Her pearls shined like she was bathed in diamonds on this night.
He was transfixed.
But they all look the same.
Until month in, when shimmer turns to coal; dreams left in childhood bedroom. Mum tried to warn you. But you wouldn't listen.
Y/n yawned putting her hand up to cover her mouth careful not to smear lipstick on linen sleeve.
Same cream color suit for yet another 'submission to patriarchy' occasion.
No need to buy new clothes for another wake.
Bride didn't listen. She enjoyed herself. Before cooking and children and pressure to be perfect women with too much to handle but can't say anything for this is what we wanted, came hurling like a wracking ball into fairytale she talked about every time they met over coffee, with that murmur and pitiful eyes getting triggered at any mention of someone having it before her, making y/n pity her for degrading herself to form of art in museum exhibited as paling painting with title: 'woman uses all her energy to look for a man to feel valid in her existence.'
We should listen to our mothers. We should look at their strenght and learn what mistakes made them brave. What we don't have to repeat. Make them proud. By now ruining our lives the same way.
Ed nudged her. She was falling asleep on his shoulder.
Do I make you proud, mum?
By living in my head, path of self overthinking into ruination to leave a temple to my name behind, written in words I died to get out.
'Love, you are drooling.' he whispered laughed, conspirator in disguise, partner in crime when they get high in bathroom and ditch then all before high runs out, before clock strikes delusional hapiness unspelled and kids have to return to their miserable selves. Again.
'I am not.'
'See for yourself.'
Y/n held knife checking her reflection giving him incredulous smile.
He yearned to reach out and brush her lips, but stopped himself before it was too late.
She saw his trembling lips, movement lasting only blink of an eye but for them blink was where universes go to hide.
'I think I will survive. Will you?'
'Barely hanging on, my dear.'
For everyone they were best friends, swimming in fortune living best lives, envy of every town for everybody wanted what they had: relationship with no obligations and commitments. They didn't need to throw a party for world to talk about them. Their small acts of affection sent message of peculiar bond of loyalty unbothered untouchable by anyone's rumors licking their way into their relationship.
Between themselves, they were friends forever. They knew they didn't want to walk through life with someone else having their back. Trust once placed is hard to pick up and transfer onto someone else when they haven't been through it all.
And these two have.
When in silence of their meadow, platonic was one word for forever asking immortal question no mortal ever found an answer for: can friends be soulmate?
And silence was where they always fly back to. Their biggest flex was that they could leave whenever they please, and just mention of possible appearance was enough to send every party into frenzy that would eventually melt into slurs and angry notes sent couple of weeks later, when their bedrooms would be found deserted and from guests of honor left only promise of honor no one saw for their own expectations turned heroes into villians when they couldn't live up to ridiculous reputations they are supposed to be acting upon in every step they make.
y/n and ed would patiently wait, waging bets on when will letters arrive. Silly phrases and big words too big for people who do not value freedom enough, always made them laugh but specially when they would turn the envelop upside down and prove one more time what a shallow charade it all really is. Letters of reprimandations and lessons in behavior, but their money would never be returned. Its nice to have rich acquaintances.
