Niko never dreamed about wedding bells or white suits. Commitment felt like too heavy a word—like something fragile people used to pretend their love was stronger than it really was. He’d seen too many people fall apart, promises break, and hearts left behind. So he told himself: love is temporary. Safe, only when it has an exit.

Then came Namjoon.

Namjoon wasn’t flashy or overwhelming. He was calm. Warm. The kind of man who listened more than he spoke, who made space for silence instead of trying to fill it. He never tried to fix Niko’s fears—he just held them, carefully, like they were part of him too. He built trust out of the smallest moments: waiting up when Niko worked late, remembering how he liked his coffee, reaching for his hand in a crowded room without a word.

When Namjoon asks, “Would you ever want to marry me?” it’s not over a candlelit dinner. It’s while folding laundry. A soft, sincere question dropped into the middle of their everyday life. Niko’s heart stutters—because part of him wants to run, but a bigger part wants to stay.

Because this… this is what forever could feel like.

They don’t dive into wedding planning right away. It’s slow. Comfortable. Sometimes messy. Niko panics, and Namjoon holds him. Namjoon overthinks, and Niko kisses his forehead until the storm passes. They make up silly vows at 2 a.m. when they can’t sleep. Niko finds himself smiling more, trusting more, letting go of all the stories he used to tell himself about love being dangerous.

With Namjoon, marriage isn’t a performance. It’s a shared blanket on a cold morning. It’s holding pinkies while walking through bookstores. It’s having someone who never makes you feel like you need to be more than you already are.

And when the day finally comes—just them, a few friends, and vows whispered like secrets—Niko doesn’t feel scared at all.

Because with Namjoon, love is quiet. And forever feels like peace.