Chapter Text
I was walking down the aisle.
The soft melody of a piano played in the background, mingling with the scent of fresh roses that lined the pews. My heart was pounding in my chest, not out of nervousness, but out of sheer disbelief. I couldn't believe this moment had finally come.
My parents stood a few rows down, both of them teary-eyed. My mother clutched a handkerchief while my father offered a proud, trembling smile. They looked at me like I was the brightest thing in the room. I gave them a small, shaky nod as I passed, silently promising that I wouldn’t mess this up.
Then my gaze shifted forward.
There she was—my bride—standing at the altar with her back to me. The soft fabric of her veil cascaded down, catching the light. My breath caught. Excitement bubbled up inside me, overflowing like a dam breaking open. I was about to marry the woman I loved more than anything. The woman I had dreamed of building a life with. My everything.
But as I got closer, something… changed.
My steps slowed.
The closer I got, the more I noticed the details didn’t seem quite right. My forehead creased. Where was the flowing white dress? Where were the soft curls of her long hair? Her silhouette looked... different.
I finally stopped right behind her. My heart thudded as my eyes scanned her frame. She wasn’t wearing a wedding dress anymore. Instead, she wore a white suit—elegant, yes, but tailored like a man's. The veil still hung from her head awkwardly, and underneath it, short hair peeked out.
Wait... what?
And then—she turned around.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
It wasn’t her.
It wasn’t a woman.
It was a man.
And not just any man.
“Jeon Wonwoo?” I blurted, stunned.
He stared at me with a perfectly calm face, as if none of this was out of the ordinary. As if marrying me in a white suit and veil was just another Tuesday for him.
I screamed.
“AHHHH!”
Mingyu shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon. His blanket was tangled around his legs, and his hair stood in chaotic tufts in every direction.
He blinked at the ceiling.
“What the heck was that dream?” he whispered, still breathless. The image of Wonwoo in that suit, looking so composed and... weirdly attractive, haunted his thoughts.
“Mingyu! Get up, you're already late for your class!”
His mother’s voice sliced through the air like a whip.
Mingyu's eyes widened in panic. He turned his head to look at the digital clock sitting innocently on the nightstand.
8:46 AM.
“Shit!” he cursed loudly, jolting out of bed and nearly tripping over his own feet. He sprinted into the bathroom, brushing his teeth at lightning speed, washing his face, and half-heartedly slapping on toner like his skin would absorb it in two seconds.
He shoved on his uniform, buttoned his shirt wrong, fixed it, then styled his hair up with a quick flick of gel. He didn’t even check if it looked decent—he just prayed he didn’t look like a scarecrow.
As he dashed downstairs, his mother stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed, glaring at him like a ticking time bomb.
"Why did you wake up late again, huh? Did you play games until midnight again?" she scolded.
His dad was already gone—probably left for work early. Lucky him.
Mingyu grimaced. His mom was in full dragon mode, and if he wasn't careful, she was going to breathe fire. So he activated his ultimate defense: tactical distraction.
"I'm already late, Mom! Bye!" he said in a sing-song voice, planting a rushed kiss on her cheek and grabbing a sandwich slice off the table mid-run.
"Be careful, alright! Love you!" she called out.
"I know! Love you too!" he shouted over his shoulder, hopping onto his bike and pedaling like his life depended on it.
Because it kind of did.
After what felt like the Tour de France, Mingyu skidded into the school gates, his backpack bouncing against his back. He parked his bike with a screech and bolted toward the building. The halls were eerily quiet.
No students in sight.
He was really, really late.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time. His legs burned, and so did his lungs, but he didn’t stop until he was in front of his classroom door.
He threw it open—too hard.
BANG.
All heads turned. Silence settled like dust.
Mingyu stood in the doorway, panting, his cheeks flushed from running—and embarrassment.
Oh, fuck.
His professor narrowed his eyes. “Why are you late, Kim Mingyu?”
He froze. Think fast. Think fast, Mingyu!
“Uh—there was an emergency at home, sir! My, uh, my little sister... got stuck in an emergency! I had to help her!”
There was no little brother.
The class went quiet.
His professor blinked. “I see. Well, take your seat. But rules are rules. You’ll be cleaning the entire classroom after class. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Mingyu mumbled, dragging his feet to his desk.
As he slumped into his seat, he heard snickering to his right. He glanced at Seokmin and Minghao—his traitor friends—both trying to hold in their laughter. Seokmin mimed someone falling out of bed while Minghao dramatically fanned himself like a scandalized housewife.
Mingyu gave them the middle finger under the desk but dropped it fast when he saw the teacher glance his way.
And then—
His gaze shifted to the left.
There he was.
Jeon Wonwoo.
Their class president. Neat hair, glasses perched perfectly on his nose, expression unreadable as always. He sat quietly, taking notes with mechanical precision.
Mingyu froze.
The dream flashed through his mind again—Wonwoo in a suit, turning to him, veil fluttering.
His stomach flipped.
He didn’t realize how long he’d been staring until Wonwoo looked up, brows slightly furrowed in confusion.
Their eyes met.
Mingyu panicked and immediately averted his gaze, pretending to be super invested in whatever the teacher was writing on the board.
His ears burned.
This was going to be the weirdest day of his life.
He tried his best not to get distracted by the boy sitting beside him. He kept his eyes on his notebook, scribbling aimless lines just to keep his focus away from the quiet presence next to him. But it was like gravity—no matter how hard he tried, his eyes always wandered back to Jeon Wonwoo.
It was frustrating.
So damn frustrating.
After what felt like an entire century trapped in that classroom, the school bell finally rang, the loud sound slicing through the air.
“Alright, that’s it for now. Please have your break time,” their teacher announced as he gathered his things and exited the room.
Chairs scraped against the floor, and students quickly began pouring out of the classroom one by one, eager to escape the lull of class.
Finally.
Mingyu leaned back in his seat for a second, stretching out his legs. His eyes automatically searched for Wonwoo again—because apparently, his self-control was non-existent today—and found him walking out of the room with Soonyoung, his closest friend.
The sight made Mingyu scoff.
"Ugh, why do I keep getting distracted? Forget about that dream, okay?" he muttered to himself.
Because, really, it was ridiculous. A dream where he married Wonwoo? Married?! To him? He’d rather fight a hundred chickens in the school hallway than let that happen in real life.
He despised Jeon Wonwoo.
Why, you ask?
Because every time Mingyu tried talking to him—even for something as basic as borrowing a pen—the guy would either give him a blank stare or, worse, completely ignore him. It was like Mingyu didn’t exist.
And let’s not forget the one time Mingyu tried skipping class and got caught. Who else but their ever-so-perfect class president, Jeon freaking Wonwoo, reported him? That landed him in hot water and he ended up stuck cleaning the classroom after school for months.
Strict. Cold. Rude. A complete snob.
Yeah, no thanks. He’d rather die than be married to someone like that.
Mingyu groaned and finally stood up, noticing his two best friends already halfway to the door. Typical.
“Don’t you dare leave me, assholes!” he shouted after them.
Seokmin turned around, grinning. “Then move faster, turtle boy!”
“Hurry up before we finish your lunch too!” Minghao added.
The cafeteria buzzed with activity—students already settled in their usual groups, laughing, gossiping, and devouring their food. The scent of fried chicken, rice, and spicy soup filled the air.
Mingyu, Seokmin, and Minghao found an empty table near the windows and threw their bags onto the seats before heading to the counter to order. A few minutes later, they returned, trays in hand.
“So why were you late again?” Seokmin asked, biting into his pizza slice.
“I stayed up playing that game we’re all addicted to,” Mingyu replied, stabbing his grilled pork with a fork. “Both of you bailed on me last night.”
“Guilty,” Seokmin said with a shrug. “Had a quiz to cram for.”
“At least we’re not the ones stuck cleaning the classroom later,” Minghao said with a smug grin.
Mingyu rolled his eyes and balled up a tissue, chucking it at Minghao’s face. “Screw you.”
After lunch, they all headed back to class, their energy slightly recharged. But it only took one glance at the board to drain all of Mingyu’s motivation again.
Economics.
Mingyu’s personal hell.
While he could survive math and even enjoy solving complex formulas, Economics was a completely different story. All the lessons felt like listening to someone drone on about policy, implantation, and theoretical blah-blahs that made his eyes glaze over.
He rested his chin on his palm, zoning out as the teacher began yet another lengthy explanation. The words floated around him like fog.
So boring… he thought for the hundredth time that year.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the teacher dismissed the class, and students began to gather their things and trickle out of the room.
Mingyu felt a burst of relief—he was this close to celebrating when he remembered something crucial.
The punishment.
He slumped back into his seat with a defeated groan. “Damn it…”
As if to rub salt into the wound, he saw their teacher stop by Wonwoo’s desk and whisper something to him before heading out. Great. Now he’s really gonna supervise me.
Minghao and Seokmin passed by, laughing at his misery.
“Have fun cleaning, Kim janitor,” Seokmin teased.
“Want us to save you a mop for your birthday?” Minghao added.
Mingyu shot them both a glare and flipped them off, discreetly of course. Wouldn’t want Wonwoo their one of a kind class president to add another week to his punishment.
Once the room cleared out, only two people remained: Mingyu and the ever-so-glorious Jeon Wonwoo.
He didn’t even have to look to know Wonwoo was watching him.
When he finally turned around, Mingyu saw the boy standing with his arms crossed, expression unreadable as always.
“Kim, get up. Start cleaning the classroom now,” Wonwoo said flatly.
Mingyu groaned inwardly but dragged himself out of his seat. He grabbed the broom and dustpan and began sweeping with the energy of a dying sloth.
As he worked, he could feel it—Wonwoo’s eyes, locked onto him like some judgmental hawk. The smaller boy hadn’t moved from his spot by the teacher’s desk, standing there like he was guarding a treasure.
Mingyu scowled.
Why the hell is he staring like that? I’m not gonna bolt out the window.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“What are you looking at?” Mingyu snapped, eyebrows furrowed in irritation.
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “I don’t trust you. You look like the type to run at the first chance.”
Mingyu made a face and muttered under his breath. When Wonwoo turned his back for a second, Mingyu seized the moment and held up his middle finger in silent rebellion.
Of course, the universe wasn’t on his side, and Wonwoo spun around just as quickly.
Mingyu jolted, pretending to wipe the windows with his sleeve as if nothing happened.
He heard a suspicious sigh, but thankfully, no extra punishment followed.
For now.
As Mingyu finally finished scrubbing the last corner of the classroom, the sky outside had already begun to glow a soft orange hue. The sun was setting—dusk painting the world in warm, fading light.
And Wonwoo? He was still there—seated cross-legged on top of a desk, eyes glued to his phone, as unbothered as ever.
Mingyu sighed, placing the last of the cleaning tools back into the storage cabinet. He slung his bag lazily over one shoulder and made his way toward the classroom door. But when he didn’t hear any footsteps behind him, he paused, turning his head with furrowed brows.
"Are you just going to stay there?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the empty room.
"H-Huh?" Wonwoo stuttered, momentarily caught off guard.
Did he just stutter? Mingyu blinked. That was... weird.
"I said, are you just going to stay there?" Mingyu repeated, a little more slowly this time.
"Of course not," Wonwoo replied coolly, his face returning to its usual unreadable expression as he slid off the desk. He adjusted the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, as if the little slip-up in his voice hadn't just happened.
Mingyu only shook his head and started walking again. His bag strap hung off his left shoulder, and his right hand was shoved in his pocket. Wonwoo walked beside him, quiet as usual, their footsteps the only sounds filling the hallway.
The school was nearly empty now. The remaining students were probably athletes finishing their late practice or council members wrapping up their meetings. Mingyu tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it crept in anyway—the dream. That stupid, vivid dream he had the night before.
He groaned quietly to himself.
Please forget it. Please just forget it.
They stepped out of the building, and the last rays of the sunset washed over them. Wonwoo’s driver was already waiting outside the school gate, standing by a sleek black car. Of course, Wonwoo was from a wealthy family. Mingyu barely acknowledged the car before heading off toward where he parked his bike.
But then, a quiet voice called out behind him.
“Kim…”
Mingyu halted. He turned around, raising a brow. “What is it?”
“Do you have someone to fetch you?” Wonwoo asked, his voice soft and slightly hesitant.
Mingyu blinked. “No. I’m using my bike today.”
There was a pause before Wonwoo responded. “Then… you can go with me. I can tell my driver to drop you off.”
Mingyu stared at him, confused. That was… unexpectedly kind.
“No thank you, Jeon. You go ahead with your driver,” Mingyu said, turning around quickly and walking away.
Seriously. What was that about?
He shook his head and hopped onto his bike, casting one last glance over his shoulder as he saw Wonwoo climbing into the luxurious car. Weird. So weird.
By the time Mingyu arrived home, the sky had darkened. His father was seated on the couch, flipping through work files, while his younger sister was engrossed in a drama playing on TV. His mom, from the clattering in the kitchen, was clearly finishing up dinner.
“Oh, Min-ah. Why are you home so late?” his father asked without looking up from the papers.
“My teacher punished me. Had to clean the entire classroom,” Mingyu replied, tossing his bag onto the couch and flopping down beside his dad.
“Min-ah! Wash up! Dinner’s ready!” his mom called from the kitchen.
Groaning, Mingyu dragged himself up and headed to his room. He took a quick shower, threw on a loose shirt and shorts, and made his way back down. The dining table was already set, and his family was seated, waiting for him.
“Hyung, hurry up! I’m starving!” his little sister whined, waving at him to sit down.
They ate dinner together—laughing, joking, and teasing each other over small things. It was chaotic, warm, and perfectly normal. And in that moment, Mingyu felt deeply grateful.
After dinner, he offered to do the dishes. His parents and sister headed upstairs after saying their goodnights. Once he was done, he freshened up again and collapsed into bed.
At least he managed to forget about that weird interaction with Wonwoo.
For now.
Sleep crept over him quickly, and he drifted off without resistance.
When Mingyu opened his eyes, something immediately felt wrong.
The surface beneath him was cold. Hard.
This… definitely wasn’t his bed.
With a groan, he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “What the…?”
He looked around.
What the hell? This isn’t my room.
He was in an unfamiliar living room. The décor was minimalist but elegant. A large blue sofa dominated the center, beside a small wooden coffee table with what looked like a loquat plant in a white ceramic pot. Framed photographs and a few paintings hung neatly on the walls.
Then, he heard footsteps coming from the stairs.
Panic surged through him.
'Oh no, oh no, oh no—think, Mingyu!'
He ducked behind the sofa, crouching. The footsteps grew louder, until a tall man entered the room, shirtless, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants. The man yawned as he walked toward the kitchen.
Mingyu, even in panic, couldn’t help but stare. The guy had broad shoulders and defined muscles.
'God, why can’t I have a body like that?'
'Focus, idiot!'
There was only one option—run for the door while the man was distracted.
Mingyu took a deep breath, then darted out.
Or at least, he tried to. But he slipped.
Hard.
Right onto his butt. Socks and tiled floor—not a good combo.
He groaned.
Then froze.
The man was now staring at him, equally wide-eyed.
They locked eyes.
Wait… why does he look like me?
“What the f—!”
“AHHHHH!”
They screamed at the same time, voices filled with panic and confusion.
“Babe? What happened?” another voice called from upstairs, it was deep and...familiar like he had been heard that before.
Set of footsteps was heard. Mingyu turned his head—bad idea.
Another man appeared, hurrying down the stairs, dressed in an oversized shirt that practically swallowed his frame and boxers barely peeking underneath. His black hair was messy, and perched on his nose was a pair of chrome heart glasses.
And then Mingyu’s jaw dropped.
This was not some kind of stranger. It was Wonwoo.
Jeon. Freaking. Wonwoo.
“AHHHH!” he screamed again.
The shirtless man ran over and clamped a hand over Mingyu’s mouth. “Stop screaming, will you?! Our neighbors might've thought that we're murdering a freaking kid!"
Mingyu pushed his hand off. “Who the hell are you?! And why is Jeon Wonwoo here?!”
Wonwoo, however, looked older. More mature. His glasses weren’t round anymore, and his expression—surprised, but… domestic?
“Don’t you dare call my husband like that,” the shirtless man said firmly. “And second—he’s not a Jeon anymore. He’s a Kim. Kim Wonwoo. And thirdly, I’m the one who should be asking questions. Who the heck are you? And why are you in our house?”
Mingyu blinked. Processing.
Wait—husband?
“I—I don’t know why I’m here, okay? I just woke up here,” he said. “And I’m Kim Mingyu.”
The other man narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? I’m Kim Mingyu.”
“Huh? No way. I’m Kim Mingyu.”
“Huh?”
“What?”
They stared at each other. Identical. Same face. Same voice but the other one has the features of maturity compare to the other one who looks younger.
“Wait—how is this happening?” the teenage Mingyu blurted out, his voice cracking slightly as he stared at the mirror image of himself… only taller, broader, and currently shirtless.
The older version of him—still calm, still infuriatingly composed—tilted his head slightly, then turned toward the man standing at the base of the stairs.
“Alright, how about this,” the older Mingyu said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “My husband will ask us questions about ourselves.”
He walked over to Wonwoo—the older, matured, and frankly very domestic-looking version—and casually wrapped his arms around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wonwoo didn’t even flinch. In fact, he leaned into it.
The younger Mingyu’s jaw dropped slightly, his entire face crumpling in discomfort. “Huh? Why? What kind of weird sci-fi test is this?”
“Just do it, alright?” Older Mingyu said, turning back with a grin.
“Fine,” the teen muttered, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed as he watched them act all lovey-dovey. The sight made his stomach churn. Not because they were two men. But because he was part of that equation. “Gross.”
Wonwoo, still in an oversized shirt and sleepy glasses, adjusted his stance and looked between the two versions of his husband. He seemed thoughtful, but not shaken. Not even surprised.
“Alright then,” he said calmly, “I’ll ask you a few questions. Let’s see who’s the real Kim Mingyu. And confirm if you two are the same Kim Mingyu.”
“Great,” the older Mingyu said, grinning.
Wonwoo began. “What subject did you hate most in high school?”
“Economics,” both Mingyus answered at the same time.
The younger Mingyu’s eyes widened.
The older one just nodded smugly.
Wonwoo continued, his expression unreadable. “Favorite Japanese food?”
“Abura Soba,” they answered again, voices in eerie harmony.
The teenage Mingyu scratched the back of his neck. This was starting to get really weird.
“Well, this is…” The older Mingyu looked at his husband. “...strange.”
“No kidding,” the teen mumbled.
Wonwoo went on. “Your sibling’s name and gender.”
“Minseo. And she’s a girl.”
Another chorus. Perfectly timed.
The room fell silent for a beat. The air between them thick with disbelief, confusion, and maybe a bit of panic.
“Okay, this is freaking me out,” the younger Mingyu said, stepping back. “This—this is not a dream, right?”
“I wish it was,” the older Mingyu muttered under his breath, though he didn’t let go of Wonwoo’s waist.
Wonwoo just raised an eyebrow, staring at the younger Mingyu with mild curiosity. “This is insane,” he said quietly. “But if he really is you… then how the hell did this even happen?”
“I don’t know!” the teenager threw up his hands. “I fell asleep in my room and woke up on your expensive blue couch in your ridiculously clean, and well decorated house with you two acting like you’re married—wait, no, you are married to…to him?!” The younger Mingyu pointed to the older looking Wonwoo in disbelief.
The older Mingyu grinned again. “You jealous?”
“Jealous of myself? That’s just sick.”
Then, teenage Mingyu suddenly froze, his gaze drifting to the window where the orange glow of sunrise lit up the unfamiliar room. A realization hit him like a freight train.
“…What’s the year right now?” he asked, voice tentative.
“2025. Why?” the older Mingyu replied, tilting his head.
“What do you mean 2025?! It’s 2014, stupid!” teenage Mingyu snapped, his voice rising with panic.
The older Mingyu’s brows immediately furrowed. “What? No. It’s 2025 right now, right, babe?” he turned to the man still leaning into his side.
Wonwoo blinked slowly behind his glasses, then nodded. “Yeah. May 2025.”
Older Mingyu turned back toward his younger self, processing it. Then, his eyes widened.
“Wait. If you’re from 2014… you’d be 17 right now, right?”
The teenage Mingyu hesitated, then nodded.
“I’m 28,” the older Mingyu said, pointing to himself. “And it’s 2025. So does that mean—holy crap—you actually came from the past?!”
Teenage Mingyu’s mouth dropped open. “So you’re saying I… time-traveled into the future?! Isn't that impossible to happen?!”
“Well, technically yes. Even though it’s supposed to be impossible,” Wonwoo added quietly, eyeing the younger Mingyu with curiosity rather than fear.
Teenage Mingyu took a shaky step backward, heart pounding in his chest. “Wait… if I’m really you, and you’re really me… then that means…”
His eyes slowly drifted toward the older looking Wonwoo.
Older Mingyu raised his brows, already anticipating the reaction.
“Then—I’m married to Wonwoo in the future?!”
“Yes,” older Mingyu said flatly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Teenage Mingyu stared at them. At the hand on Wonwoo’s waist. At the casual way they stood together, like this was everyday life. Like they belonged to each other.
His jaw dropped. “What the hell.”