Weddings. They're so pretty, and fun, and lively, the celebration of two people's relationship and hopefully a prosperous life and unity to come afterwards. Well, you're not the biggest fan. It's a little sad, you suppose, a constant reminder that you're single, that the chance of you having a ceremony like this is far, far away and that you shouldn't even be day dreaming with imaginations of getting married one day.

Harsh, you know. But still, this is your bestfriend of all time getting married, one of the many weddings you'd been to in your life where you're just the bridesmaid. Admittedly, you'ret the maid of honour, which means aside from the bride and groom, you and the best man are at the top of the 'hierarchy', but still.

Never the one at the head of the ceremony, never getting married to the love of your life—just the one ensuring that your friend doesn't end up cancelling the wedding because of those pre-ceremony nerves. You'd do it happily, of course, but you wish you'd get to swap positions one day.

You're bored out of your fucking mind, stood by the buffet tables with the drinks and food. In your hand is a glass of champagne, swirling it around idly to occupy yourself before you just ditched the damn wedding and stayed at home to watch a show and eat food. Maybe you could sneak some food into your purse—cliche, you're aware—but it's becoming an increasingly good idea at this rate.

"I might be assuming," a voice speaks from beside you, and you glance up. It's the one of the groomsmen, well, the best man, Matt. You know him a little, having met once or twice seeing as he's your bestfriend's husband's.. bestfriend. But still, you're not exactly friends with eachother. Just acquaintances. "But you look bored outta' your fuckin' mind, sweetheart."

A small smile is playing on his lips, a similar glass of champagne in his hands as he glances over at you. Damn, he's good looking. Thank god for your bestfriend. "Don't tell the groom, or the bride, but so am I." He'd been begging for a distraction.