It had taken her a long time to realize how much she truly adored the Prussian woman. She admired her hair like it was spun from some rare, exotic fabric. She would find herself comparing Akabelle's eyes to ground diamonds stirred with the colors of the sky. Distant orbs that she was easily lost in. Akabelle was thin. Thin and tall and spindly. Everything about her was long. From her hair to her face to her arms to her torso to her legs and Mattea found it to suit the white-haired woman.

Everyday she wore simple dresses in blues and purples and grays. Sometimes the skirt fell somewhere within the range of her thighs and Mattea wished she could put Akabelle's soft hair in pigtails just to complete the youthful look the short dress gave off. Akabelle was easily more mature than her but it didn't really matter. She would look adorable like that and Mattea wanted to see her smile at the silly joke of being so young.

She wanted to weave freshly bloomed flowers into the silky white tresses of the taller woman. She wanted to see the way the crown of lilies and cornflowers and gardenias she would place atop the other's head would look. She wanted to put a crown atop the other's head and kiss her hand, kneeling before her and referring to her as her lovely queen. She wanted to see the soft smile the other would give her.

Mattea wanted to hold her and sing French lullabies to her while she lay recumbent in her arms. Mattea wanted to see her adorable sleeping face, so serene and perfect.

She wanted to kiss her and feel her heartbeat against her own. She wanted to pick her up and spin her around and hear her elated laughter. She wanted to hold her so close it was hard to tell where Mattea began and Akabelle ended.

There were a lot of things she wanted.

Mattea dreamed of what Akabelle would look like in an ornate wedding dress. One that accentuated her tiny waist and slender limbs, trailing behind her like a flourish of clouds. She imagined the bouquet that would be clutched in her delicate hands. She imagined the intricate heels that would boost Akabelle even higher and would click, click, click, across wooden floors as she gingerly walked into view.

Her breath caught in her throat the day she finally got to see it. The burning tears welled up in her eyes. She swallowed, reigning in her emotions as best she could so as not to let the waterfalls spill from her red eyes. Her heart ached. She dug her nails into her own bouquet, piercing the green flesh of the stems. It took all her force not to run away, not to flee and collapse. Mattea bit the inside of her lip and turned her gaze away – turned her gaze from the center of her affections to the center of her jealousy, her rage, her bitter, envious hatred.

The stunning groom to match the blushing bride.

Mattea's bridesmaid dress felt restrictive. It kept her from breathing like she should. It was too tight over her chest and stomach. She wanted to claw at the fabric and release herself from the tight cage, so symbolic of her own mistakes. It'd been fine before but now it was a prison. A prison of her own failures to express.

She'd had her chances. Akabelle had been single for so long, she could have said something. She could have kissed her. She could have taken the risk but instead she'd locked herself away and hidden from how she knew she felt. She'd ruined her shot at happiness for the false comfort of safety, away from the risk of rejection.

Every fiber of her body regretted that choice as Mattea watched the smile on Akabelle's face as she took the hand of the groom. Her face felt warm and one thought repeated itself again and again, again and again.

Keep breathing. Breathe. Keep breathing. Breathe. Keep breathing. BREATHE.

She swore as quietly as she could. Seconds felt hours, minutes felt decades, hours felt centuries. They dragged and dragged and her heart was simply a victim on a rope, dragged along behind it.

But then it was over. The ceremony. Over. She could escape.

And escape she did.

She was racing down the hallways, blinded by building tears and an unstable mix of rage and sorrow, tearing her apart from the inside out. She threw herself into a closet, a small door in a side hall. Her mascara was running, tracing the tracks the tears had already left, streaming down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. She seethed, clutching at her face and trying not to scream.

Mattea could pinpoint the exact moment she'd fallen in love with Akabelle. Walking along the twisting path in the park, shaded by the looming trees, proud and tall. The Prussian woman had laughed, freely and brightly, entwining her hand with Mattea's.

"You make me so happy, Mattea."

The minute the gorgeous words had escaped Akabelle's thin, pink lips, Mattea's heart was bound to her, enraptured by her every movement, every word. There wasn't a detail about her Mattea would want to ignore, would want to miss. From the dimples in her cheeks to the silver lashes framing her dazzling eyes; from the slip in her speech when her thoughts moved faster than her words to the way she trailed off to daydream instead of speak; from the poorly painted polish on her nails to the bruises on her legs from her more adventurous moments exploring nooks and crannies.

Everything. A mosaic of traits and flaws and quirks pieced together to create the perfect piece of art that had stolen Mattea's love.

She would have married her right then and there.

And then that dreadful day had come. The day Mattea had gathered her courage to act out on her strong feelings. The same day Mattea had met him. The man that did to Akabelle what Akabelle had done to Mattea. She remembered the dagger piercing her heart the second she'd seen Akabelle smile at him. The smile that had once been for her. And then they were kissing and Akabelle just looked so goddamn happy that Mattea couldn't think of anything to do but run.

Run. Run from the heartache. Run from the pain that scorched her entire body. One foot in front of the other, pounding on the ground until she found herself standing on that same path under the prideful trees.

And here she was again, cowering from the pain she should have been strong enough to face. Except now she was in a closet instead of a park and she had to restrain her heartfelt sobs so as not to be heard.

It was too much. She hated that damn groom – Matthew. Matt. It didn't fucking matter. She hated him. She wanted to scream at him until he left forever. He had no fucking right. Akabelle was hers to love – hers to treasure, hers to adore.

Another part of her told her Akabelle deserved whoever she wanted. Akabelle deserved the love of her life. Akabelle deserved whoever made her happy.

But I could make her happy. I could make her smile. And I could do it ten times better than that fucker could, I know I could.

The door was creaking open and Mattea's breathing stopped.

"Mattea?"

She shook her head. "Non, go away." She hiccupped, trying to restrain her sobs. The door was closing and he was inside the closet with her. "Fuck off, Akbar."

"I know how you feel, Mattea."

"How could you possibly—!"

Her words were cut short as she threw her head up, stopped suddenly by Akbar's face. He– He was crying, too. Softer tears, looking nowhere near as violent as her own, but steady and heavy and just as painful.

"I'm in love with him."

". . . You mean . . ."

"Matt. The groom . . . I love him." Akbar sank to the floor next to her, staring at the opposite wall. "And he knows I do. I told him I do."

". . . When?"

"Months ago. I told him I loved him and I wanted to be with him. He told me he had his sights set on someone else."

"Who the fuck invites someone they know is in love with them to their wedding to someone else?" Mattea spat bitterly. Akabelle wasn't like that. Akabelle hadn't known of her feelings and that was Mattea's own goddamn fault and- for fuck's sake, she was going to start bawling again.

"He does."

"Fuck him."

"I'd like to."

She coughed out a harsh laugh. One with no real humor behind it, instead just a bark of fake amusement. "Do you wanna cry with me?"

"Kind of."

"Then let's cry together," She murmured, rolling over to look at him. They both slid to lie on the floor, face to face. Without words, they let their sobs overcome them. They clutched hands, sharing their emotions between one another.

In Mattea's view, they were both pathetic messes, sobbing like children on the floor of a dingy old closet, surrounded by spare wedding decorations and dusty fake flowers. They were desperate for comfort and even with each other it wasn't quite enough. Akbar was an old friend but he wasn't her.

He wasn't the woman she revered and loved. He wasn't the one she wanted to spend the night holding. Her entirety hurt, craving the presence and love of the one she wanted.

But Akabelle did not want her back.

I could make her love me – she'll never want me back. I could make her happy – I can't be what she needs.

It's funny, she decided, how her mind struggled between a beautiful lie and the harsh reality. She wasn't sure which was worse.

Akbar had wrapped his arms around her and she was coiling herself around him back. It was terrible yet oddly comforting to think he was thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same emotions. She couldn't fathom the idea of loving that blond fucker that had captured the heart of her beloved Akabelle, but she refused to speak those thoughts.

If what he was going through was anywhere near as bad as what she was, he didn't need that.

He really, really didn't need that.

And frankly, she didn't need any of this either.

A/N: This. . . This was supposed to be a fluff story. I'm not entirely sure what happened but . . . okay. Why not? It was fun to write, even if I did end up crying while doing so. Agh. I connect to character emotions far too easily while writing. It was a joy, nonetheless.

I'd like to think that Akbar and Mattea help each other a lot after this. Even if that help is just comfort food and crying on closet floors together. I can't imagine them becoming a couple in this AU. More like a very close platonic relationship. But on the other hand completely, I imagine them living together after this. I'm not sure why. That, or Akbar just spends a lot of time at Mattea's house.

. . . My main worry with this AU is wondering if either of them, especially Mattea, could ever really let go of their affections. I see them both as people who love hard and love long. I don't think this is going to be blowing over anytime soon for them and that makes me curious as to what happens in the future. I'm not really sure.

I feel obliged to mention, this was heavily inspired by the song "When you sleep" by Mary Lambert. I suggest looking into that song if you're curious about my inspirations for this, or would like a better grasp of the emotions I wanted to try to put into it.