"Stealing the Bride"

A Two-Shot Featuring Park Kyung & Zico of Block B, and You

Part One of Two Parts

Something Old: A Memory

You had owned the same jewelry box since you were younger. It was round, made of smooth wood that had been painted a fairytale-princess-pink, and when you opened it, the song "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" from the Wizard of Oz movie was supposed to play.

One day after your mom gave you the jewelry box, whatever was supposed to cause the song to play stopped working. You'd opened the lid and closed the lid, but the box would no longer sing to you.

It was 'Bertha.' That's what you called it whenever something went wrong or broke unexpectedly. You'd given it a name because at that time, you had been learning about the idea of personification in school. The idea of naming things that you can't touch, or situations you don't understand. So some people say "when it rains, it pours" whenever things go badly, but you would simply say it was 'Bertha' messing things up again.

Even though the music was gone, your small hands filled the box with every treasure a little girl could think of: plastic earrings, fake pearl necklaces, cheap rings made of metal that made your little fingers itch or that left behind a green mark on your skin when you put them on.

Then you grew up, but even though you were now a grown woman, your pink jewelry box was still packed with the friendship bracelets from elementary school, plus old rings and earrings that you'd bought out of those machines at the supermarket years ago.

The few things of actual value in the box nowadays was your only grown-up jewelry: one pair of silver earrings and a simple golden bracelet.

Something New: A Big Girl Now

Six A.M seemed like such an unfair hour to wake up. During this time of year, even the sun didn't get up this early -- but the company you worked for didn't much care about that.

Showered, chose a blouse, changed your blouse to a different one because you thought it didn't look good on you today, put the first blouse back on again. You rushed around your apartment getting ready -- surrounded by silence except for Zico's light snoring.

Zico...even after dating him for over eight months, you still tended to call him that instead of Jiho, his birth name.

As for him, he called you one thing: his. You were his girlfriend, and when he was in one of his especially masculine "I am man, hear me roar...with swagger manliness" moods, you were his woman, his baby girl, his boo.

You peeked into the bedroom, briefly pausing your morning routine. Your big boy rapper was cocooned in the blankets burrito-style so that only his face with its rounded cheeks was visible.

At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to go over there and kiss the tip of that nose of his -- that only slightly big nose that his bandmates loved to about.

Again, your workplace wouldn't accept "being in love" as an excuse for being late. They barely accepted that excuse the last time you used it, and before that time, your boss actually Googled 'Zico-itis' when you'd said that was the reason you needed to finally use your paid day-off privilege.

I'd love to float in a beautiful cloud of love with my boyfriend, with Cupid flying around playing "Nillili Mambo" on a harp, but I have to earn a living -- you reminded yourself with a groan --- Even though I have a severe, reoccurring case of Zico-itis right now, only curable by his touch and his goofy smile, but I have work to do. Damn this being a responsible adult thing!

You tore your eyes from the sleeping Zico and went into the hallway.

Your body suddenly tilted to the right. You looked down toward your feet. One of your high heels had unexpectedly become a flat.

"Good morning to you, too, 'Bertha,'" you mumbled, talking to the unlucky incident of your broken heel like it was a person. You'd continued your childhood habit of calling ole Miss Misfortune by the name of 'Bertha.'

You hobbled back into the bedroom, back into your closet, and swiped up a pair of wedge shoes.

Zico stirred around on the bed, but he didn't wake up.

One of his tight warm bear hugs would feel excellent right now -- you thought, 'fluffy as marshmallow' memories returning to you -- nothing is better than when he wraps me in those long, thick arms of his and kisses me on my forehead or on the top of my head. Then he'd say, breathing onto my neck as he spoke his words into my ear, that I'm the cutest sweetest woman he's ever seen...and how happy he was that his mom liked me.

Of course, that last part always calmed your body down a bit. You loved hearing about his mama, but it was a little awkward to mention parents while you had slightly dirty thoughts in your mind. You and Zico had been in a relationship a long time, but had managed to not go too far in the bedroom yet. He'd said he didn't want to make the same mistake he'd made with past girlfriends -- where the physical came way too early.

If he made love as well or good as he rapped, then those old girlfriends were obviously insane to not stick around. So even though you weren't a little girl anymore, marathons of making out with him had kept you chill enough, and he had all of that experience of abstaining that he'd gained while living in his entertainment company's dorm.

You forced yourself from the bedroom and out of your own thoughts. Then you hurried back into the bathroom.

"I really need to clean this thing out, one of these days," you said to yourself, reaching for the old jewelry box on the counter. "I'll just grab my earrings out of here, maybe go old-school by grabbing a Poptart or something, and then get going out the door..."

You raised the lid on the keepsake box, filling the bathroom with the dreamy sound of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." The soft tune was soothing -- and so unexpected.

"But...but this jewelry box hasn't played music since I was a kid," you said, staring at the open box.

Then you noticed something else.

Resting on top of the plastic earrings, Hello Kitty rings, and tangles of cheaply-made necklaces was a small velvet box.

Where did this come from? -- you wondered, picking up the mysterious box. It was rose-red in color, and fit onto the palm of your hand.

"Hey, baby?" Zico whispered closeby. It was the quietest you'd ever heard him.

You turned to your right and saw him standing in the doorway.

He was dressed in a black suit and tie. He'd even slipped on some shiny dark loafers -- the good ones, his church shoes. Zico nodded and struck some poses like he was at the end of a fashion runway. He knew that he looked fine.

"Jiho!" you gasped, covering your mouth with one hand. "Oh my...what? What are you doing...what, what, what is happening?"

"Yeah, I got you stuttering like Jaehyo. Ha! Baby, open the jewelry box again." Zico made a circular motion with his right index finger -- indicating that he needed the music to start from the beginning.

This man already had you weak -- seeing him looking so smooth in his suit. With a shaking hand, you lifted the lid of your old jewelry box. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" began to chime from the container and play in the bathroom again. You knew something was about to happen. You knew, because the corner of his mouth arched upward -- giving his lips and face the look. It was the look he always wore when he was about to perform.

Then he did. Right there in your bathroom, while donning a tailor-made suit, Zico began to rap. He moved his hands rhythmically as he showed off his skill like he was doing it at a Block B concert.

He was rapping while "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" spilled from the jewelry box...actually spitting rhymes with a song from the Wizard of Oz as background music. How...just how? -- you gazed at Zico in awe -- but nothing was ever impossible for Jiho.

You could barely concentrate on his words -- your heart was beating so fast. He rapped about how love had made him a crazy man but a better man...about how his friends said he'd gone from soft to softer like 2-ply tissue...about how he would try his best to be good to you for the rest of his life...

He walked into the bathroom and stood next to you in front of the mirror. At the sight of his messy bed-head and uncombed hair, he boomed with laughter. You loved his laugh. It was ridiculously loud, but it always warmed you from the inside-out when you heard it.

Then he took the little red box from your trembling hand.

Was this...could this really be happening? -- you thought in shock and joy and fear...fear that this was only a dream.

You needed to sit down. Keeping your eyes locked on him, you backed up and sat down on the toilet. Thank goodness the lid was down.

Zico remained on his knees but slid closer to you. He was kneeling in front of you with his arms wrapped on either side of your body. His face was just inches from yours. There was a seriousness on his face. It was obvious that he wanted this to go right, that he'd planned every moment of this already.

He slid his empty hand gently down your arm. Then he held your hand. Park Kyung, one of the crazy guys from his band (well, with Kyung, crazy was an understatement), loved to give Zico a hard time about this -- about how he'd become the kind of guy who wanted to hold your hand all the time, everywhere.

Park Kyung -- that dude was something else. Sweet, but he was one curly-haired ball of silliness, weirdness, and outer spacey-ness rolled into one small guy with a gigantic smile. And for some reason, he'd never really liked you that much.

You touched Zico's dark hair with its dyed-blonde streaks. He briefly rested his chin on your knee to encourage you to touch him more. Then he lifted his head again, sat straight up and looked into your eyes.

"All of this is going to sound greasy as hell -- sorry, man, I'm really not trying to curse right now," he laughed his thundering laugh again, but kept his hand linked with yours. "Girl, I want you to know that you don't need another man but me. I don't care if you want to call me Zico or Jiho or Big Nose Reggae Man for the rest of my life --"

"What? I've never called you that," you laughed, some of your nervousness slipping away.

"I know, but if you want to, I wouldn't care. All I know is that I need you to be mine, be part of me. It don't matter what you call me, but I want to call you Mrs. Woo. I need you to be with me every day that I'm on this earth. I need you to be my wife and I need to be your man -- didn't I tell you this would be greasy? Damn. Oh -- sorry. I'm messing this up -- girl, why are you making me so nervous?"

I...I...did he just...did Zico just ask me to...marry him? -- you stared at him, unable to speak. Yes...yes...right now, I'll marry you...yes, please...yes!

But your mouth had somehow forgotten a little concept called 'words' and 'speaking'. You were being flooded with happiness -- no, it was joy -- and your mind wasn't cooperating.

Thinking he'd messed up, Zico flashed a big shining smile at you. He outstretched his arms, then reached up and softly tilted your face closer to his mouth.

"I love ya, baby!" he said with the cutest voice he could manage. Then he laid one of his big, all-lips, trying-to-be-cute-and-it-works kisses on your cheek. He made the kiss as sloppy as possible on purpose, and then continued doing it -- even loudly making the muah kiss sound.

"Yes, Zico, I'll marry you -- oh, why are you so goofy!" you giggled as he persisted to claim your cheek with his lips again and again. He rose up from his knees with you still seated on the closed lid of the toilet. You squirmed playfully against his wide chest, and as if he were a little boy teasing a little girl, Zico added some tickling with his kisses. "You're a mess, you know that? I love you so much...stop that, don't tickle me, Jiho!...you're so cute, I swear..."

"So you wanna be Mrs. Woo? You love me, huh? You're the cute one, girl," Zico said with that huge grin of his, and he sealed you within his arms again -- holding you in that bear hug you'd wanted ever since you woke up this morning. "I'll make sure everything goes right, baby. You won't have to worry about nothing. Cucumber will be my best man, and Pyo said he's going to get ordained as a minister on the internet so he can marry us. I don't know if that's legit or not, but I don't even give a damn right now because I've got you. That's all that matters, that's what is important."

As you wrapped your arms around his neck, you mentally grasped his words. Goofy, outspoken P.O. with his "caveman" voice as the minister? Kyung as the best man -- the best man who didn't like you. Not forgetting Jaehyo, Taeil, Minhyuk/B-Bomb, and Yukwon/U-kwon to complete the hypothetical wedding roster. This wedding will most likely be interesting.

But your fiancé Zico was right: you had each other and that was all that mattered.

My fiancé Zico...my future husband Jiho -- you thought happily to yourself. You hadn't even looked into the little red ring box yet nor did it capture your attention at the moment. You were in love, getting married to the sweetest guy in the world, and if 'Bertha' didn't cause anything to go wrong, your wedding day was going to be the happiest day of your life.

...If only weddings were that simple.

Note: This is a two-shot story. In Part Two, we will conclude "Stealing the Bride."