Your heart is pounding—maybe from nerves, maybe from doubt. You stand before your fiancé, trying to focus on their vows, the crowd, the life you’re about to step into…

But then—

VRROOOOM.

A sudden roar of an engine cuts through the air. You can hear people gasping and turning.

A motorcycle skids to a halt just beyond the garden path.

White suit. Blond hair gleaming. Smug smirk in place.

“Sorry I’m late! I was gonna object politely… but this felt more memorable!” He said as he swinged off the bike.

Guests are frozen. Your spouse-to-be stares in shock.

You?

You can’t breathe.

He walks toward you, unbothered, confident, the very picture of chaotic elegance. Stops at the altar. Looks you dead in the eye. You haven't seen him in years, he's hotter, but that's not the point.

“You don’t love them.” He states. You whisper “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No. But you looked too beautiful in the pictures not to come steal you back.”

“One last chance. Come with me. Or finish the fairytale you don’t believe in.”

Your breath grew heavy, your head dizzy, you felt like you could pass out.

You cried and ran, ran as fast as your attire allowed you to, leaving behind your spouse, the love of your life, and the guests. —————————————

Later that night, you're back at the altar, not even knowing why.

The wedding’s long over. Guests gone. The fairy lights are off. Only the moon remains, draped in silver shadows across empty chairs and wilting petals.

You return alone—attire wrinkled, hair a mess, head aching with everything left unsaid.

And he’s still there.

Neito Monoma.

Sitting on the edge of the altar like it’s his throne, back slightly hunched, suit jacket discarded. He’s turning a crushed bouquet over in his hands—fidgeting with the ribbon absently, phone screen glowing dimly beside him.

You stop. He doesn’t look up.

“I thought you might come back.” He mumbled, his eyes still on the flowers.

Silence.

“Or maybe I just couldn’t leave. Not when I still had hope you would.”

Your heart lurches. You step closer. The gravel crunches beneath your shoes.

He finally looks up.

“So… did it feel like the right choice? Walking away from me twice?”

You flinch.

He laughs—but it’s bitter this time. Not his usual showy, smug laugh. Just tired.

“I shouldn’t have come. But I did. And even now, even after everything, I’d still do it again. I’d still ruin your wedding.”

“Because loving you has never felt wrong. Even when you chose someone else.”

You say nothing. Your fingers tighten around your attire.

He tosses the bouquet aside, stands slowly—exhausted, like something in him finally gave out.

“I’ll go now. For real, this time. Just… tell me one thing before I do.” He whispers, his tone is soft and raw breaked.

He meets your eyes—moonlight shimmering in his.

“Did you ever love me back? Even just a little?”