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The worst thing about Sky's wedding invitation, in Nicha's opinion, was that on the one hand it contained every piece of information a reasonable person might need to arrive at the right place at the right time, and on the other it failed to answer the one question that had been haunting her since she opened the envelope. The date, the time, the hotel's name, the dress code—everything had been laid out with almost irritating care, on thick paper that felt pleasant beneath her fingertips and was decorated with delicate golden lines. For the first three minutes, Nicha was convinced someone had mixed up the addresses and sent her an invitation to a royal wedding rather than the wedding of a boy who, back in high school, could spend an entire lunch break arguing that listening to her favorite band ought to be a criminal offense. Only the handwriting on the little note enclosed with the invitation convinced her it was genuine. “I'd be happy if you came. It's been a long time since we've seen each other. I'd like you to be there.” Three simple sentences, without explanations, without apologies for years of silence, without a single word about whom Sky intended to say “I do” to. And perhaps that last omission, that tiny gap among all the carefully chosen embellishments, was what frightened her most.
She couldn't find the other groom's surname. There was no photograph, not even the smallest hint that would allow her to decide whether she should prepare to get emotional or to commit a crime in public. Instead, for a week she had been turning over memories she had spent years trying to arrange into something bearable, catching herself tracing each one back to the same person. Gun. A name she hadn't said aloud in a long time because she'd had no reason to—or perhaps because saying it would mean admitting she still remembered far too much.
“Maybe he just doesn't want us judging his partner,” Ton observed from across the kitchen table, turning the invitation between his fingers with the caution of someone holding a document of uncertain legal significance.
Nicha looked at him over the rim of her cup. Common sense told her Ton hadn't said anything particularly stupid. The problem was that, ever since the letter arrived, common sense had occupied remarkably little space in her head.
“We weren't judging him. We were trying to convince Sky not to waste his life with a man who treated him like garbage.”
“That still sounds like judging.”
“That sounds like having eyes, Ton.”
Ton sighed but didn't argue. He didn't need to. Both of them remembered that period with a precision they would gladly have done without: canceled plans, unanswered messages, explanations so unconvincing that they could only believe them because they desperately wanted to. They remembered how Sky, once perfectly willing to argue with half the school over a misplaced comma in a group assignment, had suddenly learned to stay silent about things that should have made him furious. How fiercely he'd defended Gun, with a conviction that didn't match the look in his eyes as he listened to his own words. How he'd smiled when they asked about his exhaustion, the bruises, why he'd failed to show up again, and told them everything was fine, even though sometimes he gripped the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. Nicha remembered one conversation in particular, when they finally told him outright that they didn't trust Gun and that he could call them any time. Sky had looked at them as though they weren't offering help but trying to take away the last thing he believed belonged to him alone. He'd left before they could explain what they really meant.
He hadn't spoken to them for several weeks. Then he'd returned, irritable and excessively polite, as if he assumed sitting beside them in the cafeteria would make all the difficult words dissolve without a trace. And they, young and terrified by how easily one could lose someone dear, had accepted that unspoken agreement. Nicha had often wondered afterward whether that was when she'd made her greatest mistake: whether she should have pushed harder or, on the contrary, bitten her tongue and simply stayed by his side. She never found an answer, and eventually there wasn't even another chance to try. Sky slipped out of their lives almost without a sound. He changed his number, stopped replying, and their mutual acquaintances could only shrug. They didn't know when he'd broken up with Gun, or whether he'd done so at all. They were left with countless unsent messages and the knowledge that sometimes a person can worry about someone so much that they begin to treat their own fear as sufficient reason to make decisions for them.
That was why the wedding invitation was more than an invitation. It was a small, fragile piece of evidence that Sky still remembered their names, that despite the passing years he still wanted to see their faces among the guests, that perhaps not everything had been lost. Nicha knew she had no right to demand explanations. She also knew that if she arrived and discovered Gun was the groom, she'd probably forget every one of her admirable resolutions within five minutes. That was precisely why she'd rejected three of Ton's suits before allowing him to leave the apartment. If they were going to face their worst fears, she at least intended to look like someone who knew what she was doing.
“If it turns out he's still with Gun, at least we'll look good while we're dragging him out of there,” she announced, straightening Ton's tie.
“Please don't make a scene.”
“I don't make scenes.”
“I know you.”
“How unfortunate for both of us.”
The hotel smelled of flowers, freshly polished wood, and money. Nicha had no idea what money actually smelled like, but when she saw the towering arrangements of white roses, the delicate fabrics spilling down the banisters, and golden light reflecting off the crystal chandeliers, she decided that this must be it. For a while she occupied herself by calculating how many months she'd have to work to afford just the decorations by the entrance, which turned out to be a surprisingly effective way of keeping the rising panic at bay. Then Ton touched her elbow, and she followed his gaze. Sky stood a few steps away, near the doors leading into the hall, in a pale suit perfectly fitted to his slender frame. His hair had been carefully styled, although one rebellious strand fell across his forehead, and his hand made a small, familiar movement as he adjusted his cuff. For one heartbeat, Nicha saw the boy she'd known in high school and felt such a sudden stab of longing that it stole her breath. Then she noticed something her memories could never have anticipated.
Sky was smiling. Not the strained smile she knew all too well, when his lips curved appropriately but his eyes remained vigilant, as though he might have to check at any moment whether someone would find his reaction unacceptable. He was laughing at something a guest had said, his head tilted slightly and his shoulders relaxed in a way Nicha didn't remember from the final months of their friendship. He didn't look like someone performing the role of a happy groom for an audience. He looked like someone who genuinely was happy and no longer considered that something he needed to prove. Nicha felt her heart tighten painfully around a thought she would rather not have had: what if they'd been wrong about Gun? What if the man they'd hated had truly changed, and their concern back then had merely been a clumsy attempt to deprive their friend of a choice? For a brief moment, shame outweighed relief. Only when Sky turned his head did she realize she couldn't settle the question from a distance.
“Sky!” she called before she could lose her nerve.
He looked at her in disbelief, and then his face lit up so quickly that every sentence she'd prepared scattered from her memory. He took a step toward them, stopped like someone suddenly afraid of his own hope, and then smiled even wider.
“You came.”
“Of course we came. You invited us to your wedding,” Ton replied in that particular tone he'd always used to conceal his emotions.
“You don't have to sound as though you think that's a mistake.”
“I haven't decided yet.”
“Ton.”
“All right, all right. You look great.”
Sky snorted, then walked over and wrapped his arms around them both before either could find an excuse. Nicha nearly drove the metal clasp of her handbag into his back, Ton struggled to save his phone from falling, and suddenly she didn't care about any of it. She felt the warmth of his arms, the familiar scent of his perfume, and the same unceremonious way he'd once pulled his friends close whenever he decided everyone was being far too sentimental. Except now he held them a little tighter, a little longer, as if trying to fit into this single embrace all the years they could never reclaim. Nicha closed her eyes. She could have asked where he'd been. She could have listed every unanswered phone call and reminded him how frightened they'd been. Instead, she hugged him more firmly and allowed herself to believe, at least for this moment, that the most important answer was right here: Sky was alive, warm, laughing, and he'd come to them of his own accord.
“I'm really glad you came,” he said when they finally drew apart. “I thought maybe you wouldn't want to.”
“Don't be stupid,” Nicha answered too quickly to hide how moved she was.
“How touching.”
“I've always been touching.”
“You've always been unbearable.”
“And that's why you love me.”
Sky laughed, tipping his head back, and the sound made Nicha's eyes sting. She did not want to cry. Absolutely not after spending two hours on makeup that had cost more than any reasonable person ought to spend on their face. Fortunately, Sky didn't notice the way she tightened her fingers around her handbag strap. He was already drawing them toward the hall, saying that he wanted to introduce them to a few people before the ceremony began. Nicha glanced at Ton, who returned the same long, uncertain look. Neither voiced the question that had followed them for a week. Both were beginning to suspect the answer might be easier to accept than they'd expected. They simply didn't yet know why.
Prapai appeared beside Sky without fanfare, without a public announcement, and without making the slightest effort to attract attention—which was frankly impressive, considering he looked like a man to whom fate had given too many good genes and then thrown in a perfectly tailored suit for good measure. Nicha first noticed him out of the corner of her eye: a tall man approaching Sky from the drinks table, placing a glass of water beside his hand, and then leaning in to say something in his ear. She didn't hear the words. She only saw Sky turn his head, blush all the way to his ears, and give him a light smack on the arm. The man laughed without a trace of remorse, then accepted the next furious glare with the expression of someone for whom it was the most precious reward of the day. Nicha, who until then had believed no living creature could enjoy being insulted by Sky, began to suspect she'd encountered a truly peculiar specimen.
Then the stranger put an arm around Sky's waist. Had the gesture been the slightest bit more forceful, Nicha would probably have reacted before she could think, but the man didn't pull Sky toward him or restrict his movements. He simply rested his hand on Sky's waist, leaving him all the space he needed to step away. Sky, who in high school had reacted to accidental touches with the indignation of someone whose spine was being rearranged without permission, didn't even interrupt his conversation. He leaned sideways against the man with such complete ease that Nicha forgot to breathe for a moment. His body clearly knew that touch. It didn't need to wonder about its intention or brace for the next movement. When the man bent down to brush his lips against Sky's temple, Sky merely rolled his eyes without retreating so much as an inch.
“That's not Gun,” Ton whispered beside her.
Nicha nearly spilled champagne all over herself. The surge of relief was so violent that it robbed her of speech for a moment, so, as usual in such situations, she decided to resort to irritation.
“I noticed.”
“I wanted to make sure we were seeing the same thing.”
“Ton, if you say something that obvious again, I'm throwing you out the window.”
Ton discreetly inspected the windows. “Then who is he?”
That was an excellent question, and Nicha didn't know the answer. All she knew was that, for the first time in many years, she could look at the person standing beside Sky without an immediate urge to intervene. The man wasn't searching his partner's face for signs of disobedience, monitoring his movements, or behaving as though public affection was meant to demonstrate ownership. He watched Sky with something approaching wonder, sincere and a little helpless, as though even after all this time he was still astonished to find himself so close. More importantly, Sky looked at him exactly the way one looks at someone capable of driving them insane, yet to whom they still want to tell every tiny thing that happened throughout the day.
“Sky,” Nicha said when her friend finally turned to them, “are you going to introduce us to this man, or should we guess?”
Sky blinked. A look of sudden realization crossed his face, and it promised nothing good. “Oh.”
“I don't like that ‘oh,’” Ton muttered.
“This is Prapai,” Sky announced, as though supplying a name resolved every question.
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Prapai said, shaking each of their hands with disarming courtesy. “Sky has told me a lot about you.”
“That's not true,” Sky interjected immediately.
“Of course, darling. Not a word,” Prapai agreed without batting an eyelid. “Except that Ton is annoying.”
“That sounds plausible,” Ton admitted.
“And apparently Nicha is one of the few people even more stubborn than Sky.”
Nicha opened her mouth to protest, then closed it as the meaning of what she'd just heard suddenly sank in. Sky had talked about them. Through all the years she'd believed they'd been erased from his life, he'd mentioned them to someone who clearly knew not only their names, but also the little flaws they'd once teased each other about during school breaks. She looked at her friend, feeling that same mixture of affection and resentment that had always made her a danger to those around her.
“You told him about us?”
Sky frowned. “Why do you sound like that's a crime?”
“Because for the last few years we didn't even know whether you were alive!”
The words came out sharper than she'd intended. She instantly regretted choosing this moment, among the flowers, elegant guests, and music meant to herald the beginning of something joyful. But Sky didn't look away. His smile merely softened a little, and Prapai, who a moment earlier had looked ready to joke even at his own funeral, became serious. He didn't interrupt or try to take over the conversation. He moved his hand a little higher onto Sky's back, as though to remind him he was there, and Sky covered his fingers with his own without taking his eyes off Nicha. There was something so intimate in that simple understanding that she felt she'd just witnessed more than any long account of the intervening years could have explained.
“I'm alive,” Sky answered quietly. “I'm here. And I'm happy.”
Nicha nodded and cleared her throat to recover her voice. “That's good. That's really good.”
“I intend to make sure it stays that way,” Prapai said gently.
Sky immediately shot him a dark look. “I'm not a project that needs fixing.”
“I didn't say you were.”
“It sounded like you did.”
“I said I intend to take care of you. That's an entirely different thing.”
“You're unbearable.”
“I know, darling.”
Ton nudged Nicha lightly with his elbow, but she didn't need his help to see what was obvious. Prapai loved Sky. Not because he couldn't stop touching him, or because he used affectionate nicknames with the confidence of someone who had never feared showing his feelings in public. He loved him in the way he listened to every answer, accepted disagreement without offense, and didn't appear insulted that Sky could cuddle up to him while simultaneously threatening to kill him. And when Sky, almost in defiance of everyone watching, rose onto his toes and kissed his cheek, Nicha discovered something else: the man with that outrageously handsome face was utterly defenseless where Sky was concerned.
Prapai froze, and Sky drew back with triumph shining in his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” his partner answered after a moment, although he looked as though he'd just forgotten his own surname.
“You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“I just didn't expect you to kiss me in front of witnesses.”
“It's my wedding. I can kiss my own husband wherever I want.”
For a moment, even the music seemed to fall quiet. Prapai turned his head very slowly, like someone trying to make sure he hadn't misheard the most important words of his life.
“Say that again.”
“No.”
“Sky.”
“No.”
“You said I'm your husband.”
“Because you are.”
Prapai pressed a hand to his heart. “I want someone to write that down.”
“I'll write it on your forehead in a minute.”
“Promise?”
“Pai!”
Nicha burst out laughing, unable to stop herself. Ton looked at her with almost philosophical bewilderment. “I have no idea what's going on here.”
“You don't need to,” she replied. “It's enough that we know Sky isn't marrying Gun.”
Only when Sky turned his head did she realize she'd spoken those last words too loudly. He didn't look frightened, but the amusement slowly drained from his face. Nicha felt a chill at the back of her neck. She'd spent the entire evening trying not to open the door to the past, and now she'd done it herself at the worst possible moment.
“What did you say?” Sky asked.
“Nothing.”
“You said ‘Gun.’”
She couldn't lie convincingly when he looked at her like that. Her eyes flicked involuntarily to Prapai, expecting tension, jealousy, perhaps an attempt to change the subject. She saw none of those things. He didn't tighten his fingers around Sky's shoulder or rush to answer for him. He stayed beside him, present but calm, leaving his partner to decide whether he wanted to talk about it. And it was precisely that lack of urgency that made Nicha begin to understand the difference between Sky's old life and his life now. It wasn't that the bad memories had ceased to exist. It wasn't that things would never be difficult for him again. It was the right to have his own reaction, to say something true or remain silent, without having to anticipate the price he would pay for it.
“I haven't seen Gun in years,” Sky finally said.
“We know,” Nicha replied carefully.
“No, you don't.” He shook his head, though there was no anger in his voice. “You don't know what happened. And you don't have to know. But I want you to understand one thing.”
Nicha nodded. Sky glanced at Prapai, who met his eyes with a calm, warm look that held no expectation of any particular version of the story. Only then did Sky turn back to his friends.
“I didn't marry him because he saved me,” he said. “I married him because when I no longer needed saving, I still wanted him beside me.”
Nicha felt something painful and constricted in her chest finally begin to loosen. In a single sentence, Sky had captured more than she'd been able to imagine for years: the journey from fear to choice, from needing safety to a love that required no justification. She wanted to hug him again, tell him how proud she was, apologize for every moment she'd mistaken her own helplessness for his stubbornness. She didn't get the chance.
“That was very romantic, darling,” Prapai whispered with the solemnity befitting a state ceremony. “Can I have a kiss now?”
Sky closed his eyes. “I'm going to kill you.”
“After the ceremony?”
“Before.”
“That would complicate our honeymoon plans.”
“Pai!”
Nicha laughed so hard she had to steady herself against Ton's shoulder. Sky was red in the face and looked as if he were considering whether it was possible to get divorced before the officiant finished the final sentence. And yet, after a moment, he began laughing himself, concealing neither his irritation nor his affection. Nicha watched him and thought that perhaps this was what she'd wanted for him from the very beginning. Not a life without pain, not a love that looked perfect in the eyes of every witness, but the ordinary right to be himself. To be angry, to laugh, to roll his eyes. To have happiness that didn't require him to disappear.
When the ceremony ended and the reception spread through the hall along with music, conversation, and yet more glasses of champagne, Nicha discovered that stopping Ton from conducting a private investigation would be just as difficult as stopping Sky from commenting on other people's stupid decisions. Her friend had drunk enough to consider his own curiosity a social obligation, and with an exceptionally grave expression he approached Prapai just as the man was trying to convince Sky to eat another slice of cake. Sky insisted he had no room left. Prapai countered that such a beautiful cake would be offended if they didn't try it. Nicha couldn't decide which argument was more absurd, but she thoroughly enjoyed watching Sky appropriate his partner's fork with remarkably little effort, despite supposedly not wanting anything to eat.
“I need to ask you something,” Ton announced.
“Of course,” Prapai replied, turning his attention to him.
“Did you know Sky didn't tell us who he was marrying?”
A moment of silence followed. Prapai looked at Sky; Sky looked at Ton, then turned very slowly toward his newly wedded husband. Nicha knew that expression. In high school, it had generally meant someone was about to regret their life choices.
“Don't you dare,” Sky warned.
Prapai pressed his lips together so hard his shoulders shook. “I haven't said anything.”
“You're laughing.”
“I can't help being a happy man.”
“You're a happy man who's about to become a widower.”
“That's the most beautiful thing I've heard all day,” Ton said, openly delighted.
Prapai lost his battle against his own laughter. Sky turned his back on him in a display of deep offense, but rather than leave him alone, his husband wrapped his arms around him from behind, drawing him close only as far as Sky allowed, and began apologizing in a whisper whose exaggerated sweetness might have caused serious problems for any innocent bystander. Every few seconds he kissed Sky's cheek; Sky continuously assured him there was no force on earth that could make him forgive him, although he made not one genuine attempt to escape his embrace. Nicha, who that morning had imagined coming face to face with an old nightmare, now watched them with a relief so immense it was almost comical. Here was Sky, all grown up, happy, in love, and apparently condemned to spend the rest of his life with a man whose principal hobby was testing the limits of his patience.
At one point Prapai bent even lower and said something directly into Sky's ear. Nicha couldn't hear the words, but she didn't need to in order to guess that the subject was unsuitable for discussion around family. Sky's back straightened instantly, his hand tightened around his glass, and a blush returned to his cheeks so intense it nearly rivaled the red flowers decorating the neighboring table.
“No,” Sky said firmly.
“I haven't said anything yet,” Prapai replied with an innocence so theatrical that Nicha considered it a personal insult to the intelligence of everyone present.
“That's exactly why I'm saying no.”
“You don't even know what I want to ask.”
“I know you.”
“That's very romantic.”
“That's very concerning.”
Prapai smiled against his temple. “We can talk later, when we're alone. I have a few ideas for making up for all the suffering you've endured today.”
Sky gave him a look that made Nicha suddenly develop a sincere interest in the arrangement of the cutlery. The combination of outrage, suspicion, and that entirely private spark in his eyes was not something she intended to examine too closely. Fortunately, Sky apparently decided it was his duty to save the reputation of the entire gathering.
“If your ideas involve that damn tie, I swear I'll throw you out of our room.”
“What tie?”
“The one you bought specifically to torment me.”
Prapai put a hand to his chest. “I'm deeply offended.”
“Excellent. You can be offended quietly.”
“I can't. I'm your husband. That means you have to comfort me.”
“It means I can murder you and inherit your money.”
“My money is your money too, darling.”
Sky opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. Nicha recognized, with considerable satisfaction, the expression of a man who'd been defeated by his own logic, and she had to admit she saw it on Sky's face so rarely that she'd gladly have preserved the moment in a photograph. Prapai, clearly aware of his victory, kissed his forehead and murmured, “I love you too.” Sky repaid him with another smack on the arm, but when Prapai moved his hand away, Sky instinctively caught his fingers. The movement was so quick it would have been easy to miss. Nicha didn't miss it.
“I want a husband like that,” she told Ton.
Ton looked at her in genuine horror. “No.”
“I wasn't asking your opinion.”
“That would be an unhealthy marriage.”
“That would be a wonderful marriage.”
“I don't want you threatening to kill me at a wedding reception.”
“It's not a threat. It's a promise.”
He rolled his eyes, but his attention wandered back to the newlyweds. Sky had just stolen a bite of cake from Prapai's plate, and instead of protesting, Prapai moved the plate closer so he wouldn't have to reach. When someone struck up a conversation with Sky, Prapai adjusted his cuff, smoothing the fabric with two fingers. Sky didn't even pause in his conversation; he simply touched Prapai's hand for a moment. Nicha watched the tiny exchange and felt all the noise around them grow less important. There was nothing performative about the gesture. It wasn't for the guests or the photographers. It was part of a language they'd learned together: a question and an answer, reassurance, a quiet “I'm here” woven into everyday movements so naturally that neither of them even had to look.
She didn't know how many difficult conversations had taken place between their first meeting and this evening. She didn't know how many times Sky had pulled away out of fear that trust would prove to be a trap again, or how much patience Prapai had needed to learn the difference between stubbornness and care. She had no intention of inventing someone else's story simply to make it easier to understand. It was enough that Sky had his own voice, his own boundaries, and a smile he didn't have to keep under control. Prapai certainly didn't look like a man without flaws—Nicha would have bet a considerable sum that he had an entire collection—but he looked like someone willing to listen when Sky said “no,” and equally attentive when his partner said “yes.” She understood that she might never establish whether she and Ton had done the right thing back then. They could have been wrong in how they'd tried to help without being wrong about the danger itself. They might have been unable to get Sky out of that relationship, even though they sincerely wanted him to be safe. And perhaps the fact that they hadn't managed to save him didn't necessarily mean they'd failed him.
“Come on,” she finally said, taking Ton's hand. “We need to raise a toast.”
“To what?”
Nicha looked at Sky, who was pretending to be mortally offended because Prapai had shamelessly offered him another bite of cake, and felt warmth spread through her chest. “To the fact that Sky still has terrible taste in people, but at least this one knows how to make him laugh.”
Ton studied the newlyweds, then raised his glass. “Absolutely terrible.”
Late that evening, the hall slowly emptied. The music grew softer, conversations trailed off with farewells, and the staff discreetly cleared the dishes from tables where no one was sitting anymore. Nicha stepped onto the terrace in search of some fresh air and found Sky there, standing alone by the railing with a glass of water in his hand. The city lights shimmered in the glass, and a light breeze stirred his hair, tugging one strand free from its carefully set style. For a moment he reminded Nicha of the boy she'd once known, thoughtful and a little distant, but the difference was unmistakable now: he didn't look lost in thoughts he was trying to escape. He simply looked exhausted by happiness, if such a thing was possible. He saw her before she could decide whether to approach and gave her an encouraging smile. Nicha went to stand beside him, but for a long moment she looked only at the lights below. She hadn't planned a speech. She'd promised herself she wouldn't ruin his day by dragging him back into the past. Yet some words, carried inside for too long, eventually begin to weigh more than the fear of saying them.
“I'm sorry,” she said at last.
Sky turned his head. “For what?”
Nicha drew a breath, trying to find the right place to begin. She'd imagined this conversation many times, but in none of those imaginings had she been able to decide where a friend's responsibility ended and her own began. Now she understood that she didn't have to decide that for both of them. She only had to tell the truth about herself.
“For not knowing how to help you back then. For pushing you when you should have had the right to decide for yourself what to do. And for being angry with you when you stopped talking to us. I focused more on how far you'd pushed us away than on what you must have been going through.”
Sky stayed silent, watching her closely. Nicha lowered her eyes to her hands, to the nails she'd painted for a joyful celebration, to the ring she'd been turning nervously for several minutes. For a moment she feared she was making the same mistake again, forcing him to face something simply because she needed relief. So before he could respond, she added more quietly:
“You don't have to tell me anything. Really. I don't expect you to forgive me just because I finally found the courage to say this, either. I simply want you to know I never stopped worrying about you.”
Sky let out a slow breath. For a while his fingers moved over the cool surface of his glass, as though he were arranging an answer in his head, one he had no intention of giving anyone under pressure. Nicha was prepared to respect his silence if that was what he chose. Which made it all the more surprising when he finally spoke.
“I was angry with you,” he admitted. “Very angry. Back then it felt like everyone was trying to tell me how to live, and I thought that if I was just stubborn enough, I'd prove you all wrong. I couldn't understand why you couldn't simply trust me. Or maybe I didn't want to understand, because then I would've had to ask myself questions I wasn't ready to answer.”
He smiled sadly, and a shadow appeared in his eyes that Nicha recognized even without knowing all its causes. “I was an idiot.”
“You were in love,” she said gently.
“That's not an excuse.”
“No. But it's an explanation.”
Sky regarded her for a long moment before giving a quiet snort of laughter. “You're starting to sound like Pai.”
“Don't insult me.”
“Sorry.”
“You're not sorry at all.”
“No,” he admitted without a trace of remorse.
They both laughed, not because everything had suddenly become simple, but because at last they could stand beside their old memories without allowing them to take up all the room for something new. Nicha opened her arms but didn't immediately step forward. She wanted Sky to know it was an invitation, not a demand. He took the step himself and hugged her tightly, resting his cheek against her shoulder. She held him there for a long while, feeling the tension she'd carried for years begin to melt away. She wasn't going back to high school, reclaiming those lost days, or fixing everything with a single gesture. She simply had her friend in her arms again, and for the first time she wasn't afraid an embrace had to mean goodbye.
“I'm happy,” Sky whispered.
“I know, silly.”
“Really.”
“I can see that.”
“Pai is unbearable.”
Nicha laughed through her tears. “I can see that too.”
“He's awful.”
“Of course.”
“He has no respect for my authority.”
“You don't have any authority.”
Sky pulled away sharply, outraged in a way so familiar it almost hurt Nicha with affection. “That's very rude.”
“I'm at your wedding. I can say whatever I want.”
“Then I won't invite you next time.”
“Next time, at least include the groom's name.”
Before Sky could answer, the terrace door opened softly. Prapai stopped on the threshold as if judging whether he was welcome or ought to leave them alone. Nicha watched his gaze find Sky's reddened eyes and the barely visible trace of moisture on his cheek before moving to her. He didn't ask what had happened. He didn't suddenly transform into a man ready to solve everyone else's problems on the spot. He merely smiled, softly and patiently, with so much tenderness that Nicha felt almost out of place witnessing something so private.
“Sky, darling?” he said. “May I steal you for a few minutes?”
“I'm not property,” Sky replied automatically.
“I know. That's why I'm asking.”
There was so little in that sentence, and at the same time so much, that Nicha suddenly stopped hearing the conversations drifting out from the hall. She saw Sky's shoulders relax after a moment, his expression soften, and his hand slowly reach toward the man who hadn't moved from his place until he'd been invited. She wondered how many times Sky must have heard questions like that before he'd stopped expecting an order hidden beneath them. How many tiny “you can say no” moments it had taken for him to learn to believe that refusing truly wouldn't cost him anything. She didn't know the answers. But the result was standing right in front of her.
Sky turned back to her once more. “Sorry. I have to go.”
“Go,” she replied with a smile.
He hesitated. “Will I see you again?”
“If you don't invite me to another wedding without telling me the groom's name, maybe.”
Sky laughed. “No promises.”
Prapai sighed theatrically when Sky walked over and threaded their fingers together. “My wife is terribly difficult.”
“I'm your husband,” Sky corrected him without thinking.
Prapai froze. Again. Nicha began to suspect that simply repeating that one sentence often enough in his presence would be sufficient to deprive him of the ability to function entirely. Just beyond the door, Ton made a strangled sound that might have been laughter or a failed attempt to remain serious.
“Say it again,” Prapai pleaded.
“No.”
“Sky.”
“No.”
“Please.”
Sky smiled sweetly, savoring his advantage. “No.”
Prapai pressed a hand to his heart. “I'm being rejected at my own wedding.”
“You'll survive.”
“I don't know if I can.”
“Pai.”
“Yes, darling?”
Sky sighed, then rose onto his toes and kissed him on the lips, briefly but unhurriedly, with the confidence of someone who knew the answer to an unspoken question very well. Prapai immediately stopped pretending to die. He smiled so triumphantly that Sky probably ought to have felt cheated, but instead he looked at him with fond exasperation. Nicha noticed Sky's hand lingering for a moment on his husband's chest, right where Prapai had dramatically pressed his fingers to his heart a moment earlier.
“Can we go now?” Prapai asked.
“Yes. Before I change my mind.”
They headed toward the hall hand in hand. Nicha was just about ready to return to Ton and admit that for the first time in years she genuinely felt at peace, when Prapai's voice reached her from the corridor.
“By the way, darling, remember what you promised me after the ceremony?”
Sky stopped so abruptly his husband nearly collided with him. “No.”
“Really?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You said that if I teased you in front of your friends one more time, you'd find a way to punish me.”
Ton emitted a sound Nicha could only describe as the last wheeze of a dying kettle. She herself covered her mouth with her hand, suddenly realizing she'd been accidentally dragged into a portion of a marital conversation she decidedly did not want access to. Sky turned slowly toward Prapai. The smile that appeared on his face was sweet, gentle, and so dangerous that Nicha nearly felt obliged to warn its future victim.
“Pai.”
“Yes, darling?”
“If you don't shut up in the next five seconds, I swear I'll...”
“You'll what?”
Sky narrowed his eyes. “You'll find out in our room.”
This time it was Prapai who lost the ability to speak. He stared at Sky as though he could declare the entire day the greatest of his life, even though for some time now it had seemed there was no higher level of happiness left for him to reach. Then his smile took on an expression Nicha would rather not have witnessed in the presence of several dozen relatives, three photographers, and at least one aunt who was undoubtedly already planning to question the newlyweds about children.
“I can't wait,” he whispered.
“We're leaving,” Sky ordered, tugging him by the hand.
Prapai followed without the slightest resistance. Nicha watched them disappear around the corridor's bend, then slowly turned toward Ton. In his eyes she saw the very same things she felt herself: amazement, amusement, and a relief that couldn't possibly be mistaken for anything else.
“He really isn't Gun,” she said.
“No,” Ton agreed. “Definitely not.”
“Sky is happy.”
Ton looked down the corridor, then smiled gently. “Yes.”
Nicha was quiet for a moment. She wondered how many years it had taken her to understand something at once simple and difficult to accept: not everyone we love needs us to make decisions for them, even when we're convinced we know better. Sometimes the only thing we can do is leave the door open without slamming it shut in wounded pride when they don't want to walk through it straightaway. Sky had returned to their lives not as the boy they'd known in high school, not as someone who'd managed to erase his past, but as a grown man who'd found a way to trust himself again. And that was what mattered most. Nicha no longer needed to imagine what he might be feeling or write an ending to a story whose many chapters remained closed to her. She could see him as he was now: smiling, stubborn, loved, and entirely capable of driving his own husband out of what little sanity he had left.
When she spotted them again a few minutes later on the other side of the hall, Prapai had an arm around Sky's waist, and Sky, responding to something whispered in his ear, rolled his eyes and kissed his cheek. This time Nicha didn't think of Gun. She didn't compare their expressions or search every tiny gesture for warning signs. She merely thought that if Prapai ever hurt Sky, he'd have to answer to her personally. Then she watched him let his husband steal the last bite of cake from his plate, even though a moment earlier he'd clearly intended to eat it himself, and decided that probably wouldn't be necessary.
At least not until Prapai discovered whether Sky really intended to make good on his promise of punishment. Then perhaps they'd all have to intervene. For purely humanitarian reasons, of course. Nicha was, after all, an exceptionally responsible person. Especially when someone else's happiness was at stake.