Work Text:
“I remember everything, Wonwoo. Especially that night I bloomed for you.”
…
It’s him.
Wonwoo’s gut twists, too choked up with the wave of emotions surrounding him. The last time he saw Mingyu was that very evening — sleeping peacefully above him, their bare skins sharing warmth after that love-making. He remembers clutching Mingyu to his chest until he slept… only to wake up alone, and Mingyu vanished, leaving traces of wilted petals all over his body… a painful reminder that everything fleetingly beautiful is fated to fade into oblivion.
Snapping his soul back to the present, Wonwoo finds Mingyu standing before him, bearing that sweet smile. Not the same shy, naive one from that fateful night, but something more confident, more grounded. More human.
Mingyu looks the same. Those round eyes, that smooth face, his tall, yet soft figure. Even the fangs that show when he smiles. The same moles Wonwoo had kissed. This was the man he once saw panting in the shadows of his greenhouse, the man he marked, and licked, and kneaded — the man who bloomed, glowed, and juiced just for him.
Except now, Mingyu is dressed like any ordinary man. White polo shirt and slacks, a lanyard hanging from his neck like any other campus employee. “Good morning, Wonwoo,” Mingyu steps back from his whisper to greet him warmly.
“Good-” Wonwoo barely spits out a response.
Seokmin laughs, clearly oblivious. “I see you two must’ve met already.”
Wonwoo blinks, taking a tighter breath. But before he can speak, Mingyu answers for him. “Yes, Professor Lee. We’ve known each other.”
Wonwoo turns to him, and beneath the bewilderment in his eyes draws a blink of sadness… or perhaps longing — for someone he’s tried so desperately to remember over these past few painful weeks.
Thankfully, Seokmin gets called away by a senior professor. “I’ll be right back, guys.”
As soon as he’s gone, Mingyu takes a step closer, his polite smile remaining. “Wonwoo…”
Wonwoo finally manages to speak. “I… I don’t understand. I thought you disappeared, Mingyu. You turned into petals. You wilted. Where were you?”
Mingyu sighs gently. “I simply came back, Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo shakes his head, half-certain this must be a dream — yet silently praying it isn’t. He’s honestly afraid Mingyu might vanish again, and he could no longer afford the agony. “H-How?”
Mingyu’s about to answer, but Seokmin returns, calling him across the hall.
“Mingyu! We’ve got to get you to your staff orientation.”
Mingyu turns back to Wonwoo, nodding. “I’ll talk to you later, Wonwoo.”
And as he walks away, Wonwoo swears he can smell that faint air of his blooming flower all over again.
That same night, Wonwoo couldn’t sleep.
How could he, really, when Mingyu, who he thought was gone forever, suddenly came back? And apparently, Mingyu remembers; he whispered it to him. Wonwoo keeps replaying that scene in his head over and over, all day. He even cancelled his class just to get as far away from the university as possible. He spent the rest of the day at his usual breather: his grandmother’s garden by the hills an hour away from downtown.
“W-Won…”
The professor needed to clear his head, hoping the wind might somehow help. But as much as he tried to stay prudently composed, a sliver of lust still managed to slip in, slowly invading his senses up — and down there. He could still taste Mingyu on the tip of his tongue. That nectar-like, saccharine juice… that addictive floral linger... Even Mingyu’s sweat and tears had tasted delectable, so much so that Wonwoo had desperately licked every inch of Mingyu’s caramel skin.
“W-Won…”
And those round eyes, begging for him — how could Wonwoo ever forget them? How could he, when every breath, every drop of fluid, every moan Mingyu released that night was for him, entirely for him?
The next morning, Wonwoo goes to the greenhouse first thing to tend to his plants, having missed yesterday’s care. He actually thought Mingyu might text or call after their meeting, but he didn’t. Not even through Seokmin.
And strangely enough… Wonwoo wants to keep it that way. For now.
He still has feelings to sort through, thoughts to keep in check, things to make sense of. He finally accepts it: his boring life was never the same ever since Mingyu came into the picture.
But his momentary peace is interrupted by a knock on the door. Figuring it’s just Seokmin checking in, Wonwoo opens it. To his utter shock, it isn’t his professor friend.
It’s Mingyu. In the flesh again, looking a little hesitant as he stands there by the doorway.
“Wonwoo…” Mingyu says softly, forming a smile slowly. “C-Can I come in?”
Wonwoo tries to clear his throat gently, but still doesn’t trust his voice from faltering. So, he simply nods, stepping aside to let Mingyu in. The latter enters, and is immediately greeted by the scent of the rich soil, and the healthy leaves suspended in the still air of the greenhouse. Mingyu looks around, eyes lingering on the flowers as he passes through the aisle. There’s something about his expression, like he misses the place. His fingers aim out, brushing along some stems and petals. And when his eyes land on a familiar white flower still couped up, his contented smile widens.
“They still look as beautiful,” Mingyu comments, his gaze not leaving anywhere.
“I…” Wonwoo starts to reply. He sighs out to breathe, turning towards the flower Mingyu’s looking at. “I try to keep them alive. Especially that one.”
Mingyu nods, pleased.
In front of him is another Queen of the Night flower, not yet fully matured — just like he was. And he understands it… because he lived through it. He used to live like it.
“I should’ve known,” Mingyu says softly. “I mean… I always knew.” He then looks up at Wonwoo, biting his lower lip like he’s about to say something meaningful. Because he is.
“You know… I remember everything. All of it.”
Wonwoo feels the emotions he’s kept bottled up slowly begin to spill. But instead of panic, he feels… relief. Relief that he wasn’t the only one who kept that memory… the very one which his flowers and plants had silently witnessed in this small world.
“The day you found me here. The first time you took me home, bathed me, fed me human food. The day you brought me back here to care for my fellows… And that night, Wonwoo. That night I thought I was going to wilt... You touched me. You caressed me. You kissed me. Because of you, I came back. Because of you, I’m still alive, Wonwoo…”
Mingyu steps closer until he’s only a foot or two away from the professor.
“Wonwoo… you gave me that life I never knew I could have. Thank you.”
Wonwoo finally smiles. Mingyu is here, with him. The young man who used to ask endless questions. The one who always over-watered the plants. The one who insisted on playing in between gardening. The one who would breathe on the window and draw shapes with his finger in the fog. And that simple truth is enough. Enough for Wonwoo to reach out, grab Mingyu’s arm, and pull him into a tight, yearning hug.
“I missed you so much, Mingyu,” Wonwoo whispers, his face buried in Mingyu’s neck. “I thought I was going to die. I just couldn’t breathe without you.”
Mingyu chuckles at that, warming the hug up some more by tightly wrapping his arms around Wonwoo’s body. “I missed you too, Wonwoo.”
The embrace lasts for a comforting, longing moment, keeping them both up from floating. They hug to the certainty that, finally, they can lean on each other when one falls from the gravity. Wonwoo pulls a few inches back, cupping Mingyu’s freckled cheek in his hand. “So… what are you now, my flower?”
Mingyu smiles, snaking a grin. “Maybe a human now? I think. I hope so.”
Wonwoo nods gently. Instead of asking anything more, he lifts his other hand to lull Mingyu’s other cheek. “Mingyu,” Wonwoo begins, his calmness soothing every fiber of Mingyu’s skin. “There are beings that exist somewhere between their roots and their flesh. Some seek sunlight, most search for water. But a rare few… they long for touch. Because through touch, they find love. And when they are loved, truly loved, they can live.”
“Wonwoo…” Mingyu breathes, barely holding himself as he fights the trembles through his emotions. Then, afraid he might wilt again, he throws himself into the professor’s warm arms once more.
“What’s really the deal between you and Mingyu?”
Wonwoo looks up at Seokmin, off guard by the sudden question. They’re having lunch at the campus cafeteria, and in the middle of Seokmin’s rant about the Agriculture Department facing possible budget cuts next year, he just drops it.
Wonwoo’s brows fold a bit closer. “What do you mean?”
Seokmin smirks, teasing. “Oh, come on. Everyone’s noticed. Even some of the students. Vernon said he saw you with Mingyu at the Farmer’s Market last weekend. Holding hands, even kissing at the side of the road like you’re in a movie or something. I’m your best friend here, but you’re not telling me everything.”
Wonwoo exhales slowly, then he finally admits, “We’re… it’s complicated.”
“I… see… well…” Seokmin drags out the words, unsure how to take the answer.
It’s been weeks since Mingyu has reappeared in Wonwoo’s life, and the two of them agreed to take things slow. And as days unfold before him, Wonwoo finds himself noticing even the smallest of things. Like how Mingyu’s beam of brightness returns for him. That curious glimmer in his eye lingers back, though his naivety is unfortunately, slowly fading. And beneath his laughter, Wonwoo sees it: Mingyu is changing. Slow and subtle, yet noticeable. Wonwoo tells himself he’s ready to help Mingyu adjust to the human world, but his admittingly selfish part of him wishes Mingyu could stay as he was: innocent, naive, pure.
Seokmin breaks his train of thought. “So, he’s not your boyfriend yet?”
“No,” Wonwoo replies quickly. “Nothing like that. Not yet…”
Seokmin sighs as he leans in. “What’s holding you back, then? You’re in your thirties now, Wonwoo Jeon. You’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m still new to this, Seokmin. You know that,” Wonwoo points out.
“Yeah, I guess…” Seokmin shrugs. “But you know, if you guys like each other, then why complicate things?”
Because it’s already as complicated as it is, Wonwoo wishes to say out loud.
That same afternoon, Wonwoo heads to the greenhouse. He finds Mingyu sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by the pots they planted the day before. His back is turned, and he’s humming some random melody as his hands work the soil. Wonwoo stops at the light pole for a moment, just watching him quietly. Then after a moment, he calls him.
“Mingyu.”
Mingyu’s slightly startled before turning around, and smiling sheepishly. “I wanted to repot these before the soil dries. They look thirsty.”
Wonwoo chuckles. “They always look thirsty to you.”
“Thirsty and lonely,” Mingyu replies, fingers digging into the dirt.
Wonwoo crouches beside him. “Do plants even feel loneliness?”
Mingyu pauses, eyes squinting to think, lips pursing. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t remember feeling that when I was a plant.” He pauses, then adds, “But they can still die from neglect.”
There’s something distinct in Mingyu’s tone: a bit pointed and specific that makes Wonwoo glance over. And for a second, it doesn’t feel like Mingyu is talking about plants at all.
“But maybe they don’t,” Mingyu suddenly backtracks.
Wonwoo faces him, wiping sweat gently from Mingyu’s forehead. “Even if they do,” he says, “You know I’d never let them get lonely.”
“I know,” Mingyu says quickly, smiling again. Then, out of nowhere, “Wonwoo, can I ask you something?”
“Yes?”
“What do you think I am right now? A flower? A human?”
That stops Wonwoo. He didn’t expect that question — not from Mingyu, and not now. He tries to hide his reaction, laughing on it lightly. “You’re… you’re Mingyu. You’re Mingyu.”
But Mingyu doesn’t look satisfied. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“Huh?”
Instead of pushing, Mingyu just stands up, dusting off his hands. “I’m just kidding, Won. You want coffee?”
Wonwoo looks up at him. And, again, there it is — a flitter of doubt. It might have been fear… but Wonwoo’s adamant it’s doubt. Nonetheless, the professor lets it go. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I’d love some coffee.”
Though they talk about some random things after that: music, Mingyu’s classes, that weird burger Seokmin had the latter eat the day before… Wonwoo still can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. That behind Mingyu’s playful demeanor hides that deep, lingering uncertainty.
Like maybe Mingyu is starting to doubt. Whatsoever it is, Wonwoo badly needs to know.
They head home around six. They have a simple dinner, and right after they cuddle under Wonwoo’s sheets. Limbs and legs wrapped around each other, Mingyu falls asleep first, his head on Wonwoo’s chest. Meanwhile, Wonwoo stares at the ceiling.
For weeks now, Mingyu’s shown no signs he’s changing. No skin glowing like before. No sudden breath heaving, or skin throbbing. He still laughs, and eats, and sleeps just like anyone else. He’s healthy; Wonwoo has him checked up at the clinic. Wonwoo wants to believe it’ll stay that way. But the way Mingyu looked at him earlier, it cracked something open. And now it’s crawling under Wonwoo’s skin.
He needs to do something.
He slips out carefully from under Mingyu, making sure not to wake him. Wonwoo pulls the blanket over him before walking out to the living room.
It’s just past ten in the evening. He picks up his phone and dials a number, someone he knows will still be awake at this hour. The call goes through, ringing twice before the other line answers.
“Hello? Wonwoo? You okay?”
He swallows and clears his throat.
“I… Joshua… I need to talk to you.”
Though he’s barely slept, Wonwoo heads into the city the next morning. He skips yet another one of his lectures again to meet someone he badly needs to talk to. The city feels quieter than usual, like it somehow knows the noise in his head is already too loud.
The cafe sits at a busy downtown corner, but at least it’s warm and quiet, safe for the humming sound of the espresso machine, and the scent of coffee brewing lingering in the air. As soon as Wonwoo steps in, he spots him right away — sitting by the window, posture as relaxed as the steam escaping from the cup in his hand.
“Professor Jeon,” the man greets, smiling calmly when Wonwoo approaches. “It’s truly been a while.”
Wonwoo lets out a soft, awkward laugh as he slides into the seat across from him. “It really has, Professor Hong.”
Joshua Hong — once his classmate back in their undergraduate days, now a fellow Botany professor teaching at a university in the neighboring city. Time hasn’t changed him much; he still has that stillness, certainty about him.
A minute later, the barista drops off Wonwoo’s coffee. He stares into it, watching the slow swirl of cream settle into brown. He doesn’t know where to start.
“I’m sorry for calling so late last night,” he says finally. “I just… I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
Joshua nods faintly. “You said it was about someone named Mingyu?”
“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, exhaling. “You see, he’s…. he’s… complicated.”
The corner of Joshua’s mouth twitches into a small smile. “Well, complicated things are what I’m most fascinated by, Wonwoo. You know that. Try me.”
So, Wonwoo tells him everything. About Mingyu showing up in his greenhouse that day, claiming he was the Queen of the Night flower. About how his skin glowed when he cried, when he sweated, when he throbbed. About taking him home, feeding him, teaching him — until that night, the night Mingyu bloomed and they consummated. Then, came morning, he was gone. All that was left were wilted white petals and Wonwoo’s regrets. And then, impossibly, Mingyu returned. Perfectly human. Smiling like he never left.
Joshua doesn’t interrupt. Not once. He listens the way he always has, that patient kind that never judges. It’s almost unnerving how calm he stays, but Wonwoo knows Joshua has spent years researching flora and fauna folklore; there’s not much left in the world of plants and myth that could shock him anymore.
When Wonwoo finally runs out of words, Joshua exhales, leaning back in his chair as he thinks. The rain starts outside, yet neither notice it, as Joshua’s fingers idly trace his coffee cup for a moment… then he finally speaks.
“There’s an old Southern myth,” he starts carefully. “About the Queen of the Night… and other flowers that bloom rarely in their lifetimes. It might not be exactly the answer you’re looking for…” He glances up to meet Wonwoo’s curious eyes. “But are you ready to hear it?”
Wonwoo blinks. Something in Joshua’s voice makes his chest tighten, dread creeping in his stomach. Still, he nods. “Yes.”
Joshua takes a deep breath first, then he gives in. He talks about old scriptures, discontinued rituals, and the ways some scholars emphasized how nature used to have the authority on all things living and breathing… until humans decided it was time to intervene. Wonwoo listens attentively. His fingers cup on his coffee, which has long since gone cold. By the time Joshua finishes, it feels like the air has been pumped out of him, his ribs faintly aching inside.
“But, Joshua… Mingyu is—” Wonwoo’s voice falters.
“I know,” Joshua says quietly, though that faint worry in his tone comes through. “Mingyu’s case is… different. More intricate than any I’ve heard before. Yes, he’s a flower. Or was. And somehow, he became human. But you see…”
"... You’re asking the wrong questions, Wonwoo Jeon.”
Joshua leans in to explain further. “Ask yourself why. Why did Mingyu turn? Why did he come to you? Of all people, why you? How does the universe decide which souls it ties together, which lives it lets to meet and collide?”
He then drops his voice. “I don’t think this was random. Whatever happened to him — to you, for that matter — it’s somehow intertwined. Connected. Intentional. I can’t explain it yet… but I do think that Mingyu’s life doesn’t exist without you, without yours.”
The words hang between them in silence, like their cups might break right there.
Before Wonwoo can even process it, Joshua continues softly. “There’s a book. ‘Stories from the Flowers’ Whispers’. Anonymously authored, but it’s pretty popular for myth enthusiasts like me. However, I don’t have a copy. You should look for it. I’m almost certain it’s the one you need.”
Wonwoo just sits there, numb, his thoughts spinning too fast to grasp. What Joshua said opens up a thousand new possibilities. Could this book help him? Could this book answer all the questions? Could this book put Mingyu at ease?
Wonwoo doesn’t know. But he knows one thing for sure — he has to find that book.
Meanwhile, Mingyu is tucked away in the library. Reading, searching. Desperately trying to piece together whatever answers he can find. He wants to adjust to human life, badly. He wants to belong. To understand how to exist with lungs, and ribs, and a heart. But the haunting question still lingers, like a ghost Mingyu tries to read though it scares him.
How did I come to this?
He was a flower, once. Then he turns into a man. And no amount of science spanning through centuries has explained what has possibly happened to him. Lores and myths, theories and conspiracies — not one still makes any real sense. He’s on his fourth book when he finally gives up. Sighing and wiping his eyes, he returns it to the shelf in Aisle 4. He’s about to call it a day… when he catches something.
A book. In a dimmed gold hard cover. Dusted and spent. Sitting at the far end of the shelf like it’s been waiting there for someone to take it… like Mingyu.
Mingyu quickly takes the book out, then reads the cover.
“Stories from the Flowers’ Whispers”
Author: Unknown
“Unknown?” Mingyu slightly frowns. Still curious, he flips it open. Just a page or two, then a few more… until he finds himself standing there in the middle of the aisle, the book trembling a bit in his hands as his desperate fingers turn the pages one by one.
And then… he sees it.
His eyes widen. His breath tightens. His mouth falls agape, though his gasp never escapes. His heart, nevertheless — it beats so relentlessly loud he can feel it echoing in his ears.
Is this the answer?
But even before he finishes his reading, he knows. This isn’t just any answer he manages to find in the dusty, dim-lighted library aisle.
It’s the beginning of it, at the very least.
As he reads further, something inside him clicks… or shatters. All of a sudden, everything he thought he understood about himself shifts, like a strong wall moving impossibly.
And then it falls apart.
He doesn’t even notice his legs bucking out until he’s kneeling on the floor, the book remaining open in his shaky hands. It’s not the full story just yet, but it’s enough. Enough to make sense… and somehow, enough to inflict a pinch of hurt.
And before he can stop that overwhelming feeling, the tears begin to fall.
“I…” he whispers, though he barely hears himself.
“… I was cursed?”
…
Wonwoo has just stepped back onto campus after his talk with Joshua, heading straight for the library when his phone starts ringing. Mingyu’s name flashes on the screen, and he picks up right away.
“Mingyu?”
For a few seconds, there’s only faint breathing on the other end. But as the silence stretches longer, Wonwoo realizes something’s wrong. Then a voice — Mingyu’s — finally breaks through.
“Wonwoo… I’m… I’m sorry.”
Wonwoo goes rigid. “Mingyu? W-What do you mean? Where a-are you?”
But the line goes dead. He stares at his phone until the screen turns black, his dim reflection staring back — face crinkled, stained gray of worry.
He runs in a bolt of panic, and by the time he reaches the greenhouse, he feels its emptiness like a wound. The plants and flowers are as thick as they always are, yet somehow, they suffocate him at once.
“Mingyu?” Wonwoo calls out, now as terrified as he was the morning Mingyu disappeared. But there’s no answer. Only the rustling of leaves, only the whistling of air. He rushes around frantically until he spots something on the workbench — a book lying open on the wooden surface.
He runs to it, grabs it, and gasps as he reads the cover.
Stories from the Flowers’ Whispers…
The pages flutter above his palms, and there it is: an illustration of a white, delicate flower — one he knows far too well. Beneath it, words written in faded typewriter ink.
“The Queen of the Night, once he falls in pure love with a mortal, grants him his life… and in return… takes his. For a flower cannot love the hand that plucked it.”
Something clicks inside Wonwoo, the air escaping his lungs. He drops the book, shaking as the truth unravels inside him — Mingyu has read it, and has left because of it.
“No,” Wonwoo whispers, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no…”
He searches every corner of the greenhouse, one hand dialing Mingyu’s number again and again. But Mingyu is nowhere. He’s vanished once more. Wonwoo rushes outside, calling his name like a desperate soul. No, he won’t let Mingyu slip away from him again. Not this time.
He’s too far gone now — too entangled, too changed. He can’t deny it anymore; the ache twisting inside him isn’t just desire. It isn’t lust. It’s love — real, painful, and alive. Because one doesn’t feel heartbroken when the other disappears. One only feels this way when they’ve already fallen.
Suddenly, his phone rings again. But it isn’t Mingyu.
It’s Seokmin.
He picks up, still agitated and breathless. “Seokmin, not now, I—”
“Wonwoo, stop looking for him.”
Wonwoo freezes. Not from his friend’s sudden low voice, nor its eerie calmness, but from what the other has just said.
“Wh-What do you mean?”
The man on the phone pauses — a silence so heavy it makes Wonwoo’s heart pound painfully in his chest — before finally breaking it.
“You found the book, didn’t you?”
Wonwoo’s chest begins to constrict in the air again. “How did you-”
“I wrote it,” Seokmin says simply, as if the words aren’t lugging the weight of everything. “Every page of it.”
Wonwoo’s whole world blurs. His glasses no longer help him; he kneels on the ground because he can’t see clearly anymore. He shuts his eyes, opens them again — but he’s already blind. Blind to the reality he once knew, to the life he once lived.
“Wonwoo, my friend,” Seokmin speaks again, calm and almost kind. “If you keep meeting Mingyu — no. If you keep harboring that love for the flower… you’ll perish, Wonwoo. You’ll die the same way Mingyu wilted the night you shared your warmth.”
Wonwoo begins to sob. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where Mingyu is. He doesn’t even recognize Seokmin anymore. And worst of all, he no longer knows who, or what, or how… or why he is.
“I’m simply warning you, Wonwoo,” Seokmin says softly. “As the author of this story… as your friend.”
Then the line goes silent — save for the single, final beep that ends the call.
Wonwoo stays kneeling on the ground, the scent of the soil around him thick and strangling. Despair fills him and chokes him… as if he’s breathing a lie. But he knows, deep inside, it’s the complete opposite.
He’s being fed the pills of truth he refuses to take. He’s drowning in the silence he refuses to swim through. He’s being slapped by the reality he refuses to face.
He can’t accept this as the end. No — this can’t truly be the end.
This can’t be Mingyu’s, or his, goodbye.
Wonwoo stays at the greenhouse all night, reading the book over and over until his eyes begin to memorize every single word inside. He keeps a part of himself delusional, hoping that each reread might offer him a different, alternate ending. But the book is as constant as change. Cruelly unfazed. And more than once, he contemplates tearing it apart in anger.
By the time sunlight filters through the glass panes and brushes weakly on his face, he knows what he has to do. With the book in hand, he heads toward the campus in yesterday’s clothes. Hair unkempt, eyes swollen, heart still breaking into pieces.
Though he looks seconds away from passing out, he needs answers more than ever.
When he reaches Seokmin’s office, he doesn’t bother knocking. He bursts through the door, and there Seokmin sits, calm as ever, coffee in hand, as though he’s been expecting him all along.
“Wonwoo,” Seokmin greets, unfazed by the brash intrusion. His eyes fall to the book in Wonwoo’s grip. “You read it.”
Wonwoo nods stiffly, still panting a bit from his brisk. “You said you wrote it.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
For a moment, Seokmin stays silent, letting Wonwoo’s frustration out in the air between them. He glances at his free hand as it curls into his palm. Then he breathes out in a stretched, resigned sigh.
“Because it’s real, Wonwoo. Every story starts somewhere, from the birth of sprout of an idea. Then with our imagination, and our pen, and our paper, and our hearts, we let that sprout grow. We let it out in the sun, we let the truth sees it… and brings life into it.”
Wonwoo steps closer. “You knew about Mingyu.”
Seokmin nods, not denying it. “I knew about him. His kind, specifically. They’re the ones that exist just to bloom, even before history was ever written down. You see, I’m from a family of story-keepers… except I write some of them myself.”
He swivels his chair to face the large window behind him. Outside, the tree sways in the morning air, its leaves dangling for dear life — like watching Wonwoo cling to hope.
“Well, Wonwoo… this isn’t the first time your story was written.”
Wonwoo blinks. “H-Huh?”
“In one of the stories kept by my great-grandmother, there was someone who looked exactly like you. A man who fell in love with a flower that turned human,” Seokmin says calmly. “One of my ancestors warned him, but he didn’t listen. He kept showering that flower with love that wasn’t meant to flourish. Do you know what happened to him?”
Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Seokmin does it for him.
“He died in his sleep… surrounded by wilted flowers. He left his human-turned flower alone in despair for the rest of his life.”
“So…” Wonwoo finally speaks, though his throat starts to tighten. “Y-You’re saying… this is my fate?”
“Not fate. Pattern. It’s a pattern, Wonwoo.” Seokmin turns back to face him. “I knew the first time your Queen of the Flower turned. A part of me wished I could’ve warned you… but I didn’t. I thought maybe… just maybe, this time you and Mingyu would be different.”
Seokmin stands, leaning against the edge of the table, his hands gripping the sides.
“Your story should’ve ended that night, Wonwoo. But it didn’t. And I’m afraid it’s becoming another story I already know too well.”
Wonwoo steps back, trying to process everything — trying to stay grounded, but tears threaten again. “You knew… Seokmin, you knew. I thought you were my friend! How could you lie to me? You knew…”
A tear falls, then another, and soon more, as his heart breaks all over again.
“You knew, and still you let me love him so deeply.”
“If I’d told you, would you have stopped? Would you have walked away?” Seokmin asks quietly. “If I’d told you, would you have let him go?”
Wonwoo has no answer. That silence tells Seokmin everything.
“Wonwoo, Mingyu’s love for you is pure. But sometimes, purity itself can destroy as much as it can be destroyed. The longer you stay close, the more it consumes you. Your warmth, your breath, your life. Because flowers like Mingyu were never meant to meet mortal souls like yours.”
Chill crawls up Wonwoo’s skin, his nose flaring at the painful truth he’s forced to face. “So what? I’m supposed to stay away from him forever? Pretend he doesn’t exist? Pretend I don’t know him? Pretend my heart isn’t breaking into pieces right now because I still long for him?”
The usual extroverted Seokmin Wonwoo once knew is long gone. Instead, in front of the professor is the ultimate truthteller, laced in a painful thorn.
“We can’t change it, Wonwoo,” Seokmin responds. “You have to walk away… before the flower blooms one last time… and he takes you with it.”
But Wonwoo’s patience already runs out. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Seokmin admits. “But if he’s read the book… he’s already trying to protect you.”
Wonwoo’s knees almost give once more. He finally surrenders to his sobs, realizing what Mingyu’s apology over the phone truly meant.
“Wonwoo… I’m… I’m sorry.”
He can still hear that fragile sorrow. And it’s echoing over and over in his head like a reminder.
Mingyu wasn’t apologizing for disappearing. He was apologizing for loving him too much to stay.
Wonwoo can still feel it — that faint, sweet scent of the Queen of the Night flower he has grown to love. He knows Mingyu is still out there, somewhere, blooming, breathing…
… Still loving him too, even if it can kill both of them.
It’s been days, yet Mingyu still hasn’t returned, not even to the university. Wonwoo has no choice but to fall back into his once-mundane life: teaching, tending to the plants, staring into nothingness. Repeat. Seokmin remains the same jolly Agriculture professor everyone knows, but Wonwoo doesn’t want to talk to him anymore. Even now, he still feels betrayed by the only friend he has.
Night falls, and the air grows heavy around Wonwoo’s apartment. He refuses to eat or drink. The book lies closed on the table he can’t bear to look at it anymore. He just sits there in the dark, the only light coming from his phone, where Mingyu’s name glows on the screen.
He opens the chat and starts to type. Then deletes it. Types again. His hands tremble as the words finally spill out. Pained, truthful, straight from his heart.
Mingyu, I don’t care if it kills me. I don’t care if I fade… I already feel like dying without you. Please come back to me, my flower.
He pauses for a minute, his words finally in a message, short yet needed. He presses sends. And then, he waits there in the dark.
The night ripens, the room darkens further. Hours pass, yet still no answer. Though his eyes burn, he no longer has a reason to sleep. The air grows colder, mirroring the slow, agonizing dying of his heart.
Meanwhile, in a small, cramped room, Mingyu sits curled in a corner, clutching his phone to his chest. His eyes are hollow, his breath shallow. He has been crying for days — praying to stop existing altogether.
Because every breath he takes feels like he’s stealing it from Wonwoo. Because he feels he was never meant to breathe that air.
His phone suddenly vibrates. Though he barely has the strength to move, his eyes widen when he sees Wonwoo’s name. He opens the message.
And then, Mingyu finally reads it.
Immediately, his heart twists violently. He reads the message again and again until his vision blurs with tears. Then a sound escapes him, a broken sob, as he grips his chest, swearing he can feel the same ache Wonwoo must be feeling miles away.
And just like that, Mingyu’s decision to walk away crumbles.
As dawn breaks, Mingyu is already walking… back to the greenhouse. Back to where it all began. The morning is thick with fog, and he holds his breath, afraid that one careless exhale might make him disappear with it.
When he pushes open the wooden door, he finds Wonwoo sitting on the ground, looking rough and exhausted. Eyes red, face dirt-streaked, clothes wrinkled. Wonwoo slowly turns towards him. A disbelieving smile tugs faintly at his lips, as if he’s seeing an apparition instead of Mingyu’s living flesh.
“Am I dreaming?”
Mingyu swallows hard as he steps closer. “You shouldn’t have texted me that.”
“You left without saying goodbye,” Wonwoo murmurs.
Mingyu finally reaches him, helping him to his feet before gently taking him to the leather couch.
“I had to,” Mingyu says. “You’ll die if I stay, Wonwoo. The book was right. The curse-”
“I don’t care.”
Raw silence settles between them, their tired and reddened eyes meeting for a lingering breath. Then Wonwoo sighs, smiling faintly, grateful that Mingyu’s finally here — but still needing to let the words out.
“Don’t you get it? You’re my life, Mingyu. What’s the point of living if I have to live without the person who gives me life?”
Mingyu shakes his head, rigid, fighting the tears threatening to fall again. “But I can’t hurt you, Wonwoo. I can’t watch you die because of me. I was made to love, not to destroy-”
“Then love me,” Wonwoo interrupts softly, leaning in until their faces are only a breath apart. “Mingyu, if I have to die, I’d rather die with someone who makes me feel alive. Someone who made my time worth living.”
Mingyu’s lips tremble, emotion overwhelming him. Wonwoo reaches up, cupping his cheek, the very same touch that once made him bloom.
“Mingyu,” Wonwoo whispers. “If the curse says I’ll die from loving you, then let it happen. Just stay… Mingyu, please stay with me, okay?”
Mingyu exhales shakily, closing his eyes as their foreheads meet. The air between them grows warm. Around them, the flowers and leaves seem to stir and sway in relief. For a moment, there’s only the sound of their hearts, humming in the same aching beat.
“I’m scared,” Mingyu admits meekly.
“I am too,” Wonwoo answers. “But I still want you here.”
Wonwoo leans in before Mingyu can say another word, pressing a kiss they’ve longed for. It starts soft, delicate but it grounds them both, holding them both right there in the middle of the greenhouse.
“Don’t be afraid,” Wonwoo whispers against his lips. “You were made to love, right? Then let’s do that. Together.” Mingyu nods, and then closes his eyes. His body trembles under Wonwoo’s tender warmth. For the first time in his life, he truly breathes… and it feels like sunlight breaking through his skin. Somewhere beyond the glass panes, the wind shifts. The leaves tremble.
The Queen of the Night blooms early.
Across campus, Joshua paces through the empty faculty corridor before heading straight into an empty classroom, the one place he knows that person will be. And he’s right. Seokmin sits at his desk, grading papers.
“You,” Joshua jumps in right away, his tone pointed. “I know you wrote that book. I know you wrote their story.”
Seokmin looks up, smiling, unbothered. “Someone has to keep the balance, Professor Hong. Every story begins and ends, that’s how humans learn. I give stories their shape, their climaxes… their tragedies. Because they only mean something when they bear pain.”
Joshua’s jaw tightens. He storms forward and slams both palms onto Seokmin’s desk.
“You cursed them, Seokmin. How could you do that to your best friend?!”
Seokmin doesn’t flinch. “I only wanted to see if love itself could survive its own ending.”
“Cruel,” Joshua breathes. “You’re cruel.”
“Maybe,” Seokmin admits quietly. “But I can’t undo what’s already been written.”
“You can,” Joshua insists. “Your stories mean something, right? Then spare theirs your mercy.” For a long, stretching moment, Seokmin says nothing. The silence between them grows uncomfortable. Joshua stands there, waiting.
Finally, Seokmin leans back, a hint of resignation crossing his face. “There’s a way. But it’s not mine to grant.”
“What is it?” Joshua demands instantly.
“Only true love can break it,” Seokmin says. “If they can show it, unafraid, truthful, sincere, the curse will lift. Mingyu will become fully human, and Wonwoo will live.”
Joshua’s breath catches. “And if they can’t?”
Seokmin’s voice fades a bit. He knows it can’t be helped.
“Then… the story ends the way it’s written.”
Joshua leaves the room, but not before Seokmin advises him not to interfere. Though he desperately wants to help Wonwoo, a part of him understands. Wonwoo and the flower’s love for each other needs no guidance, no intervention.
Because if they truly love each other, then that alone is enough to break the curse.
The two step out of the greenhouse, and the cool air greets them ironically like a warm hug. Dawn fades into morning, and the sky grows as bright as the relief on their faces. Wonwoo glances back once at the greenhouse — where everything began, and where everything almost ended — before turning to Mingyu with a small smile.
“Let’s go home.”
They walk side by side, saying nothing. But they don’t need to. The silence between them feels lighter now, less like a wound, more like a breath they can finally share. By the time they reach Wonwoo’s house, sunlight has already begun to spread across the sky.
Inside, the apartment smells faintly of dust and must. Wonwoo cracks open a few windows to let the breeze in. Mingyu stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking around as if he hasn’t stepped into this house for a long time.
Wonwoo glances over his shoulder and smiles. “You should shower, Min.”
Mingyu sheepishly grins. “You’re right.”
When Mingyu disappears into the bathroom, Wonwoo sinks onto the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes for just a moment. He listens to the sound of running water, ordinary, and finds himself smiling widely. His little home finally feels warm again. Alive.
Afterwards, they end up in bed. Hair still damp, clothes clean, body scented faintly of soap. Wonwoo lies on his side, facing Mingyu, who’s already half-asleep. Watching him breathe softly fills Wonwoo’s chest with something yearningly tender. He then reaches out to brush away the strands of hair falling across Mingyu’s eyes.
They spend the day like that: sleeping, resting next to each other beneath the sheets. The world outside moves and chats as usual, but inside the four corners of Wonwoo’s bedroom, everything is still. When Wonwoo finally wakes, the room is dim and quiet at seven in the evening.
For a quick second, panic hits him when his hand finds the cold, empty sheets beside him. But then he hears some soft clinking from the kitchen. Wonwoo gets up, following the sound until he finds Mingyu standing in front of the stove, cooking.
“Hey,” Wonwoo calls softly, leaning against the kitchen island.
“You’re awake!” Mingyu turns, smiling wide. “Go sit down. I’m almost done.”
Wonwoo walks closer, peeking over his shoulder. “You cook now?”
“Had to,” Mingyu says with a small shrug. “Besides, we haven’t eaten properly in days.”
Wonwoo chuckles under his breath before settling at the table, watching Mingyu plate their food. The dinner’s nothing fancy, but it doesn’t really matter for both of them. The room feels full of them. And their warmth, their laughter, their conversations.
After dinner, Mingyu opens the balcony door, and a rush of cold air greets them. The night sky stretches above, the moon and stars agleam brighter than they have in a long while.
“Look at that,” Wonwoo murmurs. “It’s so bright tonight.”
Mingyu leans on the railing beside him. “I like that the moon knows,” he says softly. “The moon knows we’re finally together.”
Wonwoo turns to him, their shoulders brushing. “You know,” he says quietly, “I used to think what I felt for you was just… superficial.”
Mingyu looks up, eyes mirroring the mix of light and dark from the sky above.
“The day I found you at the greenhouse, and the day I took you home… back then, I thought I was only drawn to you physically, or maybe to the idea of you suddenly appearing in front of me. Your beauty, your innocence, your naivety — everything about you felt so pure, Mingyu.”
“Even that night?” Mingyu asks softly. “Were you just attracted to me that night?”
“That night… it was lust that controlled me,” Wonwoo admits. “But what came after wasn’t.”
Mingyu nods slowly, letting him continue.
“When you left, I was lost. It felt like losing a part of my own soul, because I kept aching for your presence. As time went on, that ache changed. I started feeling things I’d never felt before, not even at my age now. I told myself I’d move on, that maybe I’d never see you again… but then, you came back. And that’s when I realized… It’s love, Mingyu. It wasn’t longing anymore. It was already love.”
“I see…” Mingyu whispers with a trembling smile on his lips. He meets Wonwoo’s gaze and finds the sincerity there, enough to tramp every doubt in his heart. “Because I feel the same. I think I’ve been in love with you all this time.”
Wonwoo exhales, eyes fixed on him, everything else blurring out of focus.
“Mingyu.”
“Mhm?”
“Promise me you won’t leave this time.”
“I… I promise, Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo leans in, and Mingyu meets him halfway. The kiss is as gentle as they want it to be, and they’re not rushing it. Their lips move softly against one another under the night sky, sweet and warm and overwhelming in the best way. But most of all, it’s them finally finding their way home to each other’s arms.
When they finally pull apart, the moonlight lingers over them, a silent witness to their promise.
“W-Wonwoo?”
“Yes, bubba?”
Mingyu presses a quick kiss on Wonwoo’s lips in a fleeting warmth.
“Hold me tonight.”
Mingyu’s words ignite something in Wonwoo—an unconfinable rush of heat. In a swift, he gathers the taller man into his arms and captures his lips in another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time, filled with everything he’s held back.
They make their way towards Wonwoo’s bedroom, where Mingyu is gently laid back against the sheets. Wonwoo hovers above him, and though the room is lit only by the dim glow of moonlight, he can still see Mingyu’s glassy eyes gazing up at him.
“Wonwoo…” What Mingyu says next melts into every fiber of Wonwoo’s being. “I love you.”
Wonwoo’s breath catches, heart trembling with it. “I love you too, Mingyu.”
Wonwoo closes the distance between them, and their kiss no longer needs to be delicate and careful. The space slowly narrows down to the sound of their breaths, and to their hands roaming around each other’s bodies. As their heartfelt kiss intensifies, Wonwoo grabs and tugs Mingyu’s shirt off. This pulls them from the kiss, both now panting and gasping for air.
With Mingyu’s shirt now out of the way, Wonwoo dives right back in to kiss every skin of Mingyu’s face. He lets his lips grace over the moles on the tip of Mingyu’s nose and left cheek, then moves down to nibble on the other’s jaw and ear.
Mingyu shudders under Wonwoo’s touch, his hands slowly crawling up the professor’s back. His gasps grow louder as Wonwoo’s kisses glide down to his neck and collarbone, letting the night know that Mingyu is his. Only his.
Wonwoo’s eyes glimmer as he takes in the sight of Mingyu’s toned, curvy chest, and he can’t help but plant more bites as he goes. When his lips finally deck over those buds sticking out, hesitation is immediately thrown out the window.
“W-Won!”
Wonwoo can’t help but notice the familiar nectar sweetness as he begins sucking on one nipple. He sees the other one, and decides to rub it in rotations with his thumb. Mingyu squirms and winces, his head turning up as Wonwoo continues to treat his chest like that. He’s also beginning to emit this distinct floral scent, and this doesn’t escape Wonwoo’s sense of smell at all.
Wonwoo pulls back and shifts up to palm both of Mingyu's cheeks.
“Your smell…” he utters, suddenly remembering that night at the greenhouse.
Mingyu’s eyes begin to beg, that look Wonwoo already knows too well. “I guess I’m blooming again tonight,” he whispers.
The words instantaneously hit Wonwoo like cold water. His face hardens as sweat starts to drip down his temple. Mingyu catches the look of panic immediately, his own expression softening.
“Wonwoo, hey…” he says gently. “I’m not leaving you. I already promised, remember? I’m not leaving you after this. I won’t let that happen.”
“Mingyu.”
“Mhm?”
Wonwoo takes a deep breath to shake the remnants of his worries. “Whatever happens tonight, I’m ready.”
Mingyu smiles, now a bit teary-eyed. “Me too…”
“If I die… I’ll accept it. As long as I’m holding you before I do.”
Mingyu’s tears fall down, and Wonwoo wipes them quickly with his thumb.
“I won’t let you go until the end, Wonwoo.”
In a sudden shift, Mingyu reaches up to grab the back of Wonwoo’s neck and pulls him for a kiss to calm him down. Wonwoo melts into the touch almost instantly, as seeing Mingyu so sure, so certain about staying, is enough to ease him. Not tonight, he tells himself. Tonight, he just wants to show Mingyu how much he loves him.
The kiss deepens once more, causing Mingyu to push Wonwoo on his back. They remove each other’s clothes until none is left, and all they can see is each other’s naked bodies.
This time, Mingyu towers over the professor. He intentionally positions himself to aim his ass by Wonwoo’s face, while he crawls and settles by Wonwoo’s thighs. Mingyu turns around to grab Wonwoo’s attention.
“Eat me,” Mingyu shyly says.
Without waiting for Wonwoo’s response, Mingyu proceeds to hold Wonwoo’s cock and begins to stroke it cautiously. Wonwoo groans right away at that, and to distract himself, he parts and fondles Mingyu’s butt cheeks to where the latter’s two holes were. And to Wonwoo’s amusement, both are already leaking, glistening… quivering.
Mingyu instantly whimpers as Wonwoo goes ahead and teases both of his holes. He can feel Wonwoo’s fingers digging and pressing buttons inside his pussy, while the professor’s tongue circles around the brim of his asshole, loosening him up.
“W-Won!” Mingyu gasps, but he reciprocates the pleasure with his tongue by teasingly licking the precum off the tip. He makes sure to trace the veins, down to the balls, leaving no spot unwet. Finally, he slowly takes the length into his mouth and begins to move up and down on it deliberately, letting that cock drag on the insides of his cavern.
“F-Fuck!” Wonwoo quails, prompting himself to move his own mouth and fingers faster.
They surely take the number sixty-nine to heart as neither refuses to slow down from giving each other oral pleasure. Mingyu’s now deepthroating so hard that he can feel the tip pressing on his throat harshly. On the other hand, Wonwoo’s mouth shifts to Mingyu’s pussy, drinking every drop of Mingyu’s juice while his tongue dangles on that sensitive bell.
They take turns moaning, slurping, gasping, and as they lewdly carry on, Mingyu’s pussy starts to feel funny and numb. His hips instinctively shakes to meet the skin of Wonwoo’s tongue, and the latter eagerly responds with his tongue and mouth moving rapidly.
All of a sudden, Mingyu takes his mouth out from the length and shouts. “W-Won, ah, ah, ah!” As the pleasure becomes too unbearable, the flower’s entire body jolts, and there he lets out a high-pitched groan.
More of his juices splash out, wetting Wonwoo’s face below him. He spins around, looking embarrassed.
“Won…” he bites his lip, seeing Wonwoo’s drenched face.
But Wonwoo only chuckles, licking his lip to taste a bit of Mingyu. “But you taste good, bubba.”
Mingyu hurriedly wipes the professor’s face with the sheets and pouts. “I also wanna make you feel good.”
“But you’re already doing it, Min,” Wonwoo reassures him. Before Mingyu can respond, Wonwoo gently pushes him back and leans over him once more. The professor looks at Mingyu’s face one more time, and in his softest, sincerest tone, he whispers.
“I wanna make love to you all night.”
Wonwoo gently spreads Mingyu’s legs apart and teases the pussy again with the glide of his fingers.
“W-Won, stop…” Mingyu whines to this, making Wonwoo laugh lightly.
“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says, pecking Mingyu’s lips twice. “I’ll put it in.”
With that, Wonwoo grabs and jerks his throbbing manhood, and in between Mingyu’s thighs, he rubs the head on the entrance for a bit, drawing both of them to moan to their sensitive tips kissing, and then he slowly presses it inside the flower’s waiting hole. Mingyu can’t stop himself from mewling to the drag of every inch going in. Wonwoo’s still as huge as he remembered, but he bravely breathes through it, praying his insides could adjust to the cock’s intrusion right away.
Seeing Mingyu’s pained face, Wonwoo taps him. “You okay?”
“Y-Yes…”
Overwhelmed by the tight heat around his length, Wonwoo pushes even further until his entirety gets sucked and buried deep inside. He pauses for a minute to let Mingyu adjust.
After a minute, Mingyu blinks at him and mouths the word ‘move’. Wonwoo smirks and nods. He doesn’t waste any second; he starts to thrust hard, fast, and this has Mingyu’s eyes rolling back. Both his thighs settle by Wonwoo’s shoulders, and his feet dangle in the air. Wonwoo continues to dig through, kissing him in between to muffle both of their raspy moans.
As they both catch their own breaths, Mingyu sticks his tongue out, and Wonwoo responds by sucking on it lewdly. Lost in their desires, their kiss is now rather drooly, tongue-y, and definitely intense.
Then, in a burning second, Wonwoo feels himself nearing the edge. He intends to pull out but Mingyu reads him.
“I-Inside.”
“Huh?”
“I-Inside me, Won… Please…”
Wonwoo stares down at the man beneath him, and the latter’s innocent eyes make it impossible to resist. Wonwoo smirks, then he kisses Mingyu’s temple. And after a few more thrusts, he finally releases deep inside Mingyu’s pussy. The latter jounces back to his high himself, and for a moment they lay there panting.
Mingyu suddenly notices the light outside growing brighter, but when he looks back, he finds Wonwoo watching him intently.
“Eyes on me, bubba. Don’t get distracted,” Wonwoo teases with a grin.
Mingyu lets out a small laugh, and is about to joke back, but before he can, Wonwoo pulls him in for a deep, brooding kiss. This shuts Mingyu up, and soon their bodies move once again.
They hold each other close through the night, their hearts beating to their prayer. And until one of them fades, they promise not to let go. Not to let the curse, or anything else, steal them from each other again.
On the other side of the city, in a cold, dimly lit home office, Seokmin stands by the window, gazing out. The moon looks impossibly bright tonight. Larger, closer, more alive, and he knows why.
“Seems like God’s deciding their fate tonight…” he utters to himself with an ambiguous smile on his face, before drawing the curtains closed and calling it a night.
He turns back to his bedroom, and a smile forms as his eyes drop on the figure resting underneath his sheets. Then, calmly, Seokmin reaches for the curtains and draws them shut too… careful not to wake Joshua sleeping peacefully in his bed.
Six months later, the greenhouse breathes again — healthy and lush, as if it never bore stories to any curse at all. Wonwoo sits by a row of lilies, checking each root. Behind him, Mingyu hums to a song while watering the vines, his free hand resting on his pregnant belly.
Neither of them ever figured out when or how the curse broke, because after that bright night, Wonwoo didn’t die. Maybe the curse didn’t break at all. Maybe it just… loosened its grip. Still, on nights that fall too eerie, Wonwoo sometimes finds himself wondering if he’ll wake up the next morning. Then he laughs at the thought — because isn’t that what it means to live? To not know when the end will come, but to keep living anyway?
The only difference now is Mingyu beside him, holding him a little tighter than before. Because life has always been uncertain. And as long as they’re still here — breathing, loving, hurting, learning — that’s proof enough.