Moonflower

Chapter 3: Moonflower

"You can call me Moonflower."

He glanced sharply up into her eyes. "That's my favorite flower," he murmured.

She smiled faintly. "It was my appa's too. He told me I was born on a full moon around midnight one summer when the moonflowers were in full bloom. He passed by a vine of them on his way into the house as he was rushing to my eomma's side right after I was born. He plucked one blossom on his way past them. He gave it to my eomma when she handed me to him.

"My eomma said, 'That's it! We'll call her Moonflower.' I've been Moonflower ever since."

"It's a beautiful name," he breathed. This time, she was the one who noticed his breath flowing across her lips. She ignored the fluttering of her stomach.

She shrugged. "The name suits me. Like the flower of the same name, I bloom only in the dark."

"What do you mean?"

"I feel most at home in the darkness. When the sun has gone to bed, and so have the people. I've discovered that my own company is the best I've ever found. Since my parents passed anyway," she murmured mournfully.

Yoongi smiled ruefully. "I have discovered the same thing." He paused, then he pressed on. "Until tonight, that is."

"What do you mean?" she whispered as she bent closer to him.

Did she not realize that her lips had nearly grazed his?

He had noticed. She was a scant centimeter away from him. If he moved his head ever so slightly, his lips would brush hers. He had to admit the temptation was great. Except...

...he had the oddest feeling she was unaware of their proximity.

"I mean," he swallowed, "I am quite enjoying your company."

She turned her face towards his then, and her lips did bump his. Her eyes grew wide, and she pulled back suddenly, nearly falling off his lap. He tightened his arms around her to keep her safely planted on his lap. Her fingers still doggedly pressed that cloth to his face, though.

"Do you think your wound has ceased to seep?" she queried breathlessly.

"Let's see."

He reached up and touched her fingers under his eye. He caressed them for a moment. She withdrew them suddenly, pulling the cloth back so he could test the area.

"It doesn't feel wet now," he uttered thoughtfully.

Then he reached up and brushed his fingers across her other fingers. The ones resting against his forehead. His lips quirked up in a smile that she didn't see. He heard her involuntary gasp. Then she dropped her hand away from his face. Gingerly, he brushed his fingers across the laceration.

"I think this one has ceased to bleed also. I owe you a great debt," he murmured as he gazed at her beautiful mouth.

"You owe me nothing," she whispered. "Besides, I have a feeling that come morning, I will no longer be employed here."

His eyes flew to her own. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Only that I will be blamed for injuring you. When word reaches the palace officials that you tripped on a rake, they will insist I left it in the garden. I wonder what my punishment will be," she murmured as though she didn't really care.

She tilted her head to the side as though considering him. "Do you think the king will have me beheaded? For scarring one of his officials?" Then she winced. "I am terribly sorry." He could hear a sob forming in her voice. "I'm afraid you're going to be scarred. I would gladly give up my position here in the palace garden if I could give you back your beautiful, smooth skin."