There is something about the pretty rays of sunlight caught between the thin gaps of his fingers that calm him. At the same time, the fading daylight of the twilight rests on his ears, whispering a questioning doubt.

Someone seems to have cast an irony over the whole scene. Jongin lets the light-hearted atmosphere of colourful balloons and pastel garlands twined around the white-washed poles soak into his restless eyes. Somehow, in between, he manages to drink in the heartbreaking serenity that tugs a weathered piece of his heart.

Petals of shaded pink and white are scattered all over the soft patch of short grass painted in a lovely shade of yellowish green. The fresh droplets of morning dew dot every stalk, leaving none behind. From afar, the aisle appears like a picture-perfect view, luring him to walk down any moment soon. 

The background music is something he has personally picked out. Someone like him would go for his favourite renditions of R&B but the mellow tune of the indie tapes seems more befitting for this special once in a lifetime occasion of his life. He has never expected her to choose countryside for such event.

He stands near the lake overlooking the whole reserved venue. His wandering eyes find his mirrored reflection on the rippling surface of the crystal clear waters: a neatly tucked in pristine white dress shirt layered by a thin grey vest narrowed to fit his masculine frame and on atop them is the bespoke Armani tuxedo highlighted in sleek black. His pants are matching to his top, slim and snug around his slender ankles that disappear into a pair of shiny lace-less Oxfords.

“Hey.”

They have always been the polar opposite. He is black and he is white. He is outspoken while he is soft and demure. The transparency of the waters captures his image in cream white and Jongin wonders if he should turn back or just admire him through the blurring reflection.

“Hyung.”

Jongin courteously swivels around to see him in nothing but a stratum of humble perfection. His charcoal black hair is trimmed in nothing like those magazine coiffures; it's short and nice, immaculately framing his face in flawless angles. His white coat is pressed finely to his chest, fittingly hugging his shoulders and stylishly ending around his petite waist. A pair of ironed white slacks wraps themselves around his calves below his midriff.

“It's starting.” That voice. That deep baritone that takes the chill off his cold feet and clammy hands. The words that ensue somehow succeed in stinging his heavy heart and Jongin tries not to drop its weight. “We can't have a wedding with a jilted bride. Come on, let's not have her hanging at the altar.”

He slowly reaches out for the proffered hand, secretly relishing in the comforting folds of his smooth palms against his calloused knuckles. in a big intake of air, he lets himself be dragge