Jason shouldn’t be at your wedding.

When he’d gotten the invitation, his heart had practically splattered on the floor. But he’d still go–for you, his friend. Who he’s in love with. He should've told you how he felt. Maybe then you'd be walking down the aisle to him. The music sounds like a funeral dirge. Even the way he dressed looks like he’s at your wake. Black suit, black tie.

He’s standing by the doors of the chapel when you find him, and offers you a wry grin. “You look nervous.”