Wedding day.

The words alone were enough to make Chuuya’s heart race—not out of fear, but something warmer, something sweeter. Excitement, nerves, love. Everything.

The biggest and most important day in so many people’s lives, and somehow, today, it was his.

Months of meticulous preparation had led to this. The invitations had been sent in custom calligraphy, the seating chart revised a dozen times, the wine taste-tested until he was half-drunk on opinions. Chuuya had hand-picked the venue, the menu, the fabric for the table runners. He’d spent nights comparing shades of white that all looked the same to everyone but him.

And he did it all gladly. Because this was his wedding. And more importantly—you were the one waiting for him at the end of that aisle.

Now, after a year of planning, of dreaming, of counting down the days on the inside of his planner, he stood there, in front of you, his hand curled around yours with reverence.

It felt surreal. The kind of moment you don’t live—you float through.

The park had been transformed into a dream: white roses and lilies poured from golden arches, garlands draped between trees like nature herself was dressed up for the occasion. Petals were scattered down the aisle like soft blessings. Everything glowed in the gentle afternoon light—the polished wood of the chairs, the gold trim of the altar, your eyes.

And Chuuya.

Chuuya looked like a dream himself, in a suit tailored to perfection, its price obscene enough to buy a small apartment in Tokyo. His hair was slicked back but still soft at the edges, a touch of red in the sun. His boutonnière matched your bouquet. Everything matched. Everything was perfect.

He was smiling. Not his usual smirk or cocky grin, but something vulnerable, honest, and heart-wrenchingly full of love. His thumb brushed across the back of your hand as the priest spoke, and Chuuya didn’t even hear the words. He only heard the rush of blood in his ears, the wild drumbeat of his heart screaming: You’re really doing this. You’re marrying them. This is happening.

Then, nature intervened.

As expected from an outdoor wedding in late spring, there were bugs. But they’d been minimal—until now.

A bee, fat and buzzing like a tiny golden drunkard, rose up from the nearby flower arrangements and darted toward Chuuya’s face. He twitched instinctively but didn’t move. Until— It changed course.

And flew straight toward you.

The serene, sacred atmosphere cracked like thin glass.

Chuuya’s eyes snapped to it, his instincts overriding all logic. He couldn’t let the bee sting you—not on your wedding day, not when you looked like that, not when everything was perfect.

With zero thought, he acted. His hand flew up in a flash of motion—fast, sharp, and devastatingly miscalculated.

SMACK.

A loud, echoing sound rang out through the air, cutting cleanly through the priest’s sentence, the music, the whispers of leaves in the breeze.

Time froze.

Chuuya’s palm hovered in the air, his eyes wide in pure horror, as a stunned silence settled over the entire ceremony. You blinked. The bee, of course, was long gone.

But the real damage was already done.

Your cheek bore the very light, very visible blush of an accidental slap from your newlywed-to-be.

Gasps rippled through the audience like a wave at a baseball game. Somewhere, someone dropped a champagne glass. The priest made a choked sound like he’d inhaled the Holy Spirit by mistake.

And Chuuya—

Chuuya looked like he had been struck by divine judgment. “Oh my god,” he breathed, mortified, both hands now reaching toward you like he could somehow rewind time with his fingers. “Darling, I— I didn’t mean— There was a bee! I swear on our future children’s lives—”