The sunlight woke her up gently through the cracks in her window and she opened her eyes to the sight of her room.

No—

Yes.

Well, either way, here she is. Yet another day that he wasn't hers.

Like nothing ever happened. None of that crazy adventures, gruesome murders or confessed, inseparable love.

He was back to what he was before and she hated it.

She hated the guilty way her heart sang when he unknowingly wrapped her into an affectionate hug. She loathed the way her feelings were back to the starting line, compressed and hidden and bottled up for his sake. She despised how her soul would silently shatter painfully every time he kissed Jackie. She'll admit that it's jealousy now and she hated it, she hated it; God she hated it.

But she loves him. And for him?

Anything.

She walked downstairs and yawned wide, tired and emotionally spent. Her nose picked up the scent of pancakes and there he was, singing along goofily, laughing and wiggling around to the music. His parents apparently didn't come home last night, and they entrusted him to take care for both of them.

"G'morning, Star," he smiled brightly at her and she forced a painful laugh to hide the sound of her heart breaking.

"As usual? Blueberry is your favorite, right?" he flipped the half-cooked pancake and she smiled genuinely despite herself. He remembered; of course he remembered.

"Star?" he turned around, concern layered in his tone. She had been quiet for a while now, and that wasn't the Star Butterfly he knew.

She had to keep up the image for his sake and hers.

"Oh? Yeah, I'm fine," she stared at her breakfast, drenched in sweet syrup. Just how she likes it. "What about you, Marco? Aren't you going out with Jackie tonight?"

His face lit up and her stomach dropped. She had expected this when she changed the topic, but she couldn't risk appearing jealous now. She knew he said that he wanted her before they did all this, but again, if she stayed away from him, he would be safe.

He wouldn't have to remember and relive all the horrible, traumatic things he had went through when they were together.

"Yeah. She said that we could go to see a show or something. There's this new stand-up from her favorite comedian that she had wanted to see for ever, but couldn't since all the tickets were sold out in a flash. I managed to get us some and she literally jumped on me, God," he ran his fingers into his bangs, tossed it aside and laughed; a clear, beautiful sound, "She was so excited. It's kinda cute, you know."

"Yeah?" she poked at the blueberries with her fork and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "Well, that I do know. Jackie is cool and cute. Like, at the same time. Like, no one could be like that, am I right?" She was probably trying too hard to sell it, but she didn't care.

Not caring had been a big problem to her lately.

"Hey, don't say that," he frowned, and bumped her shoulder playfully, "You're still the coolest girl I know."

Damn him. Damn him and his stupid charm and his comforting words and—

She felt herself let out a chuckle before she could stop and he relaxed. "Hey," he looked over at her and she lifted her head from the plate, "You can come with us if you want to. This comedian guy is pretty funny. And you could use some real smiles on that frowny face of yours."

He—He noticed?

…Of course he would. Marco Diaz isn't someone she could fool. He's intelligent, he's compassionate, he's caring and most of all—

He loves her.

Loved her.

She had to remind herself time and time again that he's not hers anymore.

She felt so selfish and dirty sometimes. She put him through all of this, just because she couldn't hold back her fucking feelings. He suffered because of her. He lost his memories for her to regain her magic, he accepted scars for her to be safe, he traded his memories and feelings for her to be able to wield her wand and make everything right again.

She felt shame and the deadly sins crawling on her back every time she looked at his beaming smile for her.

"Afraid I will have to pass this one, Lord Marco," she waved the piece of pancake on her fork around dramatically, one hand clutching her chest, "I'm not really in the mood for comedy today."

"Oh?" He caught up to her definitely-not-fake playful mood, "Then what would the Princess like to do?" He smirked mischievously.

"W—Wha—Hey! No fair!" She pouted and stuck her tongue at him, "You can't just call me that all of a sudden!"

He was laughing hysterically now, and she laughed, too, delighted at his giddiness today. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed between them, like they were never lovers, never scared of each other, never ran away from their feelings.

But the precious moment was fleeting and silence settled upon them once more, awkward and stuffing and uncomfortable. She saw him fidgeting with the hem of his new Kiss the Cook apron Jackie bought him when she saw it in the mall, and could practically hear the gears turning in his head. He was trying to save their carefree mood and 'conversation', she knew.

But she could do little more than holding on to that passing minute and pleaded, hoped, prayed, to have it back. All she wanted was to have some good fun by his side.

Was it so hard to go back to what they once were?

…Of course it was. Nothing is the same anymore, and she knew that.

"So," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "More pancakes?"

"No thanks, I'm done," she said sweetly—too sweet—and pushed the chair out. "I'll be in my room; call me if you need anything or if a troll decides to kidnap you or something—" she managed to walk off with a disinterested voice and a half-hearted salute. She could practically feel his confused gaze and the sins crawling on her back.

She had told him before when he cornered her that it's fine, it's cool that he and Jackie are a thing now; if anyone would get her it would be him - he deserved it. Years and years of pining and caring and affection for her had to turn out into something, right?

She had patted him on the back, told him to not worry about her—she's okay—and left the hallway before he could see the tears falling down her cheeks.

She lied to him. Of course she lied to him.

Star Butterfly was anything but okay.

She could saw the twilight shining through her thick curtains when she woke up again. God, she had been sleeping a lot these days.

Her ears picked up the sound of Dia de los Muertos and the scent of cologne from the bathroom invaded her senses.

"Ah! Fuck!" he cursed loudly, like he was in pain. She resisted the urge to just slam the door open and pick him out of there, carry him back to the safety of his bedroom. But considering the possible consequences, it's probably not a good idea to do that.

But she couldn't just ignore him now; could she?

She could never.

"Marco? Are—Are you okay?" she knocked the sturdy wooden door and he yelped from inside, "I heard you swear pretty loud; you're fine in there?"

"Yeah!" he shouted through the music and the running water, his voice at least an octave higher than usual, "Yeah, I'm fine! I just bumped my head on the counter when I bent down to pick up something; this growth spurt thing is a bit annoying, that's all. I'm okay!" He sounded so uncomfortable she decided to retreat after a mumbled Be careful, you dork.

She wasn't sure if he could hear that, but who cares? He is a dork.

Her dork.

"I won't be back early, Star," he told her from the doorsteps. He had on his lucky hoodie tonight and his fancy pair of jeans. Dressed up for the occasion; she could see. She was perched on the couch, a bowl of nachos in her hand and some dumb sitcom playing on the TV, "Don't wait up for me. I made food for you already; just get more if you're still hungry, okay?"

"I'm not a kid anymore," she stuck her tongue out, plopping another piece of her favorite food in her mouth and he rolled his eyes, "But okay, Daddy."

For half a second nothing passed between them but wide eyed stares and shocked faces.

Then he started choking on his own tongue.

"Star!" he yelled, mortified and coughing, his face red, "You can't just call me Dad—Daddy like that!"

"Why not?" she retorted, "I saw friends calling each other Mom all the time, and you're not exactly suit to be a Mom so I called you Dad. But again, I almost always calls my dad Daddy, so what's wrong with that?" He looked even redder when she repeated the word several times, and she couldn't understand why.

"I'm not talking to you about it now. Or ever." he pulled up his hoodie to hide his overheating face and she was legitimately confused.

"Fine!" she shouted over her shoulder and picked up her cell phone, "I'll just use the Interweb or whatever you call it then! It's not like I need to ask you everything, you know."

He was by her side faster than she could imagine.

"No!" he grabbed the thing from her nimble fingers and held it out of her reach, "You can't go on the Internet to search for daddy!"

"Why not!?" she demanded stubbornly, but he only shook his head and walked away.

"I'm confiscating this," he told her, slipping her compact into his pocket, "And don't you dare magic another one." he warned, his finger wiggling at her scheming face and she pouted.

Busted.

She was turning away when she caught him murmuring under his breath.

"Jesus Christ, Star, you almost killed me…"

She wasn't sure why, but his embarrassing display made a smile blossomed across her face.

Maybe things weren't that different after all.

Despite his words, she stayed up waiting for him, a little more hopeful than she would admit.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It was eleven. No way a show could be that long, right? It's been, what, four hours? Could he just come home already?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

…This is driving her mad.

"Jackie, hey! Careful with that—" she heard his breathy laugh and a more feminine giggle, and she immediately bolted upstairs. She didn't need to see this; nope, not at all. She reminded herself that it's okay; Jackie was only making sure that he got home safely or something, then she'll leave. No need to get worked up about it too much.

Except she didn't leave.

"M—My room? I mean, sure—if you want to we can—" he stuttered under his breath and the girl laughed again. Wait—are they going to—

"I—I mean, it's probably not a good idea to—um…do it, now—aren't we a bit too young for this?" Bless him and his Safe Kid spirit animal. "I don't really think—hah—that we should be—oh God please don't stop—"

She slammed the door to her room to mask whatever he was about to say next.

She couldn't take it. Couldn't swallow it in, couldn't handle it.

She hadn't cried like that for a while.

The next morning was awkward. She tried to stay in bed for as long as possible after sobbing into her pillow all night. All she wanted was to be left alone with her misery, or at least until the girl left.

But apparently, he had other ideas.

"Star?" he knocked softly on her door like he did all those timelines ago, "Are you okay?"

—It's not fair.

It's not fair that he got the advantage of not having to hide his feelings. It's not fair that he has that power to make her weak, reducing the strong and stubborn Princess in her to a crying, shaking mess of a girl. It's not fair what he's doing; dropping random tender moments like this that felt nostalgic to the heart and painful, utterly painful to go through this again, without having to acknowledge what he had done to her.

Sometimes she wished that she could just…press a button and reset everything that had ever happened.

"I—I heard you slam the door last night," he confessed, "Are you—are you—"

Happy? Hell no. Okay? Not really.

Dying? Yes.

But she wiped the tears from her eyes; they're useless anyway, and walked over to him. She opened the door and he blinked at her, surprised. She didn't even bother with reassuring him at this point.

She gently closed the bathroom door and fell to her feet against it. His footsteps outside were small and hesitant.

She was pathetic, wasn't she? On the toilet floor, curled up to herself and crying as quietly as she could.

She knew this would happen—of course it would happen someday. But she had never imagined she would had to be there to witness it. The moment when he finally wasn't hers anymore.

…Does God hate her?

They didn't speak for an entire week.

He had cornered her in the hallways, trying to pry an answer out of her. But she was headstrong and adamant—she's not going to give up that fast or that easily. She had managed to hide for a month now after the whole Toffee fiasco—there was no reason why she couldn't continue hiding.

…Okay, for the record, she knew that hiding and running away from her problem is disastrous, but it's not like there's anything she could do about it. She's lying to herself, to him, to everyone, yes, but she's doing it for his safety and comfort and—

Happiness.

Despite their common denial that nothing had changed between them, their relationship was never the same after that night.

She would avoid him and he would go after her. That was their game; ceaseless hide and seek that would usually end with her tears falling silently in the safety of her room. It was hard at first, but living in the same house didn't give them that much of a choice. She got used to crying without making a single noise.

But she was getting tired of shutting him out.

She missed him. She missed her partner in crime, her lover, her soulmate. She missed the way he would relax and be himself around her, no walls and no masks. Nothing hidden and nothing fake.

Most of all, she missed her best friend.

Yes, she was well aware that she sounded pathetic just now.

But that's all she ever wanted. A life with him in it, with no jealousy and nothing gnawing at her guts. No painstaking words, no tears fallen, no insanity.

Is that too much to ask for?

She tried. She really tried. Tried everything to get her mind off of him.

Ignoring the problem didn't help, as expected.

Drowning herself in work and Queen training didn't help, although falling asleep as soon as her face hits the pillow did ward off the unwanted dreams about him and her nightmares.

Dating other people was the worst idea she had ever came up with. She didn't know what to do when her date was actually nice to her and sometimes they would politely propose a relationship. She'd turn them down with an apologetic smile and leave them confused, surprised and crushed. Just like how he left her.

She felt guilt. Shame and longing and bittersweet pain.

He ruined everything.

Making her hope, dream, imagine, reminisce, remember.

Making him unattainable, a memory, a thought, a fantasy, a past.

Making them dull, drabber, flatter, plain and never good enough.

He, gone from her embrace.

He ruined everything.

It's been a year and nothing had changed.

He was still her friend. Not as close as before, when they would never keep anything from each other, but still friends.

Just friends.

But hey, if she was being honest with herself, she was glad that at least she was still by his side. Helping him with his troubles, his problems, his occasional fights with Jackie. Talking, joking, laughing. Frowning, arguing, crying. Apologizing, hugging, talking again.

It was a cycle. An unbreakable, sacred cycle between them. It was their thing, their secret, their shared habit.

And she was happy with that.

…Who was she kidding?

She had to admit it. Being his friend wasn't quite enough for her anymore.

She longed for his touch, his kiss, his warmth. Something more than purely platonic. Something that makes her knee buckle, her heartbeat rising, her cheeks flushing. Something intimate, something loving, something that they used to share.

She longed for something.

She kept having to remind herself her motto these days; if he's happy then that's enough. And she meant it; she meant every word of it. All she ever wanted was—

Him. She wanted him.

Her steadily declining mental health and rising bitterness pushed her to the edge. She couldn't handle this right now.

She wanted to please him. But she wanted him even more.

She wanted to give him everything that he deserves. But she wanted him even more.

She wanted to stop loving him, to spare him from her misery. But she wanted him even more.

A part of her loves him. God, she loves him so much. Their love was one that sprung from absolute reliability, careful affectionate gestures and deep, irreplaceable friendship. It wasn't a rushed relationship, wasn't a one-sided hopeless love, wasn't something they both regretted.

A part of her hates him. He ruined her life. Tainted her future husband's well-deserved love, torn apart her sanity, wounded her pride and left her on her knees, sobbing and hurt and bitter. She was hollow, fresh out of love and compassion in her soul. She poured her heart into loving him and even though she got nothing back more than a few days of priceless memories and broken-down déjà vu, she didn't regret a single second of it.

A part of her needs him. He was her light, the only thing that mattered in the darkness. He gave her his hand and pulled her out of the chasm of depression. He gave her joy, laughter, blissful moments. He made her day with his smile. He used to love her. And now, she craved that more than anything else.

A part of her fears him. He could shatter her. He could break her. He could wreck her from the inside and leave nothing but an empty shell behind. She remembered the way he used to control her wand, how absolutely terrifying he had been. He was wild, reckless and dangerous. He could break her again.

Another year passed and he was so in love it was ridiculous.

They were only seventeen, still young and immature and unsure. But he had already talked about marriage and family and future. Talked about how amazing she was, how he worshipped her, how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

And Star? She wanted to run away. Wanted to leave everything behind. Start new, live the life she was supposed to live, be the Queen she was supposed to be. Marry someone because she was supposed to marry someone. Have children because she was supposed to. Then die a death that was supposed to be worthy of a Queen. If she was lucky, she would fall in battle or something out of the norm.

She was tired. Physically and emotionally.

She wanted to let go.

She was starting to believe that her efforts were fruitless.

Hopeless.

It was for nothing. He deserves this; he deserves to be happy after she put him through so much shit. He deserves a peaceful life, not one filled with responsibility, stress and danger.

It's happening again; she could tell by the way her heart felt as heavy as lead. She could tell by the way her stomach dropped at the thought of him. She could tell by the way her mind cleared and was actually thinking things through.

She wanted to let go.

It was his birthday and she'd stopped trying to bring him back.

It was her birthday and she had to go back to where she truly belongs.

It was their final moment together and he was crying in her arms.

She wasn't.

It was her first night alone in the castle after so many years.

She would cry, but her tears had drained a long time ago.

She silently swore to herself she would never cry again.

It was her first visit back to Earth that he planned for their friendiversary but she didn't want to go. Didn't want to remind herself of what she had lost. It's just too painful to show up there and see him with her, laughing, kissing and bashing in the wholesomeness of their happy ever after.

It was one of their monthly mirror calls and he looked so happy to finally see her again she didn't want to tell him about her engagement.

It was the night before her wedding.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, her legs dangling and her fingers playing with the little wooden doll of him she had managed to snatch out of the Song Day pile of props from what seemed like forever ago.

It all felt bittersweet to her now.

A single tear rolled down her left cheek.

"Are you—sure you want to do this?" her soon-to-be husband asked, his hand resting on her creamy shoulder, "I know you still love him; there's no need for you to do this, Star."

She wiped her eyes, "I'm sure, Tom," Turning back to face him, a rather genuine smile carved its way on her face at the man who cares for her so much, "But thank you, anyway."

"Starship…" Tom muttered, still conflicted. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this. And I just—" he shook his head slightly, "I just don't get it. You told me about that adventure you and Marco had, and the bond between you…Why didn't you just, you know, take him back? It's not like he'd say no; he must've remembered something too, no?"

"You don't get it, and I don't blame you," she held his hands and said softly, "If I stayed and told him everything, wouldn't that just be burdening him? He wanted to live on Earth, to be a normal human. He's not prepared for all this—royalty duties, the responsibilities, the rules and everything that comes with the privileges. He wasn't raised like us. He wouldn't know how to handle it. Don't you think he would've gone insane?"

"I mean, you're right; this is quite a struggle," he looked away, abashed at her sudden attention, "But he'd have you by his side. Isn't that enough?"

It took her aback. She stared at the demon like it was the first time she'd seen him. Look at this man; she could feel the adoration and love radiating from his warm hands, from the way he looked at her. Tears started brimming on her eyes again, and she blinked it back.

He gave her a sheepish smile and she laughed, tackling him in a hug and sobbing into the crook of his neck.

He smelled like smoke and timber and the sweet scent of slightly burnt marshmallows and somehow that made her love him even more.

"S—Star?" he whimpered, "Did I—make you cry? I'm sorry—"

"Thank you," she murmured, "Thank you so much, but—I can't go back. I—want to stay. With you."

He was startled and deathly still for a moment before making the happiest little noise she had ever heard and they broke into laughter.

She loved Marco. She really did.

But Tom was the future. Tom tried; he changed for her. He's not the angry, uncontrollable boy he used to be anymore. Still broken, but hey, she's here for him now and that's what matters, right?

He's the man whom she will be marrying in eight hours. The man who would wake up next to her every day, the man whom she knew would love her to the end of his days.

And Marco?

Sometimes she really wished that he could still be so much more than just the past.

…But as long as he's happy? As long as Tom's happy?

She didn't regret a single thing.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have gathered here today to witness the union between Prince Thomas Lucitor of the Underworld and Princess Star Butterfly of the Butterfly Kingdom…"

For a demon, he looked utterly divine that day.

Something was off and he could feel it.

He should be happy. He was finally engaged to the love of his life.

He had timed it perfectly so it would be a complete surprise. Her twenty-second birthday, her favorite restaurant, her favorite suit on him…

It had been a great date. Lots of good food, fancy drinks, laughing and joking. A little bit of making out, and the manager actually had to cleared his throat at them twice, but hey, it's not like he cared.

They had decided to walk back to the apartment they shared instead of getting there by his car; they were both quite tipsy and hell if he'd let his girlfriend—his fiancée, God—drive back when it's so dangerous.

She had bumped his shoulder and jokingly asked for a birthday gift. With the way she playfully wiggled her eyebrows, he knew what was coming next and by the looks of it, he might just get lucky tonight…

No, Marco. Concentrate.

He had imagined this for more than a decade, fantasizing this exact moment ever since elementary school, but when he'd finally gotten down on one knee and asked her—

"Jackie Lynn Thomas," he swallowed, trying hard to ignore the feeling of his heart anxiously pounding in his chest.

Her eyes had gone as wide as the moon softly illuminating the two of them, standing at the bench where they'd shared their first kiss, "Marco…? Are—Are you—"

A pause as he gathered up what little courage he had left. Come on, Marco, you had an entire speech prepared, for God's sake! Say something!

And then, very nervously, he let out, "Will you…marry—"

He didn't get to finish his fantastic proposal.

Suddenly Jackie was on him, hugging him and peppering him with kisses. She eased the mess of butterflies in his stomach with an excited and absolute "Yes!"

It was the happiest moment of Marco's life and he really wished it didn't also feel so…bitter. Somehow.

Everything was so perfect. They're engaged, the wedding would probably happen next month, all of their friends have congratulated them and his parents were so happy for him…

Yet something felt missing. Something in him felt empty, even as Jackie curled up next to him on their bed, half naked and warm and as comforting as ever.

He stared at the ceiling. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what it was.

Whatever it was, it was killing him with this unexplainable guilt that comes from nowhere.

Marco sighed. This wasn't going to work, was it?

He left the bed as gently as he could, trying not to wake up his slumbering, beautiful bride-to-be. Looking at her, a spark of sudden love and adoration flared to life, but it was quickly drowned out by the heavy feelings. He groaned, picking up a discarded robe and draped it around himself before making his way to the balcony.

He knew how much Jackie hated whenever he would smoke. She didn't understand where he got it from; no one in his family smokes and it's not like he associated with the cool kids in highschool or MIT either. Heck, he didn't even know when or why he started smoking; it just happened, and it's not like he smokes frequently anyway.

He really was going to quit—he had promised her that, but…

…Maybe not tonight. He still had almost half a pack of cigarettes right here on the wooden table next to him, and the little thing looked so tempting.

He went outside and thought of Jackie, of the strange feelings bothering him and how they just didn't make sense.

Marco lit the cigarette and took a long drag before letting the smoke out. God, he missed this.

He stared at the sky. It was a clear, hot summer night, with stripes of purplish clouds decorating the horizon. The moon was bright, and the landscape was just gorgeous. The stars…

He leaned back on his chair and let his thoughts wander to her for the first time in almost a year.

She just—disappeared from his life. One day they were fine and their friendship blossomed like a rose, and the next…

She kept her distance. Her smiles got a little less bright, her laughs a little more forced, her time locked in her room a little longer, their adventures a little shorter, less frequent…

He had to ask her if she wanted to go somewhere.

Then it had come to the point when she wouldn't even answer him when he knocked on her door.

Things changed between them and they drifted apart. Something he had never even thought possible.

Before she went back to Mewni, they had promised each other to mirror-call every day. Well, he had made her promise him.

For the first few days, she did, and it eased his nerves whenever he would manage to make her laugh.

But…

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Months turned to—

Never.

In the span of a few years, he had lost her.

Alright, he'll admit it. It did bother him but he had assumed it was inevitable. She moved on and grew up, she had royal duties to cater to, she's got trainings to complete. And he…

He moved on, too. Went to MIT, graduated with a Bachelor degree at age twenty-two, currently working his way straight up to a doctorate. Settling in, comfortable life, and is about to create his own little family with Jackie.

That simpler time when they were only fifteen really is far away.

A shooting star caught his eyes and he dropped the cigarette. Quickly put it out by stomping on it, he stared at the milky path of the fleeting meteor. It's so beautiful, but it's also—

Short-lived.

"Babe?" someone's sleepy voice called and he turned around. There she was, deadly gorgeous, dressed in nothing but a thrown on shirt of his and rubbing her drowsy eyes, "What're you doing up at this time?"

"I couldn't sleep," he smiled warmly, "You can go back to sleep if you want to, baby."

"Hmm, come with me," she yawned, "I don't wanna go back alone."

"Later, Jackie," he promised, "I just have a lot on my mind at the moment." He turned back towards the sky, closing his eyes for a little while.

"Huh?" she walked up behind him and he could feel her warmth against his back, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Nah," he lied, "It's just this project in the company…Boss wanted me to finish it as soon as possible, y'know—"

"Marco," she smiled, "If it's a work thing, you wouldn't be out here in the balcony smoking," she poked his side playfully, but he could still hear the slight tinge of bitterness in her voice, "You'd be locking yourself inside your office, pouring over that desk."

He let out a breathy laugh. Of course she was right; she knew him best, after all.

…Well, maybe not—the best, but…

Marco sighed again. Fuck this, why—

Despite his constant efforts to lie to himself, he would still have to admit that undeniable fact.

Star was the only one who truly understands him.

He had put on a façade for decades, keeping his image as an interesting person worth talking to. That's how he got Jackie in the first place; without Star's help and his mask he would've never been able to tell her how he felt and ask her out. His confidence was real enough, but it took a whole lot of effort to put that up everyday.

No one had noticed the socially awkward Marco Diaz, until he met Star Butterfly and she changed his life.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Jackie asked worriedly, her fingers circling that particular spot on his back that made him keened.

"I'm alright, sweetheart," he smiled reassuringly, but it didn't reach his eyes, "Just have a lot on my mind, that's all. You can go back to sleep by the way; it's way too late for you to be up."

She looked hesitant, but after more insistence from him, she offered him a kiss on the cheeks and told him, "Try not to pull an all nighter, you dork."

He laughed, "Alright, love."

She stepped inside and closed the door as he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

Marco stumbled over to the chair, a bit drunkenly. He swore there was something in that celebratory whisky they took at the restaurant…

He stared at the stars and drifted into the memories he and Star shared, reminiscing and wishing for things to be just a little different, maybe then they'd finally be happy—

She wouldn't even be at his wedding.

She wasn't here. She wouldn't be here, either.

She's gone.

His muddled mind kept thinking about her, unable to chase down sleep, until it suddenly occurred to him that there was sunlight peeking out at the horizon. The dawn had come, casting everything in warm rays of golden light. Life blossomed in the world beneath him. But for some reason, he was still so—

Hollow. Unsatisfied. Bitter and angry at himself—

He shook his head. That's enough, Marco. You have a wedding to plan and your fiancée waiting inside. It's no time to sulk.

He stood up and dusted himself from the cigarette ash, trying not to smell like smoke.

Whatever.

Marco Diaz walked inside the room and set himself next to Jackie Lynn Thomas's side, wrapping his arms around her soft body and finally let himself forget about the other blonde girl in his life.

A breeze picked up and the wind howled for a second, heartbroken, before it stopped, giving up.

The doors closed.