chapter 2

It was raining when Taehyung returned to his quarters—soft, insistent drizzle painting the palace rooftops silver under the moonlight. The world was quiet, but his blood was loud. Jungkook's words, his heat, the burn of his blade still pulsed beneath Taehyung’s skin.

He hated the way Jungkook got to him. Hated how his voice lingered longer than it should, like a bruise beneath silk.

Taehyung poured himself a cup of wine with shaking fingers.

And then—a knock.

No one came to his chambers uninvited.

He opened the door to find Jungkook standing there, soaked from the rain, hair slicked back, breathing heavy like he'd run the whole stretch of the palace.

“What do you want?” Taehyung asked, heartbeat kicking in his chest.

Jungkook didn’t answer. Not with words.

He pushed inside, slammed the door shut, and pressed Taehyung against it in one swift, brutal motion. Their mouths didn’t meet yet—but their breaths did, clashing, desperate.

“This is a mistake,” Taehyung rasped, hands gripping the wood behind him like a lifeline.

“Then stop me,” Jungkook whispered.

He didn’t.

Their mouths collided like swords meeting in the dark—violent, fevered, hungry. Taehyung gasped as Jungkook bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to punish, then softened it with his tongue.

Clothes became obstacles. Layers of silk peeled back with trembling fingers. Rain-soaked fabric hit the floor.

“Look at you,” Jungkook murmured, eyes dragging over the planes of Taehyung’s bare skin like a worshipper before a god. “Always so fucking composed. Let me ruin that.”

Taehyung’s laugh was breathless, broken. “Then come closer.”

The fire in the hearth crackled. Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, they burned.

Hands found skin, mouths found every place that ached for attention. They fought even here—teasing, pushing, demanding. Jungkook bit at the edge of Taehyung’s collarbone. Taehyung flipped him over with a growl and straddled his hips like he was claiming a throne.

“Verse, remember?” Taehyung whispered against his ear. “I take just as well as I give.”

Jungkook hissed as Taehyung lowered himself with sinful grace, bodies aligning like destiny was something tangible. Their rhythm was frantic, full of tension and too many unsaid things. Moans laced with resentment. Kisses dipped in poison and honey.

It was more than lust. It was release. Rage. Years of buried want erupting like a faultline cracking.

Later—bodies slick and tangled in sheets—they didn’t speak. Taehyung lay on his back, eyes on the ceiling. Jungkook’s hand ghosted over his chest, then stopped.

A whisper.

“Was it just once?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Because even he didn’t know the truth.

...----------------...

The palace gardens were never truly silent.

Even in the hush of dawn, when mist clung to the magnolia trees and the koi ponds rippled with ghost-like grace, the whispers of power curled beneath every branch. Servants moved like shadows. Eunuchs murmured news behind fans. And somewhere in the maze of flowering paths, Namjoon walked alone—not by choice.

He was told to wait. Seokjin will join you shortly, the message had said.

So he waited.

Namjoon was used to waiting.

He wore armor that gleamed in the pale light, though he didn’t need it here. Not for swords, anyway. His battles were quieter. More brutal.

Footsteps approached—deliberate, soft, and yet unmistakably familiar.

Seokjin.

Crown Prince Seokjin.

Dressed in ivory robes with golden cranes stitched across the hem, he looked like a painting come to life. Regal. Untouchable.

Namjoon bowed low.

“You don’t need to do that,” Seokjin said gently.

“I always do, Your Highness.”

A sigh. “You didn’t used to call me that.”

“That was before,” Namjoon replied, straightening. “Before you were promised to another.”

The silence that fell between them was thick with old things—memories sealed behind glances, touches that meant too much, and words that were never spoken aloud.

Seokjin stepped closer, the hem of his robes brushing Namjoon’s boots. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“I know.”

“You think I want to marry a merchant’s daughter just because her father bankrolls the court?”

Namjoon didn’t answer. He couldn't afford to.

Because if he spoke now, he’d say something unforgivable. Like I would’ve burned the entire court down if you’d asked me to. Like I still would.

Instead, he forced his voice into steadiness. “You will be king one day. You don’t get to love freely.”

Seokjin’s eyes flickered. “And what about you?”

“I made my choice the day I took the oath. I am your sword, Seokjin. Nothing more.”

But it was a lie. They both knew it.

“You’re not just my sword,” Seokjin said, softer than the breeze stirring the petals around them. “You’re—”

A rustle in the trees.

A pair of court ladies passed in the distance, and the moment shattered like porcelain.

Namjoon stepped back first. “We’re being watched.”

“Let them watch,” Seokjin said bitterly. “Let them wonder what the prince whispers to his guard in the dawn.”

Namjoon clenched his fists behind his back.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“I’m not the one pretending I don’t care.”

His voice cracked then. Just a little. Just enough.

Namjoon looked away. Because if he met Seokjin’s eyes again, he wouldn’t survive it.

And yet—

“Come to the lake tonight,” Seokjin said suddenly, almost like a secret. “There’s something I need to say… away from eyes and titles.”

Namjoon hesitated. Then nodded once.

As Seokjin turned and walked away, Namjoon watched the back of the man he loved disappear into the mist.

And for the first time in years, he allowed himself a single, selfish thought:

What if he chooses me instead?

Night at the palace was a strange thing—quiet on the surface, but below, it thrummed with secrets. Lovers met in shadows. Deals were struck beneath moonlight. Spies listened behind painted screens.

Namjoon wasn’t afraid of the dark. He was afraid of what he might say in it.

The lake at the edge of the royal grounds was glass-still, moonlight draped over it like silk. Willows leaned in close, as if they too were listening. Seokjin stood at the dock already, arms crossed, eyes on the stars.

Namjoon approached, boots soft against the wooden planks. “You asked me to come.”

Seokjin didn’t turn around.

“I did.”

The silence stretched between them like a string pulled tight.

Namjoon waited.

Finally, Seokjin spoke—low, unguarded.

“Do you remember the old summer pavilion?”

Namjoon blinked. “Of course. We used to sneak off there when we were boys.”

“You cut your palm climbing that cursed peach tree.”

“And you bandaged it with your sleeve,” Namjoon said softly. “Got scolded for ruining royal silk.”

“You kissed me that day.”

Namjoon’s breath caught. The memory was distant, but vivid. A stolen kiss behind stone pillars, the taste of peaches and sun, the rush of something neither of them had language for yet.

“I was afraid you’d forget it,” Seokjin said.

“I never forgot anything about you.”

That broke something.

Seokjin turned, finally, and in his eyes—there was no prince. No heir. Just the boy Namjoon had loved for years, the man he'd trained beside, bled for, longed for.

“I don’t want to marry her.”

“You have to.”

“I want—you.”

Namjoon flinched, as if the words themselves had cut him.

And then Seokjin stepped forward, bold and trembling. “You were always the one. I tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but gods help me, it does.”

Namjoon didn’t think. He couldn’t.

He kissed him.

And it wasn’t careful, or quiet, or noble. It was messy. Desperate. A whole decade of restraint unraveling in the space of a breath. Seokjin’s hands gripped Namjoon’s armor like it might anchor him. Namjoon’s lips moved like he was starving.

Because he was.

And for one moment, they let go. Of titles. Of duty. Of fear.

Just two men by a lake, loving each other in the only way they knew how—with urgency, with reverence, with everything they’d been forced to deny.

When they pulled apart, forehead to forehead Seokjin whispered:

"I don't know how we'll survive this"

Namjoon's voice was rough "We don't have to survive it we just have to feel it while we can."

And beneath the willow trees , under a moon that bore witness to too many tragedies , two hearts choose each other as secret.

Even if the world never would.

I literally  love  longer chapters. That gives us space to really let the tension breathe, build subtext, deepen emotions, and go slow and spicy where it counts.

Well who could've known the crown prince was gay or joonsexual and if you're thinking if there will be smut or not well..yes ofc 🌚 but in side stories mostly alrt bye🫣

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