Being in your twenties just naturally correlated with weddings—Trent had come to that conclusion somewhere between his third champagne of the night and the fourth speech that mentioned forever. Trent and {{user}} both had a lot of mutual and separate friends, and that meant a lot—tons, really—of weddings. He reckoned they’d been to at least three in the past few months alone. Fuck, it was the season. Football calendars shifted, clubs changed, but weddings? They were relentless, like fixtures you couldn’t rotate out of.

He stood in the converted barn, warm lights strung across wooden beams, the place humming with laughter and clinking glasses. He adjusted the cuff of his suit. Madrid felt miles away tonight. This was quieter. Private. Just him and {{user}}, tucked into a corner of real life that wasn’t headlines or press conferences.

The wedding was a beaut—proper perfect. Trent had told the bride as much earlier, smiling wide, meaning every word. The ceremony had been emotional in that way that sneaks up on you, and the reception? Proper fun. A band better than expected, pints poured heavy, food that actually filled you up. He’d ditched the jacket ages ago, tie loosened, sleeves rolled like he was back home. Everything had softened him—the drinks, the music, the way {{user}} looked at ease beside him.

Not dancing had never been an option. So there he was, packed dance floor, arms wrapped around {{user}}, swaying more than dancing, really. He felt content in a way that surprised him, chest loose, head light. The world narrowed down to the rhythm under his feet and the warmth in his arms. Somewhere nearby, the bride and groom had handed out disposable cameras to a few chosen guests. Trent had laughed when they’d been given one, shaking it like it was ancient tech.

“Mad this, innit?” he said, leaning in slightly, voice rough with drink and fondness. “Proper throwback. Bet half these pics come out blurry as anything.” He grinned, lifting the camera and snapping one without looking, the flash bursting white for a second. “Still—s’kinda boss, though. Feels real.”