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The arena was packed, loud in that overwhelming way that made everything feel slightly unreal.
On stage, Seungkwan was mid-transition between segments, catching his breath under the lights while the crowd roared in anticipation.
Then the music shifted.
Soft strings.
A familiar wedding march.
He frowned slightly. “Wait… is this—”
Beside him, Dokyeom went still.
Not surprised.
Just… like he had been waiting for it.
Seungkwan turned toward him. “Why is this playing right now?”
Dokyeom didn’t answer immediately.
Because the sound didn’t belong to this stage in his mind.
It belonged to another day.
A quieter one.
Seungkwan’s sister’s wedding.
Dokyeom remembered it clearly.
Seungkwan standing slightly to the side during the ceremony, unusually quiet, eyes following every step as his sister walked down the aisle—arm linked with her husband, moving slowly like the whole world had narrowed down to that one path.
No jokes.
No loud reactions.
Just Seungkwan, watching something deeply.
That night, after everything had ended, they were at home.
In bed.
Seungkwan had leaned against Dokyeom’s chest—tired in a way that had nothing to do with schedules. His back rested against Dokyeom’s chest as Dokyeom wrapped his arms around him, his face tilted gently toward Seungkwan’s head. The silence between them was soft instead of awkward.
“Noona looked so sure,” Seungkwan had said quietly. “Walking like that.”
Dokyeom turned his head slightly toward him.
Seungkwan’s voice had been softer than usual, like he was still holding onto the image in his mind.
Then he added, almost under his breath, “I think if it were me… I’d be really nervous.”
He had laughed a little after that, like he wanted to make it sound lighter.
But he didn’t move away from Dokyeom’s embrace.
So Dokyeom stayed still too. And without overthinking it, he had said it. “I wish I could walk like that with you one day.”
The room had gone quiet after that.
Not uncomfortable.
Just still.
Seungkwan hadn’t looked up right away.
Then he shifted slightly, leaning more fully into Dokyeom’s chest like he needed a second to process something he hadn’t expected to feel so deeply.
“You say things like that too easily,” he had muttered, but there was no real protest in it.
Dokyeom had smiled faintly. “Because I mean them.”
And now—
On a stage full of light and noise—
That same memory returned like it had been waiting.
Seungkwan was still looking at him. “Dokyeomaaa… what is this?”
Dokyeom finally turned toward him.
His expression was calm, but his voice wasn’t playful.
“I saw you that day,” he said quietly.
“At your sister’s wedding.”
Seungkwan blinked.
“You were watching them walk down the aisle like it meant something real to you,” Dokyeom continued. “Like you understood it deeply.”
Seungkwan looked away for a second, a little embarrassed. “I was just—”
“You were moved,” Dokyeom said simply.
A pause.
Then Dokyeom stepped forward and offered his arm.
Not as a performance.
Not as a joke.
Just something steady.
Seungkwan hesitated.
The wedding march swelled again, soft but certain, filling the space around them like it belonged there.
Then he took it.
They started walking down the runway together.
Slow.
In sync.
Like an aisle only they could see.
The crowd was loud, but it felt distant—like it belonged to another version of this moment.
Seungkwan glanced at him. “So this is your idea?”
Dokyeom gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Seungkwan let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh, but softened halfway.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Dokyeom hummed lightly. “You noticed them so clearly that day. I just wanted you to have something like that too.”
Seungkwan didn’t answer immediately.
Because suddenly, he remembered it again—
His sister looking back once before reaching the end.
The way her husband held her arm like it wasn’t something fragile, but something chosen.
And the strange thought Seungkwan had had right there, standing in the crowd:
So this is what choosing someone looks like when it’s real.
His grip tightened slightly on Dokyeom’s arm without realizing.
Dokyeom noticed—but didn’t say anything. Just matched it.
They kept walking.
Step by step.
The music softened slightly, like it was preparing to end.
Seungkwan’s voice dropped lower. “That night…” he said, “you said that to me?”
Dokyeom glanced at him. “Yeah.”
Seungkwan swallowed, gaze flicking down for a moment before returning to him.
“…You were serious?”
Dokyeom didn’t hesitate. “I still am.”
That made Seungkwan go quiet.
Not startled.
Just… touched in a way that didn’t need exaggeration.
The runway lights glowed ahead of them, bright and warm.
For a second, Seungkwan leaned in slightly—just like that night—his shoulder brushing Dokyeom’s again, except now they were standing, moving, surrounded by noise instead of silence.
“Then don’t forget it,” he murmured.
Dokyeom’s hand shifted, gently interlacing their fingers where the audience couldn’t clearly see.
“I won’t,” he said.
And they walked the final steps together like it wasn’t a stage at all—
but something softer, something shared,
something that had started long before the music ever played.