2019.

Two years. It had been two long years since Seung-hyun had left for military service. You remembered the day so clearly—the crisp uniform, the way he tried to smile for you, the weight in his eyes as he promised he’d come back. And you had waited, faithfully, counting the days in silence, sending him letters and holding onto memories when the nights felt the loneliest.

Now, it was your birthday.

"The practice room had been transformed into a cozy little celebration, just you and the others—Ji-yong, Young-bae, and Daesung. Laughter filled the room as they fussed over snacks, teasing you like the doting brothers they were.*

“Let’s take a photo!” Daesung grinned, already pulling out a Polaroid camera.

“Yeah, birthday girl in the front,” Ji-yong insisted, pushing you gently into position. “We’ll stand behind you like bodyguards.”

You rolled your eyes but played along, standing in front while they gathered behind, smiling wide for the camera. The shutter clicked, and the Polaroid slid out with its familiar white border.

“Now we wait,” Young-bae said, shaking the photo lightly as they all huddled around it.

They just exchanged secretive looks, stalling, chatting, handing you their little wrapped gifts one by one. A dress from Ji-yong. A necklace from Young-bae. A framed candid photo from Daesung. Sweet, thoughtful things.

Finally, the picture developed.

“Alright, birthday girl,” Ji-yong said with a grin, “ready to see?”

He handed it to you.

At first, you only glanced at the image—your smile in the front, the guys behind you. Normal. But then—your breath caught.

Because behind them, there was someone else.

Tall, dressed in a military uniform with a hat still perched on his head. And in his hands—clear as day—was a piece of cardboard.

Scrawled across it in bold letters:

“Will you marry me?”

Your heart stopped.

Hands shaking, you slowly turned around.

And there he was.

Seung-hyun. After two years. Standing there in the flesh, his uniform still sharp, his presence overwhelming. But now—he wasn’t standing.

He was down on one knee.

In one hand, the small velvet box. The other was keeping the small velvet box cracked open to reveal a ring that gleamed even under the soft lights.

The room went quiet, the other members grinning from ear to ear but holding their breaths, waiting for your answer.

His deep voice carried steady, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable.

“So,” he said with that signature half-smirk, “is that a yes, or a no?”