XLIII

POV Namjoon : 

She didn't speak at first. She just stared at me — eyes wide, tear-bright, lips parted — like I'd just cracked open a hidden part of her soul and whispered into it.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Could feel the wind tug at my jacket, the silence stretching so long it almost scared me. Almost.

But then— A sound. A breath. A single, gasping sob — the kind that comes from somewhere deeper than lungs. And she dropped to her knees in front of me before I could even move.

"Yes," she whispered, hands trembling as they cupped my face. Her forehead leaned into mine, just like I'd done moments before. "Yes, my love. Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes."

The world tipped and realigned itself in that moment.

I pulled her into me — or maybe she pulled me — and we collapsed into each other, still on our knees at the edge of the world. Her arms looped around my neck. Mine wrapped around her waist like I could anchor her to this moment forever.

We didn't speak. We didn't need to.

Behind us, I heard someone sniffle — and not in the elegant, cinematic way.

"Okay, I'm gonna cry," Hoseok said, not even trying to hide it. "I'm crying. Look at them!"

"I am looking," Jin huffed, wiping at his eyes like it was my fault. "This is ridiculous. Who gets proposed to here looking like that? This is unfair to the rest of us."

"Holy sh—," Jungkook muttered, blinking furiously. "Is it just me, or did that feel like a movie?"

"It was," Yoongi said, quiet and firm. "It was a movie. And we just watched the best scene.""She looked like something out of a dream," Jimin whispered. "And he... he looked like he finally woke up in it."

Taehyung had one hand on his chest, the other wiping his face with the sleeve of his cashmere coat. "I can't believe I get to witness this," he murmured like he was in a cathedral. "You're the luckiest man alive, Joon.", he shouted in our direction.

I turned my head slightly, still holding her close, and whispered back, "I know."

She was still crying — but they were the kind of tears you only cry when something inside you has found its forever.

The kind you can't fake.

The kind you don't want to end.

"Can I put the ring on you?" I asked softly, and she nodded, laughing through her tears like she couldn't believe any of this was real. I slid it onto her finger, watched it settle into place like it had always belonged there.

And that was it.

She was mine. And I was hers.

Forever.

An hour later, the sun was beginning to sink into the Atlantic, and the sky had gone lavender and gold. 

The boys helped us brush windblown hair from each other's faces. Adjusted sleeves. Held jackets. Laughed too loud, smiled too hard. They weren't just witnesses — they were part of it. The family we'd chosen.

Jimin had tears in his eyes again as he handed her the bouquet we'd prepared. Soft nude roses, white ranunculus, and dried grass, tied with a silk ribbon.

"She's unreal," he whispered to me. "I mean — you already know. But, like... unreal."

I nodded. "I know."

We stood at the edge of Cabo da Roca — the westernmost tip of Europe. The place where land ends and the sea begins. Where cliffs fall into forever. The wind whipped around us, cold and sharp and holy. And she looked like a dream — like a legend. Hair wild, eyes radiant, dress catching the wind like wings.

The photographer moved around us quietly, reverently, capturing it all. But half the time, I didn't even notice the camera.

Because I couldn't stop looking at her.

At the way she looked at me — like I was the only man who had ever stood beside her.

At the way her fingers laced with mine — like they belonged there.

At the way her lips parted just slightly every time I leaned in to kiss her — like she was still surprised I was real.

We danced barefoot for one photo, her laughter echoing like bells. Another shot caught us forehead to forehead, eyes closed, wrapped in one another as the ocean roared below.

Then came the shot I'll remember forever.

She turned slightly toward the cliff's edge, hair caught on the breeze, and I wrapped my arms around her from behind — my chin resting on her shoulder, eyes on the horizon, like we were already dreaming the future.

Because we were.

Because I could see it so clearly now: Her in the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy, humming whatever was in her head. Me writing poetry in the next room. Mornings that started with soft kisses. Nights that ended with whispered I love yous. A life that felt like this moment — stretched out into forever.

She turned her head slightly to look at me, and I swear the sun caught in her eyes like it was bowing down.

"I'm scared," she whispered, "of how happy I am."

I kissed her cheek. "Me too. But let's be scared together."

But the light hadn't faded just yet.

As the sun sank lower, dipping into the sea like a final benediction, someone whispered the idea aloud — maybe Hoseok, maybe Jimin — and suddenly we were moving.

Down the path.

Past the cliffs.

Toward Praia da Ursa.

It wasn't an easy descent. The trail wound steep and narrow, wild and raw, but she took it barefoot, dress gathered in one hand, fingers laced with mine. And I followed her — always, always following her — with the last of the sun gilding her hair like a crown.

The boys trailed behind, laughing softly, carrying shoes and camera gear, letting the moment belong to us.

By the time we reached the beach, the sky had melted into violet and indigo. The sea was darker here — moodier. Wilder. Waves crashing like they had something to say. And rising above it all: the jagged twin peaks of Ursa, ancient and defiant, carved by wind and time and love.

She emerged from behind the rocks in a second dress, the staff had prepared.

Black.

Silk and shadow. Strapless. Liquid movement with every step. Her hair down now —  just her, wild and untouched, like the sea itself had risen to shape her.

I changed into the matching black suit I had prepared earlier.

Sleek. Unapologetic. Timeless.

We didn't speak. We didn't smile, not at first. These photos were different — not joy, but something deeper. Something eternal. We stood against the sea like two souls in love at the end of the world. No witnesses. Just the cliffs. The sky. The roaring dark.

She looked up at me.

I looked down at her.

And the click of the camera disappeared beneath the sound of our breathing.

We walked barefoot on wet sand. Black hem trailing behind her like ink. The wind curled around us. Her hands in mine. Her lips at my neck. Her eyes lit like she held every galaxy inside her.

The photographer didn't pose us this time. He didn't need to.

We danced in the surf, cold water licking at our ankles. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and I lifted her like she weighed nothing — like she had become part of the wind. I kissed her with salt on my lips, and the sky opened wider.

And then — the final shot.

We stood still.

Backs to the ocean. Her head on my chest. My arms tight around her.

Two shadows wrapped in black silk and stormlight, anchored to each other while the sea tried to pull everything else away.

That was the last light of the day.

By the time we climbed back up to Cabo da Roca, the stars were out. She shivered once, and I pulled my coat around her, kissing her bare shoulder as we looked one last time at the beach below.

"I'll remember this forever," she whispered.

I kissed her hair.

"You won't have to," I said.

"Why?"

"Because we're going to live it. Over and over. Every time I look at you. Every time you say my name."

She smiled then. Soft. Endless.

And I knew: This was only the beginning.

We sat together on the rocks and watched the moon rise.

She leaned her head on my shoulder. I kissed her temple. We didn't speak — not because we didn't have anything to say, but because everything had already been said.

Because we were already writing the next chapter.

And it began — not with a ring.

But with a promise.

And the wind singing all around us:

You are my home.