You were far from forgiving, far from forgetting. The taste of loss was not entirely foreign to you. You were used to it. Well aware of its subtleties. Of the pain. Of the sickening stench it brings. You lost your family without burying them in the ground, without funerals and mourners. After reflection, you figured you never really had a family. You were a mere business means to your parents. A product that increased sales and kept the company you eventually destroyed at the top of the charts. That's why the insults your mother hurled at you weren't really painful. Her tear-stained eyes as she watched the prosecutors clean out the house did not evoke any feelings a daughter should feel in such a situation. In fact, those feelings didn't even show themselves as you sat on the bench and silently listened to the judge sentence your father to ten years in prison for conspiracy to commit murder.

But now, as you stood in front of Jimin's grave and saw his beautiful smile on the picture you had hung next to his name, your dormant feelings were reawakened. It was a picture his sister had taken a few months before he died. She had sent it to you at your request. He looked happy, despite the small hint of longing in his eyes. He seemed content with what life had given him, and you wished you could have given him more than what you had taken from him. You wished you could have wrapped your absence from his life with a pretty bow and given it to him instead of the presence you selfishly insisted on until it led him to his dismay. You wouldn't have stood in front of his name stone if you'd accepted that you weren't meant to be together in the first place.

But the "what ifs" rarely changed destiny. They seldom changed realities. You weren't here to focus on your regrets and drown in them. You were here for him. You were here to free him - and free yourself from the shackles of a past that can't be changed, no matter how much you blame yourself.

"I kept my promise, Jimin. I made sure he paid for what he did to you."

The weather was beautiful, albeit cold. The sun was shining and the bright rays warmed a place that was filled with the chill of death. You sighed and looked around. A few visitors held monologs that went unanswered. Undiscussed. After another sigh, you went back to what you were going to say: "I may have even kept another promise without even meaning to. I buried our past in my heart, Jimin, just like you wanted me to, and moved on. But I want you to know that you will always be my first love. You will always be the man who made my heart feel emotions I didn't know I could feel. Thanks to you, I learned what love feels like, and I will always be grateful for that, Jimin."

The tears running down your cheeks were heavy, but not painful. They were liberating. A mixture of acceptance and the end of grief. You were sure he was glad that you had finally stopped mourning him. You were sure that he was now at peace and free from the burden of grief you had placed on him. "I release you and myself, Jimin, but you will remain in my heart forever."

Your fingers caressed his features behind the glass, your eyes taking in his smile and imprinting it on your brain. "I won't come here as often from now on to keep my promise, but if you miss me, just show up in my dreams and I'll come here the next day. Pinky promise."

There was no goodbye to say. There was no hugging either, but you did both in your heart and slowly walked away from the cemetery, leaving behind a past you didn't regret for a second. A past full of love and a single regret: the late acceptance of your fate. Your car was cold, and you shivered a little as you sat on the leather and pressed the start button. You turned on the radio, not to listen to peaceful or sad music, but to find out how today's court hearing was going.

Your father-in-law's trial.

Part of you wanted to be with your husband on a day like this. A day filled with so many complicated feelings. You wanted to give him a part of what you took from him. You wanted to give him the reassurance and support he gave you when you needed it. But another part of you was afraid to see his vulnerability. You were afraid to see his compassion for a person you hated deeply. You couldn't blame him. After all, the man was his father. But you didn't know if you'd be able to hold his hand and ease his burden when you were sure you'd feel triumphant when you saw the officers handcuff him and take him to the place where he belonged.

It was complicated, and from the beginning, your story with your husband. Atypical. Unusual. The kind of romance no publisher would buy from an author. But you came to terms with the quality of the ink it was written in. You liked the color and consistency of it. That's why you were a few blocks from the courthouse, meandering through the alleys in search of a parking lot where you would wait for a man who had lost the maternal affection and youthful romance his heart had beaten for because of the man who was supposed to protect everything he valued from the thief that is this world.

The press crowded the stairs leading to the courthouse. Cameras and microphones rushed towards the only source of information as soon as he stepped out of the sheltered doors of the courthouse, oblivious to the fact that he was a son suffering from seeing his father on the road to ruin. You wished to have his hand in yours when they questioned him about his father's judgment. You would hold it warmly in yours. Dab away his sweat and nervousness and transfer it to yours instead. But you were afraid he would take it away and leave your hand unprotected to the cold of the weather. You were afraid he'd look at you and be reminded that the nervousness was caused by you and your intrusion into his life, which was why you resigned yourself to watching him from afar, behind the window of your car.

Almost an hour after you parked your car at a vantage point outside the courthouse, the journalist ran up the stairs like a flock of vultures ready to devour a dead body. Flashbulbs recreated the storm of an angry sky as the cameras snapped pictures of your husband. He looked impeccable. A black mohair suit with an equally black shirt and tie wrapped his lithe body in a way that was hard not to be impressed by. He claimed respect by the looks before the words. Claimed trust. And you found yourself thinking how different he looked compared to his father. He wasn't trying to impress. He didn't try to show colors that weren't his. He assumed who he was, with the good and the bad, and didn't bother to paint flowers without thorns just so people would find them romantic.

"Do you think this is the end of Goryo Holdings, Mr. Kim?"

"What is your response to the accusations against the transparency of your leadership, Mr. Kim?"

"Will you step down from your leadership position as chairman of Goryo Holdings?"

Taehyung didn't have time to answer one question before the next one came up. He watched in silence as the journalists put him on the same shelf as his father with a look on his face that didn't give much away. An expression that you were sure would be criticized and heaped with attacks in every column the journalists would write, but you wished at least one of them could see him for what he was. You wished someone could see that underneath the mask of strength, he was just a wounded child who had forcibly lost the last connection to his father in order to remove the danger he was exposing people to.

You got out of the car and leaned against the driver's door. It wasn't long before he spotted you, held your gaze and smiled slightly. "Goryo Holding will continue its legacy under my leadership. I will not deny that dust has gathered over its name, but I promise to cleanse it and restore the trust that has been lost. Goryo Holdings is a place where many people earn their bread and I will do my best to ensure that these people are fed, medicated and relieved of worries so that they can happily take care of their families and enjoy their lives, even if it means starting everything from scratch."

You walked slowly but surely towards the crowd while a thought settled in your mind: you will hold this man's hand from now on and help him fulfill his promise to the best of your ability, because he deserved to be seen from the same perspective your eyes saw him from. He deserved a second chance from people, just like the second chance he gave you, and that you gave him. You took the stairs, one step, two steps, three steps. Baby steps. Sure steps. And when his eyes never left your gaze, your presence was noticed by the journalists and that's when you took off your sunglasses to be as bare to their cameras as he was. The flashbulbs didn't bother you as you smiled at him, and he didn't seem to want to keep his stoic face either as he returned your smile with a warm one. An honest one. A loving one. More steps followed, but this time with alacrity, until you were exactly one step below him. You held out your hand and offered him your support for life. For tomorrow and whatever it may bring. And he didn't hesitate to intertwine his with yours, promising you without words that he would be there for you now, tomorrow and forever.

"Let's go home, husband."

"Let's go home, wife."

Taehyung's driver stopped in front of the court as you left the journalists and the past behind. He opened the back door for him, but Taehyung patted him on the shoulder and said, "Take the day off. I'm going to ride with my wife today."

The drive was without a destination, even though your destination was supposed to be home. But home isn't just a few bricks that make up a few walls you can stay behind. Home was where you were together. Home was your existence together. Home was your feelings for each other. Home was you for him. Home was him for you.

"It's finally over." Taehyung said after a long silence that wasn't awkward at all.

"It is." You quipped, exchanging the concentrated look you had on the road for his eyes. They were shining. Stars populated the midnight color of his irises. "How are you feeling?"

Taehyung chuckled. It wasn't mocking. But it wasn't out of amusement either. He turned his head and looked at the trees rushing past you. He didn't know where you were going. He just enjoyed being with you instead of being alone. He thought about your question and wondered if he could tell you that whenever he imagined the end of his father, at the peak of his victory, he saw himself alone, isolated and rejected by the world. He feared you would judge him if he told you this. He expected to be judged if he said he always dreamed of this day, ever since he felt the pain his father had inflicted on his mother. It was morbid. The hatred he had for this man. It was also confusing how much he wished the man could change so he could do his best to forget the past and forgive him. But that small seed of hope withered with the lack of remorse his father showed him. It had shriveled and became soulless as the man portrayed his mother's escape from hell as an act of mental derangement, as if he himself had not been the cause of it.

"I feel nothing." He turned his gaze to you, "that's fucked up, isn't it? I just put my own father in jail, but I don't feel anything at all."

Old man Kim was sentenced to fifteen years in prison, which his lawyers tried to appeal, although it was a futile attempt. The judge seemed fixated on his sentence and the chances of an appeal being considered were slim. After all, the charges were serious and varied. Tax evasion, murder, planned attacks, manslaughter. All of this added up to an organized crime. It was hard to convince a judge to accept the appeal, even if the lawyers were top-notch.

You reached for his hand, which was resting on his thigh, and held it firmly in yours. Reassuring. "You don't feel anything for strangers, Tae, and these people are just strangers to us. They've never been a family. They don't know what a family is, and you can't give what you don't have. They have no affection in them - my father and yours."

"You're turning into a philosopher, Doctor. What's going on there? A new career aspiration?" Taehyung squeezed your hand, enjoying the warmth you expelled, the feelings you provided, and the subtle care you showed him. He had yet to tell you, but he loved the way you loved him. It wasn't expressed with words, but mostly with actions.

"Nah, not my thing," you offered, one hand on the steering wheel while the other was still in his grip, "I'd rather say I'm becoming your personal therapist. Isn't that hot? Having your therapist in your sheets after the session." You pinched his thigh and winked at him, just to emphasize the point.

"I'd say focus on the road," he threw your hand away and wrinkled his nose in faux annoyance, "that was immoral. Hot, but immoral. I'd even say perverted. Are you on a doctor-patient fetish, doctor?"

You laughed. Airy. Serene. And he fell in love again. He fell in love with the calm that bathed your cheeks in rosy hues. With the sound of your happy giggle, free from the burden of sorrows. He fell in love with you one more time, and when he saw your happiness, he promised to protect it until the last day of his life.

"Don't pretend you don't find it intriguing."

"It is." His voice took a lower decibel. A sound for the silk sheets and sweaty bodies. You found yourself ignoring the road ahead again to look at him, and when you found his hooded eyes were soaking up your features, you gulped. "As it is intriguing thinking about eating you out while you're driving us, I don't even know where." He leaned back in his seat as if he didn't stir your guts and spread his legs to increase your growing appetite, "Where are we going, doctor, huh?"

This man!

You ignored his question as you reached for your pack of cigarettes trying to light one to get rid of the images he planted in your head with each exhale when he took the pack from your hand, slipped a cigarette between his lips and lit it for you, "Tobacco is harmful. I wouldn't let you do something harmful alone." He winked, just to make a point.

A few minutes later, the tires screeched on the asphalt as you stopped the vehicle in front of a church. Taehyung tilted his head to take a look at the place, which seemed to be empty except for a few nuns making their way inside the church and a few pedestrians. "I didn't peg you for a woman of faith, Doctor. What's going on here?"

"And I didn't take you for a non-believer, Chairman Kim. Come on, unbuckle your seatbelt, and let's go."

It was a beautiful place, Taehyung thought. The church was on a hill overlooking the Han River, surrounded by trees and colorful roses. The sound of your heels competed with the chirping of birds, and as Taehyung followed you, he actually wondered if he should pray to God to protect the only thing of value in his life: your relationship.

It was not a bad idea. Thanking the Almighty for the ray of light he gave you, after the darkness that devoured years of your lives and ate away at your youth like a cancer. He even considered confession to assuage his guilt over things he had done while under the spell of darkness. He would ask the priest if his confession could somehow manage to make you forget how he had treated you when your paths first crossed. The slap he had given still gnawed at him. He was not a man to raise his hand to a woman. He couldn't believe he'd done it, even when he clearly saw the imprints of his finger on your pale skin, and boy, he wished he could amputate that hand right then. But spilled milk isn't worth crying over. All he could do was ask for forgiveness.

When you pushed open the church door, you were greeted by the sight of the priest standing behind the altar. Taehyung was not a very devout person who visited the church often to know if it was normal for the priest to stand there and wait for perishers to come to God. He just assumed that was how it was supposed to be. But as your steps brought you closer to the altar and the organ began to play notes that, while familiar, didn't fit your visit to the house of God, he dropped your hands and halted his steps. He looked at you, his eyes full of questions that never left his lips.

"Doctor!"

The presence of the velvet box in your pocket grew more prominent - almost heavy - seeking ways to meet with the light of the burning candles that decorated the place with a warm orange hue. You smiled at him. Silent answers that didn't need to be spoken.

You took his hand again, smiled lovingly at him and turned so that your body was directly in front of his. The organ was still playing so gracefully. Melodic. You slid his ring off his ring finger on his left hand and did the same with yours. Taehyung didn't say a word, but furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as he watched you wrap your arm around him and nudge him to continue your walk down the aisle.

When you reached the priest, he smiled lovingly at you. You assumed he was a man in his late fifties. Pastor Giovanni. That's how he had introduced himself when you had come to discuss your plan a few days ago. You reciprocated his smile with your own and turned your attention to the astonished man next to you. Finally, you took the velvet box out of your pocket and opened it. It revealed two rings with your initials - Y&T - carved on the gold band.

"I, Lee Yunjae, want to spend my life with you, Kim Taehyung, until my last breath out of my own free will and out of pure feelings for you. So would you take me as your faithful wife by your own will and without any external pressure until death do us part?"

Taehyung ran his hand through his midnight locks after letting out a disbelieving and emotional scoff. He wasn't sure if his hearing wasn't playing tricks on him. He looked at the priest, who smiled wildly before saying, "I usually have to ask these questions before I bless a marriage. But I guess God has already blessed you, my son, with a wife who is willing to change entrenched patterns just for you."

Taehyung cried. He never showed you this much vulnerability. Hell! He never showed himself this level of vulnerability either. But he let those tears melt into a smile of pure joy as he watched you wait for his answer, hands holding the box of new rings that were chosen by you this time and not forced upon you by your family.

"I, Kim Taehyung, take you, Lee Yunjae, to be my wife of my own free will and without any outside pressure, and I vow to be with you in happiness and sorrow, in health and sickness, in wealth and poverty, until death do us part. I, Kim Taehyung, vow to protect your happiness and your beautiful smile with everything I have, and I promise to protect your freedom in this sacred place and be the family you have always wanted. I do."

He wiped his tears, but you paid no mind to yours as he reached for the box between your hands and took out the smallest ring. He took your hand in his and slipped the ring on your finger. Then he held out his hand to you and waited for you to do the same to him, which you did with God as your witness and the blessing of his pastor.

"You may now kiss the bride." The priest chimed, and none of you had to be told twice.You kissed of your own free will, of your own volition. For this wasn't forced. You were sure of your decision - it was made by yourselves and desired by your feelings for each other.

"I love you, doctor. Now, tomorrow, forever."

"I love you, Kim Taehyung. Now, tomorrow, forever."