disclaimer: i don't own anything.
A/N: I wanted to write a story without any dialogue or names mentioned but it's hinted. I'll let you guys figure out who the characters are. :)
Seeing her again makes his chest swell in happiness, but at the same time the familiar jolt of ache ate away his weary heart. The bittersweet aftertaste of the red wine that was being served in the reception still lingers in his mouth; he slightly tilts the wine glass he had in his hand and looks over her petite form. He sees her glowing with happiness and imagines, for a moment, that it would've been him that makes her glow and not someone else.
He heaves a tired sigh, looks down at his wine glass and he could see his reflection a little, but not that much. He smirks in the irony of it all, shook his head in slight disbelief, tilts his head back and looks over the dim, romantic lighting of the ceiling. He's not usually this cowardly weak, but at this moment, he wants to run away. Because it hurts too much to remain in this place, his heart had pleaded from the beginning not to attend this shindig, but his stubborn pride made himself go there anyway.
He lets his back lean on the wall, who would've thought? He had become a wallflower. He of all people, really, the irony is hilariously funny it hurts. He tilts his head forward to see her form again, slowly sipping the red wine that now taste like bile. He lets it slid down his throat like water, everything felt too surreal, too much like a dream to be real. It felt so cold, yet they are inside a room and not outside at this time of the night. It felt too lonely, yet everyone is in a merry mood. It felt too constricting, yet he's alone in a corner and no one's bothering him. He doesn't even have his best friend with him, the very friend who had warned him not to come here lest he hurt himself.
He chuckled to himself as he remembered the last conversation they had, the younger man warned him not to come at all, but he can't stay away from her like a moth to a flame. And like the moth, he's being burned by the flames, dying from its hand, unwittingly killed by her.
Looking down again at the wine glass his holding, slightly swirling the wine within, and then looking back at her beautiful form, he finally genuinely smiles. He now understood that line from that story she's so fond of, 'If loving someone is really a sin, then I'll become a sinner. I am not afraid, even if I'm banned from society after this, or lose my life.'
But being a sinner is not half-bad, he thinks. Loving her though, is a death warrant; and yet, he can't stay away. He'll be glad to be put on a trial if it means that he'd be able to keep on loving her, but everything must come to an end.
Because she's not his anymore, she now belongs to someone else. So he lets her go and makes himself free from these chains called love.