The air inside the flower shop was always warm and filled with the gentle scent of roses, lavender, and soil. Jungkook liked it that way—soft, quiet, predictable. Every morning, he opened the shutters, wiped down the counter, and carefully arranged the blooms in their proper places. He didn’t need much. Just the flowers, the sunlight through the windows, and silence.

His late grandmother had called it The Blooming Hour. It was the name of the shop and the time she claimed flowers whispered their secrets. Jungkook had never heard them speak, but maybe she had. She was a strange woman—kind, but with a knowing in her eyes, like she held stories she’d never tell.

That morning had been like any other—until he found the seed.

It was nestled deep in the backroom, tucked away in a carved wooden box he’d never noticed before. He’d been sorting through old pots when he knocked it down. The lid creaked open, revealing a single black seed resting on a bed of dried petals.

There was a note.

“Plant it on the new moon. Only then will it bloom.”

Jungkook frowned, turning the tiny thing between his fingers. It was darker than onyx, almost pulsing with a strange warmth. It made him uneasy—but also curious.

That night, the sky was ink-dark, and the moon had disappeared, just as the note had said. On a quiet whim, Jungkook stepped outside into the garden behind the shop, dug a small hole near the rose bushes, and planted the seed.

Nothing happened at first. He watered it gently, brushed the soil smooth, and stood back. Still nothing.

Shrugging, he went to bed.

The dream came suddenly.

He was standing in a vast hall of black stone. Flames flickered along the walls, casting golden shadows. In front of him stood a man. Tall, beautiful, terrifying. His eyes were crimson, glowing like embers. His skin shimmered faintly, like it held magic just beneath the surface.

The man stepped closer, his voice a low purr. “You finally called me.”

Jungkook tried to speak, but no sound came. He was rooted to the ground, heart thundering in his chest.

The man reached out and brushed his fingers along Jungkook’s jaw. “Do you remember me, love?” he whispered.

Then everything went dark.

Jungkook shot up in bed, gasping.

His sheets were tangled around him, soaked with sweat. His heart wouldn’t slow down. The man’s voice still echoed in his mind, soft and deadly.

Love.

Shaking the dream off, Jungkook stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself some water. It was just a dream. A weird one, but still a dream.

Except… when he stepped outside to check the garden, something was different.

The black rose had bloomed.

It stood tall in the moonlight, petals as dark as shadow, soft and gleaming. Jungkook crouched beside it, staring in disbelief. Roses didn’t grow overnight. Especially not from seeds. And yet, here it was—perfect and full, like it had always been there.

He reached out to touch it—and the air around him pulsed.

Something shifted. The garden grew cold. The world held its breath.

And then, from behind him, a voice spoke.

“I see you still have a way with flowers.”

Jungkook froze.

Slowly, he turned around.

A man stood just beyond the roses, bathed in moonlight. He looked exactly like the one from his dream—same crimson eyes, same wicked smile, same aura of danger. He was impossibly beautiful, with dark hair falling over sharp cheekbones, and a presence that made the world around him seem dull.

“Who—who are you?” Jungkook whispered.

The man stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the stone path. “You don’t remember me,” he said, a trace of sadness in his voice. “That hurts more than I expected.”

“I’ve never met you,” Jungkook said, backing away. “How did you get in here?”

“You invited me.” The man’s eyes flicked to the rose. “You planted the seed. You broke the seal. I am free… thanks to you.”

Jungkook’s mouth went dry. “Seal?”

The man tilted his head. “Centuries ago, you locked me away,” he said softly. “You sealed me in darkness with that very flower. Said it was the only way to save the world. Or yourself. I forget which mattered more.”

“That’s not possible,” Jungkook said. “I’ve never—”

“In this life,” the man interrupted, voice like velvet. “No. But in another… you were mine. And you betrayed me.”

The wind rustled the leaves, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so loudly he thought the stranger might hear it.

“You’re insane,” he said, trying to step around him. “I’m calling the police.”

The man didn’t move. “You can try,” he said casually. “But no one will believe you. Not when you don’t even believe yourself.”

“I don’t know you!” Jungkook snapped.

“But I know you, Jungkook,” the man said, his voice turning softer. “Your soul. Your touch. Your lies. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

There was something in his gaze—not just anger, but pain. Deep and ancient.

“Who are you really?” Jungkook whispered.

The man’s smile faded. “V,” he said. “Prince of the Forgotten Flame. And once… your lover.”

Jungkook stared, unable to move.

V stepped even closer, their faces inches apart. “I don’t know why you did it,” he murmured. “Why you sealed me away. Why you let me burn alone for so long. But I intend to find out.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” Jungkook said, his voice shaking.

V’s fingers brushed Jungkook’s cheek, featherlight. “Maybe not,” he said. “But your soul is. And it remembers me. You will remember me.”

Then, like smoke in the wind, V vanished.

Jungkook stood there, heart racing, the scent of the black rose heavy in the air.

And from somewhere deep within him, a memory stirred—a flash of fire, a kiss in the dark, a scream.

But it was gone before he could catch it.

The flower shop felt different the next morning. The sunlight was the same, warm and golden through the windows, but the air held a strange heaviness—as if something ancient had rooted itself among the roses and lilies.

Jungkook tried to focus. He swept the floor, arranged tulips, and watered the violets. But his hands trembled slightly, and every shadow made his heart jump.

V.

That name echoed in his mind like a curse and a song.

The man had vanished like a ghost, leaving only confusion and the scent of burnt roses behind. Jungkook had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes: blood-red skies, a burning throne, and V’s face—so close, so familiar it ached.

He didn’t believe in reincarnation. Or devils. Or soul-bound lovers from centuries past.

And yet… the black rose still bloomed outside his window, untouched by morning dew, swaying even when the wind was still.

“Just a dream,” Jungkook whispered as he tied a ribbon around a bouquet. “A very vivid, terrifying dream.”

The shop bell chimed.

Jungkook turned, expecting a customer.

Instead, V stood in the doorway.

He wore all black—tailored pants, a silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of ink on his collarbone. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but the way he smiled told Jungkook he was watching everything.

“Miss me?” V asked, stepping inside.

Jungkook dropped the bouquet. “What the hell are you doing here?”

V reached down and picked up a fallen petal. “You say that like you didn’t just summon me yesterday.”

“That was a mistake,” Jungkook hissed. “Whatever game you’re playing, stop it. This isn’t funny.”

V didn’t laugh. “You think I’m a hallucination?”

“I think you’re dangerous.”

“That’s true,” V murmured. “But not to you. Never to you.”

“Don’t—” Jungkook backed away, heart pounding. “Don’t talk like you know me.”

“I do know you,” V said softly. “Even if you’ve forgotten. I know how you fidget with your sleeves when you’re nervous. How you smell like jasmine when you sleep. How you used to whisper my name like a promise—”

“Stop!” Jungkook shouted, his voice cracking.

Silence fell.

V stood very still, something flickering in his expression—regret, maybe. Or sorrow. “I didn’t come to hurt you, Jungkook,” he said. “I came to understand.”

“I’m not him,” Jungkook said, his voice small. “I don’t remember any of it. If it’s even real.”

V walked slowly to the counter, placed the petal there gently. “Then let me help you remember.”

Jungkook stared. “How?”

V looked at him with eyes that seemed far too old for someone who looked so young. “I can’t force your soul to wake,” he said. “But I can be close. And when it’s ready… it’ll show you what we were. What we could be again.”

“Why would I want to remember someone who says I betrayed them?” Jungkook asked bitterly.

V’s jaw tightened. “Because even betrayal comes from love. And what we had… was not ordinary.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. His head was spinning.

V took off his sunglasses, and for the first time, Jungkook saw those eyes in the daylight—burning red, yes, but not monstrous. They held centuries of longing, grief, and something deeper still.

Devotion.

“I’ll leave for now,” V said. “But I won’t go far. The seal you broke links us again. You’ll see me, feel me, whether you want to or not.”

“I didn’t break anything on purpose,” Jungkook muttered.

“But you did,” V whispered. “Because some part of you… still wants me.”

Before Jungkook could speak, V disappeared again—this time with a gust of wind and a scattering of black rose petals.

That night, Jungkook stood outside, staring at the black rose.

He reached out slowly and touched a petal. It was soft—unnaturally so—and warm beneath his fingers.

And then the visions came again.

Fire. A throne. Hands intertwined. A blade through a chest. A voice screaming “I’m sorry.”

He stumbled back, breath stolen from his lungs.

Behind him, the shadows seemed to hum.

Jungkook fell to his knees, gripping his head. “Who are you… really?” he whispered into the night.

And from the darkness, a familiar voice answered—

“I’m the one you loved enough to destroy.”

Jungkook didn’t open the flower shop the next day.

He couldn’t.

His body moved like a machine—shower, coffee, sweeping the floor—but his mind was somewhere else. Caught between dreams that felt too vivid and memories that didn’t belong to him.

The black rose outside his window was in full bloom now. Its petals shimmered faintly, almost like they were alive, drinking in moonlight and fear. No insect dared touch it. No wind dared move it.

And Jungkook couldn’t look away.

He found himself watching it for minutes—sometimes hours—waiting for something. A sign. A whisper. A memory. He didn’t know. But he waited.

Then, as the sun began to fall, there was a soft knock on his window.

Jungkook turned, breath caught.

V stood on the other side.

He wasn’t smiling this time.

Jungkook hesitated, then slid the window open just a little.

“You’re not allowed in unless I invite you, right?” he asked, his voice low.

V’s crimson eyes glittered. “A tradition, not a rule. But I’ll respect it. For now.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“You said we were lovers,” Jungkook said. “In another life.”

“Yes.”

“And that I sealed you away. Why?”

V’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his posture. “You knew I’d become dangerous,” he said slowly. “They said I would destroy everything. That I already had. You didn’t believe it at first. But when the fire started spreading… when kingdoms fell… you chose to save them instead of me.”

Jungkook’s hands clenched. “I still don’t remember.”

“You will.”

“You said I betrayed you. But if I sealed you away to stop you, maybe I didn’t betray you. Maybe I did the right thing.”

V looked at him for a long moment. “Maybe,” he whispered. “But it still broke me.”

The air was quiet between them.

Finally, Jungkook asked, “What are you going to do now?”

V’s gaze softened. “Stay near. Remind you. Protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“The others,” V said. “The ones who know the seal is broken. The ones who feared what I was… and fear what we could be.”

Jungkook’s skin prickled. “There are more like you?”

“There were,” V replied. “But not like me. Not bonded to you.”

He leaned closer to the window, his voice barely a breath. “You’re not just a florist, Jungkook. Not just a soul who stumbled across a cursed seed. You were once the only human powerful enough to bind a devil prince. And now… you're waking up.”

Jungkook shook his head. “No. I’m just—”

“You’re not,” V interrupted gently. “And your soul knows it.”

His fingers brushed the windowpane, and Jungkook swore he felt the heat through the glass.

“Let me in,” V whispered.

Jungkook’s heart pounded. “Why?”

“So I can help you remember. Because the memories aren’t just dreams. They’re warnings. Pieces of a truth you buried. And soon… they’ll start burning their way back.”

Jungkook didn’t move.

V’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Let me in,” he said again, softer this time. “Just for tonight.”

Jungkook stared at him—this beautiful, terrifying man with eyes like fire and a voice that made his soul ache.

Then he opened the window.

V stepped inside, his presence shifting the air instantly. It was like the room recognized him. Like the walls themselves sighed at his return.

Jungkook stepped back as V looked around.

“You kept it,” V murmured, nodding toward an old, faded tapestry hung on the wall. It had always been there, passed down from his grandmother. Jungkook had never really noticed it before.

A flower blooming from fire.

“I didn’t know,” Jungkook said quietly.

“You wouldn’t,” V replied. “Your grandmother protected you. Hid the truth. But the seal was weakening for years. She couldn’t hold it forever.”

Jungkook sat down, dizzy. “So what now?”

“Now,” V said, approaching slowly, “we begin again.”

He knelt in front of Jungkook, their faces inches apart.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Even if you never remember. But if you let me stay… I’ll show you who you are. Who we were.”

Jungkook’s voice trembled. “Why does it feel like I already know you?”

“Because your soul never forgot,” V whispered.

Then, softly, he touched Jungkook’s temple—and the visions rushed in.

Flashes of firelight. A kiss in the middle of a battlefield. The sound of laughter echoing in stone halls. A promise whispered in the dark. Blood. Betrayal. Tears. Love.

Jungkook gasped, tears slipping down his cheeks.

V caught them with his thumb. “It’s starting,” he said. “You’re remembering me.”

Jungkook looked into those crimson eyes.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel afraid.

He felt haunted.