Kyuhyun left the company early on his tenth wedding anniversary. At the lobby, he bumped into Sanya, one of their trainees. Her eyes flitted from his bag to her watch. 

“Isn’t there training today?” she asked, her brows knitting in confusion. .

“It is, but I have something to attend to. Kim-seonsaengnim’s covering for me.”

She groaned and slapped her forehead. “Nobody told me.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that you’d have skipped today’s training if you’d known?”

At the disapproving hint in Kyuhyun’s voice, she straightened herself into a posture more reverent than a second ago. Her chin dipped toward her chest and her fringe swung forward to obscure most of her face. She seemed deflated in her high-school uniform. 

“Kim-seonsaengnim’s scary,” she mumbled. “It’d help if I were given some time to…you know, mentally prepare myself beforehand.”

He didn’t refute her sentiments. During vocal training, Yesung’s generally easy-going personality was substituted with another persona. During the few times Kyuhyun’d witnessed Yesung’s classes, he had a difficult time reconciling Yesung’s severe disposition with the memory of the hyung who used to convulse in silly dances on stage. To Yesung, singing was an art that deserve utmost respect. 

“You better train hard then,” Kyuhyun patted her shoulder. “Because if I know you didn’t, I’m going to be scarier than him.”

“As if I’m going to give you the chance,” she pulled a face, waved a hand in a hasty goodbye and disappeared up the staircase.

As he walked out of the building and into the open-air carpark, Kyuhyun released a small sigh. He had no doubt that, with a prodigious talent like hers, Sanya’d soon be able to debut. But how long would she last before a misstep landed her in trouble with showbiz veterans or worse, the press? Her straightforward demeanour predisposed her to offending others even though she might not mean it. Showbiz wasn’t a place that tolerated your transgressions simply because you didn’t mean it. He’d seen too many instances of that, even having experienced some of those himself.

As he buckled his seat belt, he made a decision to talk to Leeteuk when the man came back from Japan. Leeteuk was going to chide him for caring too much about the trainees again. We can warn them, but you know it as well as I do that we can’t fully protect them, Leeteuk’d say.

He’d pushed work out of his mind by the time he swung the car onto the street. The traffic was easy at this hour of the day. His plan to head straight home was briefly thwarted when he spotted a flower shop on the other side. He made a U-turn and stopped the car on the roadside.

The electronic bell chimed when he entered the shop. The smell of fresh flowers and dew tickled his nostrils. He scanned the clutter of buckets teeming with flowers, many of which he couldn’t name.

“Do you have any sunflowers?” He asked the florist who looked like she was in her late-sixties. 

“We ran out of those. How about roses?” She emerged from the back of the counter to draw a stalk of rose from the bucket nearest to her. “Today’s batch is particularly beautiful.”

“He doesn't like roses.”

Surprise crossed her face at Kyuhyun’s use of the masculine pronoun. She recomposed herself quickly “What's the event, if you don't mind me asking?”

“It's our tenth wedding anniversary.” Kyuhyun half-expected the professional smile on her face to disintegrate. He was pleasantly surprised when her smile only deepened, creasing the skin around her lips. Her eyes twinkled with wonderment. 

“No wonder you looked familiar. You're Kyuhyun. From Super Junior. My daughter was your ardent supporter… ELF, was it? She used to make me listen to your songs. I even attended one of your concerts, the one where all of you dressed up as…what’s her name again? Elsie? Or was it Elva?”

“Elsa,” he said, trying to uphold an air of nonchalance despite the embarrassment that was cramping his insides. “Thank you.”

“My daughter and I rooted for you and Ryeowook back then. She even defended you two on forums. She’s going to be so happy to know that you’re still so much in love with each other. Wedding anniversary! The tenth nonetheless.”

Warmth spread in his chest at her non-judgemental and confident assumption that Ryeowook and he were still together. When their relationship made the headlines more than a decade ago, they were faced with more hostility than support How lucky he was today to meet someone from the minority.

“How about daffodils?” She gestured at a bucket bursting with brilliant yellow.  “It's the flower that symbolises the tenth year of marriage. Would Ryeowook like them?”

Kyuhyun smiled. “I think he would.”

Later, as the florist handed him the bouquet and his change, she said, “Send my regards to him. Happy anniversary! Come back next year!”

He left the shop with a spring in his feet and a tune on his lips.

*

Kyuhyun was still humming when he unlocked the apartment door. The first thing that hit him was how quiet it was.

“Ryeowookie.” Kyuhyun called as he hung his keys on the hook board. There was no reply. 

He moved through an empty living room to peek into the kitchen. It was devoid of his husband bustling over pots and pans at the stove. Did Ryeowook get so caught up with the bakery that he forgot about their anniversary? 

His doubts evaporated when he pushed open their bedroom door.

Of course he wouldn’t forget.

On the bed, lying on his stomach with his mouth slightly apart, Ryeowook napped. An account book was carelessly splayed open a few inches away from him. His slackened fingers trapped a pen. 

Kyuhyun set the daffodils on the bedside table and lowered himself onto the bed, taking care to not wake Ryeowook up. He peered down at Ryeowook’s side profile, taking a full minute to appreciate the way the golden liquid of the evening sun highlighted the arc of Ryeowook’s cheekbones, the bridge of his narrow nose, the shape of his dainty lips. Kyuhyun glanced at the wedding photo that rested on the headboard. The way Time worked was pretty unfair. Ryeowook looked pretty much the same as he had in their wedding photos.

In a gentle swoop, Kyuhyun pressed his lips against Ryeowook’s cheek. He paused there for a few moments, his breath ghosting over the smooth skin, before pulling away. 

Three, two, one.

Ryeowook’s eyes fluttered open. Kyuhyun grinned. This method worked more than twenty years ago, when they had enough youth to dream about conquering the world with their voices. It worked now in their forties, where their teenage dreams had become distant history.

“Rise and shine. There’s no time for sleeping,” Kyuhyun cooed. 

Gradually, focus returned to Ryeowook’s glazed eyes. He sat up in bed.

“You’re back,” Ryeowook said in a voice that sounded more like a mewl. He rubbed his eyes like a child. “What time is it?”

“Nearly five.”

Ryeowook’s eyes widened, all lingering traces of sleep scattering from his face like frightened pigeons. “Oh no the chicken!” He scrambled off the bed and ran out of the room, leaving an amused Kyuhyun behind.

Kyuhyun pulled the account book onto his lap, his eyes sweeping over the neat numbers that filled the columns. He ran a hand across the page, his fingers subtly dipping and rising over the tiny impressions the pen had carved onto the paper. 

Unlike Kyuhyun, Ryeowook’d rejected Leeteuk’s invitation to join his entertainment company, having confessed that he’d like to put as much distance as possible between showbiz and himself. He chose instead to open a bakery. The bakery demanded a lot of Ryeowook’s time, and he was often tired from the late nights he spent sorting out the finances and researching new recipes. But Ryeowook was happy, and that was enough. That wasn’t to say that Ryeowook’d completely stopped singing. He still sang at home, and that gave Kyuhyun a erse kind of satisfaction, as if Ryeowook’s voice was something that only belonged to him.

Not that Ryeowook need to know about that. Kyuhyun didn’t need another lecture on his Ryeowook-related possessiveness.

Ryeowook came back into the room, looking noticeably upset. “The chicken’s overcooked. You should have woken me up sooner.”

Kyuhyun closed the book and set it aside. “We can eat out,” he said, not arguing that if the chicken had been overcooked by this point, waking up a minute earlier wouldn’t have saved it. Ryeowook was pretty much a walking landmine when he just woke up.

“I wanted us to have something special on our tenth anniversary.”

Kyuhyun wrapped his arms around Ryeowook’s waist and drew him close. He nuzzled his face into Ryeowook’s belly. “No idea what are you talking about. Every meal with you is special.”

Kyuhyun was sure that Ryeowook’d rolled his eyes, and he was just as sure that Ryeowook was no longer annoyed. When you were together with someone for more than two decades, you’d know where all their buttons are, the ones that set him off and the ones that calmed him down.

Kyuhyun peeled away from Ryeowook. He reached for the bouquet of daffodils and presented it to Ryeowook. “For you.”

“Daffodils.” Ryeowook collected the bouquet into his arms, smiling almost shyly. He sniffed the flowers. 

“The florist said that they represent the tenth wedding anniversary.”

“They’re pretty. However…” Over the bouquet, Ryeowook narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “Is that all that you have for me? After ten years of tolerating a bratty husband like you?”

“Of course not.” Kyuhyun rose from the bed, playing along. He inched closer to Ryeowook, stooping so that his lips aligned with Ryeowook’s ear. In a low whisper, he said, “I’ve also planned some…bedroom activities tonight that’d last us till tomorrow morning.” He squeezed Ryeowook’s suggestively.

Ryeowook smacked Kyuhyun on the chest. “You’re going to sleep in the living room tonight.” He huffed out of the room, but Kyuhyun didn’t miss the flaming tips of his ears.

An affectionate grin graced Kyuhyun’s lips.

What an adorable husband he had.

*

In the end, they went to a French restaurant at Gangnam.

They used to frequent the restaurant when they’d been idols. After they returned to being normal civilians, the number of times they visited dwindled to once or twice per year. The restaurant had a nice ambience, served great food, but was extremely pricey. Normal civilians didn’t earn as much as celebrities. 

“Omma called this afternoon,” Kyuhyun said after the waiter’d left with their orders. “She wants us to go home for dinner this Saturday. The little imps will be there. She said they miss us.”

“I miss them too.” Ryeowook replied, wrapping his fingers around the slender stem of a wineglass. His wedding band glinted under the gentle glow of the chandelier light. “But I’m going to have to come up with excuses to reject their piggyback requests. They’re getting heavy.”

“Just tell them you’re old.”

“I prefer to think that they’re growing up too fast.”

When they were five years into their marriage, they’d seriously considered adopting children. Both of them loved children, and the thought of any children left unloved in orphanages clawed at their hearts. They sent in many applications, all of which were denied. They knew their chances were slim, but it still hurt to be reminded that South Korea was essentially an insular society where homoual couples were deemed equivalent to an immoral and unsafe family. Ryeowook’d once cried himself to sleep over the injustice of the system and their powerlessness to change it. They’d learned to live with the void. Thankfully, Ara had three kids whom Kyuhyun and Ryeowook could love like their own.

They left the restaurant at quarter past nine. It was a weekday night and the flow of pedestrians on the street was thin. Kyuhyun held Ryeowook’s hand as they walked down a street bedecked in garish neon lights. Gone were the days where they had to pretend to be friends in the public eye by keeping that inconclusive distance between them.

Their relationship had stirred a storm when Dispatch first brought it to light. In the photo of them kissing, Ryeowook stood in full light while Kyuhyun was shrouded in shadows. The top management at SM back then wanted to secure Kyuhyun by denying his involvement in spite of the rife speculations about his identity. In other words, they wanted to hang Ryeowook out to dry. Kyuhyun refused and took matters into his own hands. He released a statement - unvetted by SM - that contained a bold declaration that Ryeowook was his.

The days that followed were cruel on the both of them. All their activities were halted. Many people took to various websites to express their disgust, some calling them names that shocked them cold. A big part of their fandom turned their backs on them.

When they enlisted into the army shortly after the scandal erupted, they were ostracised by their comrades. Kyuhyun was certain that he had it easier in the public service where he followed a nine-to-five routine. Ryeowook kept mum about his time in active duty, but there was once where Ryeowook sported a bruise on his cheek and a cut on his upper lip. That was the first time Kyuhyun was filled with enough hatred to want to kill someone. That was also the first time Kyuhyun wondered if he’d made the right decision. Ryeowook was the one who hung on to him. He shuddered to think what would have happened if Ryeowook hadn’t. 

Kyuhyun proposed shortly after they were discharged. Under the blessings of their parents and group members, they tied the knot in Prague. They didn’t return to being singers.

“Hey, Kyu, look at this.” Ryeowook tugged at Kyuhyun’s hand, plucking him out of his thoughts. 

They took a step backward to stand before a gashapon machine. Its white carapace had a sheen of aged yellow. The picture behind the transparent acrylic was a collage of Super Junior’s photos from the Mr Simple era mounted on keychains. 

“We had crazy stylists back then.” Ryeowook commented, bending forward to take a closer look at the picture. He pulled back in disbelief. “How did I let them talk me into wearing spandex shorts imprinted with fries.”

“And the feathers.” Kyuhyun added. When Ryeowook looked over his shoulder to shoot Kyuhyun a glare, Kyuhyun smiled good-naturedly, “You still looked cute though.” 

Ryeowook nodded, satisfied. He gave the knob an experimental twist. “Do you think this still works?” 

“Not sure.” Kyuhyun peered through the side of the machine. Amidst the rusty mechanism, there were a few forlorn capsules. “We could try.”

They popped a coin and turned the knob. The machine crackled and groaned like the joints of a centenarian. A capsule rolled through the flap and into Kyuhyun’s waiting hand. He twisted the hemispheres apart.

“Who did we get?” Ryeowook asked.

“Tch. Eunhyuk-hyung.” Kyuhyun feigned disgust.

Ryeowook cringed. “Let’s give it to Hyowoo on his birthday. He’d be surprised to know that his father once dressed like…this.”

For the next ten minutes, they slid coin after coin into the machine. By the time they emptied the machine, they had two Siwon keychains and one each of Heechul, Sungmin, Donghae and Shindong.

“We didn’t manage to get ours,” Ryeowook lamented.

“We were the popular ones.”

“You, maybe. But not me. Definitely not me.” Ryeowook laughed. There was nothing bitter or sad about that laugh. Time worked in amazing ways, too. It hacked at the things that once bothered you until they were nothing but a speck in the distance for you to laugh over and flick away.

A moment passed where nostalgia seized them. Neither of them spoke.

“Do you ever miss it?” Ryeowook asked, tilting his head to look at Kyuhyun. “Standing on stage, I mean.”

“Sometimes,” Kyuhyun admitted. The way Ryeowook’s eyes fell didn’t escape him. “I don’t regret a thing. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. That’s enough.”

“I often wonder where you’d be if you hadn’t chosen to do what you did. You could have the whole world under your feet.”

Kyuhyun took Ryeowook’s hand in his. His thumb brushed the back of Ryeowook’s hand. “Perhaps I’d have made it to the Grammy. But even that wouldn’t beat standing right here, next to you, as your husband. Many people can go onto the stage, but only one person can be your husband. I’m blessed to have that honour.”

Ryeowook looked as though he was trying to stop himself from smiling. “You’re as good with words as ever.”

“That’s because I’m sincere.”

“I know.” Ryeowook tiptoed to give Kyuhyun a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s go home.”

Hand in hand, they set off down the street, the balmy summer night lush against their skin, and their hearts full.

Ten years. Twenty years. Thirty years. A lifetime.

You will always be my home. With you, I am safe.

END

::::::::::

A/N: I was lazing on my bed last Sunday when I realised in shock that it was Kyuwook’s tenth anniversary the day after. If it had been the ninth or eleventh anniversary, I wouldn’t have been propelled to write this. But the tenth year of anything is always a worthy milestone to be celebrated. As expected, I didn’t make it in time. Still, Happy Anniversary to the pairing that inspired me to write the stories that I otherwise wouldn’t have known existed in me. <3