Minho was in love Taemin. And it was not okay.

These two facts were keeping Minho up late; another hot, achingly quiet night. This time he was slouched just outside the wide paper door of his bedroom, facing the long porch and expansive gardens of the center courtyard. The moon hung full and bright in the sky, creating an otherworldly scene of marble flowers and spidery white ferns.

Minho barely saw the delicate plants; he was far more occupied thinking about their keeper.

All he could see was deep black eyes, finely lashed, beckoning. The slash of a high cheekbone, turning away. Hands with fleeting touches pressing against Minho's chest, his waist; holding him close. Breath in his ear; Minho.

Taemin was the gardener of the estate, and the personal demon of Choi Minho. Officially he cared for the extravagant gardens all around the house, a representation of Choi wealth in a time when flowers for the sake of beauty were a rare luxury. And when no one was looking, he was Minho's best friend; a companion for he who was closed off from the "commoners" world.

Lately though, simple companionship seemed to be the last thing Minho was capable of having with Taemin. He knew it was melodramatic, but Minho ached for him. He had fallen in love and oh, surely Taemin would never understand.

Yes, sometimes Taemin's touches seemed to linger, his eyes flicker with suggestion, but those moments were so fleeting that Minho knew it was his own desperate heart conjuring them. He could never confront Taemin, with only shadows and hopes and needs.

Minho sighed, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly. He was following the same thought pattern he had been for months. He wished fervently for sleep, for the ache to fade. Instead his thoughts turned to his family and his position, as they inevitably did.

He was petrified of his family somehow finding out about Minho's obsessions. Never mind whether or not Taemin would accept him--relationships between males were forbidden. And while Minho knew others kept them secretly, he knew, logically, that he'd be stupid to try the same.

As the Choi family was one of the wealthiest in their area, Minho was practically a public figure. He was the sole heir of not only the Choi wealth, but the clean Choi reputation. He was a cultured man with his fathers’ strength and his mothers’ beauty; prepped his whole life for marriage to some equally wealthy commerce-man's daughter.

And he was in love with his best friend, the family’s male servant. He was a disgrace. He would give up everything if he thought he had a chance at Taemin's heart.

Minho sighed again, head light with the heat of the night and his frustrations, hands picking at his thin yukata as he tried to give air to his feverish skin. He was weak on nights like this, nights when he dreampt and the dreams were so vivid they obscured the fear and insecurity, refuted his logic.

How could he uphold any kind of resolution when he woke up sweating and trembling from dreams of having Taemin wrapped around him? It was always Taemin, his slender hands and delicate collarbones and shameful mouth and dark, storming eyes. Even upon waking Minho could feel him, and he could never go back to sleep after that.

So here he sat, propped against his bedroom door and pining over flowers, exhausting himself with endless logic and reasoning, all the while his heart yearned for Taemin, Taemin, Taemin.

Impatient with himself, and still trying to cool off, Minho yanked the collar of his sleeveless yukata down almost to the belt, sick of it clinging to his damp skin. Feeling a little better, he hiked up the skirt too, exposing his legs above the knee and leaning back against the doorframe. A small breeze came by, and it felt so good that he was contemplating just stripping , but the creak of wood behind him distracted his thoughts.

Someone was opening his bedroom door from inside the house, shuffling quietly as they slid the paper aside. Minho remained where he was, shocked that anyone was up, and his mouth fell open as he saw Taemin step his bare feet over the threshold, arms laden with flowers.

Taemin was equally shocked, brows raising as he spotted Minho out of bed, but he recovered more quickly, simply nodding to him before he approached the standing vase in the corner of the room and began to exchange flowers as if he did this every day. Minho stayed where he was, trying to decide if he was dreaming or if Taemin really was the devil, conjured by his sinful thoughts.

“…ah…Taemin-ah?” Minho croaked, eventually finding his voice, brain still trying to catch up.

Without turning from his work, Taemin answered with a quiet “Yes, Minho-sshi?”

“If I could ask…why, I mean, what are you doing here?”

“These blooms need to be replaced.”

“Couldn’t you do it during the day?”

“I was busy today. Sorry to disturb you.”

“No, I mean..." Minho was feeling dumber and dumber as the minutes passed. "Aren’t you losing sleep?”

“It's fine, Master doesn't like it when the inside flowers go unkept. And I don’t want anyone to see my flowers like this either," he said, touching the wilting blooms. He paused when Minho was silent, glancing up from beneath his straight-cut bangs to look at his hyung. Minho felt it then, felt Taemin’s eyes raking over him, that same unreadable darkness. Minho furrowed his brow, trying to gauge the odd atmosphere, but Taemin turned around hastily and resumed his work.

“Aren’t you losing sleep, Minho-yah?”

“Ah, I…couldn’t sleep?”

“Too hot?” Now there was a smirk in the younger’s voice. “I see the night has gotten to your clothing.”

Minho glanced down, then cursed aloud as he realized just how much skin he was exposing; he might as well be with how well his yukata was now covering him. Scrambling up, Minho righted his clothes and then, trying to cover up his embarrassment, went over to lean against the wall where Taemin was cutting flower stems.

“Aren’t you hot, then?” He asked, now noticing that Taemin was still in full servant's uniform, his own heavier yukata still sashed snugly around him with the full sleeves belling out to his fingertips.

“Ah, actually I am a bit warm,” he admitted with a small laugh, pausing his work again to pull at his collar, lifting it away from the back of his neck. Minho couldn't help but linger over the skin he exposed, his smooth nape peeking out above the thick collar.

“I forgot to change today after going out with Mistress, then I was so busy with planting the new hollyhocks," Taemin explained, shrugging and picking up his small clippers again. "I had to make sure the seeds would sow before it gets too hot.”

He went on like this, quietly murmuring to Minho about his new seeds as he clipped and trimmed, smoothing his fingers over the long sunflower stems and wide leaves. Minho watched, ever fascinated at how he handled the flowers, as if they could feel him. And as Taemin ran a finger lovingly down the stem of a flower, Minho's gut clenched in longing. His dreams were still too close to the surface.

Taemin was here, bathed in moonlight, crouched knee to knee with Minho as he trimmed flowers in the middle of the night. His eyes were soft and warm tonight, tracing over Minho slowly, and Minho couldn’t help but notice how now, after being initially being loosened, his yukata was slipping a little, exposing a curved collarbone as he leaned over to reach a new flower.

His face was tilted down but Minho could see his cheeks were warm with the color of his laughter, his mouth curving with the same humor. 

He was so warm and real and here. His scent was rich like heated honey and earthy as the flowers he so loved, and Minho couldn't help himself. He leaned forward to inhale it.

Taemin noticed, hands stilling as he felt Minho tilt towards him just that little bit. He said nothing as Minho reached up to cup his damp neck, planting a small kiss to the curve of it. Taemin shuddered slightly, a shiver running down his spine, and finally murmured, “Minho…what…”

The sound of his voice snapped Minho into reality again and he swore, standing quickly.

“I’m sorry!” He blurted, wide-eyed. “I apologize.” Disgusted at himseld, Minho turned, planning to leave and come back when Taemin was gone and he was less of an imbecile.

Before he could make it to the porch though, Taemin dropped the sunflower he was holding and stood, grabbing onto Minho's bare arm and yanking him back.

“No—Minho-yah, stop it.” Shocked, Minho’s eyes flew to Taemin’s, which were bright with emotion.

“You have got to stop this, you know,” said Taemin, breath a little uneven, and Minho could detect a flash of insecurity in his eyes. But wait, wasn’t it Minho who was scared out of his mind? He had ruined everything in a moment of weakness and now Taemin was going to reject him; he’d just said as much—‘this has to stop.’

Stomach sinking, Minho cut in before Taemin could go on, trying to save them both from the clumsiness of his actions. “I know, look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I won’t—”

“No, Minho.” Taemin interrupted, frustration sparking now instead. “You are truly the most dense man I have ever met. Do you think I don’t know how you feel about me?” He was working from upset to angry now, something Minho had never seen from Taemin. He could do nothing but stand, flabbergasted, as Taemin continued, now holding both of Minho’s wrists as they faced each other.

“I’ve noticed the way you look at me. Do you think I don’t know exactly how you watch me, when you think no one is looking? I’m looking, Minho.” His voice was low and sharp, but his thumbs were the inside of Minho’s wrists, a contrast to his impatient words. “And I’m tired of waiting for you to figure it out.”

Now he was close, so close and Minho was more confused than ever. He could barely think, barely breathe with their proximity; with Taemin’s eyes smoldering into him like that. Taemin slid his hands down so they were pressed palm to palm with Minho’s, fingers tangled. When he pressed their mouths together too, Minho stopped trying to think at all.

His exhausted brain was no match for Taemin's body pressing into him, lips petal soft and so warm. He had no defense against the sigh that escaped him, or to Taemin’s tongue when it slid gently across his bottom lip. He only tilted his head to allow him better access, mind wiped blank. The world spun slowly around them and Taemin was the only thing keeping Minho upright.

When Taemin pulled away, Minho followed his mouth, loathe to lose contact after so long a yearning. Taemin let Minho nip at his mouth needily, humming when they finally separated. Minho’s hands had wandered to his waist to hold him close and they fell quiet, just breathing. Taemin’s arms looped around Minho’s waist too so they were pressed together, the heat no longer uncomfortable.

They stood for a long time like that, clinging, each savoring the intimacy; savoring the familiar, yet new warmth of the other. Minho rubbed one hand up and down Taemin’s spine slowly, murmuring sweet nothings into his skin, telling him how beautiful he was, how he looked when he worked with his plants, how Minho thought he was the most gorgeous flower in the garden.

Taemin chuckled at that. “Well, I never knew you had a poetic bent, lover-boy. A delicate bloom, huh?” And Minho blushed, half embarrassed and half still starstruck, still unbelieving of the whole night. “You’re beautiful, Taemin-ah.”

“But delicate, hm. Seems to me like you’re the delicate one here, Minho-yah,” he teased affectionately, cheek pressed to Minho’s shoulder. “Who was the one -footing around all this time…fretting and pining, hm?”

Minho groaned, but didn’t say anything. He didn't want to think about it, because it was easy to hold those worries at bay in Taemin's arms. He only regretted keeping Taemin waiting so long. He opened his mouth, a half-formed apology in his mind.

Before he could say anything, though, Taemin leaned forward and bit his shoulder, sharply enough on bare skin for Minho to break off mid-breath. “Ouch, Taemin!”

“I could hear you start thinking about apologizing,” Taemin said matter-of-factly when Minho leaned back in confusion, the younger boy’s gaze somehow managing to make him feel like he was a good foot shorter than usual. Taemin’s eyes were sharp and bright and warm, and Minho was trapped.

“It makes far more sense for you to show me how sorry you are, don’t you think?” His hands slid lower, over the curve off Minho's , and he punctuated his suggestion with a feral grin and an unashamed squeeze. “It would be nicer.”

Minho felt his temperature rise fifteen degrees in about a second, and through his dizziness he realized that Taemin had thoroughly dragged him under. He was drowning, but that suddenly didn't seem like a bad way to die. Grinning, he leaned down to press his lips to Taemin’s ear and whisper, breathless, “You know, it’s pretty hot out tonight…what do you say we go to the bath and cool off…”

Smirking, pleased, Taemin only pressed closer to murmur back, “Cool off, huh? But don’t you know that flowers bloom best in the heat, Minhoyah?” Before Minho could fully process the innuendo, Taemin was tugging him back into his room, towards his abandoned futon. “Ah, but you don’t know as much about that as me. Come, let me show you, darling…"

And, helpless to do anything but acquiesce, Minho followed him.