Work Text:
“Haengbok, why are you in such a hurry?” one of her friends called out as she packed her things in a rush.
“I have to leave early,” she answered, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It’s my cousin’s wedding today.”
At twenty-two, Haengbok was a senior in culinary school, still juggling final-year projects and the occasional kitchen disaster. She hurried out to the gate where her cousin Chan’s car was already waiting.
The moment she opened the door, she froze.
There were six people crammed into a five-seater.
She squeezed herself in, immediately squished against the window, and groaned, “Can someone please move over a little? I can’t even breathe here!"
But the two twin devils—Gunil and Yuhi—pretended not to hear her. “You’re small, Haengbok, you’ll fit!” they said in unison, grinning.
“Yah! Move, you idiots!” Shinyu scolded from the front seat, turning around to glare at them. Only then did the twins reluctantly scoot a few centimeters away.
Meanwhile, Jeongin sat in the middle row, completely unbothered, headphones in, munching on potato chips while playing a game on his phone. Chan, the eldest, was driving and laughing his head off at the chaos behind him.
Haengbok sighed, leaning her forehead against the window. This is what being surrounded by too many cousins feels like—pure suffocation.
Her uncle Jisung and aunt Hyunjin’s family could practically form a volleyball team—or maybe start a family company—with their six sons. You could just tell they were a happy couple.
Unlike her own family. She was the only human child in her house. The rest were... well, animals—literally. One golden retriever, three cats (Soonie, Doongie, and Dori), a capybara named Lucky, and even a pair of chickens they kept not for meat.
The whole “having many kids or not” thing was really up to each family, but there was one thing that had always puzzled her. She’d learned in biology that as men got older, the Y chromosome—the one responsible for having sons—tended to weaken, which usually increased the chance of having daughters. But somehow, her uncle and aunt kept giving birth to boys, one after another, like their Y chromosomes were made of steel or something.
And what’s even crazier is that her aunt — slender, graceful, and now in her late fifties — gave birth naturally to twins when she was fifty. If no one told you her age, you’d never guess it.
Sometimes, Haengbok half-joked to herself that her aunt Hyunjin was actually a vampire—still looking flawless and youthful while somehow surviving six pregnancies—and that her uncle Jisung was… well, a very hardworking rabbit.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
Her gaze drifted to her cousins—each one loud, chaotic, and hopeless in their own way.
Chan, the second eldest son and currently driving, worked in computer science for some foreign tech company.
Jeongin, the third brother, was a gamer and a college junior preparing for the East Asia regional championship.
Shinyu, the fourth, was a freshman in college and a part-time model, just like Aunt Hyunjin.
And the twins, Gunil and Yuhi, were still in high school—mischievous little troublemakers who’d probably drive their future teachers insane.
Haengbok was practically vibrating in her seat. The car hadn’t even left the city yet and she already felt like a sardine in a can.
“Can we not die on the way to a wedding?” Haengbok groaned. “I still need to catch the bouquet.”
Her complaint was cut off by the car speaker lighting up—an incoming video call.
The caller ID read: ‘Bin Hyung’
“Speak of the devil,” Chan said, tapping the screen.
Changbin’s face appeared, all dressed up in his tuxedo, hair styled neatly for once. He looked terrified.
“Haengbokie! Where are you guys? You’re not even close, are you?” His voice came out an octave higher than usual.
Haengbok stifled a laugh. “Relax, oppa. We’re five minutes away. Maybe ten. Traffic’s crazy.”
Chan leaned over, grinning. “Yeah, don’t worry, hyung! Just chill and marry your wife already. It’s not an audition!”
Changbin blinked. Then scowled.
“Easy for you to say! Wait until you get married and your palms start sweating like it’s a rap battle in front of fifty thousand people!”
The entire car burst into laughter. Even Jeongin paused his game to smirk.
“Hyung,” Yuhi chimed in, “you’re sweating now, aren’t you?”
“I—shut up!” Changbin barked, and they could see Yeni’s hand gently pushing him out of frame, laughing.
“Let him breathe, guys,” she said sweetly through the camera. “He’s been pacing for thirty minutes. The triplets are getting dizzy just watching him.”
Everyone laughed again, and for a moment, the chaos quieted into something softer — the familiar warmth of family teasing one another out of love.
Haengbok smiled helplessly. And this is just the ride to the wedding… who knows what chaos will happen once we get there?
When the car finally turned into the narrow coastal road leading to the wedding venue, the atmosphere inside was still buzzing with laughter from Changbin’s earlier call.
Haengbok was scrolling through the group chat, where her brothers kept spamming stickers of nervous grooms and crying emojis.
Chan was humming along to the radio, one hand lazily resting on the wheel, looking far too relaxed for someone who was about to attend his elder brother’s wedding.
But as they approached the hall, something felt off. The faint sound of wedding music drifted through the sea breeze—along with shouting. Not cheerful shouting, but the panicked kind that made Chan instinctively slow down.
“What on earth—” Haengbok muttered, pressing her face to the window.
The moment the car stopped, chaos unfolded before their eyes. Guests were running in and out of the building; someone was dragging a half-burnt flower arch across the yard while another was trying to beat the smoke out of a curtain with a towel. The smell of burnt fabric mixed awkwardly with the scent of sea salt and perfume.
And right in the middle of the madness, Changbin came sprinting out of the hall. His shirt was half-tucked, his hair sticking out in every direction, face pale as if he had just seen a ghost.
“It’s real!” he shouted before anyone could speak. “The electric box caught fire! The hall’s filled with smoke—get everyone out!”
For a solid few seconds, nobody moved. Chan blinked, clearly thinking his brother was pulling some kind of pre-wedding prank.
“Nice try, hyung,” he said, smirking. “You almost got me.”
But then, as if on cue, a small cloud of black smoke billowed out from the open doorway behind Changbin, followed by a loud pop and a chorus of panicked shrieks from inside.
Haengbok groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “No way… the wedding venue is actually on fire?”
Changbin spread his arms helplessly, half coughing, half yelling. “Does it look like I’m joking?”
Just then, Yeni appeared from the other side of the yard, still in her white dressing robe, her hair half-curled, holding onto a makeup pouch like it was a survival kit. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat and chaos, but she still managed to look stunning—if not slightly smoky.
“The mirror room’s full of smoke,” she gasped, waving her hand in front of her face. “Someone forgot to unplug the curling iron!”
Changbin immediately rushed to her side, brushing soot off her sleeve, his expression a mix of worry and exasperation. “Are you okay? Did you inhale too much?”
Yeni shook her head, trying to laugh through her nerves. “I’m fine. Just… a little more heat before the vows, I guess.”
Haengbok exchanged a look with Chan, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. Everything was going up in smoke—literally—yet there stood the couple, soot-stained and flustered, looking like the lead pair of some romantic comedy.
And for a strange second, amidst all the chaos, Haengbok thought: This is so them. The perfect mix of disaster and devotion.
Then she couldn’t help but smirk to herself and think further, Give them a few more decades, and they’ll turn into Uncle Jisung and Aunt Hyunjin 2.0—bickering one second, inseparable the next.
The fire didn’t spread far—thankfully—but the hall was covered in smoke thick enough to choke the flowers. By the time the fire alarm stopped blaring, everyone was already standing outside, fanning themselves with the wedding programs that had now become makeshift emergency tools.
The coordinator, Yeonjun, poor thing, was nearly in tears. “We can’t use the hall today,” he announced, voice trembling. “Everything’s soaked and smells like burnt plastic. We’ll need to—uh—relocate.”
Relocate. On the day of the wedding.
Haengbok could almost hear her cousin’s soul leaving his body. Changbin, the eldest of six brothers, stood there in his perfectly pressed tux, looking as if his entire world had just gone up in smoke—literally. Yeni was beside him, one hand gripping his arm, the other trying to smooth the edge of her veil that had somehow gotten singed.
From behind, Chan jogged up and clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“Well, hyung,” he said, half-smirking, “look on the bright side. Now you can tell your kids you literally set your wedding on fire.”
Changbin turned, eyes wide. “Ya! You think this is funny?”
Chan raised both hands in surrender, laughing nervously. “Okay, okay! Just trying to lighten the mood. Don’t burn me next.”
Haengbok, who had just stepped out of the car, took one look at the chaos and sighed. “We could just move to the beach. It’s literally right behind the hall, and the tide’s low. The view’s perfect.”
Everyone paused.
Yeni blinked at her, then glanced toward the open stretch of coastline where the afternoon sun shimmered against the water. Slowly, a smile spread across her face.
“You know what? That might actually work.”
And so it began—one of the most chaotic yet unforgettable weddings in family history. Chairs were dragged across the sand, the floral arch was reassembled by uncles still coughing from the smoke, and the catering team started setting up tables right by the shoreline.
By the time the guests sat down, everyone was laughing again. Changbin was visibly calmer—though his hands still fidgeted with the edge of his tie—while Yeni whispered something reassuring that made him chuckle.
Everything seemed back on track… until the sky decided otherwise.
The first raindrop landed square on Haengbok’s cheek. She froze, looked up, and muttered, “Oh, come on.”
Within seconds, the drizzle turned into a downpour. Guests scrambled in every direction, half laughing, half screaming. Yeni’s silk dress clung to her legs, her curls collapsing under the rain, and Changbin immediately threw his tux jacket over her shoulders, shielding her as best he could.
The rain only grew heavier, pounding against the ground in relentless sheets until even the most optimistic guest gave up on waiting it out. Within moments, everyone was dashing toward the nearby banquet hall—heels clicking, laughter echoing, clothes sticking to skin.
Inside, the air buzzed with damp chaos. Someone was handing out towels, another was trying to fix the sound system that had barely survived the storm. Yeni was still wrapped in Changbin’s tux jacket, her curls damp and frizzy, but her eyes were fixed on him—worried.
Changbin sat on one of the chairs near the window, silent. His hands were clasped, his shoulders hunched, water still dripping from his hair. Haengbok could tell he wasn’t just tired; he was breaking a little inside.
He exhaled shakily. “I don’t get it… Why does it have to go wrong today of all days? I just wanted it to be perfect for her.”
Jisung stood nearby, watching his eldest son. Then, quietly, he picked up a mic from the table, tapped it twice—thud, thud. The chatter softened.
“Hey,” he began, his tone calm but full of warmth, “I know today’s been rough. The fire, the rain, the chaos—if you told me this was a test, I’d believe you.” A few chuckles rippled through the guests, but his eyes stayed on Changbin. “But you know what I’ve learned after all these years? Perfection isn’t what makes a day special. It’s the people who stay, even when everything falls apart.”
He smiled gently. “And from where I’m standing, you’ve got everyone you love right here. That’s already perfect enough.”
The guests clapped softly, Yeni reached for his hand—but Changbin’s expression was still clouded, his lips pressed tight. He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Jisung caught that. He sighed inwardly, then glanced at Yeonjun, who’d been quietly observing near the sound table. Their eyes met, and Jisung gave a subtle wink.
Yeonjun straightened instantly, picking up the cue. He clapped his hands together, voice bright and commanding, cutting through the room’s lingering tension.
“Alright everyone!” he announced, grinning. “I know it’s a little cramped in here, but who cares? We’ve got love, lights, and—most importantly—cake waiting. So how about we keep this wedding going, huh?”
A murmur of laughter and applause spread through the crowd. Then he turned toward the front with a mischievous smile. “But before we start again… I believe the father of the groom has a few words he’d like to share.”
Jisung looked at Changbin—his son, now a grown man, standing strong in his elegant suit, yet his eyes were red-rimmed with turmoil. Jisung’s heart ached. He took a deep breath, his voice low and heavy with emotion as he began to speak—not just to his son, but to everyone present, sharing a memory he had kept close to his heart for so long.
“You know... looking at you now, so handsome and all grown up, it’s hard to believe there was a time when your arrival was the biggest surprise of my life.” He began, a faint, wistful smile touching his lips. “Your mother... Hyunjin... she was a rising model back then. We were so young. I had just graduated, my career was unstable, and I felt I couldn’t possibly measure up to her family’s expectations for their precious daughter. I was afraid... afraid I couldn’t provide for her, couldn’t be the man she deserved.”
Back then, he had been so lost. The world seemed too large, his future too uncertain. Hyunjin’s laughter had been sunlight, her confidence a mirror of everything he thought he lacked. Every time he saw her on magazine covers or runways, pride and insecurity clashed violently inside him. He loved her deeply—but fear whispered that love alone wasn’t enough.
His gaze grew distant, lost in the past. “I foolishly thought the best path was a DINK lifestyle—Double Income, No Kids. I thought that was what would protect our freedom, our careers. So... I made a decision without consulting her. I went to the hospital to get a vasectomy.”
A collective, soft gasp rippled through the room. Changbin’s eyes widened, his own troubles momentarily forgotten.
He remembered sitting in that cold, sterile waiting room. The walls were white, the air too still, and his heartbeat too loud. He’d told himself it was the right thing—the responsible thing. He had filled out the forms, signed his name with trembling fingers. The doctor called him in. The moment had felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. And yet, something in him hesitated. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. His chest hurt, as if a voice inside him screamed for him to stop. He was terrified—not just of pain, but of closing a door he wasn’t ready to close.
“I filled out the forms. The doctor called my name. But... I hesitated. I was scared. Scared of the pain, scared of the finality. And then my phone rang. It was Minho, your uncle. He was frantic, telling me to come home immediately.” Jisung’s voice wavered. “So I left. I abandoned the procedure. When I got home... that’s when I found out. Hyunjin... was pregnant.”
The memory burned bright and vivid in his mind—the way the world had tilted when he heard the words. Pregnant. It had felt like every fear, every ounce of uncertainty he had buried, suddenly bloomed into something overwhelming. He’d stood frozen in the doorway, unable to breathe, unable to speak. And beneath the shock, something else stirred—a fragile, trembling joy he hadn’t expected to feel.
He looked directly at Changbin now, his eyes glistening. “But she... she had misunderstood my reluctance to get married quickly as a sign that I didn’t want a future with her. She thought I only wanted a casual relationship. So she decided to hide the pregnancy from me. She even... she even went to the clinic alone, intending to terminate it.”
A tear finally escaped and traced a path down Jisung’s cheek. Yeonjun, standing nearby, silently handed him a towel, which he used not for the rain, but for his tears.
He could still remember the night he learned the truth—the crushing silence, the way the room spun as Hyunjin confessed through trembling lips. She had stood there, eyes swollen from crying, voice breaking as she said she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t end the life growing inside her. She had realized, in that moment at the clinic, that the tiny heartbeat within her wasn’t a mistake—it was love, fragile and pure. His love. Their love.
“But she couldn’t go through with it,” Jisung continued, his voice thick with emotion. “She told me later that in that moment, she realized you were a piece of our love, our own flesh and blood. She couldn’t do it. She kept you a secret, but the morning sickness... it was too strong to hide. When her family found out, Minho dragged me over, and everything came out.”
He had never forgotten that confrontation—the shouting, the tears, the shame that wrapped around him like chains. But then came the moment he saw her—Hyunjin, holding her stomach protectively, her eyes wet but fierce. That was when something inside him broke open. All his fear dissolved, replaced by something far stronger: the desperate, unstoppable need to protect her and the child she carried.
He looked at his son, love and regret shining raw in his eyes. “All my fears, my stupid pride... they almost cost me you. I never didn’t want to marry her. I was just terrified of not being good enough for their princess. We cleared up the misunderstanding, of course we did.”
Jisung’s hand lingered on Changbin’s shoulder, his thumb brushing gently as if tracing years gone by. His voice, though still thick with emotion, softened into something warmer—like the gentle hum of old memories coming back to life.
“You know,” he said, a wistful laugh escaping him, “watching you grow up was... an adventure. You were such a difficult baby, Bin-ah. You cried so much we thought something was wrong every night. Your mother and I—two clueless first-time parents—spent half our lives trying to figure out what you wanted. You barely ate, you wouldn’t sleep, and you had a temper even back then.”
A small wave of laughter rippled through the guests. From the front row, Hyunjin called out, his voice light and teasing, “He gets that from you, you know.”
Jisung chuckled, glancing toward his wife with tender amusement. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he said, shaking his head. “But once you started preschool, you changed. Suddenly, you were eating everything in sight, running around like a little tornado. You made us worry less... but you never stopped being stubborn.”
He remembered those days so clearly—the messy breakfasts, the tantrums, the laughter echoing through the living room. He remembered coming home from work, exhausted, only to find a tiny boy waiting with scraped knees and a proud grin, eager to show off another drawing of stick figures labeled ‘Appa’ and ‘Mama.’
“When you started elementary school,” Jisung continued, “you were wild. Always outside, always covered in dirt. You’d come home tanned from head to toe, hair sticking out in every direction because you spent the whole day playing soccer in the sun. And oh, you were so mischievous. I can’t even count how many times I had to go to school because you fought with someone or forgot your homework again.”
Another murmur of laughter filled the air, and Hyunjin smiled fondly, his eyes shimmering with pride.
“But even when I was scolding you, when you said you liked your mother better...” Jisung’s voice faltered slightly, his throat tightening. “I never stopped seeing the boy with a big heart. The one who defended a classmate who was being bullied, who shared his snacks with friends, who apologized even when it wasn’t easy for him. You’ve always had this... warmth in you, Bin-ah. A kindness that reminds me of the very best parts of your mother.”
He took a shaky breath, his eyes glistening under the soft light.
“You used to make me so angry sometimes,” he admitted, smiling through the tears. “But you also made me proud every single day. Watching you grow—watching you fall, learn, and rise again—it was the hardest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever done.”
Jisung stepped closer to Changbin, placing a trembling hand on his shoulder.
“I know I haven’t always been the most expressive father. I’ve scolded you, been hard on you, and I don’t say ‘I love you’ nearly enough. But Bin-ah... seeing you here today, building your own life, your own family... my heart is so full. I have always, always only wanted the very best for you. Your happiness... that’s all that has ever mattered to me.”
He paused, his gaze softening as a bittersweet smile curved his lips.
“Do you know why I was always so strict with you?” he asked quietly. “Because you remind me so much of myself when I was your age. The same spark, the same stubbornness, the same dream. Back then, I wanted to be a rapper, a singer, a producer—music was my everything. But life... it took me somewhere else. I let that dream fade.”
His voice wavered slightly, heavy with the weight of memory.
“So when you said you wanted to follow that same path, I was scared. Scared that you might give up like I once did. That you’d get hurt the way I did. But you didn’t.”
A faint laugh escaped him, trembling yet full of pride.
“Even when you tried something else—like when you worked as a realtor—I could see it in your eyes. You were still that boy who breathed music. There were times you were tired, discouraged... but you never stopped loving it. Your love for music—it’s stronger than mine ever was.
And that’s why I’m proud, son. Because you didn’t just inherit my dream—you made it real.”
He could no longer hold back. The memories of that frightened young man in the hospital, of the trembling hands that once tried to choose reason over love, of the moment he first held his newborn son—they all rushed back like the rain outside, unstoppable and cleansing.
Memories flooded through him then—the sound of little feet on the hardwood floor, the quiet hum of lullabies sung in the middle of the night, the first time Changbin called him ‘Appa,’ the first time he ran into his arms after a school play, sweaty and beaming with joy. All those moments, stitched together by love and frustration and wonder, now returned to him like a slow, aching symphony.
Jisung’s voice broke softly as he whispered, “And now, seeing you here… starting your own family… I finally understand how my parents must have felt. The pride, the worry, the letting go. I guess... this is what love does to us. It makes us strong, but it also hurts in the most beautiful way.”
He paused, his eyes flickering toward the crowd—toward Hyunjin, who was already standing, tears glistening as he made his way forward. Jisung’s lips trembled into a small smile when Hyunjin reached him, wrapping his arms gently around his waist.
“Thank you,” Jisung murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked at Hyunjin. “For everything. For raising him with me, for loving him even when I lost my patience, and for being the calm when I couldn’t be.”
Hyunjin smiled through the tears, pressing his forehead lightly against Jisung’s shoulder.
Jisung exhaled shakily, his gaze shifting to Yeni—the bride standing quietly a few feet away, eyes glossy, hands clasped tightly together. He took a step toward her, his tone warm, sincere. “And thank you, Yeni,” he said softly, his voice carrying over the quiet murmurs of the guests. “For loving my son—for standing by him through every storm, for seeing in him the good that even I sometimes missed. I couldn’t have wished for anyone better for him.”
Yeni’s eyes overflowed, and she bowed her head slightly, her lips trembling into a smile.
Then Jisung turned back to Changbin, his eyes shimmering under the soft light. “Bin-ah, for me and your mother, you’re the greatest blessing, the most wonderful surprise we could have ever imagined.”
Changbin’s lips quivered, eyes brimming with tears. Without another word, Jisung reached forward and pulled his son into his arms again—this time not as a father consoling his child, but as a man letting go of the little boy who had once clung to his finger.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds drifted apart slowly, and a faint rainbow emerged in the distance—its soft colors stretching gently over the garden, like a quiet promise. The air was cool and sweet, carrying the scent of fresh grass and rain-soaked roses. Someone gasped softly, pointing upward, and suddenly, the somber stillness turned into tender awe.
Yeonjun cleared his throat with a small smile. “Well,” he said, his voice light but warm, “it seems even the sky wants this wedding to happen. Let’s continue, shall we?”
The garden burst into gentle movement again. Staff members hurried to wipe off the raindrops from the chairs, the soft ivory ribbons fluttering slightly as a breeze passed through. The archway—made of white lilies, baby’s breath, and pale pink roses—had held strong despite the downpour, and the petals now glistened with tiny drops of water like diamonds. Strings of fairy lights twinkled faintly under the awning, their glow reflected in the puddles scattered across the cobblestone path.
Down the aisle, delicate mason jars filled with daisies and lavender lined the walkway, their scent blending with the rain in a sweet, nostalgic mix. The guests returned to their seats, some fixing their hair, others smiling at the rainbow still lingering above them. The pianist began to play again—a soft, heartfelt melody that seemed to float through the air, carrying the emotions of the moment.
Inside, Yeni was getting ready. Her original dress was damp and creased, but Minhwa had already appeared beside her with her own wedding gown—simple, elegant, and glowing with a gentle sheen.
“Wear this,” Minhwa said softly, handing it to her.
Yeni hesitated, shaking her head. “Unnie, I can’t—”
But Minhwa only smiled, her eyes kind. “You can.”
No more words were needed. Yeni’s lips trembled as she accepted the dress, and when she stepped out minutes later—hair pinned up with fresh daisies, the gown hugging her figure gracefully—the entire room seemed to still for a moment. Minhwa stood there waiting, her gaze warm and proud. The two sisters met halfway and hugged tightly, the kind of embrace that spoke a thousand words they didn’t need to say aloud.
Outside, as the first notes of the wedding march began, the sunlight broke fully through the clouds. The rainbow still hung above the garden, and under it, Changbin turned toward the aisle—his eyes softening when Yeni appeared.
Yeni walked slowly, her gown flowing like liquid light, every step delicate yet confident. The triplets—her and Changbin’s adopted children—followed right behind her, tiny hands clutching the edges of her dress to keep it from touching the damp grass. Their matching floral crowns bobbed as they walked, faces full of pride.
Ahead of them, Haengbok—Yeni’s niece—served as the flower girl, sprinkling handfuls of white petals down the aisle with each step. The petals caught the sunlight, swirling and glimmering like a gentle snowfall.
The garden was breathtaking in its quiet recovery after the storm. Strings of fairy lights glistened between the trees, glass droplets from the rain reflecting tiny sparks of color. Rows of hydrangeas, daisies, and baby’s breath framed the aisle, their fragrance mingling with the crisp scent of rain and grass.
The guests watched in reverent silence, some wiping away tears, as the rainbow arched like a blessing above them.
When Yeni reached the altar, Changbin reached for her hand, his touch trembling slightly but firm. Yeonjun, standing as officiant, smiled softly before clearing his throat.
“Today, under this sky that couldn’t decide between rain and sunlight, we gather to celebrate something that has always weathered both—love.”
Changbin took a slow, steady breath before turning to face the guests.
“Before I say anything else, I want to thank my parents,” he began, his voice warm but emotional. “Appa, Eomma… thank you for teaching me what love truly looks like—not through perfection, but through patience, forgiveness, and strength. You’ve shown me that love is not about always agreeing, but about always choosing each other, no matter how hard life gets.”
He glanced at Hyunjin and Jisung, both visibly moved. “I hope the love Yeni and I share will be just as strong, just as enduring.”
He then smiled, his gaze sweeping over the familiar, beloved faces in the crowd.
“And to my brothers, the ones who were always getting into mischief with me—thank you for being my partners in crime and my pillars of support. To Aunt Minhwa and Uncle Seungmin, and our little Haengbok, you have always been my second family. Thank you for all the laughter and the unwavering love.”
Finally, his eyes settled on his grandparents, brimming with gratitude. “And to my grandparents, both maternal and paternal, thank you for bringing my wonderful parents into this world. Without you, I wouldn't be standing here today.”
Then he turned to Yeni, his expression softening.
“They say first loves never last—that the person you fall for at seventeen will never be the one you spend your life with.” His lips curved into a trembling smile. “But I proved them wrong. I did it, Yeni. I stayed.”
A few guests chuckled quietly, touched by the sincerity in his tone.
“People call me stubborn sometimes,” he continued, his eyes glinting with affection. “But in love, there’s no such thing as being too stubborn. Because if I hadn’t been, maybe we wouldn’t be here today. I want our love to be as beautiful and steadfast as my parents’—to last through storms, through years, through everything life brings. Thank you for loving me, for believing in me, and for making me a better man.”
Yeni’s eyes shimmered as she took the mic.
“Bin… I think I’m the one who should be saying thank you.” Her voice was steady, but full of feeling. “You knew my past. You knew I was once married and that it ended painfully. I thought no one would ever look at me the same again. But you… you didn’t judge me. You saw me, the real me, not my mistakes.”
She paused to smile at him, her eyes soft. “I used to think your feelings for me were fleeting, that they were too young to last. But I was wrong. You’ve shown me patience, care, and a kind of love I thought I’d never deserve again. Thank you for proving me wrong.”
Yeni then turned slightly toward Jisung and Hyunjin. “And thank you, Appa and Eomma, for raising such a kind, thoughtful man. You did a wonderful job.”
Changbin laughed quietly, brushing a tear from his eye. “You’re flattering me too much,” he teased gently, then added, “But if that’s the case, then for the rest of my life, please continue to guide me well, okay?”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, mingling with soft sniffles.
Yeonjun smiled warmly and raised his hand.
“Then, with all hearts gathered here—under a sky that chose to bless us twice, with both rain and light—I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The triplets clapped excitedly, Haengbok squealed, and as Changbin leaned in to kiss Yeni, the rainbow above them glowed brighter—as if even the heavens couldn’t resist smiling at the love they’d built together.
Every sitcom has its pilot and finale.
However, the one called SKZ Family will keep going—because stories built on love, laughter, and family never truly end.
The wedding of the Yang family’s first prince isn’t a finale, but the beginning of a brand new season.
After all, in this family, we never say goodbye—only see you in the next episode.