Roses in the Night

The moon hung low over the imperial gardens, a pale lantern hidden behind drifting clouds.

 The air was cool and quiet, the kind of silence that could only exist in a palace filled with secrets.

Namjoon walked away from the Emperor’s room, Jungkook’s order still echoing in his ears.

Bring her back.

A simple command, yet tangled with a decade of pain, guilt, and unanswered history.

He inhaled slowly, letting the cool air steady his thoughts. But then a flicker of movement caught his eye.

Near the center of the garden, surrounded by blooming red rose bushes, someone sat alone.

 Knees drawn close.

Shoulders slumped.

Face lowered.

Jin.

The first son of Jungkook and Tae.

Nineteen years old.

An ore in a cruel world.

A young man marked by sorrow long before adulthood.

Namjoon’s footsteps hesitated—but only for a moment. Something unspoken always pulled him toward Jin, even when he told himself to stay away.

He approached quietly.

“Why are you here alone at night?”

Namjoon asked softly.

Jin didn’t look up. His fingers gently brushed a red rose petal, almost as if he were afraid it might break under his touch.

“Even if I sit here alone,”

 Jin murmured, voice soft and cracked,

“or even die here… it doesn't matter to you, Uncle Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s breath caught.

The words were gentle, but the pain beneath them was sharp enough to cut.

Jin finally lifted his gaze. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, turning them into shimmering pools of loneliness.

 “Why are you here? If your wife sees us together, she’ll think improper things. You should go back.”

But his thoughts whispered something entirely different.

‘My feelings… you never accepted them. Why are you here now? Why do you keep coming only when I’m breaking?’

Namjoon’s lips parted, but no words came out.

He had heard those hidden feelings many times.

He had rejected Jin gently, repeatedly—always telling himself Jin was too young, too fragile, too emotional.

A phase, he convinced himself.

A childish crush, he told everyone else.

But deep inside, there was a reason he couldn’t let Jin walk the palace nights alone.

A reason he could never speak aloud.

A reason he guarded like a blade hidden beneath his robes.

A secret.

Jin looked away from him first, drawing his robe tighter around his small frame.

 The roses beside him rustled softly as if they, too, were listening.

The silence stretched… delicate, fragile.

Finally, Jin stood. His hair fell over his eyes as he turned to leave, his steps slow and heavy.

Namjoon watched him go, swallowed by the night, swallowed by a loneliness he had carried too long.

And then—

Namjoon said the one thing that could stop Jin in his tracks.

“Next month,”

Namjoon said quietly,

“your mother will return.”

Jin froze.

His breath caught. His fingers trembled. Slowly… very slowly… he looked back at Namjoon.

There were no words.

None were needed.

The slight shake in Jin’s shoulders said everything.

The single tear slipping down his cheek said more.

But the faint, trembling smile on his lips said the most.

Hope.

A hope he had buried for years.

A hope that survived even when the palace tried to starve it.

Jin lowered his gaze, absorbing the news like sunlight he hadn’t felt in a decade. His chest rose and fell shakily—relief, disbelief, grief, all tangled together.

He wiped his tear with the back of his hand and turned away again, but this time his steps held something new.

Something alive.

He didn’t speak another word.

He simply walked away, the moonlight catching the small smile lingering at the edge of his lips.

Namjoon watched him disappear into the palace corridors, the roses swaying in the breeze where Jin had sat.

For a long moment, Namjoon remained there, staring at the fading silhouette of a boy he had pushed away, protected, and haunted in equal measure.

Then he whispered to the empty garden, voice heavy with things left unsaid:

“Jin… you deserve peace too.”

But whether fate would allow that…

was another story entirely.

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