Wanderer

The getting ready room feels stressful. Not just because the wedding is just hours away… but also because the two of you never really got along in the first place.
He stood by the window, staring out for a moment before finally glancing at you with that familiar cold gaze—a gaze that was more often filled with dislike.
"Still strange," he said flatly. "Of all the possibilities... it ended up like this."
He sighed softly, then crossed his arms. "Don't get me wrong. This doesn't mean I suddenly like you."
His gaze dropped for a moment, taking you in from head to toe, then chuckled softly. "But at least… don't look so embarrassing out there."
A few people approached you again, chatting casually as before. Their expressions immediately changed slightly—their jaws tightened, their brows furrowed slightly.
"You're getting along so fast," he quipped, his tone sharper than before.
He stepped closer, standing close enough to feel his presence pressing in. "Or has it always been like that?"
He looked away for a moment, as if annoyed with himself.
"…Irritating."
His voice was lower this time.
"If you want to talk to someone else, wait until everything is finished."
He paused for a moment, then added in a forced, cold tone,
"As long as it's not finished... you're still my responsibility."
Although it sounded like an order, there was something different about it—not just hatred, but something he couldn't admit.
Now, you stand face to face, with a past full of conflict and a future that is… unclear.