Epilogue

The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. At least, that's what Soul assumed.

At any rate, the flowers had looked great.

Angela, the flowergirl had swung the pomander enthusiastically, but it had held together (until she had started beating her father around the head with it) while both brides had followed, holding hands and pointedly looking away from each other, blushes glowing through the thin gauzy material of Jackie's more traditional veil and the heavy hanging hood that obscured Kim's face.

Neither had any family present, and Soul was to learn that even Angela - who he'd been told was Kim's niece - was really just her neighbour's daughter, the neighbour being a tall thin pale haired man, who Black Star would later attempt to start a fight with, multiple times. Mifune, the neighbour, would never dignify this requests, insisting it was neither the time nor the place. Soul was grateful for this, Mifune radiated a quiet sort of power, the kind that made Soul question, for the first time, if Black Star would've emerged victorious.

Ox, the basketball player who Soul had finally deciphered the name of, had looked uncomfortable carrying a bouquet, but Harvar had pulled it off with his usual level 'I can make anything look cool just fucking watch me. This propeller hat? Cool. This bedsheet toga? Cool.' Jackie's third bridesmaid, a shy woman unfortunately named Eternal Feather had coped well with meeting everyone invited, despite the fact that she was and old school friend of Jackie's and that most of the guests were people she'd never met before. Kim's squad of barista bridesmaids had blushed and cooed at all the right times, Meme albeit with some elbowing from Tsugumi and Anya as a cue.

They'd had their hands bound together with thick red ribbon, and jumped over the roasting pit, the whole pig on a spit removed for the leap. Jackie's long conservative dress had been singed, but Kim's tea length gown had been spared. They'd kissed then, long and hard and enthusiastic, to more cheers and whoops than Soul had expected.

But it seemed like the entirety of Caberallo Street had been invited, Starbucks having declined politely. It was too busy renovating the bathroom to open, never mind attend weddings.

Then the wine was broken out, and the food and a playlist that seemed several hours long, halved by arrival and subsequent exit of a band that played in Carter and Ghost sometimes, but all that had been several hours ago at this point, and Soul didn't even feel heavy from food anymore- who knew pig on a spit was so good?

He was still wearing a corsage Maka had made him- it was looking a little worse for wear and it had little merit in terms of design, but her's was holding up as beautifully as it looked. That is to say, very well. She was talking to Black Star, or it seemed, restraining him from clocking Ox. she did not seem particularly thrilled by the task, looking instead like she'd prefer to clock him herself.

It was difficult to tell.

Her back was to him, and, seeing as she'd worn a backless dress, what a back it was. The lean musculature and soft curve of her spine were illuminated by the soft glowing flames of the fire pit and the tall torches that were driven into the thick, dry clay of the desert. The bright colours were muted by the night and you couldn't read the lyrics scrawled across her spine. Her hair was glowing orange, falling out of the once elaborate updo while Black Star struggled to free himself from her hold and the soft lace blue of her dress had transformed into a darker shade when the sun had set, hours ago.

She handed Black Star off to Tsubaki, who placated him with a pint glass of a clear liquid. Soul hoped, for everyone's sake, that it was water. She turned around and grinned at him, waving. He blushed and looked down, eager not to make contact with those green eyes after having a glass of wine in recent memory.

She padded over to him, feet tucked into flats, heels long since abandoned.

"You want to dance?" she smiled at him, teeth bright in the dimly lit night. Her eyes flashed, and Soul cast an eye to the heavens before hoping that everyone would be too drunk to remember seeing him agree to this. He grinned down at her, because she seemed so little in that moment.

"Why not?" Soul shrugged, taking her proffered hand. "S'not like anyone can see us."

He'd regret this statement at a later date, when Kim passed him a photo of him looking so lost in a pair of too green eyes he wasn't sure he'd ever come up for air, but right now her hand was soft and warm and in his and they turned slowly to the music.

I'm posting this now and going to sleep. that sweet embrace of sleep. I'm honestly not sure of the literary merits of this at all, but then I remind myself that it doesn't really have to be, but I enjoyed writing it, and if anyone manages to have enjoyed reading it a quarter so much as I have writing it, I'll consider it a marked success.

Please R&R.