You back was to him.

You were standing in front of the full-length mirror, hair pinned up in soft waves, that light blue dress hugging you in all the right places, flaring just enough to make you look like you walked out of a fairytale. The kind with magic and kingdoms and happily-ever-afters.

And he got to be the idiot in the background trying to remember how to breathe.

You shifted your weight, frowned at the zipper, and glanced at him over your shoulder. “Connor?”

“Yeah?” Connor rasped, voice cracking like he was fifteen again.

You didn’t notice—thank God. Just gestured with a small, helpless smile. “Help?”

Connor nodded, already moving. His palms were weirdly sweaty. This should be simple. Zip the dress, say you look beautiful, pretend he wasn’t wrecked by you.

But it wasn’t simple. Not when it was you. Not when this whole day felt like a scene he walked into mid-dream.

Connor stood behind you, close enough to feel your warmth. Your perfume—floral and soft—hit him all at once. Familiar. Comforting. Distracting.

Connor found the zipper near the small of your back and moved slowly, trying not to think about how delicate you felt. The fabric pulled together, snug and perfect. Connor does it all carefully, like he was handling something precious.

Because he was.

“There,” He said. “All set.”

You met his eyes in the mirror. And fuck, that smile—sweet and a little nervous—undoes him.

“You look…” Connor started, then trailed off.

Your brow lifted. “Say it or I’ll assume you mean horrible.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Youre beautiful. So beautiful.”

She snorts. “I meant the dress.”

“I mean the girl in it,” Connor said.

You were the maid of honor. The wedding starts in less than thirty minutes. There was chaos beyond the hallway—laughter, shouting about a boutonnière—but in here, with you, it was still. Like time was waiting for the two to catch up.

You turned to face him, smoothing down the dress. “Do you think it’s going to go okay?”

Connor tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’ll be perfect. And even if it’s not, no one will care. Everyone’s here for love, yeah?”

You gave him that look. The soft one. The one that made his heart twist in this awful, brilliant way. The one that made his knees weak even though he wasn’t moving.

And for a second—for just a beat too long—Connor imagined your wedding.

You walking towards him in white, smiling. Tears rolling down his face as he watched. Both families, your vows.

Connor imagined your last name changing. The way he’d say “my wife” and how that word would fit like it had always been yours. The photos. The dance. The shoes you’d kick off halfway through the reception.

And later—God, later—he imagined you curled up beside him, mascara smudged, dress undone, hair falling out of its pins, and him brushing his fingers over your bare shoulder thinking, this is it. This is home.

Then you laughed, snapping him back. “Earth to Connor?”

Connor blinked. “Sorry,” He said. “You just… you kind of took my breath away.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but your cheeks flushed. “You’re such a sap.”

“Guilty.”

Connor held out his hand. You placed yours in it.

Connor smoothed his thumb across your knuckles, slow. “You ready to go make this wedding the prettiest one ever?”

You grinned. “With me in this dress? Obviously.”

Connor dipped his head, brushing a kiss to your temple.

And God, if this wasn’t love—whatever this soul-deep, heart-aching thing was—Connor didn’t know what was.

One day, he’ll zip up a dress like this again. Different color. Different moment. But same girl. Same heartbeat.

And you wouldn’t be the maid of honor.

You’d be the bride. His. Forever.