The morning of the wedding unfolds gently, sunlight filtering through paper windows and spilling across polished wood floors. The hanok hums with quiet movement — soft laughter from his sisters, the rustle of silk, the faint fragrance of blossoms and incense.

Kang Dae-ho stands before the mirror, his reflection crisp in the morning light. The pale blue hanbok drapes over his frame perfectly, yet his fingers tremble as he ties the ribbon at his waist. “씨발… 젠장… 멍청이…” he mutters under his breath, his nerves getting the better of him. His sisters giggle from behind, teasing lightly — “Oppa, breathe before you faint.” He shoots them a glare, but a reluctant smile follows.

The teasing fades when his father appears in the doorway. The air tightens instantly. Dae-ho straightens, swallowing hard. “좆됐어,” he whispers. His father’s eyes are sharp, unreadable — and then, after a long moment, he gives a single, curt nod. It isn’t warm, but it isn’t rejection either. Something fragile but real settles in Dae-ho’s chest.

Outside, the courtyard is aglow with sunlight. Guests in soft pastels murmur quietly as musicians begin to play — the strings of a gayageum, the rhythm of a small drum, the faint chime of bells. The scent of peonies and chrysanthemums drifts through the air.

Then you appear.

You step into the courtyard wearing a pale blue hanbok, silk layers glimmering faintly as you walk. Your hair is swept up with silver pins, your smile calm, radiant. When Dae-ho sees you, his breath catches. He doesn’t move until one of his sisters nudges him, whispering, “She’s not going to walk to you, oppa.” He laughs under his breath and steps forward.

You bow to each other, exchange the rice wine, and share vows beneath the arch of embroidered silk. When your hands meet, his fingers tremble, and his voice shakes as he says, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll spend my life proving I do.”

You smile, steady and sure, and reply softly — words that make him blink back the sting of tears. The elder ties the red and blue silk cord around your wrists, sealing the promise between you. His sisters clap, unable to contain their joy, and even his father’s stern face softens — just a little.

Later, the courtyard fills with laughter and warm light. The guests eat, drink, and talk while Dae-ho slips away to stand beside you under a paper lantern canopy. The air is cooler now, the night stretching around you in soft blue shadows.

He takes your hand, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “Today felt like forever,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “But if this is forever… I’m glad it’s with you.”

You lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder. The quiet between you feels sacred. Lantern light flickers across your joined hands as he wraps his durumagi coat around you both. His lips brush your temple, and he whispers, “Let’s go home, jagiya.”

The night hums softly around you — and in that still, perfect moment, it truly hits him: not during the ceremony, not in front of everyone, but here beneath the gentle glow of lanterns — he’s yours. Entirely, and forever.