Makoto always cried at weddings. She simply loved them that much; there was just something so wonderful about them, how they brought people together in a joyous celebration of life and love, for one brilliant shining day making everything pure and perfect.
Since her childhood, her dearest dream had been to be a bride, to experience the same sort of adoration she saw every morning on her mother's face, captured eternally in the only picture she had of her parents - their wedding day, her mother smiling brightly at the camera, her father smiling brightly at her mother.
For the right pair, that perfect love never faded. It hadn't for her parents. She'd only been fourteen when they had died, but she remembered that they had always looked at each other with those same glorious smiles, as if every day had been their wedding day, each new dawn full of promise and hope.
This wedding was going to be one like that, the same sort of union her parents had had - the start of a marriage that would last a lifetime and beyond, a love that would stretch into eternity. She knew it in her heart. How could it not? They were so deeply in love; it was impossible for it to be anything but the deep, abiding sort, unshakeable, immortal.
Makoto had done the cake and flowers herself, and her vision had come to life in the best of ways - arches wrapped in silk and organza, with stargazer lilies tucked between folds of fabric, white roses and pink hyacinths carefully wrapped into bouquets. Thick layers of buttercream icing whipped smoothly across the three tiers of red velvet wedding cake, roses wrought from fondant dripping down the sides in a luxurious fall, silver nonpareils clinging to silky candy petals like dewdrops. Sugared violets for wedding favors, gently placed into delicate transparent boxes and set upon silk-topped tables with name cards. She'd outdone herself, but she wouldn't have settled for less on this day.
The autumn leaves collected around her feet, swirled in the brisk breeze across the pavement and tripped down the aisle in a vibrant wash of color, straight to the feet of the groom waiting at the altar.
Nephrite. He looked dashing in his black tuxedo, his hands folded in front of him, his hair cropped to a respectable style. They had all returned to Earth - the Shitennou - in search of ordinary lives, released from their servitude after Queen Beryl's demise. Human once more, they had carved out lives for themselves, good lives, worthwhile lives. Lives full of meaning and friends and even love.
Nephrite - now called Naoto - cast a glance over his shoulder, caught her gaze and smiled broadly. Makoto felt that distinctive flutter in her chest, the catch of breath, the pounding heart, the blood rising to her cheeks. He had always done that to her. He always would.
She brushed at the skirt of her dress, straightening the folds. It was nearly time - there was the string quartet, lifting their bows, beginning the sweet strains of the wedding march. Makoto took her place.
Nephrite nervously stumbled over his vows; Makoto struggled for respectful silence instead of the laughter that threatened. The priest gave his blessing. The veil was lifted; Makoto's eyes misted with tears.
Of course, Nephrite had to bend down to kiss the bride; he was at least a foot taller than Naru.
Naru, who smiled up at Nephrite with that beaming happiness, the perfect joy that Makoto saw in her mother's eyes every morning when she woke up. Naru, in the sort of beautiful white gown that Makoto would never wear herself. Naru, married at last to the groom that Makoto had secretly loved for years.
It was fine. It was fine. She was fine. She had always known that he wasn't hers. In another life he had been, but that was over and done with, gone forever. She had a future that precluded romantic involvements.
He had a future with Naru, his smiling, joyous bride. The sort of love that would last forever. She could see it shining in their eyes. When the Earth had crumbled at last to dust, that pure love would remain.
He was happy. That was all that mattered. Really, that was all she had ever wanted. All she would ever have. A vicarious happiness, a happiness she had played a small part in, to make this day - the best day of his life - as perfect as she could possibly manage. To be, in the tiniest of ways, a part of his life, at least playing a supporting role in the grandest moment of his life.
She ducked her head, swiped at her cheeks.
She always cried at weddings.