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Leon tugged at the collar of the dress shirt. Any tighter and he'd lose circulation. Maybe he wanted that. He checked himself in the mirror one more time. This was the best he was going to get.
He loosened the tie a bit. Not that anyone would be there to look at him. The invitation. Where'd he put it?
"Idiot," he muttered to himself, digging around in the suit jacket. The cardstock was bit more wrinkled then he'd have liked. Did you know he'd probably roll and fold it over over in his hands? Delicate line work went into the writing of your name next to some man he'd never met.
Now that was faded, just barely could he make out the time and date. Could he feign he'd lost the invitation in the mail and not have to do this? Suck it up, Kennedy. She invited him, of all people.
He couldn't flake. He wasn't that kind of man.
He also knew the venue. You'd both passed it on occasion, years ago. An evening stroll when the city was quieter than it had any right to be, your eyes lit up like the stars in the sky, dragging him behind you as you sprinted for the entrance.
Your mother got married there. It'd been almost a tradition, a rite of passage, and Leon could only smile as you indulged him in a history lesson about it. Passionate, that's what you were. Are.
That's what you are.
At one point, he entertained in the fantasy of it all. It was hard not to with you. There he was, still barely a few years into service with the government, daydreaming about the white picket fence life with you.
Heh, like he could ever actually have that.
Every mission. Every devastating mission chipped away at that fantasy like cracks in ice. He'd come home, try to shut off his brain, and be there with you.
But he couldn't.
A man plagued by the memories, the faces, the screams. You didn't deserve that—so much baggage to fill an entire room.
The drive to the venue is dead silent. Just Leon alone with his thoughts as the scenery blurred in front of him. He'd gotten used to that. If this had been any other time, you'd have been in the passenger seat, blasting the sound so loud the car would vibrate. Leon would only be able to look ahead at the road as you belted your favorite songs, not without a hint of a smile threatening to break out on his face.
Madonna was definitely one of them.
Anything to play up the dramatics as you sang to him—terribly, he might add, your intertwined hands, the microphone.
His hands gripped the steering wheel, staring at what he thought was something but really was nothing. He was just outside the church. The time between leaving his place and getting here had become muddled. He wished it'd taken longer, maybe traffic or an accident to slow him down, but he was right on time. Nicely dressed guests walked by on the sidewalk.
Your friends, family, and some faces he recognized. Only he'd never spoken to them directly, all introduced by way of photos.
Your relationship with your family used to be strained; however, most differences could be put aside when it came to what was sure to be a joyous occasion. That was only his assumption though; he could only remember how many times he'd butt heads with your mother. For what? God knows.
He pressed his forehead into the steering wheel. Somewhere inside this building, you were in there…getting ready to start the next chapter of your life.
Just not with him. A more pitiful voice inside his head.
Had he fought harder, maybe things could've been different. Could've been him waiting for you at the altar.
But it was all a damn loop. Having friends, lovers, anything, was a risk. He couldn't be the one to give you sorrow, a grief you couldn't come back from. One mission could go wrong, and you'd never see him again and never know why, and that was something he wasn't ever ready to face.
There was no turning back time. He'd heard the phrase once before, when he had a therapist, that is.
It repeated like a mantra as he walked up the steps to the front entrance, trying to muster up some semblance of polite conversation and smiles to each person he passed on the way inside. If they knew who he was to you at one point, they made no mention of it.
Flowers in your favorite colors decorated the chairs, delicately tied ribbons an accent to them. You'd always had an eye for the small details. Things even he sometimes failed to notice. He never could really hide much from you, as much as he liked to think he'd kept himself closed off.
A constant pain point between the two of you. He'd only divulge to you what you needed to know about him, never anything underneath the surface.
Safer that way. Better. But was it really for you, or him?
On more than one occasion, you'd press after a particularly unsettling nightmare. Peeling back the layers of Leon's psyche. Trying to, at least. Your warmth behind him, arms wrapped around his middle. Trying to remind him you were there for him. And yet… he'd pull away, gruffly telling you, "Go back to sleep."
You could sense the walls, almost physically touch them. And as tough as you were, Leon found that you didn't push more.
Damn it.
The look on your face that night would never leave him.
He settled in one of the seats. Not too close. Not too far. Still a force of habit. Pfft, at least now it'd be useful if he had to make a mad dash out of here.
The echo of conversations, smiling faces, fresh scent of flowers should've colored everything in a soft nostalgia—but now his brain was slamming him over the head like a mallet with—what else? You.
After that night, he'd pushed you away, and everything was like a slow-moving train wreck. More arguments.
Not explosive screaming matches. Leon never dared raise his voice, lest he want to become like his parents, whose faces he couldn't even picture in his mind anymore. His memories of them were rather fleeting to begin with, but somehow the flame-red anger between them he'd witnessed even before he could speak remained imprinted in his mind.
He didn't want to be that kind of man.
So, the arguments between both of you were again just repeated. Quiet. Controlled.
The ceremony had barely begun before Leon began to dread what came after.
For fuck's sake, what could he possibly say to you? This wasn't like his job. Knowing the objective. What to get done.
Congratulations would be the obvious one.
Even that seemed incondite.
Barely scraping the surface of what all he wanted to say. An apology, maybe? No. You wouldn't allow that, not today.
He'd fucked it all up, he knew that now.
A list of ever-growing regrets that was a mile long.
You were just another one on it. Yet you'd still shown more forgiveness than he afforded to himself, if he were going based on just being here.
The opening chords to the processional sounded less joyful to his ear, more like a sign to duck and cover. There was still time.
Everyone stood, watching as the doors to the church opened, and light poured in from the stained glass positioned outside the main entrance.
Coloring your bridesmaids in a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, soft reds, and violets.
A stabbing, almost pinching pain radiated from his chest to his stomach. A taste like poison sitting on his tongue, but the taste could only be described as an acrid bitterness. He didn't even dare look at the groom, for fear his gaze could actually kill him. This should've been their wedding.
It was like a ticking time bomb, as each bridesmaid and groomsman took their places on either side of the altar. There was only one exit out of here and unfortunately, it was the same doors through which you'd come from.
And on cue, the doors pulled open.
You.
After all these years, even shrouded behind the fabric of a veil, it was still you.
A dress that only you could pull off hugged your frame. He was no fashion expert, but there wasn't a detail left to chance. Every thread, every stitching worked in harmony to only enhance every part of you.
God, you were still so beautiful. Breathtaking.
His heart pounded loud against his eardrums, pounded against his chest like it was trapped underneath his skin. He had no right to let himself get swept up in emotions, sensations like this when it came to you.
But still. The illogical part of his brain, his heart, still they went against his better judgement.
Leon was never one for flowery, poetic words. Words had always failed him. But now? He could understand what drove an artist to a canvas, a photographer to a camera—the urge to preserve something beautiful before the world had the chance to ruin it.
A need to remember something exactly the way it was. As you passed by him, his mind did just that. An almost ethereal glow. Your smile. Your hair done up just so, not a single strand out of place. The bouquet in your hands. Just as vibrant as you.
Leon realized then that this would be the last time he’d ever look at you and wonder what might have been.
The more he stared, the more his mouth began to taste the depressing taste of his whiskey he had yet to drink. The bottom of a glass he'd yet to see.
Something beautiful. He hadn't ruined you.
The rest of the ceremony was a blur. He was merely an intruder to one of the happiest days of your life, even as he kept up the appearance that he was allowed to be here. You wouldn't have invited him otherwise.
He counted the minutes until the reception, more smiling faces, more idle conversations. He'd long given up the bottle but anyone could make the exception at a reception. Whiskey still went down easy enough.
He leaned back against the bar, trying not to make eye contact with one of your bridesmaids who so clearly wanted his attention on her.
You made your way around to each table, a smile from ear to ear and thank yous uttered more times than he could count with older women and men who could talk an ear off.
He didn't fail to notice your eyes glancing his way every few moments. You were on a mission and he was part of it. It was just an obligation, nothing else.
That didn't explain why his mind went into complete overdrive as you made a beeline to him with a little scurry in your step, lifting the skirt of your dress, as if you finally realized he was here. Your smile didn't falter as you got closer.
"Leon, it's good to see you," You opened your arms for a hug. A small smile made its way to his face. You'd always been a hugger. The scent of your perfume and skin was slightly more intoxicating than the whiskey.
Floral, sweet.
"It's…uh, good…to be seen. How have you been?" He pulled away from your embrace awkwardly, not like he could overstay the welcome. Could the floor open up right now and swallow him up?
He didn't miss the pause on your end, still gently gripping at his arms. The smile on your lips lessened. Your eyes study him, trying to read him, see his real emotions underneath the mask he's wearing.
"I'm good, really good. It meant a lot that you're here," You say it, and he didn't sense the slightest bit of negative emotion behind it.
"Wouldn't miss it," He responded, polite and stilted. That wasn't true, though. He almost didn't come.
“Hey,” you spoke gently, a hand against his cheek. “You don’t have to stand here like a man at a funeral.”
Then a reassuring smile. One that used to wrap around him like a warm blanket. Reminding him that he could face anything.
"This is a happy day. You’re allowed to enjoy it too.”
It’s kind, warm… but also a reminder that this happiness isn’t his. Would never be his. There's something else just itching to leave you when someone calls for you, your head turned in their direction but you looked back at Leon, like you didn't want to go just yet.
“Leon,” you said softly, like you used to when he was overthinking something.
“I meant what I said. This is a happy day. Life. So don't think you don't deserve a happy ending too.”
Before he can respond, you're ushered away by one of the bridemaids, not without a final feather-light squeeze of his arm by you.
As you walked away, the words settled in his head. You were right, but he wanted to hold onto the idea, the thought of you just a little longer. What could've been. Leon looked you over, deliberate in memorizing this…just a few more details.
How you laughed. The way the light hit your dress, fabric swaying with every step. The way people seemed to gravitate toward you without trying. How…happy you looked.
Leon lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow drink as the newlyweds began their first dance.
He didn’t watch for long.