The morning was clear, unseasonably warm for the time of year, as if the weather itself had decided to cooperate.
"Hold still," Nana said, fussing with the last pin in Qinran's hair. "You're worse than Luoli was at his kindergarten graduation."
"I'm perfectly still."
"You keep looking at the door."
"I'm not...."
"You are. Every thirty seconds. Like clockwork."
Qinran didn't argue further, mostly because she couldn't actually deny it.
Han Ming leaned against the mirror, already dressed, arms crossed with the satisfied look of someone who'd been right about something for years.
"I called this, you know," she said. "Back on the seventh floor. The day he first came down to 'observe.'"
"You did not call this."
"I did. I told Guo. He owes me money now, actually."
Nana snorted, nearly dropping a hairpin.
There was a knock at the door, and a head poked in — a young man, a little breathless, holding two coffees like an offering.
"Sorry, sorry ..Nana, I got lost finding the right room, this place is enormous—"
"Fang Huo." Nana rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. "This is Qinran. Qinran, this is my boyfriend. He gets lost in buildings with more than one floor."
"That happened one time."
"It happens constantly."
Qinran managed a small laugh despite the nerves. "Nice to finally meet you."
"Likewise! Nana talks about you all the time. And the little prince." He glanced around. "Where is he, by the way?"
"With his father. Getting into some kind of trouble, probably."
"Probably," Han Ming agreed.
Down the hall, the Boss stood a little apart from the gathering crowd, watching the preparations with quiet approval, a small wrapped gift under one arm.
"You didn't have to come all this way," Qinran said, finding her a moment later.
"I wasn't going to miss it." The Boss handed over the gift, then studied her for a moment, the same appraising look she'd once given a stack of frozen PCs. "You look well."
"I am well."
A pause.
"How's..." Qinran hesitated, unsure if it was her place to ask.
The Boss understood anyway.
"Better," she said simply. "He opened his eyes for the first time in years, a few months back. The doctors are calling it a good sign. We'll see."
"That's — I'm glad. Really."
"So am I." She straightened, composure settling back into place. "Anyway. Go get married. I didn't drive two hours for you to stand here talking to me."
Qinran smiled, something warm and grateful behind it, and let herself be steered back toward the others.
The ceremony itself was simple, as they'd both wanted — no excess, no spectacle, just the people who mattered gathered in one place.
Luoli stood at the front, technically part of the wedding party, though mostly focused on not losing the small pillow he'd been entrusted with.
"Don't drop the rings," he muttered to himself. "Do not drop the rings."
He did not drop the rings.
When Qinran walked down the aisle, Beichuan couldn't stop smiling — his wish had finally come true.
She reached him. Took his hands.
"You're not going to cry," she murmured.
"I'm not."
"You look like you're about to."
"I am absolutely not."
He was, a little, though neither of them mentioned it later.
The vows were short. Neither of them needed many words for something they'd already spent years proving.
And when it was finally time—
He kissed her.
Not rushed. Not performative. Just steady, the way everything about him had become — the way he'd waited, patiently, twice, for exactly this.
Around them, the small crowd broke into noise — clapping, someone whistling, Nana already crying loudly enough that Fang Huo was patting her back in mild alarm.
Qinran barely noticed any of it.
She was still looking at him.