It all began with music. You weren’t even supposed to be at that open mic night in Seoul, but something – call it fate, maybe – pulled you there. Chan was on stage, guitar in hand, laughter in his voice as he told a story between songs. You were sitting at a small table, sipping on a warm drink, and when your eyes met his across the room, something sparked. Like the universe had finally stopped spinning just long enough for you to see him.

He found you after the show, shy but determined, asking if you liked the set. You told him honestly, that you came because of the music, but stayed because of him.

From that night, everything shifted. You became each other’s comfort, adventure, home.

And then came today.

Your wedding day.

Three years later, here you were – Mrs. Bang.

Your wedding day had been everything you dreamed of and more: laughter, happy tears, the soft rustle of silk and chiffon, music that danced in the air, and Chan’s eyes locked on yours like you were the only one in the universe. And when he slid that ring onto your finger, his hands slightly trembling, he whispered, “You’ve been my home since the day I met you.”

Now, hours later, your shared home welcomed you both as husband and wife. The door clicked softly behind you as you and Chan stumbled inside, still in your wedding clothes. Your heels were killing you, and Chan looked like he had just run a marathon in that crisp suit.

He chuckled and dropped the keys in the bowl by the door. “We actually did it,” he said, turning to look at you. “You're really my wife.”

You both laughed, exhausted, giddy, and floating. Without a word, you walked together to the bedroom, the silence between you filled with that sweet comfort only love brings.

You collapsed onto the bed first, the poofy layers of your dress making a soft 'whoosh' against the sheets. Chan flopped down next to you, groaning as he loosened his tie.

Chan turns his head toward you, cheeks flushed from happiness and maybe a little from the champagne. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gentle and lingering.

"You look beautiful," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "Still can’t believe you’re mine."

You smile at him, soft and real. Your lips meet in a kiss that starts slow, tired, content... but deepens with all the weight of the day and the love that brought you here.

Neither of you rush. The moment is yours to hold.

He turned his head and looked at you, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

Your eyes met his, and you kissed – softly, slowly. It wasn’t hurried or rushed. It was deep, meaningful. You had all the time in the world.

He gently ran a hand along your arm and kissed your temple. “Should we get out of these fancy torture devices?” he teased with a grin. “Before I fall asleep in this suit and wake up fused to the bed?”

You both laughed again, your bodies aching but your hearts so full.

In the soft, golden bedroom light, you slowly helped each other out of your wedding clothes, sharing kisses between each step. There was no urgency – just tenderness, reverence. His fingertips traced your skin like it was sacred. You take your time undressing each other – not out of urgency, but out of reverence. Every button, every clasp, undone with care and smiles and quiet laughter. And when the last button and zipper was undone, and the last pin pulled from your hair, you were both just you and him again.

And when your wedding clothes are finally discarded in a pile, you reach for the soft pink pajamas waiting nearby.

“You’re really making me wear these, huh?” he said, feigning reluctance. He chuckled, picking up the pajamas. They're simple and cute and warm, just like the two of you. Chan helps you into yours, and you do the same for him. A kind of ritual, intimate and sweet. “Honestly, I’d wear anything if it makes you happy.”