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"Harukawa-san do you really think we should be doing this?"
"I really don't care."
The bathroom of the really fancy country club was enough to make Harukawa nauseous. Everything was beautiful. Everything was perfect. She would know; she was the wedding planner. In some sick, masochistic way, she found organizing her ideal wedding for someone else as a coping mechanism.
Tears still stained her eyes as she crashed her lips against Momota's. He was no better. He fell in love with his best friend. He was the one who introduced Saihara to Akamatsu oh so many months ago. He never felt so much bitter regret in his entire life.
They were disgustingly broken. They felt toyed with and abused by fate's twisted version of love.
"H-harukawa-san," Momota panted from the hot, desperate kisses she was planting on him. "You don't want to do this."
"I said shut up!" She yanked herself away from his lips. She was sitting on the sink counter, dress hiked up, makeup faded and dead. Her legs were wrapped around Momota's waist, drawing him closer, hungry for attention.
"Did you see them?" Her voice cracked. "They were beautiful." Pieces of hair stuck to her wet tears on her cheek.
Momota took the time to gently move the strands behind her ear. "I know."
"They were gorgeous."
"I know."
"They were in love."
Momota dropped his head at the unsettling truth. He's been denying it all this time. That maybe, just maybe, he could win Saihara back.
Never. Is he a fool? He was too hopeful for his own good.
"Momota-kun..." They looked each other in the eye. "Please.. please just make this feeling go away."
Momota has rarely seen Harukawa like this. Desperate, lonely, vulnerable. But he would be lying too if he didn't feel the same way. He pushed back her long hair over shoulder and admired the soft, pale skin on her collar bone. He leaned into it and began to kiss and nibble on the spot.
"Hah..." Harukawa started to whimper at the bites. "Harder. I don't care at this point."
Momota bit down on her collar bone then started to move towards her upper breast, leaving bruises all across the exposed part of her dress. She moaned whenever there was a new, reddening piece of flesh.
Masochists is what they were.
The bathroom was filled with cries and whimpers by the two broken wedding attendees. The other side of the door was a joyful party filled with friends and family, celebrating probably the purest, sweetest couple in the country.
Momota started to feel it. The pain. The pain of losing the only pillar of hope that kept him standing.
"Harukawa-san," she looked dazed from the rough marks he left on her, "you're going to kiss me, and then you're going to praise me, got it?"
She nodded, understanding the true meaning behind his words. She pulled his tie closer to her chest until his lips met hers. He opened his mouth and let Harukawa do most of the work.
"You're amazing, Momota-kun."
She grabbed his hair more forcefully towards her to create more friction between them.
"You deserve the world, Momota-kun."
Wet tears stained both of their outfits in this sad, depressing attempt at salvation.
"I-I love you, Akamatsu-san."
She let it slip. But Momota didn't care. In a situation like this, he would have done the same thing.
Their heavy petting lasted for an hour. Bruises, tears, heavy panting. The empty pang in their hearts echoed in the vacant bathroom. It helped that they chose the further bathroom to do this. However, at this point, neither of them would care if someone walked in on them right then and there.
Momota stepped back. She was worn out. Her hair was tangled. Her dress straps were down her shoulders, causing the cut of her red dress to fall dangerously low. And her chest and neck were lined with beautiful, tainted bruises that deliciously stung of pain and regret.
He, too, was no better with his scalp sore from her hard pulls and tingling grips. His shirt was unbuttoned and jacket was thrown off to the side.
They could have went on all night. They really could. But both of them were drained and wanted to go home. Momota had to burn a lot of pictures of himself, Saihara, and Akamatsu, while Harukawa had to toss her wedding binder away along with all the little side notes she made if only she was the other bride.
Masochists. They were masochists for waiting. They purposefully deteriorated themselves because they were too scared to confess.
How shameful.
They got stares while walking out the bathroom together, understandable. They ran into friends on the way out too. But they were too numb and dead to reply. Mindlessly, they sat in the back of the ballroom, downing their liquor like it was the last drink on Earth.
"Look at them."
The newlyweds were dancing in the center of the room. Harukawa admired Akamatsu's stunning grace, while Momota smiled at Saihara's endearing clumsiness.
It was stupid, really, to still be hung up after months of knowing this day would inevitably come.
But they're both lovestruck cowards. Fools . It was their fault and they completely understand, yet the self inflicted hurt was too tantalizing for either of them to have resisted.
“Do you think we'll ever get over it?” asked Momota, wistfully.
“Hm, in all honesty, I don't think that will be completely possible.” Harukawa lifted up her next shot glass, “but the best we can do is try to forget.” She gulped it down. Momota nodded as he did the same thing.
They were so stupid , so broken.
They figured that the best they could do was forget.
Fools.