xuanmiin: Ga In's point of view. I apologise in advance as there is a bit much going on here. 

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“Really?” He’s fishing for compliments again!

“In my eyes, you’re the best.” Compliments which I’m willing to give.

“That’s more than enough for Kwonnie.” He hesitates for a moment, like he’s thinking of something, “And I decided I liked Ga In-ah best. So I have no intention to change.”

“Anything that floats your boat. I think I’ve proven many times to be very adaptable, seeing how many times you changed how you address me.” I like him to call me Ga In-ah though.

“Ga In sunbaenim. Ga In noona. Noona. Yeobo. GeumJi. Ga In noona. Ga Innie. Ga In-ah.” He accurately rattles off the list of forms of address that he uses with me. “Ten years ago, I decided that I liked Ga In-ah best. Today, I still like Ga In-ah the most. It just sounds so right when I say it.”

“Kwonnie.” I intentionally drag out the last syllable of his name.

“And I decided that I like to be called Kwon-ah or Kwonnie best.”

For whatever reason, on this matter, I allow Kwonnie to call the shots. Perhaps it’s because when we met on WGM, he was the one who first suggested something like that. Perhaps it’s because the problem is simple for me, I just call him some variation of Kwon. He’s the one who started off calling me noona.

“It’s not like I’ve called you anything very much different. It’s Kwon, Kwonnie, Kwon-ah—Oh, and yeobo.” The point I get, he doesn’t see a need to further reinforce it.

He giggles, “I still can’t believe I married such a gorgeous BEG noona. You’re really mine now. I can tell all the flies to stay away from you, ‘cause now even the law recognizes that you’re mine.”

“I think that’s about as difficult to believe that I married the leader of 2AM who happens to have a set of absolutely crazy antics, and happens to be two years younger than me?”

“Quite difficult.”

“But I’ve had a lot of time to come round to the idea. I’ve decided that the idea was undeniably appealing. I think after this, there’ll be no more flies buzzing around anyway.”

“All the better. It’s nice to know I’ll be able to though. No more being grabbed by the scruff of the neck and asked if I’m the culprit. I’m the one with the legitimate claim.”

“Yes, yes. You’re stuck with me forever.”

“The idea is so pleasing. Now you can’t leave me.”

“Don’t you even dream of it.” Well, with one caveat. I would Kwonnie cheated on me. In the proper sense of the word, like was involved in a romantic relationship with another woman behind my back. I trust him enough to expect that he won’t though.

“I won’t give you any reason to leave me. I’ll treat you very well.” He’s heeded my unspoken exception. If you ask me, he’ll do the same. “And I’ll get to snuggle you to sleep every night.”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to that.” I utterly adore the feeling of Kwonnie pressed against me. Or any form of contact for that matter, like lightly touching arms or legs. It brings about that encompassing warmth from within that makes me feel really loved.

More guests join us at this point, where we go through the motions of a traditional wedding. Not to the full extent of the three days here, sedan chair and the works. But as traditional as about most weddings outside of the villages. And for some undisclosed reason, our parents wanted it at Kwon’s parent’s house, so we just went along with that decision.

Kwonnie and I couldn’t see the significance behind some things, like the movement of goods from one house to the other. Goods that we would not ever need to use. Yet our parents saw the need for this, so needless to say, we tried (and I would say were very successful) to take the whole thing quite seriously. After a couple of bows in this direction and the other, we were done with tradition.

“Let’s take a polaroid!” Suggests Kwonnie, polaroid camera in hand.

This is a complete throwback to WGM, since I distinctly remember the polaroid of us after going through a sham of a traditional wedding ceremony. Just that this time I got to choose the date, my hanbok and my groom. Except that it doesn’t really look like a choice since I nevertheless chose Kwon-ah. More accurately put, we still chose each other. It is a choice I don’t think I’ll ever regret though. I hope Kwonnie won’t either.

Another round of phototaking is in order, and many enthusiastic guests clamour to have photos taken with us. I’m change back into my casual clothes the moment the desire for phototaking dies down though, seeing that the hanbok isn’t the most comfortable attire in the world. Not to mention that no one else is in traditional wear, so I feel out of place.

At some point, Dad comes over to, once again, forcefully instruct Kwonnie to take care of his daughter. Kwon takes it v