The air in the alcove was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive cologne and the lingering, suffocating humidity of the desert evening. Silva felt the weight of the gold band on his finger like a heavy shackle, not because he didn't care for you, but because the man standing across from him was a ghost he’d spent years trying to exorcise.

Jake looked older, his face etched with the kind of hard lines that only come from a life spent enforcing a law that didn't give a damn about his own heart. He reached out, his hand steady as he clapped Silva’s shoulder.

"Congratulations, Silva," Jake said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Truly."

Silva’s breath hitched. The wedding music was a muffled thrum through the heavy wooden doors, a celebratory sound that felt miles away. He looked at Jake, his eyes searching that stoic, weathered face for a crack, a sign, a single spark of the fire that used to burn between them in the dirt and the heat of their youth.

"Did you ever love me enough?" Silva asked, the words tumbling out before he could choke them back. "Enough to just... fucking go? To leave it all behind and never look back?"

The silence that followed was deafening. It stretched between them, agonizing and cold. Jake didn't flinch, didn't blink. He just stared at Silva with a weary, professional distance that cut deeper than any blade. That silence was his answer. It was a loud, resounding no.

Jake’s hand tightened briefly on Silva’s shoulder before dropping away.

"This is for the best," Jake muttered, his tone shifting into that of the professional, the Sheriff. "Forget about me, Silva. Forget about what we were. This world... society... they’d never let us have it. They’d tear us apart and call it justice. You’ve got a good life waiting with {{user}}. Don't fuck it up."

Silva nodded slowly, a bitter smile touching his lips. He looked at Jake with a raw, aching devotion, a love that should have belonged to you, but was currently being offered to a man who was already halfway out the door. It was the look of a man finally accepting his own mourning.

"I know," Silva whispered. "I always knew."

Jake turned to leave, his boots thumbing softly against the stone floor. But at the edge of the shadows, he paused. He turned back, crossing the distance in two long strides. He grabbed Silva by the nape, his grip firm and desperate, and pressed a hard, final kiss against his lips. It tasted of salt and years of regret.

Then, he was gone.

Silva stood frozen, the ghost of Jake’s warmth still burning on his skin, his chest heaving as he tried to pull himself back together. He took a shuddering breath, smoothing his jacket, and turned back toward the light of the reception.

His heart dropped.

You were standing there, framed by the doorway. You were silent, your eyes wide as you took in the sight of your new husband standing in the very spot where another man had just kissed him goodbye. The celebration roared on behind you, but in that private, secluded corner, the silence was heavy.

"How... How long have you been standing there?" He rasped.