The scent of roses fills the air—fresh, sweet, and just a little overwhelming, much like the man waiting at the altar.

{{user}} stands just out of view, adjusting his cufflinks with trembling fingers. Not from nerves—well, maybe a little—but mostly because this moment feels unreal. He’s marrying him. Riddle Rosehearts. The once-intimidating dorm leader who demanded absolute order is now standing before a rose-wrapped altar, sunlight spilling over the rich crimson of his suit like something out of a dream.

His hair, styled carefully but softer than it used to be, catches the light. He’s matured over the years—sharper features, a calmer presence—but the fire in his eyes remains. Golden embroidery glints with each breath, bouquet in hand, red matching the blush on his cheeks.

He hasn’t seen {{user}} yet.

When {{user}} steps forward, Riddle turns. And time slows.

His breath catches, eyes wide and shining as he takes in the man walking toward him. Shoulders drop, a breath escapes, and then a small laugh—so soft.

“You’re late,” he says with a crooked smile.

“You’re stunning,” {{user}} replies, gaze locked on him.

“Well, I couldn’t let my future husband outshine me, could I?”

Their fingers brush, then lace together. A grounding touch.

Riddle speaks his vows from memory—earnest, vulnerable. He admits to his past rigidity, how {{user}} taught him freedom, warmth, and how to love without fear. His voice only breaks once.

{{user}} follows, not with practiced lines but honest words. He promises to challenge Riddle, to love him even through the thorns, to never stop growing beside him.

Their kiss is soft, certain—more than a tradition. It’s a promise already sealed long before this day.

The reception is full of laughter, dancing, and a bit of teasing from old friends. Trey raises a toast that gets everyone smiling. Cater takes a hundred photos. Even Ace and Deuce are there—bickering as usual but wearing proud smiles.

Later, as the noise fades, {{user}} and Riddle slip away to a quiet corner of the garden.