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May weddings were always the most pleasant, if you had to be honest. They were in that sweet spot, right between the edges of spring and summer, where the best of both seasons intermixed into lukewarm days.
The wedding you were attending was the living embodiment of this sentiment; with the sky above painted in brush strokes of warm oranges and reds, the sleepy azalea flowers which bloomed at each table, the greenery which surrounded the fences of the venue, the intermixing warmth of summer and the wind of spring. A simple breath is all it takes for you to decide, that you could stay like this forever
...or atleast till Johnny got drunk enough to drag you to dance.
As if on cue, you looked over to the table a little away from yours, your eyes immediately finding the familiar outline of the Scot, that burly figure, that ridiculous mohawk, and his distinct laugh that carried over the venue, over the more civilized voices of the other guests, most likely annoying his lieutenant with a merciless string of his infamous jokes. Jokes you had heard and sighed over a hundred times.
Your lips twitched a little, strategically hiding your amusement with a sip of whatever you had been drinking, you honestly had no idea.
"The lads" (as he called his group of middle aged men) and him were drinking at their table, and you could see the familiar sight of the lieutenant's eye twitching, and the way his captain just sipped at his alcohol with no reaction, (you had no qualms in believing that the man was just filtering all your boyfriend's words as static noise) Kyle, his closest mate, was dancing with one of the bridesmaids, all toothy smile and easy charm.
You sighed as you took another sip of your drink, your friend dangling off your arms, babbling something incoherent about one of the best men. This was the prosaic life you had longed for every night when he called you from some distant corner of the world with a burner phone. All the tears, and the conversations led you here. All the times he'd try to distract you from the pain of his absence, by making you laugh, by starting arguments he had no intention of winning.
"๐๐ช, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต'๐ณ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ข๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข๐ต, ๐ญ๐ข๐ด๐ด?"
"๐๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ด๐ข๐ธ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ '๐ช๐ฏ๐ด๐ฑ๐ฐ' ๐ฑ๐ช๐ค๐ด ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฆ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ ๐ณ๐ช๐ฅ๐ช๐ค๐ถ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด, ๐๐ฐ๐ฉ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐บ"
"๐๐ข๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฆ'๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ข๐ฆ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ข๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ง ๐ข๐ฉ ๐ฅ๐บ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ช๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ??"
"๐๐น๐ข๐ค๐ต๐ญ๐บ๐บ๐บ๐บ, ๐'๐ฎ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฑ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐บ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด ๐ช๐ง ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ฉ๐ข๐ช๐ณ"
"๐ ๐ฆ'๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ต ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ"
"๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต'๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ, ๐๐ฐ๐ฉ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐บ"
ย
All of it led you here. To the moments you spend with him now, lazy moments where you argued about which movies to watch, what to have for dinner; not worrying if he'll see the next day, not clutching your phone in the middle of the night, just in case he called.
You blink away the moisture on your eyes when the women at your table cheer for the bride, as she turns her back towards the guests, her grin so contagious, you couldn't help but reciprocate. The women place their drinks, their purses down on the table in silent preparation, as the bride counts down, her girlish squeals cutting through the crowd, but your ears still catch the faint words of the song that play on the background.
"1"
๐๐ฉ, ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฌ๐ช๐ด๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฆ
๐๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐ฃ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ ๐ค๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฅ
๐ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ช๐ญ๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ธ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฆ
"2"
๐๐ฉ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ช๐ด๐ฆ, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข๐ธ๐ง๐ถ๐ญ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ
๐๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฃ๐บ ๐๐ฐ๐จ๐ถ๐ฆ ๐๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ
๐๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ข๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ
๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐ฐ๐ฅ, ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฆ
"3"
๐๐ฉ, ๐ฐ๐ฉ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฆ-๐ฐ๐ฉ-๐ธ๐ฐ๐ข๐ฉ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฎ๐ฆ
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฆ
๐๐ฉ, ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฆ?
๐๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐บ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ
The bouquet flew in the air, the petals enveloped by the melting rays of the sun in the distance, your eyes irrevocably latched on to it. And before your mind can even catch up, your hands reach out, the motion as natural as breathing.
You don't shove, you don't even try, you just stay as you are. And then, it happens. The soft rustle of the flowers make their way into your arms, the scent of them filling your lungs as you hold the bouquet close.
You are awakened from your reverie by the cheers and the disappointed groans of the people around you, and you look up to see your friends beaming at you, and pointing behind you.
You turn just in time to catch Johnny's eye, as he dashes towards you, this absolute brick wall of a man running towards you in all his boyish delight, with a grin so wide it makes your heart stutter.
The crowd is a singular melody of "awww"s as you are lifted into his arms with ease, one strong hand under your knee and the other around your back, to lift you princess style in his arms. Your head rests against his chest as the wind is knocked out of your lungs because of his sheer strength. A string of words in his thick Scottish accent leave his mouth, words you are too giddy to understand as he dashes away from everyone, carrying you to wherever the adrenaline in his body wants. His stubble presses against the top of your head, as he speaks in a gruff voice,
"Think even fate wants us th'gither, eh?"
Your face hurts because of the grin that donns your face, happiness you are unable to contain or express in just words. So you hide your face against his chest , struggling to separate your words from your giggles, "Johnny you've got to put me down! Where are you even-"
But he's too far gone to even take in your words, too high on the adrenaline still pumping in his blood. His pupils are so far dilated you can see the dark rim of it eclipsing his blue iris. When he speaks next, his voice is ragged, filled with the kind of anticipation of a man who is fully intent on tangling your future with his, truly and fully.
"Gonnae git a house in scotland, a lairge yaird 'n' everything fur th' kids"
You give a little gasp at his words, delivering a smack to his chest, a futile attempt really, given that it does little to no damage, instead, his grin just widens, his amusement only heightened by your little attempt. You can practically hear the thoughts in his brain, even hear the cogs running in there if you try close enough.
" n' we're gonnae tak' 'em tae visit mah maw in-"
He just keeps going, running top speed to God-knows-where, long strides eating at the distance of the meadow, holding you firm even as you squirm, absolutely helpess against his mindless chatter. After a few more futile tries of making him see sense, you give up. You let him have his moment, his legs never faltering, as he carries you far from the venue of your friend's wedding. He nuzzles his face against your head as he sighs,
"gonna git mah bonnie th' prettiest ring thare is"
โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
ย
A low whistle from Kyle interrupted the conversation between Price and Simon.
"You think they're gonna come back?"
Simon leaned forward, dragging his hand across his face in frustration, "Fuckin' hell, they better don't , Soap was chatterin' my bloody ears out"
The captain just smiled out at the expanse of the grass, the outline of Soap and the lass in his arms getting smaller and smaller with each second. His fingers rummage his pocket for a cigar, placing it between his lips as he muttered "Better him than an army of the next McTavish'es"