It was cold out when {{user}} left. The air was crisp with fresh snow. She had told him that it was too much. He was too dangerous and she needed a rock. Someone to count on. He was rude, aggressive and arrogant. But he cared. God, he cared.

When the split happened, he swore to himself he'd never find someone else. Not when he was a pro, not when he was old, never.

And when he did, he hadn't meant to. Not really. He knew that he wanted to forget {{user}}. And he did. He almost forgot that was the whole point. Moving on from her. And he fucked around and fell in love after he swore to himself he wouldn't. Not after the shit show that happened with {{user}}.

Now, we're here. Four years after you left. Three since they got together. And now? They're getting married.

Every bone in {{user}}'s body told her not to go. she stared at the invitation as if it was personally mocking her. And against her better judgment she went.

It was cold again at the reception. Same month as when she left all those years ago. December. Cold with fresh snow. The irony was not lost in her.

She sat in the back row, lost in the crowd of family and friends. Her eyes found his, and she felt the world pause. He looked the same. Same stubborn face with the same face scars.

When the bride came, she stood up like the others. But it felt like a spotlight was on her in the dark. Because he looked at her instead of his fiancé. The one he was marrying.