Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was an ordinary Sunday, one of those weekends that felt like they could stretch on forever. Ricky was curled up on the sofa, fully engrossed in his drama, the kind that made him laugh one moment and nearly cry the next. Beside him, Gyuvin was in that strange half-position he always found comfortable—neither sitting nor lying down, legs tangled on the couch, thumbs busy as he tapped away on some online game on his phone. On Ricky’s other side, Gunwook sat with his glasses on, newspaper rustling softly as he flipped through the pages, the picture of calm.

Nothing urgent. Nothing loud. Just them, in their quiet little world.

Until an envelope appeared in Ricky’s lap.

He blinked, lowering the volume of his drama without protest. His children stood in front of him, their faces bright with something secret. “What’s this?” Ricky asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Open it, Daddy,” Hana urged, smiling in that way that reminded him of her childhood, though she was far from a child now.

At once, Gyuvin paused his game, phone lowering as he peered over Ricky’s shoulder. Gunwook folded the newspaper neatly, curiosity pulling at his steady expression. All three of their children were watching.

Ricky carefully opened the envelope, the paper crisp under his fingers. Three tickets slid out, glossy and new. He read the bold letters once, then again, just to make sure. His eyes widened. “...A cruise?”

“A luxury cruise,” Haneul confirmed proudly, already fiddling with the ring on his finger—he had only married this year, and still hadn’t broken the habit. “You mentioned before you wanted to spend your 25th anniversary on one. Even though you’ve traveled so much already, we wanted to gift it to you. Something from us.”

Ricky’s heart stilled for a moment. Then a memory stirred.

“Our fifth anniversary just passed. What do you think we should do for our twenty-fifth?” Ricky asked, voice light but tinged with curiosity, like he was sketching the outlines of a daydream.

Gunwook chuckled, leaning back against the cushions. “Jumping twenty years ahead already?”

“Do you want to get married again too?” Ricky teased, tilting his head with that familiar sparkle in his eyes.

“That would be romantic,” Gunwook admitted, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Though I don’t know if I could handle writing another set of vows. The last ones already made me cry.”

“That’s because you love us too much,” Ricky said simply, smug and soft all at once.

“I just want to be on a relaxing cruise,” Ricky went on after a beat, eyes drifting as if he could already see the horizon. “Sailing away, nowhere to be, just us.”

“Do you never get tired of the ocean?” Gunwook asked, curious but affectionate.

“Not really, no. Do you?” Ricky turned to him, brows lifted.

“No, I don’t mind.” Gunwook’s voice carried that steadiness Ricky always loved, the kind that anchored every wild thought.

Ricky’s gaze shifted, landing on Gyuvin, who had been unusually quiet, sprawled lazily but listening. “What about you, Gyuvin? Do you have anything in mind?”

Gyuvin hummed, pretending to think. “I don’t really have anything vivid planned for that far out in the future. It’s still twenty years away.” He shrugged, but his eyes softened. “Aside from that… I just want to enjoy the present more.”

Ricky smiled, the kind that made his whole face glow. “That’s so you.”

“Practical?” Gyuvin asked, feigning offense.

“Cheesy,” Ricky corrected.

Gunwook laughed, tugging Gyuvin into his side. “You say that like you don’t love it.”

And without missing a beat, Ricky said, ”I do love it.”

The memory faded, leaving Ricky holding the tickets with trembling fingers.

“And you always love the sea, Daddy,” Hana said softly, breaking into his thoughts.

“We decided on this for a while,” Harui added honestly, hands clasped behind their back. “It wasn’t last-minute this time.”

Ricky let out a shaky laugh, his chest full. “Thank you, my stars,” he whispered, setting the tickets on the coffee table so his arms were free. He opened them wide, wordless in invitation. Immediately, his three children folded into him, and soon Gyuvin and Gunwook leaned closer too, until they were all in one warm, slightly squished family hug. Breath mingled, laughter bubbled out, and it felt like home—the kind of embrace none of them ever tired of.

When they pulled back, Gyuvin stretched with a dramatic sigh. “Doing all these things for us… you’re making us feel old,” he said lightly, though his eyes softened as they met Ricky’s.

“You’re not old,” Hana shot back quickly.

“Early fifties,” Harui pointed out with a grin. “That’s prime. Like a well-aged wine.”

“Seasoned,” Gunwook added, his lips twitching.

“Seasoned, hmm?” Ricky teased, poking Gunwook’s side gently. “I’ll take that.”

Gunwook huffed a laugh, then turned his gaze back to the children. “But gifts like this… I hope it doesn’t mean you’re forgetting Christmas presents.”

“As if we would!” Haneul gasped, offended in the way only a child could be at their father’s teasing.

“Good.” Gunwook’s mouth curved into a smile he couldn’t hold back.

“Now go plan your outfits,” Hana said, practically bouncing with excitement. “You have so many days to prepare for, you’ll need time.”

Ricky leaned back into the sofa cushions, his fingers curling instinctively into Gyuvin’s sleeve, eyes still shimmering as he looked at the tickets. “Our children are too good to us,” he murmured, half to himself.

“They learned it from you,” Gunwook replied easily, watching Ricky like there was no one else in the world.

And Ricky could only agree, lips tugging into that small, lovely smile of his.

“A two-week vacation means I have to plan outfits for morning, noon, and night,” Ricky said as though it were the most obvious truth in the world. He was already standing in front of their closet, sliding hangers back and forth with a sparkle in his eye. “And it depends on the place we’re walking around and exploring for the day. Of course, it’s very different when we’re just at sea, and we get to explore the cruise ship. Oh, how I love it. Let’s also watch the shows that will be performed there.”

He was already pulling out a crisp red jacket, holding it against himself like he could already see the photos they’d take.

“Slow down, Rick,” Gyuvin said, leaning on the doorframe, breathless from the small laugh Ricky always managed to drag out of him. “The ship won’t go anywhere without us.”

“Well, it might if we don’t plan this properly,” Ricky countered, squinting at him with faux seriousness, as if outfit planning was a matter of life and death.

Gunwook, sitting at the edge of the bed, rested his chin on his palm, dimples deep as he watched Ricky move about the room. “Are you excited, Ricky?” His voice was soft but brimming with joy, cheeks already aching with how much he was smiling.

“Yes, very much so.” Ricky didn’t even hesitate. He turned toward them, jacket still draped in his hands, eyes sparkling. “And why are you both so calm about this? Usually, you’re the ones bouncing off the walls.”

Gunwook and Gyuvin just looked at him. That look again. That look that had followed Ricky through decades—through storms and celebrations, through the mundane and the extraordinary. That look that said he is the center of us, and he always will be.

Almost fifty years together was no small thing. They had lived through smiles, screams, laughter, tears, small quarrels, quiet mornings, and nights spent in each other’s arms. But no matter what, this look, this feeling, never wavered: the comfort of being together.

Ricky tilted his head at them, brows furrowing as their silence stretched into soft laughter. “Is something so funny? I was just asking.” He turned his attention back to the jacket in his hands, already imagining the jewelry that would go with it, muttering little thoughts under his breath about accessories.

“No, no, Rick,” Gyuvin said quickly, voice warm with affection, as if worried Ricky might mistake his earlier pause for disinterest. “We’re so excited about the trip too.” His smile widened until his eyes turned into crescents. “I mean, we get to enjoy the ocean again.”

“And we get to enjoy it with you,” Gunwook added in his steady, matter-of-fact way, as though the statement was the simplest truth in the world.

That earned a small smile from Ricky—because yes, the ocean was special for them. But even more special was the way his smile seemed to light up the room, making Gyuvin and Gunwook feel like it was the only thing that mattered. That smile could undo them so easily. For that smile, they thought, people of ancient times would have started wars. Luckily for them, the only battle they had to win now was the preparation for the trip.

“Alright,” Gunwook said, already unlocking his phone with practiced efficiency. “Let’s decide where we want to go, and the places we’ll visit. Even if it’s just a tour, it’s better to plan properly.”

Gyuvin leaned back against the couch with a grin. “We should also figure out what’s essential to bring for those places. I don’t want us panicking last minute.”

“And souvenirs,” Ricky said softly, his voice carrying that familiar fondness. “Our Hana, Haneul, and Harui did this for us, after all.” He was already thinking of their children again, and that made Gyuvin and Gunwook’s hearts swell in unison.

“And of course…” Gunwook started.

“Of course…” Gyuvin echoed, raising a brow in mock seriousness.

“The one thing we should never forget on a trip…” Ricky added, tilting his head as if it were a dramatic secret.

“FOOD!” they all chorused, bursting into laughter.

At the mention of food, their eyes lit up like kids planning a festival. Gyuvin leaned in and poked Ricky’s cheek, the way he always did when Ricky looked too adorable to resist. Ricky puffed his cheek out in protest, then thinned his mouth as if he were pondering something deeply important—which only made him look even cuter.

Even after all these years, the sight still got them. He was lovely, endlessly lovely.

“What does our Ricky want?” Gyuvin asked, tone soft, playful but sincere at the edges.

“Anything, really.” Ricky’s gaze softened as it shifted between the two of them. “But I love your cooking the most.”

The words were said so simply, but they landed straight in their hearts.

Gunwook groaned dramatically and immediately reached over to pinch Ricky’s cheeks—both at once this time. “Ahh, how can you say things like that with such a straight face?!” He leaned forward and made kissy faces at him, loud and exaggerated.

“Stop—” Ricky protested half-heartedly, though the way he laughed gave him away.

Gyuvin joined in, cupping Ricky’s other cheek and planting a quick kiss at the corner of his jaw. “See, now you’re stuck with two chefs competing for your love.”

Ricky huffed, but his smile curved even deeper, eyes shining. “As if you weren’t already competing over everything.”

“True,” Gunwook admitted with a grin.

And just like that, the room melted into warmth again—the kind of warmth only they could bring out of each other. They ended up tangled together on the couch, doting over Ricky—and Ricky, as always, letting them.

It never got old. The laughter, the teasing, the affection, the way every moment was filled with love so abundant it almost spilled over.

One sign of getting old, however, was becoming impossible to ignore. Ricky had started noticing strands of white—grey, really, though the color didn’t matter—standing out starkly against the glossy black of his hair. It wasn’t much, just a scattering, but it was enough to catch his eye that morning as he stood in front of the mirror, fixing the collar of his shirt with practiced care.

They were finally leaving for the cruise today. Their suitcases had been neatly packed the night before—Ricky had double-checked everything, from clothes to toiletries to the smallest items the other two tended to forget. Now, all that was left was to lock up the house, get into the car, and drive to the port. But as Ricky leaned close to smooth his hair, there it was again: the subtle glint of white in the light.

He frowned a little, tilting his head, then sighed and let it go. It wasn’t something he could fix in a rush. It was a small truth of life: they were growing older. He could deal with it later. For now, there was a trip waiting, and he would not let a few hairs sour his mood.

When he stepped into the living room, shoes neatly on and jacket draped over his arm, he found Gyuvin already waiting by the door. It was early—so early the world outside was still painted in shades of blue-grey. Sleep clung to Gyuvin’s frame, his shoulders slouched just a little, his voice low when he spoke.

“Can I fix your hair?” Gyuvin asked softly.

Ricky blinked. “Why the need to ask? …But sure.” He walked over and tilted his head obediently.

Gyuvin’s fingers threaded through Ricky’s hair gently, smoothing it down with surprising patience for this hour. Ricky closed his eyes, letting the touch soothe him.

You don’t usually ask for my permission,” Ricky murmured, voice light.

“That’s because you might get grumpy this early,” Gyuvin teased, smiling faintly. “You’re not much of a morning person, are you?”

As if on cue, Ricky let out a soft yawn, proving him right. “I’ll get the rest of my sleep on the way,” he mumbled.

Gyuvin’s hand lingered on his head, warm and tender. “Rick… you’ve got grey hairs here.”

“Mm. I noticed earlier,” Ricky admitted, eyes still shut. Then, with a teasing lilt, “We’re getting older.”

“You’re still as lovely as ever,” Gyuvin said without hesitation, every word earnest. His voice carried the kind of reverence that could undo anyone, but for Ricky, it was just another reminder of how much he was adored.

Ricky cracked one eye open, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “That doesn’t help.”

“You like it,” Gyuvin said with quiet certainty.

“That’s non-negotiable,” Ricky returned.

Before either of them could say more, a third presence made itself known. Gunwook appeared in the doorway, like he had been summoned by the thread of the conversation itself. He leaned against the frame with a smirk.

“You know,” he said, “it kind of reminds me of that time you bleached your hair, Rick. Didn’t we all think it was such a big deal back then?”

“This is not the same thing,” Ricky said flatly, though his lips twitched. “That was a whole head of hair. This is just… a strand.”

“Yes, yes,” Gunwook chuckled, stepping forward to ruffle Ricky’s hair anyway, ignoring the small noise of protest. “And we’ll get used to it when we’re really old and wrinkly. It’ll be charming by then.”

Ricky gave him a look, but it was softened by the way Gunwook’s hand lingered on his head in quiet affection.

“Come on,” Gunwook added gently, brushing his hand along Ricky’s back as if urging him along with care. “Let’s go. The kids said they’ll meet us by the port—they want to see us off.” His voice softened further at that, eyes flicking instinctively toward Ricky’s. “They didn’t want us leaving without hugs.”

At the mention of their children, Ricky’s lips curved into that bright, unshakable smile of his. His radiance caught in the sunlight like a reflection off the sea.

“They really didn’t have to do all that,” Ricky said, his voice light, touched with awe.

“That’s what I said.” Gunwook chuckled, though the warmth in his gaze betrayed just how much he loved the gesture.

“The kids can do whatever they want—they’re all grown-up now,” Gyuvin chimed in. Then, almost stubbornly, as though the first time hadn’t landed quite enough, he repeated, “They’re all grown-up now.”

And yet his voice caught slightly, as if he were trying to convince himself more than them. Hadn’t they spent years watching those little hands grow, those giggles blossom into voices of their own? And now Hana, with Jangmi at her side; Haneul, with Eve; and Harui—oh, their Harui—with his beloved collection of five pets. Three dogs, two cats. He had once explained, so earnestly, that it was because he was used to them being a family of six. “Every dog and cat represents you—Appa, and Daddy, and Papa, and Hana, and Haneul,” he’d said, eyes shining with that gentle sincerity of his.

Ricky had laughed then, but the kind of laugh that cracked open his heart with love. Their lucky spring—blossoming, giving, loving almost everyone he touched.

“Do you realize,” Ricky murmured now, his voice drifting like tidewater, “we’ve somehow raised children who love us so much they’re still finding ways to keep us with them—even when they’re making families of their own?”

Gyuvin’s throat tightened. He turned away quickly, pretending to fuss with the straps of Ricky’s bag. “Don’t start with that or I’ll get emotional. I already packed extra handkerchiefs.”

Gunwook snorted at that, shaking his head. “Says the man who nearly cried at Hana’s wedding before she even walked down the aisle.”

“I was moved!” Gyuvin shot back, half-defensive, half-laughing.

“And when Haneul introduced Eve to us.”

“That was emotional too!”

“And when Harui adopted his first cat.”

“That was—okay, fine, maybe I cry a lot.” Gyuvin finally cracked, and Ricky’s and Gunwook’s laughter rang out at that.

“Well,” Gunwook said softly, “good thing we’re not in any rush. We can take our time getting emotional.”

Again, they were being swept up in it—the tide of memory, of love so large it always threatened to spill over. Which was exactly why they should really be hitting the road now.

But none of them truly minded lingering a little longer, letting themselves reminisce.

They were now on the road, and Ricky had claimed the entire backseat as his bed. His long frame stretched across it, limbs tucked and untucked like he couldn’t decide on the right position. His head lolled here and there with every turn, the seatbelt digging in awkward angles, and yet he slept anyway—like the hum of the car and the warmth of the ride had lulled him too quickly to fight it. It was equal parts endearing and a little comical, the way he shifted now and then, as if trying to find the most comfortable place in a space not meant for him.

Gyuvin, from the driver’s seat, softened his touch on the wheel, steadying his driving without even realizing it. Every bump and curve was taken gently, as though the road itself needed to be careful for Ricky’s sake. He would glance at the rearview mirror now and again, the corner of his lips tugging upward whenever he caught Ricky stirring but not waking.

Beside him, Gunwook had his own quiet focus. He was running through their bags in his mind—and sometimes physically, twisting in his seat to check the items stacked neatly behind them. Passports, IDs, chargers, and meds all accounted for. It was a small habit of his, this triple-checking and quadruple-checking, one that had long since become second nature. Unlike most, he never fussed over motion sickness, and the steady ride suited him well.

It was a peaceful drive—soft music low in the background, the road stretched ahead of them, and the gentle rhythm of Ricky’s breathing filling the spaces between.

Before long, the port came into view, and so did the familiar sight of their children waiting.

“Daddy, Appa, Papa!” Hana was the first to wave when their car pulled up, bouncing slightly on her toes with excitement. Even though the windows were closed, they caught her voice all the same—if not by sound, then by instinct. After all these years, they could read their children’s lips and gestures as easily as their own.

When they stepped out of the car, the air was fresh with salt and possibility. The cruise ship loomed over them in the near distance, massive and gleaming, a city on the water. They still had three hours until departure, with boarding an hour away—but that only meant more time with their children, which was worth more than anything else.

They lingered together at the portside benches, trading conversations and laughter. Ricky, excited as ever, went on about their itinerary, reciting the places they’d marked down to visit, what they wanted to see again, what food they couldn’t miss. Hana only shook her head fondly.

“Just… don’t forget to call, okay? Even just before you sleep.” Her voice softened on that last part, the worry beneath her words peeking through.

“We won’t forget,” Ricky promised, his smile radiant, steady. “You’ll get tired of hearing from us.”

That made Hana laugh, though she still squeezed his hand like she wanted to hold on longer.

Time moved quickly in their company, the minutes blending into a stream of teasing and easy warmth. Harui was, of course, the loudest, finding every chance to poke fun at his parents—Ricky most of all—while Haneul listened with quiet amusement, smiling in that small, steady way that always seemed to settle the rest.

When the subject of the car came up, Haneul lifted his hand casually. “I’ll drive it back home.”

“Just make sure someone will pick us up when we return,” Gunwook added, ever the practical one.

“We’re just a call away,” Haneul said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Eventually, though, the call of the cruise ship grew louder, its deep horn echoing across the port as boarding announcements began. The time had come.

“Bye!! Have fun!!” the triplets chorused, waving with broad smiles.

But their parents—none of them—moved.

“Give us our goodbye kisses first.” Gunwook tapped his cheek with exaggerated insistence, Gyuvin quickly mirroring him. “Right here. No excuses.”

Their children burst out laughing at the sight, three adults reduced to affectionate, playful demand.

“Of course we didn’t forget,” Harui said with a cheeky grin. “You’ll still have plenty of time to line up anyway.”

Ricky snorted softly. “How cheeky.” His gaze lingered warmly on Harui. “But then again, we know who you got that from.”

“That’s not me,” Gunwook and Gyuvin said at the same time, immediately looking at each other with mock indignation. The triplets laughed even harder.

The goodbye ritual stretched, as it always did. One by one, they exchanged kisses and hugs—foreheads pressed together, hands squeezing tightly, warmth pressed into warmth. Hana lingered the longest in Ricky’s arms, her voice small but steady as she whispered, “Send pictures, okay? Lots.”

“Lots of them,” Ricky promised, tapping her nose playfully, though his eyes shone with something softer. “And souvenirs too. You’ll be buried in souvenirs.”

She smiled, but she didn’t let go right away. None of them did.

Because the truth was, their Daddy, Appa, and Papa gave the warmest, most comforting hugs in the world. Hugs that held safety, and years of love, and a kind of home no building could ever compete with. The kind you never wanted to leave.

If they could have, the children might have stayed there forever—arms wound around their parents, laughter and tears tangled in one endless goodbye.

But at last, the ship was waiting.

When they boarded the ship, an attendant guided them up toward the higher decks, where the suites rested like crowns above the waves. Their room was one of those spacious corner suites that offered sweeping views of both sea and sky—walls of glass opening out to a private balcony where the horizon stretched endlessly. Inside, everything gleamed with polish and comfort: a grand bed, soft couches arranged to face the ocean, a small dining table, even fresh flowers waiting in a vase. It was luxury in every sense, a space built for indulgence, though Ricky knew most of their time would be spent exploring rather than tucked away. Still, it was reassuring to know their nights would end in such comfort.

By the time they settled in, the ship had already pulled from the port, slicing through open water. The hum of excitement seemed to pulse through every corridor, but here in their suite, the world was calm, bathed in sunlight. 

After they’d admired their suite and dropped their things, the three of them wandered out onto the deck, where the sea stretched wide and bright around them. Other passengers had gathered too, scattered along the railings or lounging with drinks in hand, faces tipped toward the sun. It felt alive, fresh, as though the cruise itself was humming with possibility.

Ricky leaned against the railing, eyes sparkling at the horizon. “Since we just left the port, it’s the best time to start enjoying this cruise properly.” He raised his glass of crisp white wine toward the sunlight, its pale color catching like spun glass.

Gyuvin, standing close at his side, wrinkled his nose. “You know I don’t like alcohol.”

“One sip?” Ricky asked, tilting his head just slightly, coaxing with that familiar smile that had always undone them both.

Gyuvin squinted at him. “Is it strawberry flavored?”

Ricky laughed softly, shaking his head. “Mm… it tastes more like lemon.”

Before he could add more, Gyuvin swooped in—stealing a kiss from Ricky’s lips. Ricky’s surprised pout barely had time to form before Gyuvin pressed another, gentler one, as though to erase it.

“Your lips taste like strawberry, my Rick,” Gyuvin murmured with a grin.

Ricky flushed instantly, as if the words had painted him the exact shade of the fruit. His body jolted, warmth rushing through him, and he turned away too quickly, nearly spilling his drink. “Ah—Gunwook, here,” he stammered, thrusting the glass toward his other husband. “You drink it.”

Gunwook accepted smoothly, his expression betraying both amusement and affection. “I’m not much of a drinker either,” he admitted, but then his gaze softened, lowering his voice just for Ricky. “But for you, my dearest husband, I’ll drink this.”

And with that, he tipped the entire glass back in one gulp. Ricky gasped, half in shock, half in disbelief. Gunwook’s lips curved faintly as he set the glass aside, a blush just barely coloring his cheeks from the wine.

“Is that why you keep two husbands, Park Ricky?” Gunwook teased, leaning in close, eyes glinting with both warmth and mischief. “So you can do whatever you want and leave us both completely at your mercy? Is that it?”

Ricky’s breath hitched, his voice cracking slightly at the edges even as his grin broke radiant across his face. “Don’t play innocent, Shim Gunwook. You both love me too much.”

“I’m not denying it,” Gunwook murmured, forehead lowering until it brushed against Ricky’s, their breaths tangling in the soft morning air.

From behind, Gyuvin wrapped his arms tightly around Ricky’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder, pretending to sulk. “I love you too, Kim Rick,” he mumbled into the fabric of Ricky’s shirt, voice soft but certain.

That was all it took. Ricky’s laugh came bubbling out—helpless, shining, spilling with love. He leaned back into Gyuvin’s arms, letting his weight rest there, while his free hand slid gently over Gunwook’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath.

And in that moment, he didn’t even bother to scold them for making him flustered. He didn’t push them away, didn’t fuss—because the truth was, he loved it. He loved the way they poured their affection over him like it was second nature, the way teasing him had become their favorite game, the way his own reactions—his blushes, his laughter, his stammered protests—only deepened their joy.

It wasn’t, admittedly, the sort of scene one expected to stumble upon early in the morning on a cruise deck. And yet, not a soul nearby seemed annoyed. If anything, a few passengers found themselves stealing glances, curiosity tugged toward the brightness of it all—their warmth, their easy intimacy, the way the three of them seemed to create a little world just by standing together.

If anyone didn’t know better, they would surely think the trio were here on their honeymoon, not celebrating their silver anniversary. The way they laughed, the way they touched each other without hesitation—it wasn’t the kind of love that faded with years. If anything, it had ripened, grown more radiant, like something endless.

From a bench a little ways down the deck, an elderly couple leaned close, watching with tender eyes.

“Ahh… young love,” the wife murmured, lips curling in nostalgia.

Her husband chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over her hand. “Makes me remember how we used to be.”

They weren’t the only ones smiling, either. A few older passengers, dressed in sunhats and light jackets, exchanged glances, warmth softening their faces. It was as if, in watching the three by the railing, they’d been given a small echo of their own beginnings.

The sea sparkled, the morning breeze curled around them, and it almost seemed that heart-shaped bubbles really did rise between them, floating into the open sky for all to see.

The dining hall was adorned with polished chandeliers, casting light over linen-draped tables. The faint sway of the ship gave everything a gentle rhythm, as though the sea itself moved with the music of the violinist tucked in the corner. Around them, the chatter of other passengers filled the air, but for Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook, the table before them might as well have been paradise itself.

There was too much food, if such a thing existed. Platters of dishes from different cultures, steaming bowls, delicate bites, colorful desserts—they were in food heaven, and it was clear none of them planned to stop until they were completely full.

Gyuvin leaned back with a smirk, watching Ricky happily trying to sample a little of everything. “Our Ricky is rich and handsome, and he wants to eat all the food,” he said dramatically, as though announcing to the whole hall. “Isn’t that too greedy of you?”

Ricky only raised his brows at him, mid-bite, lips twitching.

Gunwook joined in smoothly, sliding his spoon toward Ricky with a generous amount from his own plate. “We feed you every day, Rick, but you act like we’re neglectful husbands,” he teased, pretending to sigh.

Ricky huffed in mock offense but opened his mouth all the same, accepting the bite without protest. He chewed, eyes sparkling. “You’re both ridiculous,” he mumbled around the food, though his grin gave him away.

But then again… wasn’t it true? Why were they only calling him rich and handsome now, not young and rich, tall and handsome like they used to?

The answer, of course, was painfully obvious. They were older now—their bodies carried the years even as their love made them feel forever young. And the “tall” part? That was gone because Gyuvin and Gunwook (with the utmost love) never let him forget that they were taller than him.

But greedy? No, Ricky thought. Not greedy for food. If anything, the greed was in love. Wanting to hold onto this kind of devotion—this rich, overflowing affection—from two people who still looked at him like he was everything.

The violin’s notes curled into the air, sweet and low, and Ricky found himself pausing mid-bite. “Hao-hyung,” he whispered without thinking.

Gyuvin’s ears perked immediately. “What about Hao-hyung?” he asked, his fork halting suspiciously over his plate.

“Nothing,” Ricky said quickly, his voice soft but certain. “I just heard the violin and thought of Hao-hyung.”

It was innocent. Of course it was. Still, Gunwook arched a brow, leaning in with a mock frown. “You’re on an anniversary trip with your husbands, and you’re thinking of somebody else?” His pout was exaggerated, corners of his lips betraying a smirk.

Ricky gave him a flat look, unimpressed. Without a word, he picked up a piece of garlic bread from the basket and shoved it straight into Gunwook’s mouth. “Eat.”

Gunwook’s eyes widened, then softened into laughter muffled around the bread.

“I miss Hao-hyung,” Ricky continued stubbornly, as if Gunwook’s teasing hadn’t even registered. “I’m going to call him later.”

“Later? On our first night here?” Gyuvin all but whined, refusing outright. His brows knit together in dramatic protest, and even with the bread still stuffed in his mouth, Gunwook looked like he wanted to argue the same.

Ricky sighed, shaking his head fondly. “Okay, fine. Tomorrow,” he conceded at last.

That was all it took. Instantly, both Gyuvin and Gunwook leaned in, kissing Ricky’s cheeks at the same time—one on the left, one on the right. Ricky froze, stunned into stillness, before bursting into laughter at the double ambush.

And as if they’d planned it all along, Gyuvin and Gunwook high-fived over Ricky’s head, smug grins perfectly in sync. “Victory,” Gyuvin muttered under his breath before flagging down a server. “Now, let’s get more food for our greedy Ricky.”

“Greedy in every way,” Gunwook added, his hand brushing casually over Ricky’s as if to remind him just how true that was.

Ricky rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. His husbands were ridiculous, utterly ridiculous—but how could he complain, when his chest was this full, when even something as simple as dinner felt like the most beautiful celebration?

The night sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered like jewels over the ocean. Through the wide glass windows, it became the perfect backdrop to their laughter, their teasing, their love.

And at their little table overflowing with food and affection, it felt as though nothing could ever be more perfect.

The bed was enormous, sprawling like the one they had back home, easily big enough to fit all three of them without crowding. It felt familiar, comforting, almost like the cruise had borrowed a piece of their life to carry them across the sea.

Ricky was the last one out of the shower, as always. His husbands insisted he took too long, but the truth was simple—he just liked standing under the stream of hot water, letting it soak away the day’s weight until all that was left was a soft, pink warmth.

When he stepped out, towel draped over his shoulders, the faint sweetness of strawberries still clung to him. Ricky always smelled that way somehow, sweet and fresh, as though the world had decided this scent alone could capture what he was. If Ricky were a fruit, he’d be a strawberry. If he were a color, he’d be the glowing red or blush pink of the berry’s skin. And if Ricky were something you couldn’t touch, something you could only feel—then Ricky was love itself.

The way his eyes sparkled, the way his laughter lit every corner, the curve of his smile shaping into a heart when he laughed too hard. Even now, as he ran a towel through his damp hair, the messy strands fell into place with a shape like a heart resting on his forehead, as if the world insisted on showing them what he already was.

“Are you sleepy now?” Gunwook asked from the bed, his voice low, steady, fond.

“No,” Ricky said, leaning closer to the mirror to check himself one last time. His reflection almost startled him—the way the light cradled his face, softer than candle flame. “I feel more awake than ever.”

“Great,” Gyuvin said instantly, grinning as he patted the empty space between him and Gunwook. “Then come here and enjoy the night with us.”

Ricky tilted his head, lashes lowering as his eyes narrowed just slightly in suspicion. “Mm… and what kind of plan are you two plotting now?” His words teased, but his feet had already carried him closer, drawn as if by invisible threads.

Gyuvin propped himself up on an elbow, watching him approach, eyes wide and dazzled.

“Nothing at all,” Gunwook said, gaze trailing over him with quiet certainty. “Just that you look good in a bathrobe, Ricky.”

“You always say that, no matter what I wear,” Ricky answered, though the corners of his lips lifted.

“It’s true every time,” Gunwook replied without hesitation, his gaze steady as his hand reached out, brushing lightly against Ricky’s wrist.

Then Gyuvin blurted it out, the words tumbling from his mouth as if they’d been pressing against his chest. “God, Ricky, you’re so pretty.”

Ricky blinked at him, startled by the rawness in his tone. But Gyuvin wasn’t joking—couldn’t, not when the lamplight painted Ricky in gold and shadow, every detail luminous. Words weren’t enough; they never would be. The truth was, being in Ricky’s presence was overwhelming. To see him, to touch him, to be loved by him—it could buckle knees, knock the air out of lungs. It was no wonder Gyuvin’s voice had gone soft around the edges, reverent without meaning to.

Gunwook’s fingers found Ricky’s hand, gently turning it so he could trace over the ring that still sat proudly there, shining as though the years had only polished it brighter. His thumb lingered over the band as he spoke. “It’s the first night of our anniversary celebration. In a few days, it’ll be the night we made our vows. The night you became ours.”

Ricky’s chest tightened at the weight of those words, though he masked it with a faint, knowing smile. “Yes,” he said softly, letting his gaze flicker between the two of them. “So what are you both suggesting?”

“Suggesting?” Gyuvin echoed, lips quirking.

Gunwook chuckled lowly, pulling Ricky just a little closer to the warmth of the bed. “Nothing complicated. Just… stay here with us.”

“Right here,” Gyuvin murmured, tugging gently at the sleeve of Ricky’s bathrobe, mischief flashing in his eyes even as the tenderness underneath lingered.

Ricky’s laughter spilled out then, sweet and helpless. He leaned in, and the closeness melted the distance away—the teasing brushed aside by the simple truth that none of them could resist leaning toward the other.

The night stretched on, their voices dipping into murmurs and laughter, the ocean’s rhythm carrying them beneath the stars. Whatever happened beyond the veil of that room belonged only to them, but one thing was certain: it was love—unshakable, greedy, endless love—that filled every breath, every touch, every heartbeat.

Another day began, and this one was set aside entirely for the tour.

The cruise had docked in Thailand, the sun burning bright but kind, and even though the three of them had traveled these lands many times before, the excitement never dulled. Everything still felt new when they were together.

And of course, one thing could not be missed: a traditional Thai massage.

“It’ll loosen us up before we even get tired,” Ricky had said with a grin.

“Let’s do the one where we’re all in the same room,” Gyuvin added quickly, earning nods from the other two.

So there they were, lined up on three neat mats in a room of warm wooden walls, the air carrying the faint sweetness of oils and herbs. Golden-yellow lamps dimmed the space to a glow that seemed to soften even their laughter.

None of them could resist reaching out—sneaking a pinky brush, brushing knuckles lightly together even as the masseurs worked. It wasn’t anything obvious, but every little touch was a promise that they were there, side by side. The masseurs must have been used to couples, but maybe not couples who still blushed like teenagers whenever their fingers tangled. Ricky’s cheeks especially were so soft and round it was almost unfair, the kind you could pinch like mochi until he huffed in protest.

“Stop staring at me like that,” Ricky muttered once, face turned toward Gyuvin.

“I can’t help it,” Gyuvin whispered back, eyes sparkling. “You look… squishable.”

Gunwook chuckled, voice low and amused, “You always look like that, Ricky. Squishable and sweet.”

Ricky rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

By the time they walked out of the massage parlor, their muscles were loose, their laughter freer. It felt like all the heaviness of time had been gently pressed away.

Naturally, the cameras came out. Traveling with the three of them meant constant photos—sometimes posed, sometimes messy, always filled with light. They snapped pictures of each other holding street food like it was a prized treasure, or pointing dramatically at temples in the distance, as though they hadn’t seen them a dozen times before.

“Hold still, Ricky,” Gunwook said, camera raised.

Ricky puffed his cheeks, making a face that was halfway pout and halfway playful challenge.

“Perfect,” Gyuvin said, immediately leaning in with his finger poised. “He looks like a balloon.”

Gunwook joined in, poking Ricky’s other cheek from the opposite side, both of them holding the pose like they really intended to pop him. Ricky’s eyes went wide, frozen in mock-surprise like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Yah,” he said, swatting at their hands, though his laughter broke through, bright and helpless.

“Okay, okay,” Gunwook said, pulling back, though his grin betrayed him. “But that picture’s going to be my new wallpaper.”

“Mine too,” Gyuvin added smugly.

“Unbelievable,” Ricky muttered, but the way he softened after—letting them each sling an arm around him for the next shot—proved he didn’t mind one bit.

At Gunwook’s insistence, they filmed short clips too. The camera caught everything—the way Ricky’s expression shifted mid-bite into a grin when Gyuvin said something ridiculous, or how Gunwook jumped in to add to the joke, pointing at something so random that only later, in hindsight, it would all make sense. Those little details, so easy to miss in the moment, were the ones that breathed life into their memories.

Pictures were nice; they froze time. But videos let them relive it, watch it all again—the laughter, the teasing, the warmth in their voices, the fleeting glances and gestures that revealed the moment had been even more joyful than they realized while living it.

The day was filled with laughter, food, and flashes of the camera shutter, but above all, it carried a warmth that turned even the most familiar places into something extraordinary.

After a long, tiring day outside, after they had washed up and changed into something comfortable, the three of them finally sank into bed. The sheets were cool, the room faintly smelling of fresh soap and Ricky’s favorite lotion. With their hair still damp from the shower and their bodies heavy with sleepiness, they huddled close together, Gyuvin and Gunwook on either side of Ricky, their phones balanced between them as they opened the family group chat.

It only took one ring before Harui’s face popped up on the screen. He was lying in bed as well, propped up on his pillow. From the way his eyes lit up, it seemed he had been waiting just for their call.

“Ah, you beat your siblings,” Gyuvin chuckled.

“I always do,” Harui replied matter-of-factly, though a smile tugged at his lips. “So? Are you having fun? Send pics, please. I need reference for when I go there next time.”

“Yes, yes, our Harui. The pictures will come,” Ricky said, his voice light, almost sing-song, as though promising treasure.

Harui hummed in approval.

Then Ricky’s tone softened. “Tell me stories about you. What did you do today?”

“Nothing worth talking about,” Harui shrugged. “I’d rather hear about you, Daddy. You always have stories. I’ll just listen.”

Gunwook leaned in closer to the phone. “We’ll go into detail once your siblings join. Can’t have them missing out, right?”

As if on cue, just a few minutes later, Hana and Haneul joined the call, their voices overlapping as they greeted them.

“Sorry, sorry! We were finishing something—” Hana started.

“Hey chat, what’s up chat,” Ricky interrupted brightly, clearly amused with himself.

That earned a round of laughter, Gyuvin immediately covering his face while Gunwook threw his head back, their eyes crinkling like crescent moons. Hana groaned, but it was affectionate.

“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?” Haneul teased.

“Maybe,” Ricky said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin.

And so their nightly tradition began. They told the kids about everything that had happened that day—the relaxing massage, Ricky insisting on trying a new snack from a street stall, the funny conversation they overheard between two locals. The trip’s little details unfolded into stories, and in return, the kids shared about their own day: Hana talked about a blueprint she was working on, Haneul showed a half-finished stack of papers behind him, and Harui chimed in every so often with sharp little comments that made them laugh.

Time slipped by easily. Usually, when free, their calls could last for hours—sometimes three or more—just existing together, one person talking while the others listened, doing their own activities with the comfort of the call buzzing in the background. 

Tonight, however, it was shorter. After about an hour, Ricky glanced at the clock and sighed softly.

“We’ll end it here tonight, okay? Don’t pout, Hana,” Ricky coaxed when she made a face at the screen. “We’ll call again soon.”

“Goodnight, my loves,” he added softly, lingering on the words like he didn’t want to let go. Gyuvin and Gunwook leaned closer, echoing their own warm goodnights.

“Goodnight!!” the triplets chorused in chaotic unison, their voices overlapping before the screen blinked to black.

The silence that followed was brief. Barely a few minutes later, another call notification lit up their phone—this time from their friends. They’d all agreed to “schedule” a group call once a week, though it was really because Ricky had admitted, a little sheepishly, that he missed their Hao-hyung. It was funny, how professional they pretended to be about it, like it was a board meeting instead of them just missing each other.

The call connected, and instantly—

“HELLO!!” Yujin’s bright voice exploded through the speaker.

“Hi!!” Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook greeted back, just as enthusiastic.

“Enjoying your honeymoon?” Yujin teased with a grin.

“No, it’s their anniversary,” Hanbin corrected.

“It looks like a honeymoon with how they always are,” Taerae chimed in, eyes crinkling with laughter.

“We are enjoying it,” Ricky admitted easily, tilting his head with a serene smile.

“We can tell,” Hao said knowingly, sipping from a mug as if he were above all the teasing.

“Hao-hyung,” Gyuvin cut in, deadpan, “Ricky here said he thinks of you a lot.”

“I am,” Ricky confirmed without missing a beat, nodding solemnly.

“Not even bothering to deny it at this point…” Gyuvin muttered, feigning defeat, though his hand found Ricky’s off-screen.

The others burst out laughing.

“Oh, and we’re already taking notes of when we plan a trip here one day,” Gyuvin added quickly, steering the conversation.

“Sounds exciting, ah,” Jiwoong said warmly, his tone like a proud parent.

“Yes, hyung—your celebration of nearing senior citizen status,” Gunwook teased, wearing a smug grin.

“It’s still a few years left!” Jiwoong countered, pretending to be offended.

“You’re certified old now,” Yujin piled on.

“Next time we meet, we’ll offer our graces to you, grandpa,” Matthew added innocently, which made Taerae dissolve into uncontrollable laughter, clutching his stomach.

“Why are you laughing so hard?!” Jiwoong demanded, though his smile gave him away.

“I can already see you with a cane!” Taerae wheezed, wiping his eyes.

“Taerae-ah, careful,” Hao warned with mock sternness. “Jiwoong-hyung might put you in his will just to spite you.”

The screen filled with laughter again, voices overlapping, the kind of joy that made time blur.

Then, almost as if he’d been waiting for the perfect chance, Yujin leaned in toward the camera, his tone suddenly lighter, playful. “By the way… souvenirs.”

Ricky blinked. “Souvenirs?”

“Yes, from your cruise,” Yujin said casually, lips quirking. “Not now, but when you come back. Don’t show up empty-handed.”

Gunwook groaned. “It’s literally our second day, Yujin. We’ll get you something after two weeks, alright?”

“I’ll take anything,” Yujin grinned. “A shirt, a fridge magnet… maybe even a pebble from the shore?”

“Should’ve just grabbed him a lifebuoy,” Gyuvin muttered, making Matthew burst out laughing.

“You’re impossible,” Ricky said, though the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Fine, I’ll find something.”

“You promise?” Yujin tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

“Promise,” Ricky replied in mock solemnity, lifting his hand like he was swearing an oath.

After that, they slipped back into easy chatter—catching up on little things, complaining about schedules, trading funny stories from their weeks. It felt good, talking to each other the way they always had.

The morning light greeted them gently on the day of their 25th anniversary—their silver anniversary. Just like the silver of their wedding rings that they adored every day, because each time their eyes caught the gleam, they were reminded of the eternity they promised each other. A symbol so constant, it felt etched into their skin. Even on the rare occasions the rings had slipped off, they always found their way back. Always.

“Happy anniversary,” they whispered to each other that morning, the words simple but carrying the weight of every morning past and every morning still waiting for them.

“Can we stay in bed longer? The bed wants me here,” Ricky murmured, eyes squinting at the tiny slice of sunlight sneaking in through the curtains. Without a word, Gunwook shifted, turning his back to block the light completely, casting a softer shadow over him.

“Better?” Gunwook asked quietly.

Ricky hummed, already relaxing.

“We have the whole day for ourselves,” Gyuvin reminded them, his voice still heavy with sleep as he wrapped himself fully around Ricky. Morning cuddles were non-negotiable for him—his way of “recharging” his Ricky-energy before the day began.

Ricky chuckled, shifting just enough to press a lazy kiss to Gyuvin’s jaw, then another to the corner of his mouth. Gunwook leaned in too, brushing a kiss against Ricky’s temple before their lips found each other in the middle. It was unhurried, familiar—twenty-five years of love distilled into soft morning kisses that asked for nothing but gave everything.

When Ricky finally nestled back between them, Gyuvin and Gunwook shared a kiss of their own over his shoulder—gentle, fleeting, yet carrying the same vow they had made all those years ago. Three hearts, one promise, sealed again in the quiet of the morning.

“Twenty-five years,” Ricky whispered, his smile sleepy yet dazzling. “And more to come.”

Gyuvin tightened his arms around him, lips brushing Ricky’s hair. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Gunwook’s hand found Ricky’s, fingers playing with the band of his ring. “We’ll give you all the mornings you want.”

And so they decided: today was for them, and only them. No tours, no itineraries. Just sand, sea, kisses between laughter, and the comfort of being together.

They strolled along the edges of the beach, feet sinking into warm sand as the tide lapped lazily close to their ankles. Around them, the world was already alive with movement—people braver than them that morning taking to the waves, balancing on surfboards, shrieking as banana boats launched into the air, clinging onto big circle inflatables that spun wildly before crashing into the sea. Laughter and screams carried over the salt-washed wind, so loud it felt like the whole ocean was listening in.

“It’d be fun to come here sometime with the hyungs and Yujin,” Gyuvin said, eyes following a group nearly toppling over on their kayak. His grin was soft, like he could already picture it. “All of us just throwing ourselves into the water, repeating rides until they practically beg us to stop.”

Gunwook chuckled, immediately nodding. “And we wouldn’t stop. We’d go for seconds, thirds—Yujin would definitely drag us into going again, no matter how tired we get.”

“And Hao-hyung would disappear,” Ricky added quietly, lips curling in a small smile. “He’d sit on the sand after one ride, telling us he needs a week of rest.”

They all laughed at the thought, shoulders brushing as they walked. For a moment, they could see it clearly: the whole group drenched and dripping, sprawled under umbrellas, bickering about whose fault it was they flipped over, but still smiling so hard it hurt.

Their path took them past a row of small souvenir stalls—bright with color and clutter, crowded with randomness that made them stop more than once. Mugs stacked high with seashell prints, dreamcatchers tangled in the sea breeze, glass bottles filled with sand, bird-callers, and keychains shaped like dolphins, lighthouses, starfish.

“Very random,” Gunwook muttered, holding up a bird-caller like it might summon actual gulls. Gyuvin only snickered.

But Ricky’s steps slowed when his eyes landed on a small tray. Among all the noise and trinkets, something quiet waited there—a row of lantern keychains, tiny but steady in their design, painted soft gold and white.

“Want to buy three?” Ricky asked suddenly, lifting his hand to show three fingers, his expression a little too earnest for something so small.

Gyuvin glanced at him, then at the keychains. “Do you want to?”

“Mhmm.” Ricky nodded once, eyes not leaving them.

“Really want to?” Gunwook teased, but his voice was already fond.

Ricky nodded again, slower this time. “We could make a wish again. Even if it’s not a real lantern this time.”

Something about the way he said it made the air go still between them, like the crash of waves had quieted just for them. His fingers lingered on one of the lanterns, light catching on the painted surface.

“Since you want it so badly,” Gunwook said, soft but sure, exchanging a look with Gyuvin.

“Then it’s decided,” Gyuvin added. His lips curved into the kind of smile that belonged only to Ricky. “Three lanterns, three wishes.”

The three of them leaned in, voices lowered like they were conspiring, like they were weaving something fragile and precious out of nothing but a keychain and a promise.

The beach was still warm under the late afternoon sun, but the edge had softened, the light turning golden as it dipped lower toward the horizon. To battle the lingering heat, they’d each grabbed ice creams—strawberry for Ricky, mango for Gyuvin, and chocolate for Gunwook. Sitting cross-legged on a blanket, they ate quickly before the cones melted, sticky fingers brushing now and then.

“It’s so refreshing,” Ricky sighed, smiling as he wiped a smear of strawberry from his lip.

“You look like a kid,” Gyuvin teased, leaning in to swipe the spot with his thumb before licking it away. Ricky blinked at him, scandalized but amused.

“You’re impossible,” Ricky muttered, cheeks pink.

“Impossible and handsome,” Gyuvin replied smugly.

Gunwook rolled his eyes, but there was fondness written all over his face. “You’re both impossible.” He snapped a photo of them before they could protest, capturing strawberry, mango, and chocolate all lined up together like their own little flavor trio.

Their laughter eventually faded into a hush. The world around them seemed to quiet too, leaving only the gentle hush of the tide and the calls of seabirds overhead. The sky stretched vast and blue above, streaked with clouds that caught hints of orange and yellow, as if evening had started to brush its colors across the canvas.

Ricky leaned back on his hands, his gaze faraway. “Every time I look at the sky like this, I feel like I’m painting in my head already,” he murmured.

Gyuvin tilted his head toward him. “What would you paint first?”

“All of us,” Ricky answered without hesitation. His eyes glistened as though they could catch the light of the sea. “Three figures looking out at the horizon, the bright sky above us. Maybe three starfishes along the shore to symbolize our triplets. And the centerpiece would be…” He paused, smiling faintly. “Me, holding a bouquet of six white roses, because I want to include our friends, too. Or maybe…” His voice grew softer, more thoughtful. “Birds, flying so high they could almost touch the clouds.”

Gunwook’s chest swelled as he listened. “That already sounds like a masterpiece.”

“I’m going to call the collection ‘Blue,’” Ricky said then, his voice steady and full of meaning. “Because the sky was so blue when we first met. Because blue can be sad and beautiful at the same time. And because…” He looked at them both. “Blue is a piece of life.”

Silence lingered, warm and unbroken, as if they all knew not to disturb the moment. Then Gyuvin, with a grin tugging at lips that threatened to tremble, reached into the small bag beside him and pulled out one of the lantern keychains they’d found at the souvenir stand earlier. The metal glinted faintly in the sun.

“Before the stars come out,” he said, pressing it into Ricky’s hand, “want to make a wish?”

Ricky cradled the little lantern carefully, brushing Gyuvin’s fingers. His voice was soft, nearly lost to the rhythm of the waves. “Then… let’s always stay together.”

Gunwook, steady as ever, slid his hand over Ricky’s. “We’ll always be together. Just like the sky will always be blue. Just like the earth will always circle the sun. Just like our love has always been here.”

“Through every universe,” Gyuvin added, his smile crooked but his eyes tender, “through every version of us, we’ll always find each other.”

“Yes,” Ricky breathed, a smile blooming slow and sure. “Happy anniversary, again.”

“Happy anniversary,” Gyuvin echoed.

“Happy anniversary,” Gunwook followed.

The three of them pressed their keychains together as though the little lanterns could hold their promise. And when their fingers tangled tightly, it felt like the red string of fate itself had tied them that way. Against the vast blue giving way to twilight, the moment shone brighter than any lantern could.

Some days on the sea passed in quiet simplicity. There were days filled with activities and sightseeing, and then there were days like this—calm and unhurried, when the three of them simply stayed on the ship, letting time move at its own pace. Their twenty-fifth anniversary had just passed, and with the occasion celebrated, they found themselves free to wander and enjoy the little treasures hidden on board.

The cruise ship seemed determined to impress. There was even a swimming pool on the top deck—saltwater, naturally—as if they hadn’t had enough of the ocean surrounding them. But that evening, instead of the water, they decided on something different: the opera performance being held in the grand theatre.

The stage glowed and the performers sang with a passion that made the whole hall feel alive. It was beautiful in that particular way when you can tell someone truly loves what they’re doing, and the joy spills over into the audience. The three of them sat together, letting the voices and music wash over.

When the curtain fell and the applause echoed, they lingered in their seats, reluctant to let go of the atmosphere. It was then that an elderly couple beside them struck up a conversation.

“You look so young,” the older woman said with a gentle smile. “Are you newlyweds on your honeymoon?”

Ricky chuckled softly. “We’re actually on our 25th anniversary trip.”

The woman blinked, then gasped in surprise. “Oh, it doesn’t look like it at all! You could have fooled me—you all look so young.”

The ice was broken, and soon the couples were showing each other pictures. The elderly pair proudly shared photos of their grandchildren, their eyes shining with pride. In turn, Ricky, Gyuvin, and Gunwook pulled out their phones, scrolling through albums filled with their own children—now grown—but also sneaking in a few old baby pictures that made them all laugh.

“Is it good to have grandchildren? Are they really that cute?” Ricky asked with a quiet kind of curiosity.

“Oh, they’re wonderful, dear,” the woman answered without hesitation.

“Much easier than raising your own kids,” the man added, his tone both wry and affectionate. “Parents have to do all the hard work. Grandparents? We’re made to spoil them rotten. That’s why our son scolds us constantly.”

That earned a laugh from everyone.

“Aww… grandchildren,” Gunwook sighed, already lost in the daydream. His eyes softened, as though he could already feel little arms reaching for him.

“They’d call us what, though?” Gyuvin mused aloud.

“Grandpa?” Ricky suggested.

“Gran-wook,” Gunwook chimed in proudly, as if he’d already claimed the title.

“Hmm… what about Granddaddy?” Ricky tried.

Gyuvin made a face. “That doesn’t sound right. Too old-fashioned. Just make them stick to Grand-Rick.”

That set them off, all three dissolving into laughter.

“You three are amusing, you know that?” the elderly woman said, shaking her head with a smile.

“We get that a lot,” they replied in unison, still laughing.

Later, as they walked back to their room, the conversation lingered with them. Talk of grandchildren had sparked a whole new string of imagination.

“I wonder which of our kids would be the first to have children,” Gyuvin mused, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe Haneul,” Ricky said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, maybe Haneul,” Gunwook agreed.

“It feels like he’d take really good care of his kids,” Gyuvin added.

They all nodded at that, sharing a quiet understanding. The hallway was dim, the soft hum of the ship filling the silence as they imagined the future—tiny hands, little voices, and the chaos and joy of another generation. It made their hearts lighter, the thought of love continuing to grow, even beyond them.

And when they finally reached their room, Ricky murmured, almost shyly, “Grandaddy doesn’t sound so bad, you know.”

Gyuvin groaned, Gunwook laughed, and just like that, they fell into another fit of giggles, carrying the joy of the evening with them into the night.

They let the days pass gently, touring, eating whatever local specialty caught their eye, stopping for photos again and again until their gallery was nearly bursting with crooked smiles and half-blurred laughter. They remembered, this time, to pick up souvenirs too—pausing at little stalls and shops, quietly debating what each of the triplets would love most.

“Haneul will want something practical, right?” Gyuvin said, holding up a sleek leather wallet.

“Mm. He’d actually use that,” Ricky agreed, already picturing it in his sky’s pocket.

“And Hana…” Gunwook trailed off, running a thumb over a handmade woven bracelet. “She’d like something special to the place. Something she can say, this is from their trip. From here . ”

“That’s true.” Ricky smiled faintly, already imagining her proud grin when she showed it off.

“And Harui—” Gyuvin started, then laughed when he caught himself. “He’ll just say, whatever you choose, I’ll like it. He trusts us too much.”

“Which means,” Ricky added with mock solemnity, “the pressure is actually on.”

They all laughed, but in the end picked something soft and thoughtful for him anyway. And when Yujin’s name came up, all three of them groaned fondly at once.

“We can’t forget him,” Gunwook said.

“He requested it, remember?” Ricky smirked. “He’ll keep a tally.”

“Yujin screams… maybe a t-shirt. Or a jacket,” Gyuvin suggested.

“He screams snacks,” Gunwook countered. “We’ll find him something edible before we leave.”

They nodded, satisfied with the plan, hearts warm at the thought of each of their loved ones opening their little piece of the trip.

And like that, their days moved on, soft and slow.

By the seventh night, it was time for their usual video call. The moment the screen lit up, Hana leaned close to the camera, sighing dramatically.

“Still a week there, Daddy,” she said, as if counting down each day. Then, softer, “But Daddy, I already miss you. Our weekly stay at our house…” she sighed, leaning on her hand.

Ricky’s heart pinched at her pout as his lips curled into that gentle smile of his. “We miss you too, Hana.”

“Hana, your favoritism is showing yet again,” Gyuvin teased from beside him.

She gave a small smirk. “What gave it away, Appa?” Then, as if suddenly remembering, she perked up. “Oh—wait, Jangmi baked a cake today!”

Jangmi popped into view right after, leaning in to wave hello, her smile bright before ducking back out again.

Gunwook’s eyes lit up at the mention of food. “We ate the best crab dish here today. Want me to make it for you guys when we’re back?”

Three voices answered instantly, overlapping with no hesitation:

“No questions!!”

“Yes!!!”

“It’s always a yes!”

The three fathers burst out laughing, shaking their heads.

Then Gyuvin leaned a little closer to the screen, his tone softening. “And Haneul, don’t overwork too much, okay? Your health is more important than anything else.”

“Of course, Appa,” Haneul replied, adjusting his glasses. He looked both tired and amused. “I’m reviewing these cases in moderation now, I promise.”

Ricky couldn’t help cooing, “Aww, our hardworking Haneul,” and Haneul chuckled at the teasing, warmth flickering across his face. For a moment, even work didn’t seem so heavy.

“Oh, it’s getting late now.” Hana’s voice gentled again. “You’ll enjoy tomorrow too. Tomorrow is another day, after all. Sweet dreams and good night, Daddy, Appa, and Papa. Love you!!”

“Sweet dreams! Mwah, mwah!” Harui added dramatically, kissing his hand and sending flying kisses at the camera until they all laughed.

“Good night. Sleep well,” Haneul said warmly.

Ricky, Gunwook, and Gyuvin exchanged a glance, then leaned close to the screen together.

“Good night, Hana, Haneul, and Harui. Call again tomorrow, okay? We love you three so much. Bye-bye!”

“Bye!!” their children chorused.

And then the call ended, the screen turning dark and quiet, leaving the room too still for a moment.

Ricky sat back slowly, exhaling. “They’re still so excited… like when they were little.”

“Yeah,” Gunwook said, running a hand through his hair with a soft smile. “Adorable then, adorable now.”

“They’ll always be adorable,” Gyuvin murmured, his smile warm with affection.

They got ready for bed after, the room filled with the small familiar sounds of brushing teeth, folding clothes, tugging the blankets down. The bed was still impossibly fluffy under them, swallowing them whole the moment they sank in.

As they slid beneath the covers, they gave each other their good night kisses. Sweet, slow, lingering longer than usual—little pecks turning into whispered laughter, laughter softening into hushed “I love you”s against lips.

They tangled together easily, blankets pulling around them, limbs brushing and overlapping. Through the balcony glass, the only artificial light left came from outside, alongside the faint glow of the sea, shifting and alive.

As the darkness settled over them, they fell asleep with soft smiles still lingering on their faces. And in their dreams, maybe, they carried all of that with them—dreaming of how brightly it would shine again when they returned home .

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But dreams don’t always turn out the way we want. Sometimes there’s an invisible line between a dream and a nightmare.

Their sleep didn’t last long.

Alarms were blaring in their ears. That was the first thing they heard. The faint light outside had vanished, leaving no sign of brightness in the middle of the dark. It was the only sound now—the shrill alarm, cutting through the silence. It yanked them out of sleep before their minds could catch up.

Ricky blinked into blackness, his chest climbing, no—his heart climbing into his throat. There was only the thin ghost of light from the balcony glass, the sea outside throwing back its own helpless reflection.

He sat up too fast, before he could make sense of the situation—but before he could shake his husbands awake, Gunwook and Gyuvin were already upright, jolted awake by the warning blaring around them. Both stared at him, wide-eyed in the stuttering dark.

“I’ll check,” Gunwook said, voice rough and rushed, trying to steady himself, trying to trick his own mind into believing nothing was truly wrong. His hand skimmed the wall like he was searching for something, anything to hold on to, before slipping out through the door.

And then the sound doubled, unbearable. The alarm shrieked louder, joined by pounding feet, by voices already crying out down the corridor. Smoke slid in through the crack of the door like it meant to swallow everything, curling low, curling high. Fire and water together, not fighting but conspiring—destroying, consuming, leaving nothing.

Their phones were useless. No calls, no messages. Every signal cut off. Every attempt blocked.

The fire.

Ricky’s chest clenched. He glanced at Gyuvin—just a flicker of eyes meeting in the dark, but enough. They understood. They always did. Then they were moving, already out the door, chasing Gunwook into chaos.

And it was chaos.

The hall was spilling people from every side, bodies crashing into one another, shoving, pulling. Red emergency lights stuttered, flickered—then cut out completely. Darkness heavier than before. Someone screamed. Orders shouted, lost in the chaos. The ship groaned like the ocean itself had gripped its throat and dragged it sideways.

“Stay together!” Ricky tried, his voice cracking even as he said it. He clung to them—Gunwook’s steady hand in one, Gyuvin’s trembling one in the other.

They tried. God, they tried. But every path collapsed into disaster. One corridor already a wall of fire, heat lashing their faces before they could get near. Another flooding too fast to wade through, water rising like it wanted to drown them where they stood. Smoke clawed at their lungs. Each breath cut like knives. The crowd surged harder, frantic, people clawing, sobbing, shoving, running nowhere.

Gunwook tore at a door until his palms split raw. Ricky threw his shoulder against it again and again until the sound broke into a sob. Gyuvin screamed himself hoarse for help, voice swallowed by alarms, by terror, by everything around them.

They tried breaking glass, pounding until their hands shook numb—but nothing gave. Every route ended the same. Smoke, water, debris—each one ready to finish what the other started.

Minutes stretched thin, stretched cruel. Lungs burning. Bodies shaking. Hope slipping through their fingers like sand too fine to hold.

Still—they kept going. Because trying meant not surrendering. Because survival clawed at them even as the world boxed them in.

“Is there even—” Gunwook rasped, forehead pressed to the door, chest dragging for breath. His voice broke on the words. “Is there really a way out?”

Ricky swallowed, throat raw with salt and smoke. He wanted to say yes. Wanted to swear it. But the only thing that left him was a shattered whisper—

“Can we? … Can we even get out of this?”

The alarm wailed on, shrill and merciless, but between them there was nothing. Only silence heavy enough to crush.

It was Gyuvin who broke it. His hands, torn raw from the fight, shook as blood slipped into the rising water. He looked at them—his husbands, his everything—and though his voice trembled, it did not falter.

“What if we just… stop?” The words were so soft they nearly drowned in the siren’s scream. “No one’s coming. No one hears us. Past this—” his breath hitched, his shoulders quaking—“would anyone even care if we made it out?”

His hands reached for them, bloodied fingers curling desperate and shaking, dragging both of theirs into his own. “Please. If this is it, can’t we just… can’t we just spend it together? Just in peace?”

The air pressed down, thick with smoke, salt, grief. Ricky and Gunwook stared back at Gyuvin, helplessness and love tearing through them all at once. Their eyes burned—not only from the sting in the air, but from the tears they could no longer hold back.

And still, even here—even now—they chose to hold on to each other.

They had nothing left but time—what little remained of it. So they chose to spend it here, back in the room that had held them for the last seven days, the room that had seen their mornings tangled in each other’s arms, their laughter, their quiet talks before sleep. Now, it would offer them one last kindness: a final place to rest before the inevitable.

The bed was damp, the sheets clinging cold against their skin, but it still felt softer than the chaos outside. The walls muted the screaming, the desperate calls, the metallic groan of the ship giving way. Here, in this space, it was only them. The three of them. Their breaths. Their faces reflected in one another’s eyes. Their love tethering them so they wouldn’t feel like they were drifting helplessly in the dark.

The water had crept halfway up the bedframe, lapping at their legs. It would reach them soon. But not yet. Not now.

Gyuvin let his gaze linger on Ricky and Gunwook as though he could carve every detail into his heart—the curve of Ricky’s mouth, the slope of Gunwook’s cheek, the way both of them still looked so beautiful even with fear pressed into their faces. His throat burned as he swallowed back another sob, voice cracking when he finally spoke.

“Doesn’t this feel… kind of like the Titanic?” He tried to laugh, but it slipped into a tremor. Tears streamed freely, indistinguishable from the rising water.

Ricky’s lips twitched, trembling somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “Qubing…” he whispered, the absurdity of it so sharp it almost cut through the heaviness crushing his chest.

“Yah.” Gunwook’s voice was hoarse, but he forced himself to grin, to offer them some light in this closing dark. “No. We’re better than Jack and Rose.”

“Better?” Ricky repeated, almost disbelieving, his laugh breaking on a sob.

Gunwook nodded fiercely, even as his shoulders shook. “They let go. Right? But we won’t.” His voice cracked, breaking against his sobs. “We’ll hold on. We promised.”

And then, through the trembling silence, Gyuvin—sweet, foolish Gyuvin—began to sing, his voice thin and wavering, but carrying a tenderness that made Ricky’s heart clench.

“Near… far… wherever you are…” He tried to keep it steady, but the tears strangled him halfway.

It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet, Ricky couldn’t stop the wet laugh that escaped his lips, nor the way he reached for both of them at once, desperate to feel their warmth. Gunwook pressed close, clinging like he could anchor them all, while Gyuvin’s hand found Ricky’s beneath the cold water, their fingers lacing tight.

And then, maybe because his mind couldn’t stop reaching for comfort, Gyuvin’s voice cracked through the hush. A whisper at first, but heavy with the need to fill the silence.

“If you were at heaven’s gate… what would you say to get a pass?”

The question was absurd, almost childish, but it held weight. It kept them from listening too hard to the way the walls groaned, to the water lapping higher, to the alarms still bleeding faintly through the corridor.

Gunwook drew in a shuddered breath. His eyes shone with tears, but his mouth curved in a trembling smile. “I’d say I lived a fulfilling life. I have two wonderful husbands… three wonderful children. And maybe—” his voice faltered, broke, “—maybe we can meet Sol and Luna above, too.”

Ricky’s chest twisted. “Right,” Gyuvin whispered, his lips quivering around the words, “Sol and Luna passed eight years ago.”

Ricky swallowed hard, vision blurring, his voice shaking as he asked, “Do you think they’ll come running into our arms like our triplets do?”

“Maybe,” Gyuvin said, trying for lightness, even now. “But only to you. They’ve always had favoritism towards you.”

And Ricky laughed—wet, broken, the sound more sob than laugh. “We did a great job as parents, didn’t we?” His eyes pleaded as much as his words, desperate for reassurance.

“Yes.” Gunwook’s voice cracked, but he forced the conviction. “Yes, we did. They grew up just fine.”

The truth of it crushed them. They had already said good night earlier—thinking there would always be a tomorrow. They hadn’t known it would be their last. If they had known, they would have held on longer, whispered every I love you, kissed until their lips went numb. Why weren’t their phones working now, when they needed to hear their children one more time? When they could have given their final good night?

Ricky trembled, his whole body shaking with grief. He clung tighter to them, trying to pour warmth into their shivering skin, but all that came out were sobs—tears mixing with the rising water that was cold and merciless.

And as though answering Gyuvin’s earlier question, Ricky drew in a ragged breath. His voice was raw, frayed, but steady enough to carry. “If I were at heaven’s gate… I’d say that I’ve loved all my life. I have loved since the start, and I have loved ‘till the end.” His gaze fixed on them—intense, but impossibly gentle. He cupped their faces, his thumbs trembling as they brushed across wet skin. “And I’ll make a request. That I get to meet you in our next life, and the next… and the next, and every single one after. Because one life isn’t enough to love you.”

His lips pressed to theirs—a kiss so deep and aching it was almost unbearable. Every memory, every heartbeat, every ounce of their years together poured into it. Love distilled to its purest form.

When they broke apart, Gyuvin’s sob turned into a fragile laugh. “Do you want to spend all our time on kisses? You’re so fond of them.”

“No…” Ricky whispered, his voice cracking into a laugh of his own. “What if a kiss steals our breath faster than the water will?” His smile shook, but he kept it there for them. “I want to hear your voices until the end.”

Gunwook nodded, his tears slipping silently. “Then we want to hear you , Rick. Sing for us.”

Ricky blinked through the blur. “What song?”

“A good night song,” Gunwook said, voice breaking.

Ricky’s lips parted, but nothing came at first. Just air. Just shaking. Then, slowly, his voice broke into a trembling hum—the fragile beginning of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” A lullaby he had sung to their children, night after night. The melody wavered, carried on his tears.

But then the words changed, shaped themselves into something new. His own words. His last gift. His voice trembled, but it carried.

“As the night goes on
I'm falling in you deeper every day
It's not like that during the day
It's more than that when the night begins

What do you do in your night time?
What's this thought of staying by your side?
I wanna know, I wanna know
I wanna know everything

Flying through the night sky
May my heart reach you
I pray for your good night
I hope you always have good dreams

Yeah, I wish you good night

You-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
I wish you good night
You-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Good night”

His voice cracked, choked, but he pressed on, even as the water climbed higher around their chests, even as their bodies shook with cold. He sang with everything left in him—because this was their lullaby now. Their last good night.

Gunwook and Gyuvin clung to him, to each other, their sobs quieting into something almost calm, almost peaceful. Because love was louder than the alarms, stronger than the water, brighter than the dark pressing in.

The minutes stretched, cruel and quiet. The water crept higher, biting at their skin, sinking its teeth deeper into their bones until it seemed they were shuddering with the ocean itself.

“Rick, are you cold?” Gyuvin whispered, his voice breaking like glass.

“I’m fine,” Ricky answered, but the shiver betrayed him, slipping through every word, every breath.

“You’re not,” Gyuvin pressed, tightening his hold as if his arms alone could banish the frost. “Rick, you hate the cold .”

Ricky let out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—but it faded too quickly. Gunwook tried to press closer, to fold him into the kind of embrace that had always been enough before. The kind of embrace that had healed bruises, softened nightmares, brought Ricky warmth when nothing else could.

But the truth was merciless. No matter how tightly they clung, the water was still there. No matter how many jokes they forced past quivering lips, laughter couldn’t drown out the rushing silence. No matter how many times they said it’s okay, it’ll be okay , the words dissolved like salt in the rising tide.

And the end was near.

They could feel it in the heaviness of their limbs, in the way even their tears had turned cold against their cheeks. They were still young enough to be afraid of death—afraid of the unknown—but even now, even as their hearts raced against time, they chose to cling to each other instead of the fear.

Because what else was there? No one had ever come back to tell them what the end felt like. No one could promise them heaven, or peace, or anything at all. The only thing that was real, the only thing they could be certain of, was each other.

And maybe—maybe it wasn’t too selfish to want this. To want to stay wrapped up in each other until the very last breath.

They had begun together. Three hands tangled in childhood, three voices chasing the same dream. If there had to be an end, then let it be like this too—three hands still holding, three voices still trembling with love.

Please. If there was a God listening, if the world had any mercy left, let this be their final gift.

Together at the start.

Together at the end.

“Do you trust me?” Gyuvin’s voice broke, soft and trembling, but steady enough to hold.

Two nods. Two audible “Yes”es. Tears already running down their faces, refusing to stop. The world blurred—their vision blurred—but their hands stayed steady on each other, clutching tight, as if that alone could keep memory alive. They wanted to memorize it all—the curve of a cheek, the shape of a smile, the softness of lips they’d kissed a thousand times. Because maybe, if their souls found each other again, they would know. They would recognize.

Gyuvin swallowed hard. His hands shook, but his voice did not falter again. “I’ll make it gentle. Just… sleep, okay? No pain. No fear. Just peace.”

Because nobody truly wanted a painful death. And nothing—nothing—was more torturous than drowning, the water gnawing and filling and taking. Water that could cradle, that could cleanse, that could free—and yet, now, was nothing but a trap. A grave.

They trusted him. Not just because he was a doctor—Doctor Gyuvin—though that mattered. But because he was theirs. Because they had given him every ounce of trust from the beginning, and they would give it still, even here, even now, when what he asked to hold were their very lives.

He started with Ricky.

It had always started with Ricky.

“Qubing, Gonuk-ah,” Ricky whispered through tears, his lips trembling with the weight of his last goodbye. “I love you. Let’s meet again soon.”

“I love you, Rick,” Gyuvin murmured, tears slipping hot down his cold skin. He pressed their hands together, their rings glinting faintly even in the dim, glowing like stubborn proof of forever. “Please rest well. We’ll meet again. That’s a promise.”

Gunwook leaned close, reverent, every kiss against Ricky’s tears a vow, every word heavy as prayer. “I love you so much. We’ll only take a short nap. Just a nap. And when we wake up, we’ll find each other again, like nothing’s happened.”

One last goodnight kiss. The ritual they had always kept. A kiss to say we’re safe, a kiss to say we’ll see each other in the morning. Except this time there was no morning. This time it was a promise for another lifetime.

“Good night,” Ricky breathed, the last word that left his lips, softer than the water lapping at the bed. His eyes fluttered shut, and Gyuvin guided him gently, carefully—until his husband lay still, peaceful, as if he were only dreaming.

Gunwook was next.

His voice shook, but his eyes did not leave Gyuvin’s. “Gyuvin-ah… make sure you put yourself to sleep too. Don’t leave yourself behind.”

“I won’t,” Gyuvin promised. Their whispered I love you’s tangled together in the dark, overlapping, almost desperate—until Gunwook leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Gyuvin’s, to Ricky’s hand still warm between theirs, breathing in every last second of this closeness.

And then Gunwook, too, lay still. His grip never loosened on Ricky’s hand.

Now it was Gyuvin.

For one long, suspended moment, he just sat there. The alarms had faded somewhere into the background, as though the world itself had already moved on without them. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, slowing under the weight of what he had done, what he still had to do.

He turned his gaze to the window. There was nothing but blackness beyond it, but in his heart he painted it—the moon, silver and watchful. The stars, scattered and gentle. He whispered up to them, voice breaking in prayer, “Please… guide us well.”

Then he bent down, pressing his lips to Ricky’s ring, to Gunwook’s, holding them against his own trembling mouth. A kiss for them, a kiss for forever.

And finally, he laId down.

Three hands intertwined. Three rings gleaming faintly in the dark.

He closed his eyes.

It would be fine. It had to be fine. Because they were together .

The ship took 2 hours and 30 minutes before it fully capsized. 

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