You never thought much about Hyunjin back when you were just coworkers — always so polished, always on time, meticulous with his work, always a little too serious. He'd nod at you in the hallways, maybe offer a polite "good morning" in passing, but you were sure he didn’t even know your birthday. Just another pretty face in the office.

But then came that night five years ago. That damned all-nighter in the conference room, finalizing the client pitch because your manager had dropped the ball. It was just you and him. The clock ticked past midnight. Ties loosened, shoes kicked off. And suddenly, there was no filter. You both started talking — really talking. About life, about fear, about how exhausting it was to constantly chase perfection. He told you about dancing until his body bled. You told him about crying in the bathroom when nobody could see.

He looked at you that night like he'd never looked at anything before. Like he finally saw you. Not the tidy version of you at work, but you – raw, tired, real. And something shifted.

Since then, it was a whirlwind.

Five years of falling deeper. He was gentle when you needed calm, wild when you needed fire. He loved you like it was the only job that ever mattered, and he meant it.

And now, today… your wedding day.

But the day hadn’t gone how it was supposed to.

The flowers were wrong. The wrong shade, the wrong arrangement. The makeup artist made you late. The photographer ignored your shot list. The music at the ceremony was too loud. Someone seated his mother in the second row instead of the front. The reception was cold. Your dress got stained during dinner. Someone gave a drunk, inappropriate speech.

He held it in as long as he could. Smiling too tightly, jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his side.

Then, someone pulled you away from him during the first dance to get a “candid” picture.

And he lost it.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he snapped, voice sharp like glass, making the photographer freeze mid-step. “Can I have five fucking minutes with my wife? My wife? On our fucking wedding day?”

You touched his arm, gently, trying to calm him, but he turned to you, flustered and on the edge.

“What the fuck is wrong with everyone today? You deserve better than this. You deserve perfect. And they’re just — fucking ruining everything.”

The heat in his voice almost burned, but behind it was the rawest kind of devotion.

Now you’re home. Finally. In the apartment you both picked out, decorated with warm wood, soft grays, and light that falls just right in the mornings.

He’s pacing in the bedroom, shirt undone, tie hanging loose, his wedding ring catching the low light. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, toes brushing the rug, watching him try to calm down.

He stops, finally, and looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, gravelly. “I almost snapped at you. I... fuck... I did snap. I was so mad at everyone and I looked at you and you looked tired and overwhelmed and I just...”

You stand. Walk over. He reaches for you instantly, his hands warm on your waist, forehead dropping to yours.

“I wanted it to be perfect for you. You’re perfect. You make me want to burn the world down just to make sure you don’t trip over the fucking sidewalk. And today... today, I couldn’t even make our wedding feel right.”

You place your hands on his cheeks. He exhales, shaky, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he murmurs. “Never wanted anything like I want you. And now I don't know what I want more: to cry from this feeling that I ruined everything, or to take off this fucking dress from you and make you forget everything else happened today.”