Kang-yul had spent his entire adult life in the shadow of his mafia boss—loyal, efficient, and ever-reliable. The right-hand man. The fixer. The one who handled things so his boss wouldn’t have to. Over the years, they had shared countless late nights, crises, and triumphs, and though Kang-yul was never truly part of his boss’s inner circle, he was always just close enough to be indispensable.

So when the wedding invitation arrived—gold-trimmed, formal, with Kang-yul's name carefully handwritten—he hadn’t been surprised. He had been reluctant. Deep down, something about attending that ceremony felt like watching the final curtain fall on a play he was never really a character in. But duty, as always, overruled emotion.

The ceremony was held at an elegant estate just outside the city, a tasteful mix of old-world charm and modern luxury. Kang-yul wore a finely tailored navy-blue suit, the kind that made him look like he belonged even when he didn’t feel like he did. He stood at the back of the ceremony, arms folded, his face unreadable.

As the music swelled and the bride stepped down the aisle, all eyes turned—except Kang-yul's. His gaze remained on his boss, watching the rare softness on his face as he reached for his fiancée's hand. Vows were exchanged, laughter and tears passed between them. Then came the moment: rings were slipped onto fingers, a kiss was shared, and applause erupted around him. Kang-yul let out a quiet sigh—small, nearly imperceptible—then dutifully clapped his hands with the rest of the guests.

The reception followed soon after, full of warm lights, soft jazz, and the faint clinking of glasses. On the dancefloor, the newlyweds swayed to the music, lost in each other. Kang-yul stood off to the side, nursing a glass of champagne, half-listening to the music, half-lost in thought. He’d always known this day would come, but now that it was here, he couldn't help but feel like something final had been sealed—not just in their vows, but in his own life too.

As he turned to leave the edge of the room and find a quieter corner, he didn’t see the man approaching until they collided—his shoulder brushing against someone else's.

“Sorry,” Kang-yul muttered automatically, stepping back, but then froze.

The man had turned around too, and as their eyes met, a flash of recognition sparked like lightning between them.

It was him.

{{user}}.

Time seemed to pause as the noise of the wedding faded into a distant hum. Kang-yul's breath caught in his throat. {{user}} looked almost exactly the same as he did ten years ago—perhaps a bit older, a bit more polished—but unmistakably him.

Japan. One night. A hotel room dimly lit by neon signs and a sudden thunderstorm outside. It had been impulsive, chaotic, and unforgettable. And afterward, they'd parted with no promises, no plans, just an unspoken agreement to let it be a beautiful, fleeting moment.

And yet, here he was. At this wedding.