The morning sun poured through the grand windows of the bridal suite like liquid gold, its light softly illuminating the satin and lace that adorned every corner of the room.
A sweet mix of peonies, jasmine, and orange blossom wafted from the bouquet on the vanity, while a gentle rustle of silk whispered as Yuki moved, careful not to crease her gown too early.
Ayaka sat on the fainting couch near the window, her legs tucked beneath her, watching Yuki with a quiet ache blooming beneath her ribs.
The air was warm with excitement, but Ayaka's chest felt full in a different way—a wistful kind of joy that threatened to spill over with every breath.
Yuki stood before the mirror, still and regal, dressed in a breathtaking off-shoulder wedding gown that shimmered faintly under the natural light.
The bodice was delicately embroidered with white lilies and silver thread that wound like tiny vines along her collarbone and arms.
It cinched at the waist with a soft bow made of tulle, flowing into a long, cascading train that pooled on the cream marble floor like water.
Tiny pearls dotted the hem, catching light like dew on morning petals.
Her hair was styled in a half-up twist, soft waves spilling over her back while a vintage diamond hairpiece—a gift from her late grandmother—glinted from the base of her veil.
The veil itself was cathedral-length, ethereal and barely-there, like a promise whispered into the wind.
"You look like you stepped out of a painting." Ayaka said quietly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.
Yuki turned, face flushed with nerves and giddy light. "I feel like I'm about to either pass out or cry. Possibly both."
Keiko, already dressed in a sleek, pale blue satin gown with a thigh-high slit and silver heels, laughed as she fastened the final button on the back of Yuki's dress. "No passing out. You haven't even walked down the aisle yet."
Ayaka rose and walked toward them, smoothing invisible wrinkles from Yuki's skirt. "You're perfect. Fujiwara's going to forget how to breathe."
Yuki bit her lip. "Do you think he'll cry?"
Keiko and Ayaka answered in perfect unison: "Absolutely."
The bridal suite door opened and the photographer signaled it was time.
As they stepped out, Yuki's fingers trembled in Ayaka's.
The music had not yet begun, but the world already felt like it was holding its breath.
Meanwhile, in the groom's suite…
Kaito stood in front of a mirror with his best man—Takeshi—helping him adjust his cufflinks for the third time.
"Stop fidgeting!" Takeshi muttered. "You'll undo all my hard work."
"I'm not fidgeting!" Kaito said, jaw tight.
"You're twitching like you're about to perform open-heart surgery on yourself. Breathe."
Kaito exhaled shakily and looked at his reflection.
He wore a classic three-piece tuxedo, but with quiet elegance.
The midnight blue jacket was tailored to perfection, slim at the waist and broad across the shoulders.
Black satin lapels framed the crisp white dress shirt beneath, and a black bow tie sat just under his throat.
His vest was black with subtle silver threading, matching the single white rose boutonnière pinned on his lapel.
His shoes gleamed like onyx.
"I feel like I'm walking into the operating room." he murmured.
"You are." Kazumi quipped from the sofa. "Only this time, the patient is your life, and your heartbeat's already in her hands."
Kaito chuckled, though nerves still played behind his eyes.
Takeshi handed him a folded paper.
"What's this?"
"Your vows."
Kaito stared. "You kept them?"
"You left them on the windowsill yesterday. Don't worry—I didn't read them."
Kaito unfolded the paper.
His hands finally stilled.
"…She's going to break me." he whispered.
"Good." Takeshi said, grinning. "She deserves every shattered piece."
------
The chapel was bathed in warm, golden light, filtered through tall stained-glass windows that cast a kaleidoscope of color across the white marble floors.
Pews were filled with family, friends, and colleagues, all dressed in their finest.
Candle arrangements lined the aisle, flickering softly beneath hanging chandeliers and wreaths of white orchids and ivy.
Ayaka took her seat in the front row beside Keiko, who subtly dabbed at the corner of her eye.
And then—
The music began.
Everyone rose.
The heavy double doors opened slowly, as if unveiling a sacred moment to the world.
And there she was.
Yuki stepped into the chapel, hand gently resting on her father's arm.
Her gown glowed with a celestial sheen.
Each step was deliberate, floating, as though she was made of something not entirely of this earth.
Gasps fluttered through the room.
But Kaito didn't breathe.
Not until she reached him.
When Yuki stood before him, eyes shimmering, his voice caught in his throat.
"You look…" He couldn't even finish the sentence.
She only smiled. "I know."
The priest welcomed them, spoke about love as a journey, about patience and endurance and choosing each other again and again, even in the ordinary days.
Then it was time.
Kaito unfolded his vows.
His hands trembled as he began.
"Yuki…" His voice cracked.
He paused, swallowed.
"I thought I understood life. I understood the rhythm of days—rounds, shifts, patients, paperwork. I was efficient. Sharp. But something in me was empty. And then you came—loud and laughing and full of questions I didn't want to answer. And I fell."
The room was utterly still.
"You taught me that life doesn't begin at the edge of responsibility—it begins where fear ends. You are my light. My home. And I promise to never forget that choosing you will always be the best decision of my life."
Yuki was already crying when she unfolded her own vows, her voice gentle, breathless.
"You once told me that love should never get in the way of purpose. But you became mine. You became the reason I smile at strangers and hum on rainy days. You remind me that love isn't a distraction—it's the very center of everything."
She looked up, tears trailing freely.
"I promise to be your peace when the world is loud. Your warmth when the hospital is cold. And your cheerleader, always—even if your toast burns or your hair gets a little gray."
A choked laugh passed through the audience.
Kaito laughed too, blinking rapidly.
"I love you." she finished. "And I always will."
The priest didn't wait.
"With the power vested in me by the heavens, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Kaito didn't wait, either.
He kissed her like the world had paused—gently, reverently, one hand cupping her cheek, the other wrapped around her waist like he never intended to let her go.
The applause was thunderous.
Ayaka clapped with the rest, but her heart thudded unevenly.
She felt it again—that ache, that yearning.
For something like that.
For someone.
------
The reception was nothing short of enchanting.
The courtyard of the estate had been transformed into a dreamscape of soft candlelight and twilight-blue drapery.
String lights cascaded like stars overhead, and hundreds of white peonies adorned the tables, their sweet fragrance blending with the scent of vanilla and champagne.
A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding garden, carrying laughter and music through the evening air.
On the dance floor, Yuki and Kaito swayed gently, lost in their own little universe.
Their hands were laced, foreheads nearly touching, moving to the slow rhythm of a piano ballad.
Ayaka lingered near the edge of it all, her champagne glass forgotten in her hand.
She smiled when she was supposed to, nodded at the guests passing by, but her gaze… drifted.
Always back to him.
Across the courtyard, Akihiko stood by the fountain, dressed in an elegant all-black suit.
The soft amber glow of the overhead lights clung to his silver hair like moonlight.
He wasn't dancing.
He wasn't mingling.
He was watching her.
And Ayaka knew it.
"Still as distant as ever." came a voice beside her, smooth and warm.
She blinked and turned.
Makoto.
His white tuxedo jacket was crisply tailored, standing out like a gleam of polished ivory beneath the stars.
His golden hair was slightly tousled from the breeze, and those striking green eyes—always reading too much, always seeing too much—settled gently on her.
He offered his hand with a charming tilt of his head. "Dance with me?"
Ayaka hesitated for half a second before placing her hand in his. "Sure."
The moment they stepped onto the dance floor, Makoto's hand rested lightly on her waist, the other curling around her fingers with ease and familiarity.
They moved gracefully in sync, but his smile slowly faltered as he studied her.
"You're dancing." he said softly, "but your eyes are somewhere else."
She looked up quickly, startled. "No, they're not."
Makoto gave a soft, almost sad laugh. "Ayaka…"
"I'm just distracted." she said, trying to force a smile.
"You are." he agreed. "But not by the music."
Her mouth opened, then closed.
She didn't have a defense.
Makoto's expression shifted—gentle, but edged with something heavier.
He was a man used to charm, used to being wanted.
But right now, he looked like someone slowly recognizing he was dancing alone, even while holding someone close.
"I don't mind losing..." he said quietly. "But I'd rather not be strung along."
Before Ayaka could respond, a low voice interrupted them.
"I'd like a turn." Akihiko said.
Makoto stilled.
Ayaka's breath caught.
Akihiko had stepped up beside them, posture relaxed but gaze unwavering.
His tone had been polite.
Civil.
But there was no mistaking the unspoken challenge beneath it.
Makoto turned his head slightly, a small, unreadable smile on his lips. "You actually dance?"
"I do tonight." Akihiko replied, his eyes never leaving Ayaka.
Makoto looked between them.
Then, without a word, he stepped back, slowly releasing Ayaka's hand.
He didn't say "be careful" or "make up your mind."
He didn't need to.
Akihiko extended his hand.
She stared at it.
Her chest rose and fell.
And then—slowly, hesitantly—she placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers with quiet certainty.
They stepped into the music, and for the first time that evening, Ayaka stopped pretending to look elsewhere.