By the afternoon the Lang mansion looked like it had lost a violent, uncoordinated war with a craft store.
Ribbons trailed across the floor like fallen streamers after a parade. Half-inflated balloons rolled lazily under tables. Heavy cardboard boxes labeled ENGAGEMENT DECOR–HANDLE WITH LOVE lay ripped open and very much not handled with love.
And in the exact center of the war zone stood one very unstable ladder.
On top of it—
“BEHOLD!” Chen declared.
He was upside down.
Not metaphorically.
Physically.
One foot hooked precariously over the top rung, torso dangling into the open air, arms spread wide like a deranged bat. A string of gold-foil engagement banners trailed from his hand, currently wrapped around his own neck like an accidental scarf.
“This,” he announced proudly, “is a revolutionary hanging angle.”
Jenn stood directly below the ladder, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she watched the frame groan.
“Gravity,” she murmured, her voice perfectly cool, totally devoid of surprise, “is not a suggestion.”
Chen glanced down at her like she’d personally insulted modern art. “You just don’t understand vision. True design requires maximum blood flow to the brain cells.”
Jenn blinked once, her gaze lifting up to the banner above, “Your vision is currently inverted. And your banner is slipping”
With a soft, metallic hiss, the adhesive gave way.
Half the carefully hung decorations on that side of the hall slid sideways in a slow, miserable cascade like they were actively trying to escape Chen’s artistic direction.
“Uh oh,” Chen whispered.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Across the room, far away from the structural hazards, Ping stood holding a printed sheet.
Upside down.
“…Nate,” he whispered, brow furrowing with absolute, life-or-death seriousness, “why does this list not make sense? It looks like secret spy codes? ”
Nathan walked over from the supply table, reached out, and gently spun the edge of the paper right side up within Ping’s grip. “It’s a map of where decorations go.”
Ping blinked, his eyes tracking the sudden appearance of legible letters. “Oh. Right. I knew that. I was just… testing the paper.”
Nathan stepped behind Ping, close enough that his chest brushed Ping’s shoulder as he leaned in to point at the diagram.
“See here?” Nathan’s finger traced a blue line on the white sheet. “Flowers go here. Lights here. Ribbons—”
Ping stopped listening immediately.
Because Nathan’s arm had come completely around his waist to hold the page steady.
Because the scent of clean soap and laundry detergent clung to Nathan’s collar.
Because his brain had left the building.
His ears turned a bright, unmistakable fire-engine red.
Nathan, entirely unaware of Ping’s internal system failure, reached down, picked up a spare ribbon, and loosely tied it around Ping’s wrist.
“So you stop dropping things,” he murmured softly.
Ping stared down at the ribbon like it was a sacred artifact. “I will never drop anything again,” he whispered solemnly to the paper.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“KNIGHT!” Paola’s voice cut across the room like a dramatic trumpet.
Knight turned his head just in time to have a metallic-pink balloon shoved directly into his nose.
“These,” she announced, hands on hips, “have zero emotional integrity.”
Knight squinted at the balloon bobbing against his face. “They’re balloons.”
“Exactly. Depressed balloons,” Paola waved her hands wildly in the air, her bracelets clinking together. “They look like they’re attending a funeral for a pet hamster, not an engagement party!”
Knight sighed, grabbing a string and tied the knot so tight the balloon squeaked in protest.
Paola gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh my gosh! You’re strangling it! Stop, you’re hurting its feelings!”
“They’re balloons, not citizens.”
Paola stared at him with profound, theatrical betrayal. “You have no poetry in your soul, Knight Lang.”
Knight didn’t even blink. He held up another balloon. “This one also lacks citizenship.”
She grabbed tape dramatically. “Move. I’ll do it. You’re way too violent.”
Knight stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. He tried to keep his face hard, but a small, unguarded smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Across the room, Nathan looked up at the sound of Paola’s dramatic outrage.
Knight, mid eye-roll, glanced the same direction at the exact same time.
Their eyes met.
Just for half a second.
Long enough to register the shared amusement.
Long enough for something unspoken to pass.
Then, almost instantly, both of them looked away first—too fast.
Knight suddenly became very interested in a nearby pile of untied string, and Nathan cleared his throat, looking back down at the blueprint.
Ping noticed.
A tiny, jealous pout formed on his lips.
He immediately scooted one step closer to Nathan and tugged on the ribbon around his wrist.
“I can hold the lights too,” he declared, voice suspiciously loud. “I’m really strong today!”
Knight walked over to help Nathan with a strand of fairy lights that refused to behave. “The tangled ones go on the high hooks,” he murmured quietly, reaching for the strand.
“I can do it,” Ping said quickly before inserting himself between them with the seriousness of someone defending national borders from an enemy invasion. “I’m the official assistant light-holder.”
Knight raised a brow. “I wasn’t stopping you.”
“Good! Because I have it under control!” Ping huffed, his cheeks puffing out.
Meanwhile Paola had discovered decorative tape.
She was wrapping it around a bunch of balloon strings with unnecessary flourish, spinning around like a ballerina and glancing at Knight every five seconds to see if he was watching.
“See?” Paola called out proudly, throwing her head back, “I bring artistry.”
Knight looked at the uneven mess she’d created. “You bring… layers.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
On the ladder, Chen suddenly straightened his spine, nearly losing his balance.
“BEHOLD,” he shouted to the heavens, pointing a finger at the ceiling. “Symmetry has finally been achieved.”
Everyone paused to look up.
The floral garland he had spent twenty minutes untangling was hung completely diagonally, twisted, and very clearly backward.
Jenn opened her mouth to correct him.
Chen didn’t give her the chance. Instead of climbing down the steps like a normal human being who valued their bones, he jumped.
Straight off the third step.
Onto the floor.
The ladder wobbled violently, swaying left and right like a drunk sailor. A box of paper decorations sitting on the top shelf tipped over. Confetti packets burst open on impact, sending a glittering wave of pink, gold, and silver stars raining down into the air like festive doom.
Chen landed in his superhero landing pose, arms out, triumphant, completely unbothered by the chaos.
“NAILED IT,” he yelled, looking up with a huge grin.
Jenn stared at the explosion of craft supplies, glitter and plastic stars now carpeting the floor.
Then, slowly, calmly, she reached out and brushed a streak of glitter off Chen’s shoulder.
He beamed at her like she’d pinned a gold medal on him. “Thanks, partner,” he chirped.
“You are a menace to society,” Jenn whispered, her voice softer than usual.
Ping had migrated even closer to Nathan during the distraction, practically attached to his side.
“Where do these go?” he asked, holding something that looked like a decorative spiral.
Nathan leaned down, his face close to Ping’s. “Those go on the very top hooks of the window frames.”
Ping looked up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. “I am not tall.”
“I know,” Nathan gently took the spiral from Ping’s hands. “That’s why I am here.”
Ping watched Nathan stretched his long arms up, his shirt pulling up just a bit at the waist, fingers adjusting the ribbon.
The bright afternoon sunlight poured through the massive glass windows, hitting Nathan’s face perfectly, making his hair look gold around the edges.
Ping forgot how to breathe entirely. He just stood there, frozen in a beam of light, staring like he’d just seen a miracle.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Before the moment could get too quiet, Chen popped back into the frame, sliding across the glitter-covered floor like a penguin on ice.
He was holding a giant roll of masking tape like a loaded weapon and brandishing a black Sharpie marker.
“LABELING TIME,” he announced with terrifying enthusiasm.
Before anyone could stop him, he slapped a piece of tape onto Nathan’s sleeve and scribbled furiously on it with the marker.
Nathan looked down, raising an eyebrow.
The tape read: SUPERVISOR OF EVERYTHING
Chen nodded, satisfied. Then spun around and targeted Ping next, slapping a piece right across Ping’s chest.
He wrote one word in giant capital letters: FRAGILE
Ping yelped, stumbling back and swatting at his chest. “Hey! I’m not fragile!”
Chen ignored him, already diving toward Knight. He slapped a piece of tape right onto Knight’s chest too:
ANGRY DECORATION ENFORCER
Knight didn’t even argue. He just stared at Chen with long-suffering energy.
Jenn stepped in quietly from behind and peeled the tape off the back of Chen’s own shirt, where he had somehow labeled himself GENIUS earlier without noticing it had stuck upside down.
She didn’t say anything. She just balled up the tape in her fist and tossed it into the trash can.
Chen continued to strut around proudly, entirely unaware that his self-appointed title had been revoked.
“And now,” he declared, rubbing his hands together villainously, “for the grand finale of Phase One. Let there be light!”
He lunged toward the wall outlet and plugged in a massive, heavy-duty extension cord.
For a fraction of a second, the entire right side of the hall lit up in a beautiful, blinding flash of warm gold fairy lights. It looked like a fairytale.
Then, a loud POP echoed from the wall.
The lights flickered wildly, buzzed like an angry bee, and died completely.
The entire eastern corner of the room went dark.
Silence fell over them.
Chen slowly turned around, his hand still on the plug. He raised his right hand to his temple and gave a stiff military salute. “Testing electrical resilience. Results: the house lost.”
Knight stared at him from across the room. “You Idiot. You’re resilience-testing my patience.”
Nearby, Paola had somehow managed to wrap several yards of shiny pink satin ribbon around her own waist.
“Do not fight, boys!” Paola declared, spinning in a circle so the ribbon trailed behind her like a royal cape. “Look at me! I am the decoration now!”
“You are a hazard,” Jenn replied from the floor, not looking up as she sorted through a box of hooks.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Then it happened.
Knight was halfway up the ladder, one hand stretched toward the beam above, tongue caught between his teeth in stubborn concentration.
“If this falls, I’m blaming architecture,” he muttered under his breath.
“You’re blaming gravity,” Jenn replied from below without looking up.
Chen was holding the ladder to keep it steady.
Holding was a generous term. He was mostly leaning against it while arguing with Paola about whether ribbons counted as “structural decoration.”
“Don’t shake it,” Knight warned.
“I am the definition of stability,” Chen declared, throwing his arms out to emphasize his point.
He took his weight off the ladder.
The smooth feet of the ladder, sitting on a pile of slippery metallic glitter and loose ribbons, slid.
Just an inch.
But it was enough.
Knight’s fingers missed the beam completely. His center of balance tipped backward—shoulders, then hips. The world titled with him as the room snapped into sudden noise.
“Brother—!” Jenn’s voice cut through the air, her calm completely shattering.
Too late.
The ladder skidded away with a harsh metallic screech. It went one way, and Knight went the other, falling backward off the middle step.
And Nathan moved.
There was no thought in it. No shout. No pause. Just pure, raw instinct sharpened into instant motion.
He crossed the distance in two strides, reached out and caught Knight mid-drop—one arm locking around his back like a iron bar, the other bracing under his knees, scooping him out of the air just before he could smash into the hard floor.
The sheer momentum of Knight’s falling weight carried both of them half a step backward, Nathan’s sneakers skidding through the loose glitter.
Above them, something tore with a loud RIP.
The decoration Knight had been fixing—a string of paper flowers, ribbons, and tiny gold bells—came loose from the ceiling beam all at once.
It exploded downward right on top of them.
A brilliant burst of color filled the air. Long streams of pink and blue ribbon rained down over their heads. Paper petals fluttered around their shoulders. Bells chimed musically as they bounced off Nathan’s arm, Knight’s sleeve, and spilled across the floor around their feet.
For one long, suspended breath, the entire room went dead silent, save for the ringing bells.
Knight was still suspended, his weight fully in Nathan’s hold. His hand had fisted into Nathan’s shirt without realizing it.
Nathan’s grip was incredibly firm.
Unshaking.
Too close.
Knight’s breath stuttered once, a sharp, gasping exhale brushed Nathan’s chest with the aftershock of the fall. His pulse was still racing from the drop—but it wasn’t the fall that made his fingers tighten.
Nathan didn’t ask if he was okay right away.
He was looking.
His dark eyes scanning Knight’s face like he was searching for damage he refused to allow. His jaw was tight. His own breath was slower, heavier than it should have been.
A long pink ribbon had caught on Knight’s dark hair, dangling down past his cheek.
Another blue ribbon slid slowly down Nathan’s forearm.
Neither of them noticed. Neither of them cared.
They were inside each other’s space in a way that didn’t happen by accident and didn’t get corrected quickly.
Knight suddenly became aware of Nathan’s right hand against his back—spread wide, warm, anchoring him fully.
And Nathan became aware that Knight wasn’t struggling. He wasn’t yelling to be put down.
Just for a second too long.
The tiny gold bells on the floor kept rolling, ringing softly.
Knight blinked once, his eyes dark. “…I had that,” he whispered, but his voice came out lower than usual.
Nathan didn’t lose his hold even a millimeter. “You clearly didn’t.”
“I was executing a highly controlled, artistic descent.”
“You were falling flat on your back.”
Knight’s mouth twitched faintly—but his eyes didn’t leave Nathan’s. “Semantics.”
Nathan’s hand shifted—barely an inch—higher along Knight’s back as if adjusting his grip.
It wasn’t necessary.
Knight felt it anyway.
The world around them stayed totally suspended—confetti floating in the air, colors drifting down around them, the room full of witnesses who had forgotten how to breathe.
Nathan’s voice dropped, quieter than the noise deserved. “You okay?”
Knight held his gaze. There were a thousand jokes he could’ve made. He could have laughed it off, could have shoved Nathan away, could have acted like the tough guy he always tried to be.
He didn’t do any of it.
“…Yeah,” Knight whispered softly. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t move to get down.
And Nathan didn’t move to set him down either.
They just stayed like that— Knight held tight, Nathan holding him up—ribbons brushing their shoulders, paper petals caught in their sleeves, air too thick between them.
Knight’s fingers remained curled tightly in Nathan’s shirt.
Nathan didn’t remove them.
Then—
“WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE.”
Ping’s voice detonated from across the room like a literal stick of dynamite.
Everyone flinched violently. The spell broke instantly.
“WHY are you Carrying him like that?!” Ping screamed, his face turning a completely different shade of red than before.
Nathan blinked once, waking up from a trance.
Chen gasped loudly from the floor like he’d just remembered oxygen existed. “HE FELL. CINEMATICALLY.”
Paola clutched Jenn’s arm, her eyes sparkling with absolute, dramatic glee. “It was awesome. It was beautiful. Big Bro caught like a movie hero.”
Jenn said nothing—but her sharp eyes did not leave the two boys.
Nathan finally, slowly, lowered Knight back toward the floor.
His hand slid from Knight’s back with the smallest delay, like letting go required decision.
Knight landed fully on his feet and stepped back half an inch.
Ping marched forward across the glitter field, completely scandalized, tape roll in hand like authority.
“I TURN MY BACK FOR ONE SECOND—”
Nathan blinked calmly, his face returning to its usual steady expression, “He slipped, Little one.”
Ping squinted his eyes into tiny, suspicious slits, staring back and forth between the two of them. “Hmm.”
Knight quickly brushed some imaginary dust off his sleeve, avoiding Nathan’s eyes now. “I was fine.”
Ping crossed his arms. “You were horizontal.”
“Yeah,” Chen nodded his head solemnly, looking like a very wise philosopher. “Romance-horizontal.”
Knight grabbed a stray piece of ribbon and threw it directly at his face. “Shut up.”
The room burst back into its usual, loud chaos—Paola laughing at Chen getting hit, Chen defending his “stability,” Jenn already fixing the fallen decorations like nothing historic had just occurred.
Nathan bent down to pick up the bell. Knight reached for the ribbon at the same time.
Their hands met.
They stilled. Just for one second.
Neither boy looked up at the other.
Neither pulled away quickly.
Then they both went straight back to working like nothing had happened.
But the bells on the floor kept chiming long after they stopped moving.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
By the time the very last blue and gold ribbon finally went up on the high chandeliers—
The mansion didn’t just look decorated.
It looked lived in.
Loved.
Completely, wonderfully chaotic.
The kind of place where everything was too loud—
And too warm—
To ever be lonely.
And right in the middle of it all—
The six of them stood close together under the thousands of tiny fairy lights that flickered and buzzed like stars caught indoors.
Family first.
Everything else…
Still waiting.
“Before the vows, there was laughter.
Before forever, there was family.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Next Stop in Before The Vows:
The Chosen Ring
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
