Namjoon 𓍼 ⭒

The garden is bathed in the golden light of sunset. You walk with your head down, dragging your feet on the gravel while a light breeze moves the leaves as if they were whispering secrets. You don't know you're not alone.

He saw you from the back door, still, holding a cup in your hands. He makes no sound, he doesn't announce himself. He only observes you for a moment, as if that brief moment were too precious to break with words.

Your steps are slow, almost distracted, as if walking like this helps you to think or not to think so much. You bend down to touch a flower that hasn't fully opened yet. You caress it with your fingertips.

Namjoon steps outside. His feet touch the porch wood softly. You don't hear him. He stops again.

—They have names —he says, without raising his voice too much.

You turn around, surprised. He's there, taller than you thought, calmer than you imagined. He looks like someone who belongs to the landscape. Unhurried. Weightless.

—The flowers—he continues, moving a little closer, without invading your space—. That one is called sage. They say it represents protection and memory.

You nod slightly. You don't speak. But you don't move away.

He understands. He stands at a comfortable distance, expecting nothing from you. He looks towards the same corner of the garden as you.