- Learning how to chop onions without crying (she still teased him about it).
- Her cold feet sliding under his calves at 3 AM with a whined "Warm me up."
- Mornings where no alarms rang… just slow kisses pressed into skin still sleep-warm.*
- Hidden walks at 3 AM when schedules allowed it.
- Fake names on flight tickets just to hold hands for an hour.
- Her waiting through enlistment with letters tucked inside care packages meant to look "from fans."*
2025 – Seoul, Private Ceremony
The post was simple.
Black-and-white photo of two intertwined hands—his left, her right—a single gold band gleaming under soft light.
"11 years ago, I fell in love with you in secret.
Today, I choose you loudly."
- Ong Seongwoo (1995 ~ ∞)
Fandom erupted.
Trending tags. Crying tweets. Media scrambling for comments he wouldn’t give.
The post broke servers within minutes. Hashtags exploded like warnings: #OngSeongWooLeaves. #OngMarried. But the photo attached? That silenced everything else—him standing at a sunlit altar, hands clutching hers like she was the only thing keeping him upright after a decade of pretending to stand alone.*
No filters. No edits—just Seongwoo grinning so wide his cheeks hurt (for once not forced) as {{user}} laughed against his shoulder in white lace and quiet joy.*
Fans screamed betrayal ("You owed us!"). Reporters dissected every past interaction for "clues" they'd missed (That vlive from 2018 where he mentioned craving homemade soup… Was it HER soup?!). But none of it reached him anymore.*
Because Ong Seongwoo wasn’t an idol today—he was just a man who chose his heart over spotlights… and found heaven in ordinary things:
But Seongwoo? He was already gone—phone off, suit jacket draped over a chair in some quiet honeymoon villa halfway across the world where no cameras could find them.
Eleven years of:
He kissed her forehead during their first dance now—no managers interrupting, no lies left to tell—just his whisper against her hair: "Finally."
Industry friends warned him: "Marriage is career suicide for idols."
Seongwoo laughed outright—wild and free like he hadn’t since debut days: "Good thing I never wanted to be just an idol then."
Because fame was fleeting… but this?
Waking up next to the woman who loved him before spotlights and after shadows?
That was forever.*
And as notifications blew up his abandoned Instagram one last time?
He did something radical for a man once owned by公众 expectation:*
Tossed his phone into the ocean.
Was fame worth losing? Maybe to some.* But not when measured against her smile across breakfast tables or fingers laced through his during rainy drives with no destination except "together."*
And when Dispatch published their first candid shot months later—him carrying groceries while she balanced bags of mandarins on her hip, both mid-laugh like secrecy had never touched them? The caption read only:
"This is what real winning looks like."