“...you weren’t...immediately sucked into the...drudgery of wedding festivities?” He asked it weird. He asked it so odd and wrong and –

“I’m a multi-talented man and can do what I want,” he said, turning and pressing his back against the terrace railing. His words were so sickeningly light and wonderful that Bo had to stop himself from sinking into them. “I’ve been sucked into the wedding festivities pretty much since I got the invite.”

Bo tried not to care. He glanced away.

The guest’s foot started tapping, quick and tempoed. “So...sorry. I just have to. How do you know the happy –”

“Look, I really, really just want to be alone right now.”

“I can leave if you –”

“No, not –” Bo hissed through his teeth. “I don’t know anyone here, and I’m only here here because my sister dragged me.” Bo wiped his face. He could’ve started crying right then and there at how openly pathetic he was.

Yet the shorter guest, at first, said nothing. A brief silence settled between them before he asked, “She dragged you outside?”

“No, I – no. No. To the wedding. I’m out here of my own volition. Also, to...take a break? I guess?”

“Ah.”

“I, just, really don’t want to talk about wedding stuff.”

A turkey called in the distance, obscured by the night. There was no moon, or one Bo or the guest could discern. If claustrophobia had been an issue before, the suffocation of the dying conversation made things immeasurably worse.

Bo turned to the other man, studying him carefully. The curve of his neck, his stocky build. He glanced away again, chastising himself.

Yet the guest sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, tapping his fingers along his arms. “I think you’re the first person who isn’t in the bridal party who isn’t hungry.”

“Put me in the Guinness Book of fucking World Records, then.” Bo bit the inside of his cheek.

The guest chuckled.

Bo turned to him.

“Seriously? Not hungry?”

“Not really.”

He hummed, drumming his fingers on the metal railing. “Wedding stuff question, because I’m curious and sorry: which side of the happy couple are you on?”

Bo couldn’t stop himself from frowning. The question felt like a challenge, a taunt. “I’ll tell you, only if you tell me how much you think the wedding’s costing the happy couple.”

The shorter guest raised his brows, a look of intrigue crossing his face.

That familiar sinking feeling filled him, and Bo pursed his lips and turned away.

“... I’m guessing, at least, $130,000.”

It was Bo’s turn to raise his brows. He glanced back at the guest, eyes wide. ‘No.’

The man shrugged. “That’s my guess.”

“What?”

“What? I looked at the website. It doesn’t say explicitly, but this place ain’t cheap. If the check-in rate is what we’re going off of. If they have the restaurant tonight, and for the number of people they have this weekend, I’m guessing at least two other places for the ceremony and the actual party.”

Bo straightened up, his eyes lingering on the guest. “That’s...honest.”

“You asked, though.” He smiled, soft and hesitant.

“Yeah, but I didn’t –” Bo scoffed. “Feels like I’ve been asking that question all night, and you’re the first one to...”

“I have a power, shall we say. Social cues are my thing, and I try to match them by...I don’t know. It’s all second nature to me. Intuitive.”

Bo’s heart started falling. “Oh. Sounds like a shitty power.”

“It’s a good one for this instance.”

“What bullshit social cues are you matching?”

The guest took in a breath. “I guess...not ‘matching’. I just...” He looked at Bo. “You...make sense.” He rolled his shoulders. “Doesn’t feel like I’m trying.”

Bo flushed red. It made him dizzy in the heat.

“Now you. I held up my end of the bargain. Which side of the happy couple are you?”

He sighed, lips flapping like a neighing horse. “The bride? Technically? My sister knew her in high school.” All of this was foreign, unnerving to him. “You?”

“The bride, too.”

“Family?”

“I used to date her.”

“Ah. The ex I’ve been hearing about.”

The guest’s smile faltered; so sharp was the moment that the corners of his mouth shifted, and his eyelids fluttered. “Is that what people have been saying?” His tone was hard, desperate to sound softer.

“I’ve hit a nerve.”

“What? No. I’m just...surprised they’re saying that.”

Bo shook his head, grunting at the mistake he made. He pressed his elbows on the metal railing, head in his hands. “Sorry, just – when someone hits a nerve, there’s always this...like, split-second realization of what the other person’s done. It’s subtle and quick, but you can tell if you’re paying close enough attention to it.” Again, Bo flushed red. Every word he was saying left him embarrassed. “I – it was unintentional, I swear. I-it’s just what I’ve heard through conversational osmosis.”

The shorter man regarded Bo for a long second before he sighed.

He tore his eyes away from the guest, closing them and taking a gulp of summer air. “If you’re going to leave, can you tell me if the appetizers are gone?”

“How do you do that?”

Bo looked at him. “What?”

“That. You...I don’t know.” He chuckled. “This, just...I don’t know.” He huffed another laugh, and his eyes were bright, watching Bo almost insistently. “I didn’t expect this to end up being one of the more interesting conversations I’ve had all night.”

His stomach somersaulted. “Not sure if that’s meant to be an insult.”

He scoffed or laughed; Bo wasn’t sure of the sound. “I can tell you now. It isn’t an insult. It is the most unexpected compliment I’ve given all night. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I jus – most people don’t expect to be asked how much a wedding costs. To have the words 'conversational osmosis' used. Even not wanting to talk about wedding stuff. During a wedding weekend. Everything’s just been so...different? Honest. Upfront.” He paused, drawing in a breath. “It’s refreshing.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Where’s your proof?” he asked, smirking.

Bo couldn’t handle his eyes on him. The guest’s stare felt intimidating, unrelenting, and Bo was sure he was already making enough of a fool out of himself to feel even more mortified. He turned away again.

“I’m here to support Melissa, but it’s hard to support her when everyone thinks I’m going to make a scene tomorrow.”

Immediately, Bo returned his eyes to the guest. “Are you?”

“No. Absolutely not. We dated three years ago, and she broke up with me for...reasons you’ve probably heard already and ones I don’t want to rehash right now. If I wanted to make a move, you think I would’ve done it by now.”

“Tell that to movies and TV shows.”

“This isn’t a movie or a TV show.”

“It’s worse. It’s real life.”

“So much worse.”

“...do you still love her?”

“As a friend, sure,” he answered on cue. “Kind of? We haven’t talked in a while, but...sure. I guess. But not romantically. We had our time, and I don’t regret it. Not one bit.” His jaw shifted, his eyes fixed on a spot back in the restaurant. “Sorry to mellow things out,” he said, smiling again.

“That implies I wasn’t mellowing things already,” Bo noted, smirking. He pulled away, realizing he was leaning in.

He snorted. “God, why’re we both so mellow?”

“Maybe ‘mellow’ is the wrong word. What about enlightened?”

“I don’t think that’s the right word, either.” The guest’s eyes were on him, lingering. “Maybe...hm.”

“See? Enlightened.”

The guest’s eyes, under the scant light, glowed. “I pity these poor, unenlightened peoples.”

“There can only be one,” Bo jeered, “but I’ll make an exception for you.”

“Thanks. Doesn’t make me feel so alone.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Bo couldn’t help the grin growing on his face. He wanted it to stop. “It’s not my fault you can just barely see through the kindly farce this is.”

“Kindly farce?” Something in the guest’s face relaxed, regarding Bo with a kind of quiet relief or amazement, and he glanced away, back into the restaurant. “Are you...here just for tonight?”

The question was loaded. Bo knew that. If he answered in the affirmative – which was a lie – he would realize that Bo had lied and never want to see him again; if he answered in the negative, Bo intrinsically knew this man would stick to his side, which would only lead to trouble. The thought enticed him, taunted him worse than anything he could throw at Ada. Taunted him more than tickets to the Allisport Symphony Orchestra. Taunted him down to his core.

His internal timer ticked down, every second loud and punching.

Bo’s hands shook.

The shorter guest turned to him. His smile was easy, waiting. His hands hung off the railing, curved and elegant. Every moment felt so slow.

“...no,” Bo finally answered.

He nodded slowly. “Okay.” The man glanced back into the hotel and sighed.

And that was it. Bo watched the other man, unsure what he expected, but the simple word was not it. The word felt too open-ended, too mysterious for his liking, and he wouldn’t press his luck with finding an answer that threatened something even worse.

He tried not to press his luck. Bo turned himself away back to the invisible horizon. Air brushing past him, he breathed a little easier than he thought he could this weekend, especially with someone other than his sister. His hands felt clammy. They, and his breath, still shook. His stomach wouldn’t settle – it still fluttered softly with relief, satisfaction. Mutual solace. Bo’s eyes kept inching back to the guest in his peripheral vision. He had to mentally tell himself to stop.

“I should go back,” the guest whispered, pushing himself off the terrace railing only to fall back against it.

‘No. Don’t.’ “Would they really miss you?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I’ve been helping the bridal party for the past few weeks.”

“Why?”

“I said I would, and I’m happy to help.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “I just said I offered to help. I’m just glad to be useful.”

“‘Useful’ at a wedding for a guest means showing up to the wedding with the number of people you said you’d be coming with and buying something from the registry and not some bargain-bin thing.” Bo rose from the terrace railing, glancing at the guest. He didn’t want to say it but felt obligated to. “If anything, I should be the one heading back in.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go back.”

“I don’t. I really...really don’t.” He wanted to stay outside with this stranger who made the world quieter, whose conversation felt natural and easy and amazing. Bo couldn’t say that. He pressed his back against the railing, staring into the restaurant as he crossed his arms. “But if I don’t go back in and eat something, I’ll complain, and then my sister will tell me it was all my fault for leaving.”

The guest’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The scrutiny made Bo shrink a little. He didn’t want that from this.

After a moment, the man sighed. He nodded towards the restaurant. “Into the lion’s den you go.”

Bo scoffed, a quick sound, and glanced at his feet. “Don’t phrase it like that. It makes it sound better than it actually is.”

Again, he chuckled. “Probably makes sense you reappear first. You’ve been gone the longest.”

“Doubt anyone would miss me, though. I’ve been bombing conversations all night.”

“Intentionally or unintentionally?”

He did not want to answer that. “Not – no, not intentionally. Maybe intentionally. I don’t know.” Bo grimaced. “It’s just...this little part of me begs for more, and it’s hard for me to swallow that back and succumb to fucking small talk. I can’t handle that. The emptiness. So I try to find...” Bo waved his arms around, flapping them for the word in his head. A second later, they collapsed back to his sides. “...something. Something deeper. Not so surface level. Where I don’t make a fool of myself at the same time, too.”

“You haven’t made a fool of yourself.”

He scoffed. Bo was leaning towards the shorter man again, too close to not find it uncomfortable. “You haven’t seen me in action. I’ve been bombing conversations all night, remember?”

“Maybe,” the guest said, “but you haven’t bombed this.”

“There’s –” Bo’s ears grew hot. “There’s still time.”

The guest wrinkled his nose, humming. His head shook from side to side in mock contemplation. “Nah. You’ve already used the words’ conversational osmosis’ and ‘kindly farce’. I think it’s too late to bomb it with me.” He smiled.

Bo grimaced, turning away. His stomach fluttered. ‘Stop. Please.’ “Well, that’s...fucking annoying.”

“You want drama?”

“No. God, not. Just...to disappear, I guess.”

The shorter man stared.

Bo inhaled, shuddering under the guest’s gaze. He hated that this stranger had reduced him to a nervous teenager. He hated so much of this conversation, hated so much of this man’s eyes, his hands, his face. “Well, thanks for letting me embarrass myself in private. Have a good rest of the night,” Bo spluttered quickly. He regretted saying that. It felt awkward and out of place, insincere in the same breath. He launched himself off the railing, moving towards the restaurant door. ‘An escape. I need space.’

“Same to you. And hey, if you need enlightened conversation again, come find me. Always up for more enlightenment.” He paused, and Bo could taste the hesitation, the withheld words in the air.

His feet froze to the ground. The heat of too many people bled through the door, and Bo regretted saying his goodbye already. Retracting them tasted sweet, but Bo didn’t know where else to go. Staying outside with this guest was too dangerous for him, but going back inside ensured a slow and tedious death. Both options were enticing in their own regard. He had only come out to recharge and recollect himself, which, in the end, was for naught. The moment he pressed open the door, the jumble of conversations overtaking his thoughts, he was back where he was before he came out onto the terrace, dreading any interactions with strangers and wondering how anyone could stand the volume. He wanted to stay outside with this stranger whose conversation was like speaking to an old friend, which unnerved him dreadfully in the same breath.

He returned to his table, finding an untouched salad and bread roll.