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“Might just be the only picture I ever post and it's not even my own wedding. Thank you @/Millennialgreyhater for being my friend and involving me in the most important moments in your life. It was a true honor to be your best man. I wish you and Sylus the very best and hope I'll get to see you shine for all the years to come. Love, Zayne.”
Zayne looks at the post he made hours ago again. It was meant to be sweet gesture for a friend, but now it seems his own words are nagging him. "Might just be the only picture I ever post and it's not even my own wedding."
No, because it is her wedding. Because he has written love off long ago. Because he keeps choosing his career over relationships. Because his work is important. With the insane hours he works, it might as well be impossible to keep a relationship alive. Every girlfriend he's ever had either ends up accusing him of avoiding them, accusing him of cheating, or just bore of spending so little time with him. He's not exactly an exciting man, he knows that very well, but he won't say no when he's asked to do something. However, none of them ever did ask him out.
Seeing his best friend, the one who always made time for him, get married to the love of her life who quite literally changed his whole life around for her... it makes him jealous. Jealous? No, it is not quite jealousy. It's this strange empty feeling in his chest. Like his heart is there and beating, but there's no warmth inside it.
It's not an unfamiliar feeling to him. Actually, it is a quite regular feeling for him. But right here, right now, it seems to sting more than usual. Especially seeing his friend dancing with her husband like they haven't been through hell and back together. It's almost as if their love has erased all the problems they've had.
Realistically, he knows that's not the truth. Zayne knows better than others how much effort it has taken those two to get together again. At moments it has been like pulling teeth, but they made it through because they wanted a future together. It seems a little unfair that they are able to get all of that and he's barely able to get someone who texts him back.
But the love they share, that is something he wants too. Forgiving, outreaching, helpful, affectionate. Is that too much to ask for? At this point he figures it might as well be. Either way, he's happy for them. Happy enough that it slips out of his eyes and rolls over his cheeks.
When the song for their first dance ends, she approaches him with outstretched hands, inviting him for a dance. Zayne quickly looks over her shoulder to Sylus, her husband, who gives him a nod. He takes her hand, a warmth spreading through his body. Familial love, a different kind of love but just as appreciated by Zayne. Together, they sway over the dance floor with Sylus’ gentle eyes watching his wife enjoying herself, smiling contently.
'Zayne, I don't think I can ever thank you enough for all you've done for me, for us,' she tells him as she pulls him closer, overwhelmed by the feelings of the day, 'but still, thank you. '
'I'd do it a million times to see you happy.' She smiles knowing that he truly means it. Her head lays down on his shoulder and he feels the slightest bit of envy when he looks over at Sylus, who looks proud as can be watching his beautiful wife. The man has it all. Everything Zayne just can't seem to get for himself. Happiness, stability, a partner to rely on.
The happiness that has been granted to them seems a gift from the gods, truly. He can only hope and pray he'll find something like that for himself someday.
Just when a strangely green feeling starts spreading in his chest, she lifts her head off his shoulder with a cheeky grin and a glint of mischief in her eyes, 'Remind me to introduce you to one of my colleagues. I think you'll like her.'
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'You must be doctor Zayne.'
Zayne turns toward the voice, startled by how close it is. He almost jerks back from the person, but then, for a second – just a second – it feels like the air is being punched out of his lungs. The woman standing next to him is positively radiant, shining brighter than the sunset spilling through the sheer curtains hung on the venue's windows. Golden hour could learn a thing or two from you. And then you have the nerve to smile at him, wide and unapologetic, like you know exactly who you are and what you're doing. He feels like he's lighter, floating almost, and that terrifies him.
'The bride told me a lot about you,' you say, your voice warm and teasing, like you're in on a joke that he's still trying to understand.
'She did,' he questions, his tone carefully cautious. He's suddenly reminded of the bride's promise to introduce him to someone, to a colleague of hers. Are you... her? You tilt your head, your eyes catching the light, and he feels his stomach drop. 'Are you one of her colleagues?' He tries to sound more casual but fails miserably.
You nod excitedly, then stop very suddenly, as if to rethink your answer. 'Well, yes and no. I get hired for my serviced every now and then. I'm an artist, but art doesn't always pay the bills, so I also do murals for her company occasionally.'
An artist? Zayne glanced over at his friend on the dance floor, having fun with her new husband. She's staring at the two of them with the biggest grin on her face, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question why she would send a woman like you his way. But she just shrugs as if to say, "You're welcome."
He turns back to you and offers you a polite smile; the kind you'd give a stranger who strikes up a conversation on the subway while you've got your headphones on. 'That's interesting,' he offers, his tone friendly but distant.
You tilt her head again, this time a little more taunting, a slight frown playing on your eyebrows. 'Interesting,' you repeat, your voice laced with amusement, 'that's all you've got?'
Zayne feels a flicker of guilt, but he pushes it down. Here he stands with this beautiful radiant woman who is giving him the time of day, but he knows this will go nowhere. No matter how much he likes your smile or the way your eyes seem to see right through him. There is no way you'll be able to forgive that his heart belongs first and foremost to his work. How could you? You don't know him.
But you're not giving up. You're not walking away. You don't even seem hurt by his cold words. Instead, you almost look like you've been challenged. And it looks like you like a challenge.
'She told me you can be a little too serious sometimes,' you say, leaning in slightly. It almost sounds like an insult, but there's that same glimmer of mischief in your eyes that he saw in his friend's eyes earlier and your voice sweet as if honey drips right off your words.
'Did she now?' Zayne replies, crossing his arms. He's not too sure if he's annoyed or intrigued, but there's a good chance that it's both.
You grin, undeterred. 'She did. And I think she's right.' Then, you pause to study him for a moment. Your eyes run over his whole exterior, looking at the details of his neat, well-fitted suit, inspecting the details of his face. It almost makes him a little nervous. Almost. 'If you could paint your life, what color would it be?'
The question catches him off guard. It's random, yet thought-provoking, and completely unexpected. Zayne opens his mouth to deflect, to say something safe and noncommittal, to protect himself, but the honesty in her gaze makes him stop in his tracks.
'Gray,' he admits before he can stop himself.
You laugh, a bright melodic sound, a heavenly sound that makes something in his chest tighten. 'Gray,' you repeat, shaking your head. 'We'll have to fix that.'
Zayne blinks, unsure of how to respond. 'Fix it?'
'Yeah,' you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'Life's too short to be gray. You need some color. Some... chaos.' The way you look at him implies you mean yourself, as if you're the living embodiment of both. The color part he understands and the chaos part... it's making more and more sense to him with every word spoken between them.
Zayne can't help but smile a little, just a little. 'Chaos, huh? I'm not sure I'm built for chaos.'
'Everyone is built for chaos,' you counter, your eyes sparkling with excitement, 'you just have to let yourself enjoy it.'
Before he can say anything else, you grab his hand, your fingers warm and he notices the colorful stains on them. He imagines they are paint stains of some kind. 'Come on doctor,' you say, tugging him towards the dance floor.
Zayne hesitates, glancing at the bride once more, who is now watching them with an expression of pure delight. He sighs, knowing he's already lost this battle. She will call him in a few days and pester him about you, begging him to take her out.
'Alright,' he sighs, letting you pull him into the crowd, 'but I'm warning you, I'm not a good dancer.'
You grin over her shoulder. 'Good thing I'm not either.'
And for the first time in what feels like forever, Zayne laughs – really laughs – as they stumble around the dance floor together. You must look like a bunch of children at a school party, but for, what feels like, the first time in his life he doesn't really care.
When he gets home from the party, he realizes he hasn't even asked your name, nor your number. The whole night feels like a blur, like a happy lucid dream. He was on cloud nine and in a few days he's in a sterile hospital again. Strange how a night like this can feel so different from his everyday life.
He sighs. At least it'll be a beautiful memory. Just when he wants to get undressed to take a shower, his phone buzzes.
"Hey, I asked our beautiful bride for your number, I hope you don't mind. What are you doing next Wednesday?"