Honestly, Hoàng Tuấn and I weren’t in any rush to get married—unlike our friends our age, who’d been sending out invitations one after another. This morning, Quốc Bảo sent us his wedding invite: he’s getting married at the end of the month.
Hoàng Tuấn held the card and raised an eyebrow: “Pretty convenient timing. It even says ‘Hoàng Tuấn and Quốc Hưng’ clearly! You wanna go, or just send money?”
He asked because he knew I still had some reservations about Quốc Bảo. The guy wasn’t bad-natured, but his mouth could easily rub people the wrong way.
I thought for a second and answered: “Let’s go celebrate. We can catch up with the old crew too.”
Hoàng Tuấn pulled me into a tight hug, teasing in a jealous tone: “Old crew? Nhật Hào? Or Trọng Quân?”
I turned around, pinched his nose, and shot back: “Exactly! While we’re at it, let’s swing by the old dorm and visit the security guard’s son!”
Hoàng Tuấn immediately pinned me to the bed, tickling my sides. I laughed and squirmed; he only got more into it. Compared to before, Hoàng Tuấn had changed a lot. Back then, I could do whatever I wanted, hang out with anyone—no problem. Now, just me looking at a guy’s photo was enough to make him pout and whine dramatically.
On the surface he looked calm and tolerant, but inside he wanted to lock me away as his personal treasure—probably one step away from buying a glass display case and putting me on exhibit at home.
After a few days of preparation, the wedding day arrived. Normally Hoàng Tuấn would wear a black suit, and I could wear whatever. But today he insisted I wear a suit too—and matching ones at that. From inner shirt to tie, belt, and dress shoes—everything identical except for size.
Thankfully he didn’t force matching hairstyles. His hair was styled up; mine stayed side-parted and swept to one side. He even dragged me to his favorite barber. The stylist—someone who knew Hoàng Tuấn well—praised me the whole time: “Oh my god, the haircut just lifted the seal on your looks! You’re insanely handsome now—no flaws. This style suits you perfectly. Even I’m swooning!”
Hoàng Tuấn cut in: “Done yet? If you’re finished, close your eyes for me, bro.”
The stylist blinked: “What’s with you today? I barely looked and you’re already jealous?”
On the taxi ride to the venue, Hoàng Tuấn grumbled: “This won’t do. Change back to your old style after today. Or better yet—buzz it short! A buzz cut would look good too!”
The driver, waiting at a red light, glanced back and chimed in: “Don’t do it! He’s glowing right now—why ruin it? A buzz cut would be a crime!”
I laughed, unsure what to say—clearly Hoàng Tuấn wanted it. When we stepped out of the car and I saw his sulky face, I said: “What are you worried about? No one’s looking at me except you.”
Hoàng Tuấn stood at the flower gate, whining: “Really? First the barber, now the driver—both noticed you!”
I pinched his cheek lightly: “I have to look this good to match you!” Then I tiptoed up and kissed him. His grumpy expression instantly melted.
He’s jealous as hell—but also ridiculously easy to soothe!
Inside, the place was lively and packed. We arrived a bit late—the bride and groom had already started the ceremony on stage. Quốc Bảo looked handsome as ever, though still a notch below Hoàng Tuấn. His bride was stunning, her pure white gown making her glow even more.
The seating was well-organized; my invite had a number, so staff quickly guided us to our table. As soon as I looked over, Duy Long was waving enthusiastically, Đức Công smiling beside him.
We’d barely sat down when Thế Sang shouted: “Damn—if you two weren’t sitting here, I’d swear this was your wedding!”
Ngọc Linh, belly visibly round with pregnancy, smiled warmly: “Tuấn and Hưng look amazing today! Give my baby some of that handsomeness, please!”
I laughed: “Take as much as you want—I’m giving it away! Boy or girl?”
Ngọc Linh nodded: “Boy! Oh god—he’s so active in here!”
Thế Sang scolded: “Active? That’s you being hyper! I told you to stay home!”
Ngọc Linh pouted: “No way—I’m out here so our son gets energy!”
We all cracked up. Then I noticed Ngọc Lễ sitting across, looking down. I asked: “Lễ, what’s wrong? You look exhausted—are you sick?”
It had been a while since I’d seen him. Duy Long never mentioned him, so I had no idea how he’d been—especially with his boyfriend Khánh Đăng. Come to think of it, Khánh Đăng wasn’t here. Something must’ve happened. Normally he’d bring him along.
Duy Long answered for him: “What else could make him sad except his boyfriend? Normally one little frown from that guy and Lễ’s already crying. Lately he’s been completely ignoring him—no visits, no calls, nothing. How’s he supposed to stay happy?”
Ngọc Lễ protested weakly: “Don’t say that. He’s just busy.”
Duy Long snapped: “You’re hopeless.”
Seeing Duy Long’s frustration, I knew this wasn’t new. I knew Khánh Đăng’s type too well—even when Ngọc Lễ was around, he’d still hit on me. Let alone when Ngọc Lễ wasn’t watching.
Vũ Luân comforted: “Let it go, Lễ. Plenty of guys out there—that one’s no good.”
Tùng Dương added: “Yeah—next time there’s someone decent, I’ll introduce you. Don’t be sad!”
Trọng Quân, sitting diagonally across, said: “That line sounds familiar.”
Nhật Hào next to him: “Every time someone’s relationship drama happens, they say the exact same thing! Back when Hưng…”
Minh Khôi laughed: “Lucky no one introduced anyone to Hưng—or Tuấn would’ve knocked them out by now!”
We burst out laughing again. Only then did I really look at Nhật Hào and Trọng Quân—they’d both changed noticeably. Trọng Quân had slimmed down successfully; his once-round face was sharper and more angular. Gym gains were obvious—chest straining his shirt, firmer and more defined.
Nhật Hào’s face, hair, and overall vibe were more polished—hot-boy aesthetic sharpened. His charming smile never left his lips, radiating cheerful energy. Even in simple slacks and shirt, his striking looks were impossible to hide.
We chatted for a while until Quốc Bảo came over to toast us. After drinking, he said: “Sorry, guys—too many guests, couldn’t greet you properly. After the ceremony, karaoke like old times!”
Quốc Bảo could be toxic, but no denying he was talented. His connections were already wide from college days, so landing a good job after graduation was easy. He kept climbing and meeting more people. His wedding guest list was easily double Thế Sang’s.
The “old times” he mentioned was Thế Sang’s wedding—not long ago, but time flew. It showed how fast life moved—blink and you miss so much. The ones who stubbornly waited for someone were truly brave.
Thinking that, I reached for Hoàng Tuấn’s hand. He squeezed mine back, gentle and warm.
Minh Phong and Bá Kiên didn’t come—something about work back home, or maybe Quốc Bảo didn’t invite them. Their relationship was complicated; best to leave it alone.
After the ceremony, we headed to karaoke. While Quốc Bảo and his bride, Duy Long, Đức Công, Thế Sang, and Ngọc Linh sang happy wedding songs, Ngọc Lễ suddenly chose a heartbreaking Mr. Siro ballad. We understood and let him—he showed up instead of bailing; that was already effort.
After a few songs, Thế Sang had to take Ngọc Linh home. Fun was one thing, but a pregnant woman had limits. A few more drinks later, Nhật Hào and Trọng Quân excused themselves—work tomorrow. Tùng Dương stood too: “I’m heading to my boyfriend’s.”
Minh Khôi squeezed Tùng Dương’s crotch playfully: “Damn—already hard! I know what you’re off to do!”
Vũ Luân got up too. Quốc Bảo asked: “Đức’s boyfriend has to leave early—makes sense. But why’re you going?”
Vũ Luân: “No boyfriend—so I’m going home to jerk off. Cool?”
Quốc Bảo laughed: “Filthy!”
After a few more jokes, everyone left except me, Hoàng Tuấn, Quốc Bảo’s couple, and Minh Khôi. Quốc Bảo’s wife was gorgeous—perfect match for him. While she stepped out to fix her hair/makeup, Quốc Bảo pulled us close and whispered: “Fuck, karma’s real, guys!”
Me: “What happened?”
Minh Khôi: “Back then he used to call people gay this and gay that—now he marries a hardcore fujoshi!”
Fujoshi—girls obsessed with BL, some so into it they fantasize about their own boyfriend/husband with another guy.
I laughed, then asked curiously: “How do you know so much?”
Quốc Bảo glanced at the door to make sure his wife wasn’t back, then said: “You know about me and Khôi, right? That day we were fucking in my room, my wife came over unannounced. She has a spare key, fuck!”
Me, excited: “And? You didn’t break up?”
Quốc Bảo: “I thought we were done. But no—fuck! She made me fuck Khôi while she watched, then forgave me. She even recorded it! A few days later she came over… we had a threesome!”
I exclaimed: “Holy shit! And that worked? Did you let Khôi fuck your wife too?”
Quốc Bảo: “Nah—he fucked me!”
Me: “Damn! And your wife was cool with it?”
Quốc Bảo: “Yeah—she went crazy for it! You can’t imagine. When it was just me and her, it was normal. But when I was fucking her and Khôi was fucking me—she came like the Pacific Ocean! I don’t even get it!”
Hoàng Tuấn and I stared at each other, speechless. Minh Khôi added: “What’s so hard to understand? It’s just an open relationship!”
Me, frowning: “Even if your wife’s a fujoshi, this still sounds weird! Open relationships make sense for dating—but you’re married? How does she accept it?”
Quốc Bảo: “I thought the same. But you know what she said? ‘I’m different—I’m progressive, open-minded.’ She doesn’t accept it—she’s addicted! She said as long as I only fuck Khôi and don’t love him, she’s fine. Plus Khôi’s a guy—no ‘byproducts’—so no worries! Honestly, she gets off hardest watching Khôi fuck me!”
I asked: “And you? Khôi? You guys enjoy it?”
They answered in unison: “Hell yeah!” Quốc Bảo added: “I’m in the middle—I feel the best. My wife sees me getting fucked and goes wild. Seeing her wild makes me wilder. Sometimes feelings can’t be analyzed logically, man.”
I officially had no words for this household. Their private business—happy and consensual, fine by me. I was curious, but outsiders shouldn’t interfere. What seemed illogical to me was perfectly reasonable to them.
But I didn’t have energy to dwell on it—Ngọc Lễ’s situation worried me more. Lately Khánh Đăng ignored him completely; he cried day and night. Duy Long ran out of ideas and called me for backup.
Even when everything was obvious, Ngọc Lễ still defended Khánh Đăng: “Don’t curse him—he’s just busy and can’t contact me! I’m only crying because I’m worried about him!”
I snapped: “Worried? Then go to his place and see what he’s doing!”
Ngọc Lễ refused. I knew he was terrified of the truth, but Duy Long and I dragged him anyway.
We sat at a table in Khánh Đăng’s bar. I went to the counter: “Excuse me—has the owner come in today?”
The girl answered honestly: “He was here earlier. But someone came looking for him, so he took them to his house to handle business.”
She spoke at normal volume—enough for Duy Long and Ngọc Lễ at the nearby table to hear. I pressed: “Know what the visitor looked like?”
Her eyes lit up: “Super hot! Classy and attractive! Tall, fair skin, slim waist—maybe a model? Oh wait—no, he sells insurance. Something about ‘insurance’ and ‘contracts.’ Then they left together!”
I asked: “How long ago?”
“Over thirty minutes!”
I thanked her politely, then we rushed toward Khánh Đăng’s house. It looked even more luxurious than Hoàng Tuấn had described. The gate was tightly shut; no one came or went.
We approached the security guard at the entrance. He asked: “Who are you? Looking for someone?”
Ngọc Lễ answered: “I’m Đăng’s boyfriend. Can I go in?”
The guard blinked: “Boyfriend? The boss never mentioned anyone. Call him—if he says yes, I’ll open.”
Ngọc Lễ dialed, but only got the dead tone: “The number you called is unavailable…”
No choice—we hid across the street and waited. Ngọc Lễ pleaded: “Let’s go. He’s busy—waiting won’t help!”
Duy Long snapped: “You’re scared he’ll come out with someone else! Stop lying to yourself, Lễ. We know you’re hurting, but we won’t let you drown in this one-sided, damaging love anymore!”
Ngọc Lễ teared up, begging: “Please… let’s go… I’m begging you…”
Before he finished, the gate opened. As expected, Khánh Đăng stepped out—with a young, beautiful guy. But the shock: it was Ngọc Duy!
Duy Long gritted his teeth: “Motherfucker—him again!”
My face burned: “This planet is way too small!”
They seemed to be waiting for a taxi. While waiting, Khánh Đăng kissed Ngọc Duy several times—tenderly. Even in dim streetlight, we saw everything clearly. Ngọc Lễ couldn’t—tears blurred his vision.
We dragged him across the street. Duy Long shouted: “Khánh Đăng! You can live with yourself after this?”
Khánh Đăng stayed calm: “What are you kids doing here? I heard Lễ was sick—why are you out?”
Duy Long answered for him: “If we didn’t come out, Lễ might never know how many horns you’ve put on his head!”
Khánh Đăng crossed his arms: “You can’t blame me. Look!” He pointed at Ngọc Duy. “One heaven, one earth. If I didn’t choose this, I’d be failing myself! Don’t blame me—blame your friend for not knowing his place! Trash at the bottom still wants to reach for me?”
Duy Long lunged, fist raised—I caught him. I wanted to punch the guy too, but this was his territory—better safe.
Duy Long spat: “Lễ, open your eyes! Your dream prince—more like nightmare! If you can’t forget this scum, don’t call me your friend anymore!”
Ngọc Duy sneered: “If you want to stand beside a prince, first check if you’re a princess! Maybe the security guard here or the café staff next door is a better match. If it were me—”
I swung hard—slapped him across the face with a sharp crack. Caught off guard, he stumbled and fell. He looked up, lip bleeding, five clear finger marks on his pale cheek.
Ngọc Duy wailed: “Đăng! He hit me! Waaah!”
Khánh Đăng started toward us—I spoke first: “This is between us. If you’re still a man, stay out. Otherwise put on your sister’s dress and come join.”
Khánh Đăng didn’t care about Ngọc Duy anyway—for him, everyone was a toy. Hearing me, he shrugged and went inside, slamming the gate, ignoring Ngọc Duy’s cries.
Ngọc Duy struggled up, pointing at me: “You dared hit me?”
I shouted: “Why wouldn’t I? One slap is too light for what you did to me and Hoàng Tuấn. You know distributing someone’s private images without consent is a crime? Tuấn let it slide—I won’t! Get ready to talk to the police, you filthy bitch!”
Ngọc Duy laughed wildly: “You call me a bitch? Then what’s your boyfriend? Bet you call him your little whore when he fucks you senseless!”
Me: “Yeah—I call him that when he fucks me so good I lose my mind, feel so amazing I can’t control myself. You wouldn’t understand—you’ve never been truly loved or respected. To you, sex is just entertainment for others.”
Like I’d struck his deepest wound, Ngọc Duy charged: “Your mother—”
Before he finished, I slapped him again. He could insult me however, but not my family.
He glared, ready to speak—I stared back, pointed at his face, and roared: “Watch your fucking mouth! I hear your sugar daddy’s wife—the one hunting you—is still looking. Want me to send her your company address?”
Ngọc Duy paled at the threat. A taxi pulled up—he scrambled in and fled without another word.
Duy Long and I took Ngọc Lễ home. He was sick for a week straight. His dream shattered cruelly—the person he loved most had trampled his feelings without mercy. Duy Long and I feared he’d do something drastic—we never left him alone. Even bathroom trips, we waited outside and called him after a reasonable time.
While cooking porridge for him one day, Duy Long chopped meat beside me and said: “Fuck, that day you scared the shit out of me!”
I seasoned the pot and asked: “Scared of what? Thought I couldn’t handle him?”
Duy Long: “No—I thought you’d beat him to death! Lễ stopped crying the whole time you were yelling—only started again after you left!”
I laughed: “Should’ve cursed more!”
Ngọc Lễ, waking from his nap upstairs, shuffled down: “You guys making porridge again? Let’s order bún đậu today! I’m sick of porridge—you treating me like I’m bedridden!”
Duy Long startled: “Who possessed him?”
Seeing him so lively, I was surprised too. I joked: “He’s just pretending—wait till he cries again.”
Ngọc Lễ sat at the table: “What tears? First day I cried all day, next day half, then a few hours—getting less. Thanks, guys—I was awful. Made you worry over that scum. Not worth it. Looking back, it felt like I was under a spell!”
Duy Long nodded: “I swear he hexed you—that’s how he got rich!”
I teased: “Go to the temple sometime—get the curse lifted!”