The bride is stunning, dark skin against the bright white of her dress, her smile soft as sunshine. She's radiant. The groom looks at her with adoration in his eyes and leans in to kiss her cheek.

They are so happy together, two halves of one blissful whole. You smile and your heart aches.

Your tie is too tight. The roses on the tables mock you, taunt you, remind you that none of this is yours. You want to drink your wine and drown in it.

A man is sitting alone at a table near you, dark haired and making eyes at you over the rim of his glass. You recognize him as Lance, the bride's ex from a long time ago. You liked him, even slept with him once before him and her became a couple. You haven't spoken to him in the many years since.

He lifts an eyebrow. It's an invitation, come dance with me. You drop your eyes to the table and fiddle with the buttons on your sleeve. There are too many, in your opinion, but Arthur insisted.

You chance a glance to the side. Everyone in the room has started to clink their forks against the side of their glasses. The sound deafens you, like a thousand hammers beating your skull and tearing your heart to shreds.

She blushes and smiles at him. He smiles back, so loving, and brings a hand to gently cup her face. He tilts her lips to his, and the room erupts in cheers and applause.

Down at the other end of the table the father of the bride stands up, glass of white wine in hand.

He talks about her childhood, how proud he has always been of his little girl, how much he loves her. Judging by the smiles on everyone's faces, his speech was a touching one. You wouldn't know, you were barely listening.

They go down the line, each member of the wedding party standing and saying their words. Arthur never stops smiling, and he never keeps his hand off of his bride. Fingers resting on the back of her hand, stroking a lock of her hair, tracing down her arm.

He looks so happy, happier than you've ever seen him. You swallow another mouthful of wine to stop the tears. Maybe if you drink enough you can force closed the hole inside.

Arthur licks his lips, and unconsciously, you do the same. You remember how they feel from that time he kissed you back in uni. Even back then you knew it didn't mean anything, but you couldn't help yourself from falling hard, hopelessly and ridiculously. His lips tasted like beer and cigarettes, chapped but warm and everything you'd been dreaming of. In the morning he didn't remember any of it, as if it never happened. For you, it was something you would never forget no matter how hard you tried.

The line reaches you, seated next to the bride.

You stand up, take your glass with you. You look at all the people watching you, then down at the groom.

Arthur smiles at you, the crooked smile you love so much. You take in a gulp of air; breathe, the best man can't faint before he's given his speech.

HIs fingers are threaded through hers, resting on the table. Their hands fit like puzzle pieces, made to fit together perfectly.

You look at Arthur. At this time tomorrow he'll be in a fancy hotel room in France and you will, hopefully, be blind drunk in your own miserable, empty flat. Really, you have nothing to lose.

"Arthur," You say, "I love you."

The crowd coos, a collective awwww welling up from the voices of the many, many guests. Arthur throws back his head and laughs, and when he looks back, there's only fondness in his eyes.

You've told him you loved him once before, when you'd had confidence pumping through your veins in the form of vodka. He'd laughed then too, and said if you ever tell anyone this I'll deny it, but I love you too, Merlin.

He'd clapped you on the shoulder and went off to find Gwen.

He'd meant as a friend, and he thought you meant the same. You know without a doubt that Arthur loves you too, as much as anyone loves anyone, but it's all platonic, not at all what you wish you could have from him. You despise his friendship as much as you crave it.

He knows you're gay. He's known ever since he caught you snogging his friend Gwaine in the library. He's gone with you to a gay club, once, just to be supportive. He's tried to set you up. He never noticed that Merlin never seemed very interested in the men that hit on you. Sometimes Arthur is so oblivious you want to punch him.

You realize you haven't said anything in quite a long time, caught up in your heartbreak and the warmth in Arthur's eyes. You open your mouth to say something, anything to fill the silence that is becoming more awkward by the second, but nothing comes out. So you find yourself standing and staring at Arthur with horror as his expression changes.

You can see the exact moment when he realizes, the widening of his eyes, the wilting of his mouth. You want to vomit or burst into tears or run away, but you stand frozen and you wait.

He doesn't do anything. The guests have started to whisper. The bride has let out a soft oh of understanding, her fingers laid over her lips in sympathy. You can't look at her. You watch him.

"You've been my best friend for a long time," you say. "I can't think of anyone more perfect for you than Gwen. Whenever I look at the two of you together it's like I'm seeing what happiness looks like. I'm so glad you've found each other, and I'm honored to be by your side as your best man." You pause to swallow. "I wish you and Gwen all the happiness in the world."

You lift your glass in toast, and everyone else mimicks you. "To Arthur and Guinevere."

To Arthur and Guinevere.

Your turn is over, but you don't want to sit down and endure any more of this. You back away from your chair and start towards the exit. You can feel dozens of eyes on you.

Merlin, wait.

You turn around, and there he is. Handsome in his suit and his shining golden hair.

He hugs you before you can run away. It takes the breath from you, just like every other time Arthur has been near you.

You put your arms around him and hug him back, but you don't hold too tightly, otherwise you're not sure you'll ever let go.

He loosens his hold, steps away. He claps you on the back and gives you a small smile. You nod at him, and you try to smile back because it would make him happy. You back away from him, give a small half-wave to the audience of wedding guests, and walk as fast as you can to the exit.

You hurl yourself into one of the taxis hired to take people home, and that's when the tears come. You don't try to stop them. The driver doesn't say anything, just assumes you're drunk. The car is silent except for the sound of your own heavy breathing and wiping your nose on your sleeve.

Tomorrow the love of your life will fly away with the love of his life. They will sleep together and smile together and her name will be a benediction on his lips. He will worship her, and she will make him happy.

Really, you think to yourself as the driver stops in front of your building, that should be enough for your sorry heart.

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