q-wyatt​:
His brow furrowed, fighting back a smile at the compliment that she tagged on at the end. “Sounds to me that maybe you should if you are accusing him of being anything less than professional. Which I assure you, he is. Maybe it’s you that has the bad judgment,” he shrugged the smallest smile breaking out. It wasn’t that the jokes were forced by any means but they didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. All too aware of how different this all was for them. “I’ll never cave enough to ever say that,” he shook his head at her. “But keep dreaming,” he winked at her as they went their separate ways.
Quentin never minded weddings but his favorite ones were always the ones where he was with her. Her commentary on the whole thing, wondering what ideas she pulled for the possibility of them having it all someday. And how sweetly innocent she was affected by the displays of love. It filled him with both admiration and amusement. But today was different as they sat rows apart. He didn’t want to be so selfish to be lost in his own thoughts and heartache, but by accident or fate, his eyes caught hers as he turned. It was like he had no choice but for his eyes to be drawn to her. Usually seeing her in this moment was his favorite thing about the day, but now it hurt as if he were seeing a preview of something he had always wanted but never got. How he always wanted to see her face down the aisle. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yet, in its own way the moment still captivated him.
“Maybe it’s you that has the bad judgment.”
He’d said the words in jest, but they had rung in her mind as everyone stood for the bride’s entrance. Wasn’t it her bad judgment that had them sitting in separate pews now? The reason for the barren spot on their fourth fingers, and the bittered sweetness in their exchanged smiles? It had seemed fated that their eyes would meet in the seconds before she needed to face the front of the room. Even with the rows between them, with other heads filling the spaces, his face was who her gaze had settled on. Her lips held a mustered smile, one she tried to shake through the rest of the ceremony. There were moments where it was easier to forget the heartache. Where she could laugh along with the crowd at the couple’s jokes, smile sweetly at the way the groom looked at his wife. Cheer when the officiant announced their new titles, the sound of applause drowning out whatever sorrow had settled in the pit of her stomach.
But other moments were harder. When her friend rose from their table to go get them drinks, Ginny’s mind couldn’t help but ponder the same line. Maybe it was her that had had the bad judgment, but she had worked hard to make amends. To find a new space for herself in his life. To give him space when he’d asked for it, and take his company when it was allowed. It was why she didn’t seek him out during the reception, stealing conversations and dances with other friends instead. Allowing Quentin to decide when and how their paths would cross again during the evening. If they even would.











