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The morning of your wedding was chaos in the best way.

Hair and makeup in the bridal suite, someone's aunt crying before the ceremony even started, the coordinator knocking every ten minutes with updates that didn't matter. Your dress hung on the back of the door — white, simple, perfect — and every time you looked at it, your stomach flipped.

You'd been ready for an hour. Sitting on the edge of a velvet chair, phone in hand, heart racing.

You'd planned this weeks ago. Borrowed a hotel room. Spent an afternoon in lace and silk, posing in golden light, and Sasha did a great job.

You were calm until you weren't.

It hit you in a quiet moment – everyone had stepped out, and you were alone in front of the mirror, staring at yourself in white. The veil. The dress. The ring box on the vanity.

This is real. You're marrying Jean Kirstein.

Your heart hammered. Not cold feet, just the weight of how much you wanted it.

---

A few minutes later, the coordinator appeared at your door. "Miss Kirstein? It's time." Your stomach did a little flip. Sasha immediately grabbed your bouquet, Connie offered you his arm, and mikasa carefully adjusted your veil for the last time. You took one final look in the mirror. Your dress. Your flowers. Your ring. Your wedding day. As the doors opened, the music began. Guests rose from their seats. Heads turned. A few familiar faces smiled through tears. And at the end of the aisle stood Jean. He'd been talking quietly to Armin when the music started. But the moment he turned around and saw you— He stopped. Completely. His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening before a helpless smile slowly spread across his face. Connie, standing nearby, leaned towards him and whispered something that made Armin suppress a laugh. Jean didn't even hear them. He was looking at you. Only you. And as you walked closer, he shook his head faintly, almost as if he couldn't believe his luck. When you finally reached him, he took your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "Hi," he whispered, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. You smiled. "Hi." He glanced at your dress, then back at your face. A familiar, crooked grin appeared. "You're ruining me, you know that?" He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "Been waiting all morning to call you my wife." The officiant cleared his throat, earning a quiet chuckle from the guests. Jean reluctantly straightened, though his fingers never left yours. And just like that, the ceremony began. 《☆°•~♡°•~☆°•~♡°•~☆°•~♡°•~》

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The vows were over. The rings had been exchanged, the signatures were done, and the officiant had finally announced you as husband and wife. Jean Kirstein was officially your husband. And judging by the way he kept looking at your wedding ring, he was having a rather difficult time believing it himself. The reception was everything you'd imagined. Warm golden lights, flowers decorating every table, music filling the ballroom, and familiar faces gathered to celebrate the two of you. Jean had barely left your side since the ceremony. His hand rested on your waist whenever someone approached for congratulations, he'd introduced you as his wife approximately seventeen times, and he'd kissed your cheek so often that Connie had threatened to start keeping count. "Seriously, Kirstein. We get it. You're married." Jean merely grinned. "Jealous?" "Of you? Never." "Good. Wouldn't want you getting any ideas." Armin, standing beside Connie, simply shook his head. Some things never changed.

---

Dinner passed with speeches, laughter, and more than a few embarrassing stories. Sasha had somehow managed to mention an incident involving Jean, a badly planned date, and an unfortunate restaurant reservation. Armin had contributed a few details. Connie had contributed far too many. Jean had spent most of it threatening to have all three removed from the premises. Eventually, the lights dimmed. The DJ announced the first dance. A familiar melody began playing, and the guests gradually moved away from the centre of the ballroom, leaving the dance floor open. Jean turned towards you. For once, he didn't have a clever remark ready. He simply held out his hand. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Kirstein?" There was something terribly smug about the way he said your new surname

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The wedding was over. After months of planning, endless appointments, seating arrangements, fittings, and arguments over flower arrangements, it had finally happened. You were married. And now, somewhere past midnight, you and Jean were finally alone. The hotel suite was quiet, a complete contrast to the ballroom you'd left behind. The city lights filtered through the enormous windows, casting warm patterns across the room. Your bouquet rested on the dresser, his jacket was draped over a chair, and two champagne glasses sat untouched on the bedside table. Jean had abandoned his tie approximately five minutes after entering the room. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly messy, and his wedding ring caught the light whenever he moved his hand. He looked exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. "Remind me never to organise a wedding again," he muttered, sinking onto the edge of the bed. You laughed, smiling at this idiot, your idiot actually "You're the one who insisted on inviting half the city." "Excuse me? Your guest list was practically a census." He replied immediately with false hurt "You invited Connie." "That was a lapse in judgement." You burst out laughing. Jean looked up at you, his mouth curling into that familiar crooked grin. "There she is." He reached for your hand, gently tugging you closer until you stood between his knees. For a moment, he simply looked at you. Then his eyes dropped to your wedding ring. He turned your hand slightly, examining the diamond with an almost ridiculous amount of concentration. "Still there," he murmured. "Jean." You murmured back.. "What? I'm checking." "You've checked about twenty times." "Twenty-one, actually." He corrected. You shook your head, laughing. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles before looking up again. "Mrs. Kirstein." There was that smile again. That stupid smile of his that makes your stomach flip "God, I love saying that."

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