Boreddddddd

It hurts. Daiki's never been so handsome as he is in his wedding yukata and it takes your breath away. You swallow the lump in your throat and try to quell your frantic heart as the church doors open. There's a terrifying moment when you don't think you'll be able to move and then you're sure you won't be able to. And then you take the first wobbling step. It hurts. (The best kind of pain.) You probably should have waited another month or two, but you honestly couldn't wait even one more day, one more hour. One more step. Sakura toddles behind you, the cheerful three-year-old taking her flower-girl duties very seriously. With a daisy chain

"God, it hurts! I can't!" You let go of the parallel bars and Daiki catches you before you hit the floor. "Come on, you can go on. You've hurt worse than this," he encourages with certainty. Daiki would know, he's the one who held you when you wake up in the middle of the night and thrash and scream because the pain is too much. He's the one who's mopped your brow and rocked and whispered to you the whole night through. But it's not that it hurts more at the moment. It's that it hurts always and the constant pain wears away at you like water at rock, stealing bits and pieces of you away that you don't notice until you're staring at the gorg