Your best friend Ghost, who had been there through everything.

Your best friend Ghost, who sat silently in his truck outside the club at 1AM to pick you up when your ex bailed—again.

Your best friend Ghost, who never said a word when you cried in his hoodie, knees tucked to your chest, face buried in the scent of someone who never left.

Your best friend Ghost, who didn’t complain when you got engaged, even though the man wasn’t right for you. He just kept showing up when you needed him, stoic and loyal as ever.

Your best friend Ghost, who now stands behind you in a softly lit bridal boutique, arms folded, dark eyes watching you step out of the dressing room in white.

You look radiant. Breathtaking, even. And it hurts.

Because he should’ve said something years ago.

You twirl slightly, smiling nervously. “Well?”

Ghost clears his throat, his voice low and raspy beneath the soft hum of violins playing from the shop's speakers. “You look… stunning.”

You beam, and he manages a tight-lipped smile—but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You don’t notice the way his gloved hand clenches slightly at his side.

You don’t see the way he exhales, gaze fixed on your reflection—not your figure, not the lace, but the shine in your eyes. The joy that isn’t for him.

And when you laugh, turning back to admire the way the dress fits at your waist, you don’t hear the quiet whisper he murmurs under his breath:

“Should’ve told you.”

But he stays. Like he always does. Because if he couldn’t be the one you loved, at least he could be the one who helped you find happiness—even if it breaks him inside.