~Author's Note~

Hello all, I hope you enjoy this super angsty fic. It is inspired by the song "Cheers Darlin'" by Damien Rice, I highly recommend it! I won't keep you any further, enjoy!

Sincerely,

Ms. AtomicBomb


Diarmuid was hunched over his bathroom sink, hands tightly clasped around the corners of the marble, his knuckles pale and cold water dripped from his face. He took a deep and shaky breath before lifting his honey eyes to look at himself in the mirror. He looked like a train wreck, his usually curly pushed back hair hung around his face, water dripping from that unruly curl of his. The anger he felt at himself was so visceral that it was plainly evident on his usually beautiful features, causing his eyes to turn red and tears of rage pool at the corner of them. His every fibre was slowly filling with wrath, his soft skin was now wrinkled around his eyes and brows. He didn't understand himself, he didn't understand why he was so terribly upset over the news when it had been his fault that things had gotten this far in the first place.

The image of her doe-like emerald eyes looking up at him all those years ago were burned into his mind. He recalled how her blond hair was stuck to her forehead because of the warm pouring rain that soaked them to the bone. He cursed himself for pulling his hand away from her freckled cheek that time as if swearing at himself would somehow change the current situation. Why had he pulled away from her? He knew she'd been recovering from her first long term relationship which had ended up in a dumpster fire, he knew she'd been too vulnerable and it wouldn't have been right to pour out his feelings on that summer night after their last year of university. But, oh, how he'd wished his morals had gone to hell. How he wished he'd brought her into a kiss, to tell her he loved her. Maybe if he'd just…

Diarmuid stormed out of his bathroom, stalking towards the living room where he had discarded the letter that had caused his entire world to come crashing down on him. She'd given it to him over coffee, breaking the big news to him, asking him so dearly if he'd be one of the groomsmen, as she had somehow convinced her fiancé (oh how he hated those words) to have him.

"You've always been by my side, so please, Diarmuid, be by my side this time too." Her voice had been so filled with joy and anticipation, that sweet and bright smile that he adored so much tugged on the corners of her lips. Like always, she had made his heart skip so he obeyed her every word, just as he always did.

He couldn't even recall what they talked about after he'd agreed to her request without so much as thinking it over. He wondered if she had even noticed how the despair hovered over him like a demonic shadow, how he fell mostly silent and how his mind was scrambling to make sense of things. He couldn't even recall how he'd driven himself home.

Never had it crossed his wretched mind that she'd be handing him an invitation to her damned wedding. He collapsed onto the couch, eyes never leaving the crumbled but delicately decorated invitation. All these years of loving her silently, of waiting patiently on the sidelines until her eyes would finally settle on him, of being her shoulder to cry on, of waiting to be seen—to be wanted…it amounted to nothing.

He threw his head back, chuckling at the irony of life. He'd loved her ever since they were seven, and yet she chose a man she'd only known for a year. Diarmuid covered his eyes with his arm, taking a deep but shaky breath. Although he'd endlessly hoped they would end up together, he always knew it was wishful thinking. It had never been the right time…and now it would never be.

Diarmuid recalled when she first told him about her friendship with Gilgamesh, about how successful he was at such a young age, about how annoying yet charming he could be. Then talk of friendship became talk of dating…soon enough Diarmuid hated hearing anything related to him. His heart would writhe in his chest when she mentioned his bloody name in both jealousy and pain.

His phone pulsed from somewhere in the kitchen. Diarmuid barely had the motivation to move from his place on the couch. He knew his legs would likely give under him, his muscles shook like leaves. It seemed to him as if the room spun around him, and his vision was blurring. The phone stopped for only a few seconds before it began once more. Then, his doorbell rang not long after. He didn't know what force helped him make it to his front door.

He only managed to unlock the door before his older brother aggressively barged in, nearly knocking him down in the foyer.

"Fuck, man, I just got the invite…How are you holding up?" Diarmuid could barely focus on Cú's voice as he was steadied by his brother, his strong hold on either side of his arms.

"Hm."

"Look at what she's done to you…" The concern in Cú's voice was so clear that Diarmuid wanted to laugh.

"No, I'm just being pathetic is all. I should be happy that she's happy…" Diarmuid was helped back to the couch.

"To hell with that! Shouldn't you talk her out of it? You've been by her side forever, Diarmuid, and if that means nothing then think about all the times Gilgamesh has been an absolute ass to you!" Cú protested, his face twisting in wrath. "Really? Marry that s.o.b? She's out of her damn mind."

"Cú!" Diarmuid barked. "Don't talk about her like that!"

Cú laughed bitterly. "You're not being serious, right?"

Diarmuid remained silent, shutting his eyes tightly, as if it would all just go away.

The couch sank next to Diarmuid as Cú sat down. There was silence for what felt like hours but could have realistically been no more than twenty minutes. Diarmuid felt as his brother landed a hand on his shoulder.

"Diarmuid…" His voice was compassionate.

Diarmuid reluctantly opened his teary amber eyes.

Cú sighed. "You need to make a firm decision now…you've spent twenty years loving her, it's time to move on."

Diarmuid took a laboured breath. "How can I when it's all I've ever known?"

Cú shut his eyes. "Diarmuid…there comes a point where it's no longer healthy to maintain a relationship, and you've crossed this threshold years ago. You've given her everything and never asked of her, you missed your chance and no matter how noble you are…it means she was also never willing to reach for you. You were simply just a decoration on the wall, to show off but never to use."

Diarmuid aggressively rubbed his face. "I hate myself."

"Don't go to that wedding, Diarmuid, you can't possibly torture yourself like that."

The raven haired man grunted. "It's too late for that."

"No." Cú shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. His voice became stern, "It isn't too late. You still have time before the r.s.v.p date, you can plan a trip, get away," he suggested.

"I've already agreed to be one of the groomsmen…" Diarmuid mumbled, already anticipating his brother's enraged response. He became tense in preparation.

An exasperated sigh left Cú's mouth. "Why the bloody hell did you say yes? Dia, you idiot. You're self sabotaging at this rate."

Diarmuid buried his face in his hands, body curling forwards. "I just couldn't say no to her. I can never say no to her…"

Cú hesitantly landed a hand on Diarmuid's back, gently patting his tensed and shivering spine. Cú was well aware of all the mental and physical toll Diarmuid's relationship with Artoria did to him. He'd poured himself for her, always the first to run to her, always the one to hold her…Cú had constantly tried to get Diarmuid to not dedicate himself entirely to her, but his brother had always been a service orientated man, making it hard to break free from the habit.

"You need to distance yourself from her after the wedding. Why don't you move to Ireland with Scathach? I'm sure she'll be happy to have you around," Cú mumbled. "Diarmuid, you have to face the reality that you can't be her friend, you can't be near her anymore…"

A sob escaped Diarmuid's trembling lips. "I know..."

Wedding preparations had flown by. Tux fittings and following Artoria to look at venues was both a blur and his worst nightmare. With every passing day he'd become more and more angry with himself, he'd hated that he had never made a move. It was wrong of him, but he wondered that if he had kissed her that night then maybe they'd be the ones getting married. Had she ever thought of him like that, he pondered.

Artoria's golden hair was neatly in a bun with a braid around it, decorated with baby's breaths and her neck was adorned with a lovely pearl necklace. Her long white gown flowed behind her as did her elegant veil while her father walked her down the aisle. Diarmuid's eyes never drifted from the love of his life, she looked heavenly as the sun filtered through the large stained glass windows and bathed her in a multicoloured glow. Even between his anger, he could never not love her. He could see the smile on her face, her cheeks were rosy and round, the look in her eyes filled with joy and brimming with love, his heart ached knowing it wasn't for him.

It took all his willpower to remain silent and stoic, especially after Artoria and Gilgamesh kissed. The wedding bells rang in his ears, haunting him long after they stopped, long after the couple had shared their kiss and exchanged rings. He knew they'd haunt him for the rest of his life, taunting him that she was happy with another man. She would always pervade his mind, much like she did the past twenty years of his life. Diarmuid had remained frozen, even as everyone around him cheered for the 'lovely wedded couple', or when everyone followed after the couple out of the church. The flashes of cameras blinded him, but his eyes never looked away from her as she continued walking out of his life forever.

"Diarmuid!" She stood from the chair in front of the vanity in the bridal suite of the reception building. She hurried to him, her arms wide open as she wrapped him in a tight hug.

Diarmuid was stiff under her touch.

Slowly she pulled away, but her hands traced his arms until she took a hold of his hands, her smile never fading.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her, his heart mixed with both love and despair. He wondered if this is how he'd think of her the rest of his life, bathed white in her intricate wedding dress, green eyes filled with an amount of happiness he'd never seen on her face before, peachy lips stretched into a wide smile. Would his heart always ache like this when he thought of her? Even in another twenty years?

Behind her came Morgana, who had been her Maid of Honour. "Stay still, Artie, I have to take your veil off," she chided as she pulled on the blond's veil lightly. "You're going to have to enter the reception area soon."

Artoria sighed and swatted her sister's hand away. "Leave it for now, I want to talk to Dia for a bit," she sighed and pushed past her sister, pulling Diarmuid towards the intricate couch in the lounge area of the bridal suite.

"Fine, I'll give you five minutes," Morgana sighed and stepped out of the room.

Diarmuid followed his newly-wedded love of his life aimlessly.

"Cheers, darling," he forced his most authentic smile he had when practicing. "Congratulations."

Artoria's smile widened and the corners of her eyes glossed with tears. She brought a well-manicured hand to dab her tears away, careful not to smudge the make-up. "Thank you." She brought him into another tight hug. "Thank you for being here for me."

Diarmuid pulled away from her, hoping to calm his hammering heart. He cursed himself for fawning over her at such a moment.

"I wanted…" she mumbled. "You know…" He could tell she was hesitating with what to say or, rather, how to say it. "It's funny…ever since I was young…and up until two years ago…I thought I'd be marrying you," she sighed.

Diarmuid's brows knitted in confusion.

She tittered at his bewildered expression. "You were always the logical answer…you were always by my side, you protect me…and," she breathed as she fidgeted with the lace appliqués on her wedding dress. "And I'd had feelings for you, which strengthened after my break up with Bedivere, remember when we were in the rain?" Then she let out a laugh—the type of laugh that melted him. "I thought you were going to kiss me that time, but," she paused. "You didn't."

Diarmuid couldn't speak.

"You probably can't even remember it. You always saw me as your friend or sister." Artoria took a hold of his hands again, giving them a tight squeeze. "And because of your advice and your constant support, I now have someone who will be by my side forever."

Diarmuid shut his eyes in confusion. "Y-you loved me?" He questioned, not so much her but himself.

She laughed. "Silly, right?" She nudged him. "Now I'm thinking about having breakfast with you and Gilgamesh once we come back from our honeymoon. I'm thankful we'll be friends for—"

"I can't do this anymore," Diarmuid's voice cracked as he shot up from his seat.

Artoria looked at him in bewilderment, her light brown eyebrows knitting. "What do you mean?" She tilted her head, voice starting to fill with worry.

"I leave for Ireland tomorrow."

"Oh," she frowned, "so suddenly?" She raised an eyebrow. "How long are you going for?"

Diarmuid clenched his fist and began to pace around the room. He couldn't bear staying so still. The anxiety pumped through his veins, his body unable to settle and his breathing quickened. "Forever."

Artoria's eyes were wide but she remained silent. She took a breath as if she was going to speak, but she still kept quiet.

"I found a job there, plus, Scathach said I could stay with her awhile, until I find my own place and…"

"Oh wow…" she finally spoke. She too stood from the couch and walked towards him, but she noted he backed away from her. Her heart stung. "Why hadn't you told me earlier?"

"Well," he sighed, "you had all your wedding preparations…and I didn't want you to stop me," he admitted as he avoided her gaze.

She huffed, "Well, you're right," she smiled. "I would've done anything to have convinced you to stay."

Diarmuid slowly nodded. "Exactly…and I had to do this."

Artoria nodded as well. She was silent as she processed the situation. Then she looked back up at him, he was still looking away from her. "Well, we'd have to stay in touch, I could visit every summer, you could come in the winter?" Her smile never wavered. "It would be—"

"No," Diarmuid cut her off. It took every cell in his body to muster up courage to finally say no to her. It hurt him when he saw the widening of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Artoria."

Artoria furrowed her brows. "W…Why?"

Diarmuid brought the back of his hand to his mouth, biting the skin behind his knuckle as if that would give him more strength. "Our friendship ends today," he breathed. His heart hammered in his chest, his palms were clammy and he was digging into them with his nails. The sickness in his stomach began to take control of him.

Artoria was frozen, as if time had stopped. Her eyes were the only thing darting to and fro, as if searching her mind for a reason.

Diarmuid couldn't bear to hear what she had to say, he wanted to stop her from speaking. "I've tried to be happy for you, I promise, I have tried as best as I could," his voice cracked, "But I can't. I can't possibly see you with another man forever."

Artoria's eyes shot up to look at him, and he saw the confusion and pain within their deep meadows. "I—I don't—"

"I've loved you my whole life, Artoria," he confessed, "since the day you helped me after I fell from the tree over your yard. You permeated every—" he gasped for air, "—every crevice of my heart that you became the reason I lived. As if you were the air I needed to breathe." He took another quick and shallow gasp of air. "I've waited every second for you. I've settled for the scraps of attention you sent my way. I've been satisfied being patient. But now…" He covered his face. "Now I can't possibly bear it a second longer."

Artoria was rendered speechless. But she stepped towards him.

He backed away again. "Don't," he pleaded. He couldn't even demand it.

She took another step.

His back hit the wall. "Please," he might as well have begged.

Artoria could see the pain all over his face. She wanted to reach out to him and comfort him, as he had always done for her. She also didn't want him to leave. She knew it was selfish, but how could she let her best friend go? She stepped away.

"Why hadn't you told me this earlier? Even just this morning? We could've figured something out…" She mumbled.

"Would you have left him?" Diarmuid already knew the answer, but he gave her a chance to say it.

Artoria sighed and ran a hand through her fringe. "No, but maybe I wouldn't have lost you."

Diarmuid walked to the door, he felt suffocated and he wanted out. He needed to leave, he could barely breathe. His heart was starting to feel heavy, his mind was clouded with self deprecation. He didn't know if he could last a second longer.

"You…you can't just leave me, Diarmuid, what about all these years? Weren't we going to be best friends forever?" She called, her voice cracking. "You promised to be there for me, didn't you?"

Diarmuid cursed himself for looking back at her.

Her green eyes were filled with tears, they fell from her reddened eyes, flowing down her cheeks. Her hands grasped fistfuls of her dress. In mere seconds she'd become a wreck. This is how he would remember her for the rest of his life; heart broken, crying, desperate.

"Didn't you?" She echoed.

Diarmuid walked to her. He took her face in his hands, wiping her tears carefully from her cheeks with his thumbs. Even until the last moment he was comforting her, how stupid of him.

Artoria held his hands, not wanting to let him go. "Don't leave me, please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. "What will I do without you?" The tears continued falling, leaving streaks of makeup on her cheeks.

Slowly, he brought her face closer. His lips pressed against her forehead. "I don't think I'll ever stop loving you," he mumbled against her hair before he began to pull away.

Artoria gripped his hands tighter, her last ditch effort of keeping him in her life. He had to pry his hands out of hers gently, but after a few moments, he was able to break free. Once he let her go, Artoria called his name once more.

This time he didn't look back as he left the room. He walked out of the bridal suite, out of the reception building…out of her life. It was possibly one of the hardest things he'd done.

There are days when he strolls through the streets of Dublin, and he hears wedding bells, or when he catches sight of a short stranger with blond hair, or when the rain is warm against his skin that he thinks of her. The first few years were a brutal affair for him, he was wracked with guilt for when he closed his eyes, the image of her pleading eyes and heartbreak-twisted face burned the back of his eyelids. Though, with time he thought of her less and less, and when he did it was her smiling face filled with joy on her wedding day, or her gentle face looking up at him in the warm rain. Still, he never stopped loving her.