Chapter Text
“Good evening, everyone.”
The officiant’s voice was calm, steady — the kind of tone that made people sit straighter and pretend they weren’t dying of boredom. “On behalf of Kim Dokja and Seo Hana, I’d like to extend a warm welcome to you all. We’ve come together today to celebrate the love between them and witness the start of their new life together.”
Polite applause rippled through the hall.
Kim Dokja smiled vaguely, like someone who had been awake too long. The bride beside him beamed, delicate in lace and nerves.
The officiant continued, “My name is Mr. Park, and it’s my honor to officiate this union. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Kim Dokja and Hana during our preparatory meetings—”
(They’d met once. Dokja had said exactly twelve words.)
“—and it was immediately clear how much thought and care they’ve put into this day.”
Dokja blinked once. He’d put zero thought and less care.
Across the aisle, Han Sooyoung was quietly shaking with laughter. Yoo Sangah elbowed her to stop.
Mr. Park went on. “Before we proceed, Hana’s cousin has kindly agreed to read a poem that reflects their bond.”
A nervous young woman stood, unfolded a piece of paper, and began reading in a trembling voice.
“Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement… it is being content in quiet understanding…”
Dokja nodded absently. It sounded less like a love poem and more like a tranquilliser ad.
The bride sniffled. The cousin sniffled. Sooyoung whispered something under her breath that made Sangah smack her again.
Finally, mercifully, the officiant took over once more.
“Thank you for that beautiful reading. Now, before we move on to the vows, I’d like to share a brief reflection.”
He cleared his throat.
“Love, as we know, is patient and enduring. It’s about finding the person who feels like home, who stands by you through every storm.”
Dokja’s expression didn’t move. His shoulders did, though — a small, controlled exhale.
“Now,” Mr. Park said, smiling at them both, “if there is anyone here who knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
The silence that followed was heavy but calm — the quiet of an air-conditioned room, the steady hum of anticipation.
Until it wasn’t.
The two main ceiling-to-floor doors banged open.
Every head in the hall turned toward the sound.
A man stood framed in the doorway — tall, broad-shouldered, dark suit immaculate but slightly rumpled, as though he’d come straight from a fight he hadn’t quite finished. His hair was wind-swept, his jaw set. He scanned the room, glaring at anyone who dared meet his eyes.
Then, clear and unwavering, he said:
“I do.”
The registrar blinked. “...You do?”
“I object,” Yoo Joonghyuk said flatly, finally meeting Kim Dokja’s eyes.