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There are no white envelopes filled with money, or hand-carved wooden ducks as gifts, or a guest book with the names of all their loved ones.
There was, lovingly, a mountain top, and snow, and the icy breath coming out of Gi-hun's mouth everytime he breathes out to talk.
Sang-woo had taken Gi-hun on a lazy stroll around the venue, their arms intertwined, as they walked around the hotel.
Almost everything was made of stark, white, marble. Cold to the touch against the steadying fall of snow above them, not too much to overwhelm, but enough to get Gi-hun to cling closer to him.
The wind is rippling against their ears, snow falling on their shoulders, white powder against black tuxedos. Sang-woo turns toward his boyfriend and his boyfriend was too busy getting himself warm to notice.
It's been three years. It's been a while since he's seen a dead body.
If he tried hard enough, he could probably still feel the squelch of mud underneath him, the way his body was on fire, adrenaline and pain sinking deep inside his bones.
And a hand above, like his saving grace, asking him to go home together.
He took it, he took it and he let Gi-hun lift him up, put his arm around the man's shoulder, and he heard, seemingly from far-away, how Gi-hun screamed at the guards—at whomever God was listening, to stop the game.
It's been three years, and yet the sound of Gi-hun's voice at that moment clung to his brain like moss.
He's heard him differently since then, he's heard how his voice would sound so small in the first few months when they met again after the game.
He's heard how his voice would drop in caution, would tiptoe around his sorrows, and how it would pick back up when he offers him a ride whenever he would 'accidentally' just be in the same area where Sang-woo would wait for his bus on.
Sang-woo's heard, too—how Gi-hun flirted with him, would drop subtleties he thought the younger man wouldn't test.
Now, Sang-woo knows what he looks like when he would arch his back in pleasure—mewling, gripping at the empty air around them to ground himself when the pleasure tips in the direction of overstimulation.
He knows what he looks like in the early hours of the morning. Smiling at each other, lovesick, when the blue light hasn't turned orange yet, when the sun only shyly creeps in, always unprepared to see someone like Gi-hun, someone who would give the sun a run for its money.
Gi-hun. His beautiful, bright, sorrowful, man.
Gi-hun pulls away from him, his phone in hand, "It's done," he said, lifting his phone to show to Sang-woo: a text from the wedding officiant.
He leans back against the marble balustrade, "We should go."
Sang-woo looks at him. He approaches him to hold his waist before leaning his body toward Gi-hun's, his head bowed on the older man's shoulder. He stays there for a few seconds, seeking warmth.
And then he pulls away, sucking in a breath, feeling like he was going to fall apart with love.
Sang-woo wonders how did he ever managed to get Gi-hun to fall in-love with him.
They circled back to the other side of the long, expansive balcony. Snow flurrying from the mountains. It's cold, so cold, but Sang-woo's hands felt clammy, a piece of paper he kept tucked inside his jacket pocket felt like it was going to burn his chest.
He sees someone ahead of them, a sprightly old man that Gi-hun chauffeured months ago. Through conversation, Gi-hun found out that he was a marriage officiant that was about to retire. He gave the old man his contact details, and asked him if he would like to officiate an—unconventional wedding before he retires. The man allegedly laughed, and put a hand on his shoulder, and quickly agreed.
Sang-woo loves his boyfriend, he really does, but the man can be so near-sighted sometimes.
Sang-woo looks at the glass arch, and at the man by the end waiting for them, he thinks about how quaint this probably was compared to Gi-hun's first wedding, how quiet, and uneventful.
The glass arch wasn't even for events, it was just a sun shade the people working in this place provided them with last minute.
"Are we ready?" The old man—Ji-tae, says. Sang-woo presses a palm against the square of paper inside his pocket.
Gi-hun turns to look at him, and with his eyes, big and loving, asks him the same question without the need to open his mouth. Sang-woo looks to him hesitantly, wanting to tell him he was sorry this was all they could afford.
Seemingly, as if he could read his mind, Gi-hun fixes the blue hydrangea that was pinned to Sang-woo's tuxedo, "We're ready." he said, more to the both of them than to the officiant.
They've been skipping steps in how marriage ceremonies usually are. Discarding what doesn't work for them, and keeping the ones that do. Not because they were trying to defy something, any law, or rule, or custom. But because to follow a tradition, modern or not, requires the help of a big family.
They've only got each other, and Cheol, and Sang-woo's mother. They're waiting for them back at the house, they didn't even know they were getting married. Gi-hun felt it didn't needed to be said, they know of their relationship, and they've been endlessly supportive anyway.
'There's no need for a big ceremony.' Gi-hun had said when Sang-woo asked if Cheol and his mother should attend. Sang-woo can't help but feel like he only said it to comfort him.
They do the walk. Side-by-side. The painstakingly slow march toward the arch, it feels familiar, somehow, the feeling of anticipation, of knowing that things will change once this happens.
Sang-woo thinks about why it was familiar. He doesn't like what his mind came up with.
They reach the front of the arch, turning to face each other, before bowing at each other lightly. Sang-woo thinks about how familiar this felt too. He breathes through his nose steadily, eyes focused on the orange orchid pinned to Gi-hun's tuxedo.
"Welcome," Ji-tae smiled, long wrinkly fingers addressing the cool air around them, he pauses to take in the atmosphere before continuing, "I've been officiating weddings for 22 years, and never have I seen something quite as striking as this." he address them both.
The wind hurries, sends a flurry of snow their way, Gi-hun's shoulders lift suddenly and Sang-woo fights the urge to take off his jacket to give to him.
"We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared between these two people, as they come together to start their new life with a solemn vow, with loyalty, and with devotion," The officiant began before looking back at the scenery behind them, "No family and friends here today, only two lovers. With me and the mountains as their witness."
Gi-hun reaches his hands out and Sang-woo takes them and runs a thumb against the scar that spanned from the older man's lower palm, to the root of his middle finger. The scar that Sang-woo put there. The one that marred his beloved's skin.
"This ceremony celebrates the beginning of your marriage. It is a journey of love, understanding, perseverance, and dedication to one another that will last through this life and the next. We stand here today as witnesses, to mark this wonderous occasion and remember that what matters is the loyalty and companionship after, and not the ceremony itself," The man began, looking at the middle-ground between both men, as if he was addressing an auditorium full of people, "A love like this cannot
be materialized, can't be displayed at home like fine china, or be sold in exchange for money."
Sang-woo jumps at the last line, Gi-hun immediately tightens his palm over the younger man's.
"And we stand here with courage and strength, with the wish of a long, beautiful, life, alongside the person we are choosing to survive with. In love, and in loss," Ji-tae smiles sagely, "Please face each other fully, and declare your vows."
Gi-hun looks at him and smiles. They talked about how Gi-hun would be saying his vows first.
But the paper inside his pocket feels like it's going to tear his chest apart.
He pulls away from Gi-hun before reaching over to take it out, "I prepared—I prepared something for this—" Sang-woo unfolds it before looking at the man in front of him, and suddenly it feels voided, suddenly, carefully worded sentences on a piece of paper will never do it justice.
Sang-woo breathes in from his nose sharply. The paper in his hand flutters against the wind. "I love you." he choked out, saying it as if it was ripped from his chest, as if this was the first time he has said it out loud, which can't be further from the truth.
In front of him, Gi-hun laughs, eyes suddenly teary, shoulders shaking, he bends over to wipe his eyes before he stands straight again, nodding at Sang-woo to continue.
"I know sometimes you look at me and you see—" A splatter of blood on my face from a young woman. You see me as someone murderous, wide-eyed, coming at you with a knife, dragging your body across mud like you're a heretic,"—someone from the past."
Sang-woo breathes out. Cold vapor escapes his lips but he couldn't be any more warmer than he is now.
"Gi-hun, you've always been the parts of me I've allowed light to shine through. You held out your hand, and saved me, and loved me, and I've learned to love you back." Sang-woo feels like he's going to break apart, but he knows Gi-hun would be there to keep him together, "I don't know. I still don't know why you did it. But you did. I'm glad you did." He lets his sentence trail, feeling satisfied, quietly hoping the officiant would take everything he just said metaphorically. Ji-tae doesn't know it, but he's wishing love and strength unto a murderer.
"Mr. Seong?" The old man nodded, grinning at them.
Slowly, Gi-hun takes the paper from Sang-woo's hand and puts it in his own pocket. He pats it once for safety.
"I don't know how else to top that." Gi-hun tilts his head to the side and laughs, eyes creasing. In another context, maybe back when they were still wearing matching tracksuits, Sang-woo would have felt nothing. But here, now, it was the world to him.
"I had an old fashioned vow in mind, but, you should know—" Gi-hun starts, "Despite what you think, Sang-woo, you are easy to love. It scared me how natural it was." Gi-hun tucks his own hair out of his face, and Sang-woo knew that the older man was trying not to stand on the balls of his feet, "You get quiet sometimes, and I worry you would realize that I was too in-love with you."
Sang-woo, in his own way, was too in-love with Gi-hun also. He doesn't know if it was because of the knowledge of someone knowing what they've been through, or the revelation that Gi-hun threw away financial stability for him to live, or it was simply because the older man won him over with his own natural charms. Sang-woo knows he's still struggling to comprehend it, to see why Gi-hun would ever love him. But maybe that was okay, maybe guessing was what keeps him grounded.
The officiant looks between them, nodding, seemingly satisfied, before he turns toward Gi-hun.
"You are Gi-hun Seong, becoming the husband of Sang-woo Cho. Do you promise to love and respect him, take care of him, help him, in joyful times and in hard times, every day, for ever?"
"I do. I promise."
The officiant turns toward Sang-woo, "And you are Sang-woo Cho, becoming the husband of Gi-hun Seong. Do you promise to love and respect him, take care of him, help him, in joyful times and in hard times, every day, for ever?
He does. He does, and maybe he has always been ready.
"I do." Sang-woo said, so suddenly, clearing his throat, "I do." He repeats. He feels like he's about to be carried away by the strong wind, towards the mountains, towards the heart of winter, and then back again to warmth.
There are no exchanges of rings, or wine inside a gourd bottle for them to share, and Ji-tae, bless him, picks up on that gracefully.
"You may now kiss."
Gi-hun stands on the balls of his feet for a second, then takes a step toward him and Sang-woo meets him in the middle. He has a hand on the back of his husband's neck already, but his husband kisses him first. It was a kiss like many times before, it was a kiss that they had for slow, tranquil, mornings. It was perfect and patient, and filled with so much love.
Sang-woo was already suffering the thought that they can't live in this moment forever.
They pull apart, and Sang-woo has to lift his head, looking at the glass roof on top of them, dusted with snow, to keep himself from crying.
Just then, Ji-tae claps the both of them on the shoulder, making Sang-woo turn to look at him, "Don't worry about the certificate, I'll send it to your house framed in a couple of days."
"We aren't eligible. It's not legal." Sang-woo said.
"I have been doing this for twenty two years, and I am heading for retirement, if they try to disturb me, or the eligibility of this ceremony, then I will go back and void every single marriage I ever officiated." Ji-tae assured them, "Nothing comes between a man and a man's long anticipated peace and quiet."
In front of him, Gi-hun sighs, looking at him like an avalanche has been taken down from his shoulders. Sang-woo breathes a little easier too.
"Let's go back inside." Sang-woo says.
He wants to wrap this up now, because his husband's shoulders were up to his ears, and he was smiling at him like they have all the time in the world. But Sang-woo knows how he hated the cold. He knows Gi-hun would want nothing more than to go back inside and sit by the fireplace.
Sang-woo also wantes to go back inside anyway, because—the last time they stood in front of each other like this, was with a pink guard between them.
A glass of butterfly tea that Sang-woo steeps is cooling on the counter of their suite room.
It's dark out now, the officiant has long since left, and the snow outside only fell harder. They were out of their tuxedos, and into sweaters and pyjamas, the clothes they packed to sleep in.
The room was spacious, decent, more could be desired, but it was enough. All the lights were off except for the dim overhead lights in the kitchen, where Sang-woo was, and across the room, to the roaring fireplace, where Gi-hun was.
Sang-woo was taking out two cocktail glasses for both of them when, from where Gi-hun sat on the floor, in front of the fireplace, he speaks out, "I was showing my age out there. My joints were hurting so much."
The clink of glasses resounded inside the quiet room, as the younger man puts a palm against the glass of tea to check if it was cool enough to mix, "Mine too." Sang-woo said.
And it was even true, his knees were creaking now, as his back and shoulders suddenly felt stiff. He hopes Gi-hun didn't have it worse.
"Well, whose idea was it for two 50-something men to get married in the snow in the first place?" Gi-hun mocked.
"Yours." Sang-woo replied, smiling to himself as he began to scoop ice from the dispenser, and to their glasses.
"Exactly." Gi-hun leaned back, resting on the armchair behind him.
Sang-woo pours the tea half-way inside their glasses slowly, careful of not spilling it on the rim, he grabs a small sprig of mint and puts two leaves in each other's drink before taking lemon juice and pouring it inside as well.
In the faint light, he could see the liquid change from deep blue, to a deeper purple. He grabs the gin from inside the cabinet, then splashes their drinks with it, enough to displace the ice inside.
He turns off the kitchen light, grabs both of their drinks, swirling it from the glass' stems, and walking over to where Gi-hun was.
Gi-hun's knees were tucked to his chest, "Thank you." He whispered as he took his drink from him.
Sang-woo sat across from him, leaning back against the couch.
"What do you think he meant when Ji-tae said he'll take care of the certificates for us?" Sang-woo asked, taking a drink.
"I trust that he would have anticipated the consequences. It's not everyday you see two middle aged men get married in a place where it still is very much not allowed," Gi-hun said, looking at the embers on the fireplace, "Besides, I trust we could, y'know, take on what ever bullshit people might throw our way." Gi-hun looks at him by the side, and smiles. Sang-woo huffs to his drink, smiling too.
"That reminds me," Gi-hun trailed, he looks around in the dark room and squints at their luggage that was by the bathroom door, "Wait here." he said as he stood to walk over toward it.
While he was rummaging, Sang-woo looked at the fire, at the bright oranges and reds, and the underlying shade of green, he looks at it and he thinks about what Gi-hun had said.
'You are easy to love. It scared me how natural it was.' He thinks if it was possible that Gi-hun had loved him, then, while he was being forced to kill him.
Just then, Gi-hun comes back and sits down. He's smiling at him and sliding a small black box between them.
"Surprise." Gi-hun said meekly, taking a slow drink from his glass.
Small, black, boxes are universal. Gi-hun couldn't possibly give him something he was still having night terrors of.
Hesitantly, Sang-woo reaches over, takes it, tucks his arms to his chest, and opens it slowly.
Two rings laid side-by-side on a bed of white silk, he looks at Gi-hun and his husband was trying to hide behind his cocktail glass.
Sang-woo picks one up delicately and inspects it against the fire, it was a thick circular band of silver, the middle of it had a thin line indent, almost like a canal, leading to a small gem the color of muted orange, buried in the middle.
"How did you afford this, Gi-hun?"
"I've been saving up what I could," Gi-hun inched toward him, knees on the floor, as he knelt in front of his now speechless husband, "It's not the best in the market, but it's the best for us." Gi-hun takes the ring from Sang-woo before taking the younger man's hand, lovingly, he slides it on his ring finger, as he would have done if they were in front of the altar.
"I wanted us to do this alone."
When Sang-woo stops looking at the way the fire danced in front of his face, he takes his hand, and kisses the tips of Gi-hun's fingers individually, before taking the other ring and sliding it on the other man's ring finger with ease.
Gi-hun looks at Sang-woo and then tucks a stray hair away from his face. He slides a warm palm against his cold jaw, and then leans over, hovering above him for a second before kissing him slowly, both their eyes closed. Their mouth moved against each other, not with heat, or fervor, or the urge to dominate and declare someone a victor.
To Sang-woo, it was the slowness of oil paint dripping on canvas, it was the promise of, 'I love you now, and I'll love you forever.' Gi-hun's mouth moves and it's like what they went through before has always been this easy.
Gi-hun pulls back, so suddenly, like Sang-woo was waking up from a deep sleep. He watches him slink back to his corner while remaining eye contact. Sang-woo was watching him like a glassblower admiring his first piece.
Sang-woo successfully tears his eyes away from him, and looks to the fireplace instead, lifting his drink by its rim without looking, "I have a question." He cuts in, as sharp, as harsh as gin, "When you saved me," he began, "Did you knew it then?" That you loved me, that we would someday get married.
Sang-woo looks back at Gi-hun, and it was like he didn't even looked away from the warmth of the fireplace.
"No. I didn't." Gi-hun swirls his drink, looking down at it, "You deserved to live." He looks up at Sang-woo, "You don't need to have to love someone to save them." Gi-hun tilts his head, like before, when he was telling him how easy it was to love him.
"But after, along the way, I did, and it shocked me that I failed to figure out that what I was feeling was love."
"What about what I did—" Sang-woo's throat bobs, his face contorting in pain, "When you realized it was love, did you think everything I was, and everything I did, was still worthy to be loved?"
"You've changed so much since then. I see it."
"But what I did shouldn't be redeemed. What Cheol lost—even when he looks at me and smiles at me and slowly learns to accept me—what he lost, I can't take it back."
Gi-hun sighs and his head falls back to the armchair. He was looking up at the ceiling, and in his eyes, reflected by the fire, Sang-woo could see tears welling up inside.
Sang-woo can feel tears souring in his mouth too.
"Do you regret doing it?"
"Of course, Gi-hun. Everyday."
Then, Gi-hun's foot taps the side of his ankle, "Is it eating you up inside, making you repent, making you want to be a better person?"
"Yes."
Gi-hun reaches his palm out, Sang-woo scoots toward him, immediately lacing their fingers together,
"Is it too heavy to carry around for one person, is it a burden, is it something that keeps you up at night?"
Sometimes, Gi-hun has trouble sleeping, sometimes Gi-hun looks at him and Sang-woo sees his demons dancing inside his eyes. In those times, Sang-woo hugs him tighter, he talks to him softer, he kisses him deeper. And Gi-hun does the same to him.
It must mean—it must mean they were never carrying this alone.
"Yes." Sang-woo answers his question.
"Then that's why we're here, right?" Gi-hun looks at him. And smiles at him.
Sang-woo knew he was right. Sang-woo knew they were in this forever.
In a moment, hurriedly, like the wind on a winter night, the vow changes, adapts to them—like what they have done to be better, kinder, people, like what they had to do to be able to love again:
'Do you promise to love and respect each other
take care of each other,
help each other, in joyful times and
in hard times,
every day,
forever?'