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The day of Hubert’s wedding was every bit as painful as Malik expected it to be.
He spent the weeks preceding it telling himself he wasn’t thinking about it. He busied himself with work—within Fendel’s borders, of course, no need to run the risk of seeing one another before Hubert’s big day—and spent his lonely evenings drinking rather more than was especially advisable. The day before the thing, he picked out his best suit, the cologne Hubert had always liked bed, and asked himself why he was even going.
The answer, of course, was simple. For one, he’d been personally invited by the groom himself; for another, it was expected to be a lavish affair entertaining many important faces from Ephinea’s political spectrum and one way or another, Malik was an absolute staple in Fendel’s diplomatic community. The Chancellor had approached him personally and requested that he —and his exquisite talent for working a crowd—attend the event. He’d even suggested an appropriate date: a wealthy, moderate tradeswoman of some renown. She had such excellent qualities as a vested interest in world fashion, a healthy appreciation for the finer things in life and a gregariously outgoing personality. She proved more than willing to get herself into conversations while Malik uncharacteristically lingered around the edges of the pre-ceremony reception. He nursed a champagne and tried to keep his expression light and unaffected.
The most mortifying moment was when Asbel approached him, suited and tied and pressing his palm into Malik’s shoulder like there weren’t twenty years between them. Even though he was surely attending as brother to the groom, his Windor representative ribbon gleamed in pride of place on his breast and he stood with a knight’s posture, even without his knight’s arms. “It’s good to see you, Captain. It’s been a while.” Malik did not get a chance to swing the conversation in a more appropriate direction before Asbel lowered his voice and added, “I’m just sorry it has to be like this.”
Malik shrugged away Asbel’s sympathy with a wordless murmur, turning as though he needed to fetch another drink. It ran him right into Cheria, who was if anything even more emphatic in her willingness to lay his broken heart out in plain sight. “I really can’t believe you came, Malik, this must be so hard for you.”
Malik exhaled heavily through his nose. “If it’s all the same to you, Cheria, I’m actually trying not to think about that.”
“Oh, right, of course.” She brought her hands up over her mouth before casting her gaze around the crowded reception and brightening her gaze as she happened upon a new topic of conversation. What she landed on didn’t surprise Malik in the slightest: “Well, doesn’t the bride look beautiful, at least?”
The woman Hubert was marrying today did look nice, it was true. She had long, dark hair done up in a complex array of braids and twists, and she wore the traditional two-piece silken finery that was so common to Strahtan weddings. She wore a gauzy, translucent veil draped artfully across her nose and mouth; it was a shade of blue that Malik couldn’t help but associate with one of Hubert’s favourite Sunscreen Rangers. Ranger Blue, of course, was admirable purely because he was the smartest and most tactical of them all, not because Hubert related to him by any stretch of the imagination. It was memory that made Malik sick to think about, and he looked away.
This time, he did pluck a champagne flute from a passing server: he downed it in a single swallow. Cheria gasped a noise that spoke of disappointment and despair but wisely didn’t say anything further. She quickly hurried away into the crowd when Hubert’s cousin Raymond spotted her, and Malik couldn’t even begin to try and help her out by running interference.
It wasn’t that he’d come here intending to make a damn fool of himself. He didn’t mean to come and drink himself into despair, either—sober was pretty damn despairing, too. What could he do now? He was the one who ended things, as Hubert had been so right to remind him the last time they spoke. And now he stood with the right people surrounding him, his back perfectly straight and his mouth perfectly flat. He was wearing contact lenses, Malik realised with a start. He’d always said he hated them. Malik didn’t wonder who’d convinced him to wear them or how: he just told himself that if today was going to filled with photographs of the happy new couple, maybe it just made more sense for him to go without glasses.
Malik didn’t know. Malik didn’t know anything anymore.
The reception lasted far too long and still came to an end earlier than Malik wanted it to. He would’ve stayed in that awkward hell forever if it meant avoiding the part that came next. They were all herded into garden, where an arch was setup and Hubert and Nadya stood together opposite one another. It was the officiant’s entrance, not the bride’s, that signalled quiet, and a hush fell over the gathered crowd.
Malik’s suit felt stuffy and hot. He could smell his own cologne in a way he almost never did. He swore the Strahtan sun was shining down on him like a spotlight. He didn’t hear most of what the old officiant had to say; he didn’t listen to the telling of both Hubert and Nadya’s qualities that made them an excellent match and a credit to their country. What did pierce the haze surrounding him was when the officiant turned to the crowd and spread his arms wide, asking one simple, ceremonial question, “Now, before we begin with the ceremony, does anyone have a reason why these two upstanding young people should not be wed?”
It wasn’t done. People didn’t protest weddings when the bride and groom were literally at the altar. And Malik had no plans to speak. He wasn’t intending to interrupt this ceremony—he was here under duress, but he wasn’t interfering. Yet somehow, he found himself on his feet, and he heard himself rumbling above the quiet surrounding them, “Yeah, I have a reason.”
“Malik.” Hubert’s voice struck him first, laced with disappointment.
“Captain.” Asbel’s voice next, near his left elbow and softly surprised.
“Caesar.” But it was Garrett Ozwell’s voice that really hit him. That slick, smug, self-satisfied prick of a voice and the bastard it was associated with. Malik’s history with Garrett was not a positive one; so many of the issues he and Hubert had experienced in their relationship were either caused or exacerbated by the way this man pushed Hubert, disdained him, judged him and shamed him. Malik had no qualms hating him.
It was Garrett Ozwell he looked at when he rose to his feet, raised his chin and waited for the officiant’s reply. With his gaze, he dared Ozwell to try and stop him from speaking this one important truth. He was aware of the crowd shifting uncomfortably in their seats; some of them didn’t know who he was to Hubert, since they’d always been polite and private if not particularly obscure. Some of them probably thought they were still some kind of item. None of them mattered. The red slowly blooming up the sides of Hubert’s neck didn’t matter either. The bride’s discomfort… well, maybe that mattered a little. Malik hadn’t spoken to her, but she seemed like a good girl. She probably didn’t deserve him ruining her marriage like this.
The officiant cleared his throat and motioned in Malik’s direction. “Then please, sir, tell us why these two should not be wed.”
“Because—” Malik opened his mouth, full of confidence and certainty. Because Hubert’s gay. It was the truth, and it should have been easy enough to declare. Hubert was staring at him with an unreadable expression in those unfamiliar eyes. His gaze should’ve been something Malik could read easily; they were together for ten years, after all, and they’d argued about this before. He’d seen Hubert without his glasses plenty of times—what made this situation so different, so difficult? Maybe it was recognising the absence of intimacy of Hubert’s vision being restricted to what was close, and Malik being that close thing. Maybe it was nothing.
“Because—” God, how many times did they have this argument? Hubert always chafed at being referred to as gay, even though he’d come to be quite confident in the fact that he was only interested in men. One man in particular, he often teased, tracing his finger through Malik’s stubble. Early in their relationship, he blushed after he said it. Just before the end—just before Malik ended it, tired of always fighting—he was still doing things like that. Saying things like that.
“Because Hubert’s gay.” Malik made himself finish, and he sounded quieter than he meant to. Someone behind him coughed. He lifted his gaze to search Hubert’s, trying to express apology without shame when he added, “And I don’t think the bride deserves that kind of marriage.”
“When has that ever mattered?” Ozwell scoffed loudly from his place in the front pew. “Hubert has a duty to fulfill and he’s glad to do it, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Hubert murmured, his gaze unfocused. His shifted his weight, and Malik saw him squeeze Nadya’s fingers with his own.
“And I daresay, Caesar, that regardless of Fendel’s diplomatic needs, you wouldn’t even be here if not for Hubert’s great maturity on the matter of your so-called relationship.” He always talked like that; he never knew when to shut up. Malik ground his teeth as Ozwell continued, “To my understanding, you were the one who withdrew your affections, so what right do you have to cling to them now? You’re older than I am, yet you insist on behaving like a child about oh so many things.”
“Yeah?” Malik felt himself sneering and hated that he did nothing to control the expression on his face. What did he owe Garrett fucking Ozwell anymore? “You’re nearly as old as me and yet you still feel the need to rub your victories in everyone's face. Not the most mature example you’ve ever set, Garrett.”
Ozwell’s face purpled. “How dare you!”
“Malik, maybe you should sit down.” That was Cheria’s voice, new to the growing din, and Malik might have considered it if he couldn’t see the officiant beginning to continue the ceremony. He started pushing his way past fellow guests’ legs, heading for the center aisle while he protested, “Hey, you’re not taking my objection seriously!”
The officiant nervously cleared his throat, then began to speak, “It’s my understanding that—”
“Nadya is aware.” Hubert’s voice cut in again, hard and cold the way it always was in their stalemates. Malik stared at him as he very deliberately squeezed Nadya’s hand for a second time; from behind her veil, she gave a faint nod. “We have discussed our previous relationships and how they will no affect on our union.”
“Hubert, you’re never going to be happy like this.” Malik felt his composure slipping, desperation welling up within his chest.
“How many times are you going to make me have this same argument!” Hubert finally snapped, his voice cresting to the sky. “And in front of my friends, family and colleagues, as well. Do you think you’re going to change my mind? I have made my decision, Malik and as you know, you’re no longer part of that process. Please stop embarrassing yourself.”
Malik wasn’t the type to be embarrassed, even by a situation as dire as this one. Standing in the middle of the aisle, wearing his best suit and with his arms spread to either side of him, he made one last desperate bid for Hubert to just… do something for himself. Cast of the shackles Ozwell had clapped him in. Stand tall without a shred of shame. “I just want you to do what you always promised.”
Hubert’s face went completely slack of a long, agonising moment. In that instant, Malik saw everything he’d been desperate not to see: fear, desperation, disappointment, misery. By the time he blinked, Hubert had shuttered it away and turned his back.
“I don’t want to watch you do this to yourself.” Malik finished lamely, letting his arms fall loose to his sides.
“Then don’t.” Hubert said crisply. “You’re free to leave.”
It… it hurt like hell. Deep in his heart of hearts, Malik had known it would turn out this way—there was no way it didn’t—but he still fucking ached. Everyone was staring at him. Ozwell looked like he’d just gorged on a luxurious meal given to him for free. But it was the bride’s gaze that really haunted him. She looked at Hubert for a long moment, as though hoping he would meet her eyes; when he didn’t, she looked towards Malik. Did he imagine it, or did she slowly dip her chin in the barest of nods? Was it encouragement, or dismissal?
He lingered too long, and Hubert spoke more forcefully. “Go.”
What the bride thought didn’t matter. Hubert had uninvited him, and Malik meant what he said: he didn’t want to watch this happen. His date hadn’t been sitting near him and she wasn’t about to miss the wedding of the season, so he simply turned and walked down the aisle to the exit without looking back.
He heard the officiant continue before he was even out of earshot.
After Malik left the ceremony, he didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t know where to stop. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest, surging around a mix of emotions he didn’t want to examine. Part of it was heartbreak, honest and clean; part of it was frustration, anger that he still hadn’t managed to communicate this thing to Hubert; part of it was despair so soul-sucking and endless that he couldn’t imagine waking up tomorrow knowing today had happened the way it did.
But he was old, and he’d been through enough to know it’d feel better in the morning. Duller, at least.
Eventually, he found himself at a quiet bar on the other side of the city. Certainly none of Hubert’s wedding guests would be finding their way there in a hurry, and he settled down at a table in the corner with a tall glass of something to keep him company. What was he doing right now? What was he actually doing?
He was wallowing, and he knew it. He just… he didn’t know how someone as smart as Hubert could be this stupid. It was his whole damn life. He was young. He deserved to be happy. And when had Hubert Ozwell ever chosen happiness over something else?
… Had Malik really been making Hubert happy, all those years? It felt like it at the time. Even when they argued, sometimes explosively, the good always outweighed the bad. Hubert insisted his relationship with Malik was worth even Ozwell’s disapproval and Raymond’s gaudy confusion; over their years as a couple, Hubert became so much more confident and assertive in his wants, needs and desires. They’d figured out how to do everything but live together, and that was more a logistics problem than any lack of desire, what with Hubert being needed in Strahta and Malik being needed in Fendel. Why hadn’t they made it work? Why… why had it ended in such a disaster?
This time, Hubert didn’t come find him at the bar. Malik lingered until closing time and then tipsily took himself to his room at the inn, where he slept alone.
The carefree bachelor life sure as hell wasn’t what it used to be.