Some days you don't exist.

You wake up whenever best suits you, you spend the day reading in your dorm room, or studying alone. Some days you attend class. Some days you talk to people - your friends - but only the ones who don't appear to notice or care about your consistently negative attitude. Your quiet demeanor. Your distance from the rest of the world. These days are few and far between. Most days you don't exist.

You exist today - but only for her. You didn't want to get out of bed this morning, you didn't want to put on this suit, and you certainly didn't want to be standing at the front of the church, behind the man who stole her away from you. But the image of her face - distraught upon realizing her own brother has neglected her wedding - kills you. So now here you are.

You will not think about her today in the ways that you usually do. You will not think about you and her together. Today is not about you, it is about her.

In front of you, the church hums with anticipation. Pairs of eyes face towards you, but you do not meet any of them. Pairs of eyes periodically turn to the church doors, which is where yours are fixed. You notice the groom shift his feet in your peripheral vision. Nerves. You don't feel nervous. You feel nothing. You haven't felt anything since the bachelor party, where he wouldn't stop talking about her. How crazy he is about her. How in love they are.

The doors slowly open, and in she walks. You gasp unexpectedly, but really, what did you expect? She is stunning. Her glowing white dress accentuates her lean figure, her chocolate curls hang delicately over her shoulders, her naturally rosy cheeks rise when she smiles broadly and looks down the aisle ahead of her with nothing but confidence, and she has never looked more beautiful. As far as you're concerned, no one has ever looked so beautiful.

Of course she would not make this easy on you.

She takes her first step towards the altar, arm linked with your father's. Her first step towards a life she has always wanted, with a man she can bring home for dinner, a man she can tell her friends about, a man she can kiss in public. You could never be those things. She is getting married at twenty-one, and you try to tell yourself that she is not doing it because of you. She is not doing this to solidify the reality that you could never be those things. To remind you that it's over.

She takes another step and you notice the flower in her hair. It's the same one she wore at prom, three and a half years ago. You snuck out of the fire exit and ran through the woods, hand in hand, laughing, to the place you hadn't shown her yet. The clearing at the top of that hill, where you can look out over the entire city's dazzling lights, and when you're tired of that, you can look up at the few - but incredible - stars visible on a California night. You still remember her face as your running came to a halt, her giggling abruptly ceased, and she almost fell into your side with disbelief. You remember how she whispered it's beautiful, how you stepped into her view, took both of her hands, you remember the way she looked up at you like everything in her world in that moment was so perfect. Like nothing would ever tear you apart. You remember the way she kissed you. Her laugh as you pulled your phone and headphones from your pocket.

My my, Dipper, who knew you were such a romantic?

The voice is so clear in your head that you have to confirm that she hasn't just said it, out loud, at the other end of the church. She hasn't.

She has taken a few more steps forward. Her smile has faded, replaced by... apprehension? Regret? Perhaps that's wishful thinking.

You've seen her look at you like that before, though. One of the first times she stood silently in your doorway, downcast face illuminated by the moon, and her eyes asked you if she could come in, and you nodded. I'm scared, Dipper, she murmured as she ran her fingers through your hair and you kissed her neck. I know, you cooed, I am too, but you kept kissing her anyway. She kept kissing you back. She lay down on top of you anyway, and you kept caressing her back. The clothes came off anyway, and you told her you loved her, and she told you she loved you back.

Halfway to the altar now, and she meets your gaze. She locks eyes with you and you alone - not the other groomsmen. Your heart stands still as you realize that, only for a split second, she looks terrified.

You've seen that look before, as well. Christmas, nearly four years ago. She came out of her bedroom as you left the bathroom, and you met in the hallway, and she held up a piece of mistletoe and grinned massively. Lookie what I got, she beamed, and before you could say anything her lips were on the side of your mouth, and you made a half-hearted mwah sound as you felt yourself start to sweat. Well that was hardly a proper mistletoe kiss, now was it? she teased, and then her lips were on yours again. She kissed you, and when she moved in to kiss you again, you kissed her back. Then you were just kissing, upstairs in your house, the whole family gathered not ten feet below you, oblivious to her moaning quietly into her brother's mouth, to the hand you had under your sister's sweater. When she finally pulled away, you still remember the look on her face. The look of sheer terror. You avoided each other for weeks.

Her eyes fall back to her husband-to-be in less than a half second, and you wonder what she is thinking. You want to ask her what she thinks about when she falls asleep at night. Does she think of you? Ever? Stop. Today is not about you.

She takes careful steps to the altar, she kisses your dad's cheek, and turns to face the groom. She takes his hands and you wonder how warm her hands are. They were always so warm.

Dearly beloved, the priest begins, and you almost throw up. Because this is happening. It's real, there's no denying it anymore, and you're on a fast track to a life without her. A life where you and her together is no longer a possibility. No, no, it was never a possibility. You don't need her to tell you that again, do you?

She stands opposite her groom, warm smile returned to her face, loving eyes gazing into his. She used to look at you like that, remember? Do you remember that?

Don't remember. Remembering hurts. Remembering is masochistic.

As the happy couple repeats their vows, you scan the room. You see your parents, your cousins, your aunts, uncles, great uncles, grandparents, and all of them are so happy for her. All of them watch the proceedings with nothing but love and pride in their eyes, and none of them look at you. None of them know that you were once intimate with this girl. No one has any idea. You almost laugh at how absurd it is.

The moment, the point of no return draws closer, so you start to attempt coming to terms with this new reality. You try and be happy for her - she is getting what she wants. She is happy - just look at her! And at the end of the day, that's all you want. You want her to be happy, with or without you.

You want her to be happy. With or without you. You want her to- no you don't, you don't want her to be with this guy, you never have and you never will. You're not that selfless. You will see her at Thanksgiving, at Christmas, and you'll try and talk to her like normal siblings do, and you will try and hide that you are still in love with her. But you won't be able to, because you are weak. You are weak without her - that you have known for a long time now.

She looks so happy. Why does she look so happy? She can't be this happy. Did you mean anything to her? Two years ago she told you it was over. Eight months ago was when you last kissed - a few days after she got engaged. You asked her why she said yes to him. You argued. She yelled. You asked her how she did it so easily, how she got over you so easily. You both cried hysterically. It was a mistake, a slip-up, but she kissed you. Fiercely, like she used to, and you didn't stop her. I'm sorry, Dipper, she cried, it's impossible.

Impossible. That's the right word for it. That's the word that'll snap you out of this two-year slump you've been in. Impossible. It's impossible for you two to be together, and she is proving it right now by marrying someone else.

Smile. Someone will notice you soon if you're not smiling. Someone will notice the creepy brother who looked dead inside for the entire wedding. Every time you try and smile all you manage to do is scowl, to a point where you worry for your own sanity. There's certainly a screw or two loose up there. How can she smile so easily? What's the secret? The secret must be that you mean a lot less to her than she does to you. Ouch.

The priest asks if anyone has any objections. You have many. So many. But today is not about you, so you keep quiet. The priest makes a joke - something about how that's always a tense moment - and several quiet, almost forced laughs escape the mouths of members of the congregation. You do not laugh. The priest doesn't know the half of it.

Every word after that is a blur. There's a constant, painful ringing in your ears, and your legs feel weak, but you're fine. This has happened before, you're sure it'll happen again. It takes you a few seconds, but you realize she is married. She has flung her arms around the groom's neck and they share a prolonged kiss. The churchgoers are clapping, the priest gives a satisfied smile, the groom whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle and you can't be sure, but you think you've died and gone to hell.

Now comes your moment. She looks at you. She wants one thing from you. She wants you to smile, to show that you are happy for her, that everything is normal now and you're both going to be okay. You try. Oh, you try, you really do. Because if you can't smile, you may as well have not gotten out of bed today. You may as well have jumped into oncoming traffic on the way here. But you just can't do it. She looks at you for long seconds, fixated on you, waiting patiently for you to smile, to give your approval. The room is in slow motion, you're only focused on her, there's nothing else to distract you but you just cannot smile. The one thing you came here to do - to be here for your sister. You had one fucking job and you couldn't do it. You failure. She looks away and her husband sweeps her off her feet.

And because by this point you're already delirious, you remember something else.

And that's when you say it, a six year old Mabel told you.

Say what?

That's when you say the magic words.

Please?

Dipper, she huffed, playing with the hem of her bridesmaid dress. What do people say at weddings?

Oh! 'I do'.

And Mabel, do you take this man to be your awfully wedded husband? She paused for dramatic effect. I do! Another pause. Then you may now kiss the bride.

You stood still, brows furrowed.

She sighed. You may now kiss the bride.

Oh! You kissed her cheek.

She folded her arms and frowned at you. You hesitantly leaned forward and kissed her lips. She clapped and squeezed your cheeks.

Dipper, who are you going to marry when you grow up?

What? I dunno.

I'm going to marry you.

What? You can't marry me.

Why not?

Because I'm your brother!

So?

So that's not allowed Mabel. I don't think it is.

Well I'll make it allowed. Then we can be together forever!

You watch him carry her to the door. And she is gone forever.