then two before realization settled heavy in his chest.
He wasn’t coming.
Yoongi didn’t know what he expected disappointment, maybe. But what came instead was something far worse… relief.
Because standing there alone, he didn’t have to face Jungkook’s eyes. Didn’t have to see what he’d done reflected in them.
The thought made him sick with guilt.
He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, steadying himself. Then he turned when the door creaked open.
The queen stepped inside, her new crown catching the flicker of candlelight. “You disappeared,” she said, not unkindly, but with an edge that made him straighten instinctively.
“I was—” He hesitated, searching for a reason that didn’t sound foolish. “I asked Jungkook to wait for me here after the ceremony. I wanted to see him before the feast.”
Mi-Yoong’s expression cooled. “The servant?”
“Yes,” he replied softly. “He wasn’t allowed to attend.”
Her eyes flicked briefly around the room, as if the mere mention of Jungkook might summon him. “You came back for that? To speak to a servant?”
The word hit him harder than he expected. He frowned. “He’s not just a servant. He’s been with me since we were children.”
Mi-Yoong sighed, gliding toward the mirror to adjust her earrings. “All the more reason to stop indulging him. You’re the king, and I’m your queen now. People already talk about how close you are with the help. It’s unseemly.”
Yoongi’s chest tightened. “He’s my friend.”
“Then be grateful he understands his place,” she said curtly, glancing at her reflection rather than him. “He should know when to step aside. You shouldn’t worry about such things on our wedding night.”
Yoongi said nothing.
Because what could he say?
Her tone wasn’t cruel, merely factual, as if discussing court etiquette rather than the slow breaking of something sacred. And yet, every word left a bruise.
Mi-Yoong turned toward him with a carefully practiced smile. “Come. The feast awaits.”
He followed her out. But as the door shut behind them, Yoongi felt the hollow space in his chest widen until it ached.
Far from the music and light, in a corner of the palace forgotten by celebration, Jungkook sat in the garden. Their garden.
The torches along the path flickered faintly, their glow trembling in the night wind. The air smelled of trampled petals and spilled wine from the earlier festivities not far from there. The once-vibrant beds of flowers lay flattened, crushed under the weight of careless footsteps, it was all destroyed, his labor, his love, their secret garden have been purposely destroyed.
All except one.
A single sunflower stood at the far end, tall and defiant, its stem bent but unbroken. Its golden face tilted toward the moon instead of the absent sun, searching for warmth that wasn’t there.
Jungkook knelt beside it, his breath shaky, his fingers brushing the bruised petals.
He had told himself he wouldn’t cry.
That he would smile for Yoongi, help him prepare, and then let him go with quiet dignity.
But as he stared at that single surviving bloom, the king’s favorite, the one he always said reminded him of Jungkook’s smile… something inside him cracked.
He clutched the stem, holding it like a lifeline, and the tears finally came. Silent at first, then uncontrollable.
“I told you to live for the light,” he whispered bitterly, voice trembling. “But what happens when it doesn’t look back at you?”
The wind didn’t answer. It only rustled through the broken garden, scattering petals like ashes.
He pressed the flower to his chest, his heart pounding beneath his palm. It hurt so deeply he thought he might stop breathing. But even now, even after everything, a part of him couldn’t stop loving Yoongi. Couldn’t stop turning toward him, like that stubborn sunflower reaching for a sun that had already set.
He stayed there until dawn painted the horizon in pale gold. By then, the sunflower’s head had drooped, its petals wilted. Jungkook brushed them gently, his thumb smearing dirt across his skin.
“Sleep well, Hyung,” he whispered into the morning light. “I’ll try to do the same.”
He left the garden quietly, leaving the broken flower behind a single petal clutch in his hand against his merely beating heart.