Something that always comes to mind when discussing Judâs backstory is the ambiguous way Jud talks about his history with addiction and poverty in the prayer meeting scene.
The specifics of it are kept vague but one detail that I keep coming back to in particular is the fact that Jud never actually said he was sober. When he talks about facing addiction in the past he says, "Christ saved me" but he doesn't actually mention sobriety or the process of recovery.
It makes sense that he wouldn't straight up say he's recovered because addiction isn't that simple and neither is the process of recovery. The distinctions between recovered vs recovering are hard to define bc it doesnât always align with how addictions actually work in the medical sense (elaboration under the cut)
He could've said ârecovering from addiction and X years soberâ but he doesn't. Jud chooses his words very carefully and I think itâs an interesting dialogue choice if nothing else.
Obviously Iâm not suggesting that Jud never went through recovery or whatever, because this part would just disprove that immediately.
Whilst battling addiction isnât the overarching theme of the movie, it's definitely there and I think there are a number of details that are worth pointing out because it's a great foundation for exploring his past in fics or character analysis, even if he doesnât live like that anymore.
If we suspend our disbelief for a moment and pretend the prayer meeting scene is real life instead of a movie, I don't think it's weird for him to brush over the details. It doesn't really raise any red flags or questions about his personality because he's literally at work.
Generally speaking, nobody would be expected to share such intimate details about their personal lives at work, especially in regards to private medical information. However, Perpetual Fortitude is not exactly known for being a well functioning workplace. The fact that Jud was able to just casually access Wicks' medical bills and find out about his radical prostatectomy is just insane on its own, so I can see why Jud might become cautious over time, if not a little paranoid.
(There's also the added element of the fact that Jud is a priest which is important to consider when disclosing details of his medical history because a Catholic church is obviously going to be held to very different HR standards than the typical rules you'd expect working at a Taco Bell or smth but I digress)
It's interesting how he uses this anecdote about his past to try to connect with people because it's quite a risky move, especially for a priest. The stigma of poverty alone is enough to make a lot of people uncomfortable at the the idea of 'a homeless guy' being their priest, let alone the fact that Jud struggles with addiction or that he killed someone.
I think he knows how taboo his very presence in the church is already, so he uses this story about his past to humanise himself and show his community that he's grounded and imperfect, just like they are. It's especially clear in this part:
He acknowledges his past struggles as being a crucial part of who he is now. He shows how he didnât leave it all behind when he joined the seminary, and he chooses to carry it with him.
You can call that growth/maturity/trauma or even serendipity. Whatever it is, itâs important to him and he speaks about it with enough confidence and deliberate ambiguity to keep up his image of being an open book.
In the prayer meeting, he's attempting to emotionally engage with the flock and do some good priest work without inviting too many follow questions about his circumstances. Especially those that could make them question if he even deserved to be a priest to begin with.
Anyway my point is that when you have this context in mind, I think you could use a lot of these elements to infer that his relationship with addiction is much more loaded than he let on.
If done right, you could easily imply that substance abuse/risk of relapse is still an active struggle for him and it would be interesting to explore the how his role in the priesthood impacts this dynamic. And it has even more potential if you compare Jud's past to Samson and Wicksâ subplot about alcoholism.
Elaboration: Itâs complex and this is a very simplified explanation but the reason "Recovered" vs "Recovering" is a hard to distinguish is because in real life, addictions don't really go away. So it's kind of hard to measure progress through recovery with such black and white terms.
Despite the stereotypes, addiction isn't just about willpower. People arenât always addicts because theyâre reckless and careless with their lives, itâs a chemistry thing more often than not. People can be sober for decades and not be tempted to turn back, but relapsing is still a huge risk bc addictions donât really care about what we want.
In simple terms, the difference between an 'addict' and a 'non-addict' is that the non-addictâs brain could consume a substance casually and have no problems stopping, but an addicted brain doesn't have consistent and reliable control over this even if the person has strong willpower and no desire to use substances again. That's how stuff like accidental consumption (spiking etc) or casual consumption can reignite the addiction again. So basically, addiction recovery isnât about being cured by forcing the brain to stop being addicted to a substance as much as it is about the person developing healthy coping mechanisms and learning how to live a balanced life whilst managing an addiction.
Jud stood at the altar in the quiet minutes before everything began, hands clasped behind his back, the collar tight against his throat like a chain he had chosen himself.
The church smelled of fresh flowers and polished wood. Light poured through the stained-glass windows in long, solemn beams, painting the stone floor in fractured colours. Everything was exactly as it should be. Beautiful. Sacred. Ready.
He told himself he could do this. He had rehearsed the words. He had rehearsed the silence. He had spent the night on his knees until they ached, asking for strength he wasnât sure would come. And still, when the first guests began to arrive, something inside his chest started to fracture. He watched them fill the pews. New faces. Old faces. People who had known him as a boy and now saw only the priest.
Then Jake arrived.
He looked calm. Happy. Handsome in his dark suit, smiling at family members as he took his place at the front. For one terrible second Jud imagined himself standing there instead, not in black clerical clothing, but in a suit, waiting for you with open arms and no collar around his neck. The image was so vivid it hurt. He could almost feel the weight of a different future on his shoulders. Almost taste the possibility.
When Jake reached his place before the altar, he nodded at Jud with a warm smile. Jud nodded back automatically.
He was a good man.
The thought hurt more than it should have, because it would have been easier if Jake were careless. Cruel. Unworthy.
Instead he was none of those things.
More guests filled the pews. The murmur of voices grew. Then the music began, solemn and inevitable. Conversation dissolved immediately. Guests turned toward the entrance. Jud's heart slammed against his chest.
The doors opened. And there you were.
For a moment, nothing else existed. Not the guests. Not the flowers. Not the altar.
Just you.
White silk. Lace. Sunlight.
You stood framed in the doorway like something lifted from a prayer he should never have spoken. Beautiful wasn't a large enough word. Beautiful belonged to paintings. To sunsets. To things that could be admired safely.
This felt far more dangerous than that.
His chest tightened as you took your first step.
Then another. The aisle seemed impossibly long.
Jud watched your fatherless walk toward the altar and thought, absurdly, that no one should ever have to witness something this beautiful if they couldn't keep it.
You were luminous. The white dress moved with you like water and light made fabric. Your grandmotherâs pearls rested against your throat. Your motherâs veil fell softly behind you. Every step was measured, graceful, heartbreaking. But it was your eyes that undid him.
They were not on Jake. They were on him.
From the moment you stepped through the doors, your gaze found his and held. Not once did it waver toward the man waiting for you. Not once. Jud felt the look like a hand pressed against his chest, pushing, pleading, breaking.
Donât do this, he wanted to say. Please donât look at me like that.
You walked slowly down the long aisle, the train of your dress brushing against the stone. Closer. Closer. The dragonfly hidden beneath your bodice caught a fragment of blue light for just a second, a tiny flash of colour only he seemed to notice. Judâs throat closed.
You brought it.
The realization nearly brought him to his knees.
You stopped beside Jake. Only then did your eyes leave Judâs, and even that felt like violence. Jake smiled. You smiled back. And Jud felt something inside himself fold carefully inward.
The ceremony began. His voice sounded steady, and Jud was grateful for that. He welcomed everyone. Spoke of commitment. Of love. Of promises. The words left his mouth exactly as they were supposed to, years of practice carried him forward. Jud had spoken them countless times before. He knew where each pause belonged, where each prayer should soften, where each blessing should linger. The rhythm lived inside him now, woven so deeply into habit that he could have followed it with his eyes closed.
Today, however, every sentence seemed to weigh twice as much.
The church stood wrapped in attentive silence. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows in shifting colours, washing briefly across white flowers and polished wood before moving on again. Somewhere near the back pews a child shifted restlessly before being hushed by a parent. Otherwise, no one moved.
Everyone was watching the bride and groom.
Everyone except Jud.
Because despite every effort, despite every prayer muttered beneath his breath that morning, despite every reminder of who he was and what stood before him, his attention kept returning to you. A glance. A heartbeat too long. A moment stolen before he forced himself back to the text.
Across from him, you stood impossibly still, your bouquet remained clasped tightly between your fingers. The pearls at your throat caught the light whenever you moved. The dragonfly remained hidden, but he knew it was there. He could feel it, like a second heartbeat beneath the ceremony.
The readings ended. The prayers followed. Time moved strangely after that. Too quickly and not quickly enough. And before Jud was ready, the moment arrived. The vows. The final threshold. The point from which there would be no return.
Jake answered every question clearly, confidently, without hesitation. And every answer somehow made Jud respect him more, which only made everything worse. Because Jake loved you, that much was obvious. Anyone could see it. The way he looked at you. The way his hand occasionally brushed yours. The way his entire face softened whenever your eyes met.
A good man, Jud repeated to himself. A good man standing exactly where he belonged.
The thought lodged itself somewhere painful.
Jake slid the ring onto your finger. Your hand trembled, only slightly. Only enough for someone who knew you well to notice. Jud noticed, of course he did.
The gold caught the coloured light pouring through the stained-glass windows. A symbol of permanence. Of certainty. Of forever.
The irony felt almost unbearable.
Around you, faces glowed with quiet happiness. Your mother dabbed discreetly at her eyes with a handkerchief. Jake's father smiled proudly. Somewhere near the back, someone was already reaching for a phone, eager to capture the moment everyone believed they were witnessing. No one seemed to see the way your shoulders had slowly tightened throughout the ceremony. No one saw the way your breathing had changed.
No one except him.
The church felt smaller now. The air heavier, as though something invisible had begun drawing tighter around both of you. It was your turn. The nave seemed to grow impossibly still. Jud knew that was impossible, that the silence merely felt different because suddenly every person present was waiting for the same thing: your answer.
Your eyes lowered briefly. The bouquet shifted in your hands. For one impossible moment, Jud wondered if anyone else could hear your heartbeat, because he could almost hear his own.
"Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband? To live together in holy matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"
You stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. The pause stretched. Judâs heart, traitor that it was, leapt with a horrible, desperate hope. For one cruel second he allowed himself to imagine you saying no. Walking away. Choosing something else.
You swallowed hard, eyes glistening.
â... I doâ
The words barely carried, soft, almost lost beneath the vastness of the church, but they landed like stones. Jud felt them in his bones. The syllables struck him with surprising force. Not because Jud hadn't expected them, but because some foolish, buried part of him apparently hadn't stopped hoping. He had prepared himself for it, but preparation, it turned out, was not the same thing as endurance.
For one brief moment he imagined again another life. A ridiculous thing. A selfish thing. A life where those words belonged to someone else. Where they belonged to him.
The thought vanished as quickly as it came.
Jud buried it, the way he had buried so many others. His gaze dropped immediately to the missal resting before him. Professional. Steady. He had spent years learning how to conceal pain.
No one noticedvhow affected he was.
No one except perhaps you.
Because when Jud looked up again, you were watching him. And something in your expression looked heartbreakingly close to regret.
Jud looked down at the page again, unable to hold your gaze. For the first time all morning, his hands weren't entirely steady. He swallowed once. Then spoke.
"If there is anyone here present who knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony..."
The church became utterly silent.
"... let them speak now or forever hold their peace."
The words hung suspended in the air. Waiting.
No one moved. No one breathed. Jud lifted his eyes⊠and found yours still looking directly at him. Not at Jake. Not at the guests.
Him.
The expression on your face hit him with the force of a physical blow. Hope. Fear. Desperation. And something that looked painfully close to pleading.
Please.
The word never left your lips. It didn't need to. He heard it anyway.
Please.
Say something.
Stop this.
His pulse thundered and, for one terrible second, every instinct inside him fractured. Not the priest. Not the man who had taken vows.
Just Jud.
Just the boy who once promised you a future in a forest clearing. Just the man who kissed you yesterday and understood exactly what it meant.
The silence stretched. One second. Two. Long enough that guests began shifting in their seats. Long enough for Jake to glance around in mild confusion. Long enough for Jud to realise that the entire rest of his life stood balanced on the edge of this moment.
He loved you.
God help him, he loved you.
He loved you enough to imagine standing where Jake stood. Enough to imagine a future he should never have allowed himself to want.
Enough to know exactly what would happen if he gave in now.
And stillâŠ
His fingers tightened against the edge of the book. His gaze held yours. Then, slowly, painfully, he lowered his eyes. Not in rejection, not in indifference, but in surrender. Because he could not choose for you. Because he never would. Because he loved you too much to make this decision yours only in name.
The silence ended. And the church breathed again. Jud kept his eyes lowered to the open page before him, though he no longer saw the words. His pulse hammered steadily beneath his collar. Somewhere deep inside him, something was still screaming for him to stop. To say something. To do something. To tell you not to do this.
But he remained where he was, because love and selfishness were not the same thing.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze again. You were no longer looking at him. Your eyes had fallen to the floor between you. Whatever hope had been there moments ago had vanished, and the sight of it nearly broke him.
Because he knew it. You had asked. And he had answered. Not with words, but with silence.
Beside you, Jake shifted slightly, completely unaware of the war that had just been fought and lost in the space of a few seconds. His hand found yours and you let him take it. The gesture felt strangely final.
Jud swallowed.bThen forced air back into his lungs. Forced his voice to work. Forced himself to become Father Jud again.
Just long enough to finish what he had started.
"Then, by the authority vested in me by the Church..."
The words sounded distant, like they were being spoken by someone standing very far away.
"... I now declare-"
"No."
The word cut through the church. Small. Quiet.
But absolute.
Jud stopped.
The entire room stopped.
For a second nobody seemed to understand what had happened. Even the silence felt confused. Your mother blinked. Jake frowned slightly.
"My love?" His voice was gentle. Concerned. Certain he had misheard.
You were staring at the floor, breathing hard, one hand pressed against your chest. As though simply remaining upright required effort.
Jud felt every nerve in his body come alive. Slowly, impossibly slowly, you lifted your head. The tears were already there. Not dramatic. Not uncontrolled. Just honest. The kind that arrives when a person finally stops lying to themselves.
Jake looked at you again, confusion giving way to something else. Something frightened. He squeezed your hand gently.
"Hey. What is it?"
Your eyes filled even more, and before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it, your gaze lifted. To Jud. Only for a second. A single, terrible second.
But it was enough. Enough for Jud's breath to catch. Enough for Jake to see it. Enough for understanding to begin. Not all at once, not completely. Just the first crack, the first glimpse of something neither man wanted to name.
Your mouth trembled. You looked back at Jake, and suddenly the truth was there. Impossible to avoid. Impossible to survive.
"I can't."
The words broke apart as they left you. Jake stared.
"What?"
Tears spilled down your cheeks.
"I'm sorry."
The church had begun to murmur around you now. Whispers moving through the pews like wind through dry leaves. But all you could see was Jake. Good, patient Jake. Jake, who deserved so much better than this.
"I can't do it."
For a moment he simply looked at you, stunned, as though reality itself had shifted beneath his feet. Then his eyes moved, slowly, toward the altar. Toward Jud. And this time he didn't miss the look on either of your faces.
The silence that followed felt endless.
"I'm sorry," you whispered again.
Then you let go of his hand.
And ran.
The doors flew open. Sunlight flooded the church. White silk. Hurried footsteps. Gasps. Your mother's voice calling your name somewhere behind you.
And then you were gone.
Leaving behind a shattered ceremony.
A broken-hearted groom.
And a priest who remained standing at the altar, unable to follow. Unable to move. Only watching as the woman he loved disappeared through those doors, for the second time in his life. Except this time⊠he wasn't the one who left.
tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, Jud had a bad day, emotional intimacy, (mutual) pining
summary: Father Jud is used to carrying everyone else's burdens until someone quietly insists on carrying his.
word count: ~1,1k
archiveofourown
The rain had been a constant backdrop all day. Raindrops clung to the stained glass windows of the church, turning the dying evening light into a kaleidoscope of muted colors.
Jud moved through the church like he always didâquiet, efficient, steady. He tried to lose himself in routine, but it wasn't working today. Everything felt heavier than it should. Eventually, he sank into one of the front pews, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed into his hands.
He could pray, he just wasn't entirely sure what for.
The church sat in near silence, save for the steady patter of rain against the roof.
Then the heavy front door opened. Cold air rushed inside, carrying the scent of wet earth and petrichor. A moment later came the soft echo of footsteps against stone floors until they stopped beside the pew.
"Good evening, Father Jud. May I?"
It was you. One of the volunteers who had started helping a few months ago and somehow, against all odds, become someone he considered a friend.
Jud shifted over without a word, making room for you beside him. Your scent reached him immediately. Vanilla and rain. You settled into the pew, looking up toward the cross hanging above the altar, hands folded loosely in your lap.
"Been raining the whole day. It starts to weigh me down..."
The words struck something soft inside him because he knew you weren't only talking about the weather. You'd told him pieces of your story over the months. A childhood that had forced you to grow up far too fast. Hardships that could have made you bitter. Could have hardened you. Instead, you'd chosen softness over and over again. Jud admired you deeply for that.
He sank further into the wooden pew, stretching one long leg out in front of him. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Been a long day."
"Mhm." You hummed thoughtfully beside him. "Some days drag on for too long."
A beat passed.
"Did you eat today, Father?"
Jud huffed out a laugh.
"Iâuhâhad a bagel this morning. I suppose coffee doesn't count as a meal, because I had plenty of those."
"Absolutely not, no."
The laugh that left you was warm and immediate and for the first time all day, Jud felt something close to a smile tug at his mouth.
"We need to feed you then. What's the rectory kitchen offering?"
Jud rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Instant mac and cheese. Maybe some canned tuna, tomato sauce, and pasta if we're lucky."
"Gourmet cuisine." You nodded solemnly. "I've eaten worse. Try surviving on dry toast for a week."
The joke landed lightly, but Jud knew where it came from. Before he could dwell on it, you were already standing.
"Come on."
You nodded toward the exit. Jud rose with considerably less resistance than he probably should have, stretching as he followed you out of the church.
The rain had eased into a mist by then. Not quite stopping, just gentler.
He let you into the rectory without question. His home, if he was being precise.
You stepped inside with the same attentiveness he had seen every time you entered a room. Like spaces mattered. Like they deserved care.
You headed straight for the kitchen and a moment later you emerged victorious, holding up a can of tuna and a jar of tomato sauce like you'd discovered buried treasure.
"There we go."
"Impressive."
"I know."
You pointed the wooden spoon at him. "Sit down. I'll handle the rest."
Jud stepped forward automatically, already rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down.
You gave him a look. The kind that stopped him immediately.
"I said sit."
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "Alright, alright."
He lifted both hands in surrender. "You really sure?"
"Yes."
You pointed the spoon again. "Now sit your pretty ass down."
That earned a raised eyebrow but he obeyed anyway. Mostly because he was too tired to argue.
He crossed the small living room, kicked off his shoes beside the coffee table, and sank onto the couch with all the weariness of a man carrying far more than he ever allowed anyone to see.
His head tipped back against the cushions.Eyes closed, hands dragged slowly over his face.
From the kitchen came the sounds of someone making themselves at home.
Cabinet doors opening. Water running. The clatter of pots. The soft hum of a song he didn't recognize.
And God help him, it touched him more than it should have.
Jud was used to being needed. People came to him with grief and fear and anger and doubt. Called him when marriages were falling apart. When parents died. When children were born. When they needed advice.
Comfort. Direction. He was usually the one who listened. The one who carried. The one who showed up. Very few people ever stopped to ask what he needed. Fewer still insisted on taking care of him.
Yet here you were. Standing in his kitchen. Cooking dinner from whatever scraps happened to be left in his cabinets.
Not because you had to, or because you wanted something. Just because you'd noticed he was tired.
Something in his chest tightened unexpectedly. A strange mixture of gratitude and grief.
Because it felt good, dangerously so. Like standing in sunlight after being cold for so long you'd forgotten warmth existed.
A while later, you appeared in the doorway carrying two bowls.
"Look at that." You set one down in front of him. "A meal."
"Thank you." The words came out quieter than he'd intended.
Your smile softened. "You're welcome."
You sat beside him, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. Outside, rain continued to whisper against the windows. Inside, the room glowed with warm lamplight.
Neither of you spoke much while you ate, there was no need. The silence between you felt easy, comfortable even. The kind that existed between people who understood each other's weight.
For Jud the domesticity of it all felt almost sacred. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had sat beside him at the end of a difficult day. Couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him and seen exhaustion instead of capability.
And for a moment, Jud wondered if grace had never been found in churches or scripture at all. Maybe it lived in much smaller things.Â
tags: angst, hurt no comfort, best friends to almost lovers, violence mention, past and present
summary: Some loves donât end they just get left behind in the rain.
word count: ~960
archiveofourown Ëââź
The rain soaked you down to your bones as your feet hit the pavement, not carrying you fast enough away from the ache. You were shivering, your clothes plastered to your skin, but none of it mattered anymore. It felt impossibly small in comparison to the ache clawing inside your chest. You barely registered the footsteps following you as you stood in the pouring rain, letting it drown out everything else. It settled over every sense of yours like a second liquid skin.
âWaitâwaitââ his voice cut through the steady patter of the rain.
It used to be comfort. Used to be the one thing you returned to when everything else got too loud.
You stopped walking, tipped your head back, looking up at the sky that granted you the small mercy of hiding your tears.
âYou are my best friend, how can youââ your voice broke under the weight of it.
âI know, okay? I know itâs not easy. You think it is for me?â
You hugged yourself, arms wrapped tight like you could hold your own pieces together long enough to face him. It took a second before you found the courage to turn around.
âDon't tell me this is hard for you when youâre the one leaving. Leaving me behind like I'm notââ
âI have no choice!â his voice cracked, rough and desperate. âIf I did, you know I wouldn't do this to you. You're the light of my life too.â
âAm I now?â you hissed, the words sharp as they tore their way out of your chest. âYou have a really shitty way of showing it.â
His hand dragged through his dark hair, rain-soaked strands sticking to his forehead. âI am aware.â
âWhat am I supposed to do without you?â your voice trembled despite everything. âI am lost. I will be slowly decaying here, Jud.â
âHeyâhey, no.â He stepped closer, slow, careful, like approaching something fragile. His hands found your shoulders. They used to be grounding. Warm. Now the touch felt unbearable.
Your vision blurred as hot tears mixed with the rain, running down your cheeks in uneven streams.
âHow can you leave me?â you whispered. âJust like that?â
His brows pulled together tightly at the accusation. âI need to or I'll end up dying in that ring.â
You shook your head, breath hitching. âAnd I will when you leave. He's going to beat me to death when youâre gone, Jud.â
âHe wonât.â
âHow can you know that?â
âBecause youâre leaving too.â
You stilled, confusion cutting through the grief as you looked at him. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out an envelope, thick, worn at the edges. When he pressed it into your hand, you felt the weight of it immediately.
Cash. More than you had ever seen.
âJudas⊠whatâ?â
He shook his head, cutting you off gently. âItâs enough for a start. Somewhere new. You can leave.â
Your fingers curled around it, but your gaze never left his face. âI can come with you,â you said, quieter now. âIf you want me to leave tooâŠâ
"You canât.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause I won't drag you into my shit.â His voice softened, but it didnât waver. âItâs not good for you.â
You scoffed, wet lashes clinging together. âDid I ever look like I cared?â
His mouth twitched just barely. Dangerously close to a smile. âNo.â
You made a small, broken soundâsomething like seeâbut he stepped closer instead. His fingers moved to your face, brushing damp strands of hair away with a gentleness that didnât match the bruises on his hands.
âI want you safe,â he murmured. âYou hear me? and I can't make sure of that if youâre with me. But I'll find you, okay? I promise.â
You searched his eyesâthe same storm-blue that shifted with the seasons. Lighter in the sun, darker when he lost himself to violence. But right now, they were steady. Honest. The way they had always been with you. All you could do was nod.
He pulled you into him then, folding you against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing firm between your shoulder blades like he was trying to anchor you there. His lips brushed against the crown of your head, and the softness of it made a sob tear out of you.
Your hands fisted in the back of his soaked shirt, clinging like he was the last piece of driftwood in a raging sea.
âI will miss you,â you mumbled into him, words muffled and breaking. âSo much.â
His arms tightened around you, his voice hoarse. Strained.
âIâm going to miss you too, more than you know. But this isnât the end, yeah?â he swallowed hard. âWeâll meet again.â
So you stayed like that for a moment that couldnât hold everything it was asked to carry. Drenched in rain and something bigger than either of you. A love so fragile it barely was able to bloom.
Just two teenagers, too afraid to name what had always been there.
â
It's raining again when you turn the postcard between your fingers.
The edges are worn soft, the ink on the front nearly washed out with time. Your thumb traces over it absentmindedly before you flip it over.
His handwriting. You hadnât seen it in years. For the longest time, you barely remembered his face, only the feeling of him. Until the day it appeared on the news. A passing mention. A suspicious death of the local priest from a town over.
It had struck you like lightning. He had been so close.
Your throat tightens as your eyes settle on the words, written in that familiar, uneven scrawl:
I am sorry. I really tried.Â
Please donât forget me.
â J
áŻâ tags: ex-lovers, angst, meteor impact, right person wrong time, love confessions
summary: When the world ended, they finally stopped pretending they had time.
word count: ~ 3,1 k
a/n: I absolutely cried while writing this, so consider yourself warned. </3
read on ao3 áŻâ
This morning when you got up, everything felt ordinary from the outside.
Your neighbor greeted you in the hallway of the complex, balancing a grocery bag against her hip. The stray cat from the neighborhood circled around your legs the moment it spotted you, already knowing youâd have some chicken breast tucked somewhere in your bag.
You crouched down and took your time petting it, your hands buried in its soft black fur while it happily ate from your palm.
Everything looked the way mornings usually did.
But inside there was a feeling you couldnât shake loose. A quiet dread that normally only lingered after a bad dream. The kind that clings to you for a moment after waking before it fades again.
Except this time it didnât fade.
You knew you were awake.
Sometimes you joked that living with insomnia made you feel like you were always half sleepwalking anyway, drifting through days that felt slightly unreal.
But this felt different.
Over the course of the day the feeling grew, slowly shifting from restlessness into that heavy pit in your stomach that dragged everything downward like deadweight.
Still, you went on with your day.
You mindlessly stirred your matcha at work, the spoon clinking against the cup. You stole a cookie from the office supervisorâs desk when he stepped out, smirking to yourself as you did.
Small rebellions that made the day feel controllable â something to cling to, even if it was only the illusion of normality.
But ever since the news had started reporting about a meteor passing unusually close to Earth, a tiny thought had planted itself somewhere in the back of your mind.
What if the scientists were wrong?
What if fragments hit?
You tried to brush it off, everyone did.Â
Still, the thought stayed.
On your way home from work, taking the bus as always, the sinking sun tinted everything outside in dying shades of orange. The city looked softer in that light, almost peaceful.
You leaned your head against the window and lifted your gaze upward. Tiny objects moved through the sky like shooting stars. Little embers of dying light. Pieces of something ancient crossing the atmosphere. Stars that had existed long before you were ever a thought in someoneâs mind.
Beautiful.
For a moment you simply watched them, then the bright siren alarm blared through the bus.
You startled, your heart jumping as your phone buzzed sharply in your hand.
EMERGENCY ALERT. Civil emergency in your area. Shelter indoors immediately. Avoid travel. Monitor local news for updates.
You blinked at the screen.
Around you panic spread quickly. People murmured, voices rising as they called loved ones, checked the news, tried to understand what was happening. Fear moved through the bus like electricity.
Your gaze drifted back outside. The shooting stars were still crossing the sky. Only now they didnât look beautiful anymore, they looked like something breaking.
And in the middle of the noise and the fear, one thought rose above everything else with sudden clarity.
Jud.
â
The church felt different that morning, had since heâd gotten up.
Not louder, quieter. The kind of silence that pressed into the walls and settled into your bones.
Jud sat in the first pew, elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together like he had forgotten what else to do with them.
Morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, soft colors spilling across the wooden floor.
Outside the world felt wrong, frozen in suspension. He had listened to the radio earlier, the static voice of the broadcast filling the empty church with words that sounded too calm for what they meant.
Fragments.
Impact zones.
Uncertainty.
Behind the initial fear, one thought kept returning to him over and over again.
You.
He hadnât spoken to you in years. Life had scattered the two of you in different directions the way it tends to do. And sometimes, in the most lonely hours at the rectory, he still heard the echo of your voice âor maybe I just imagined itâ.
His first instinct hadnât been to pray, it had been calling you.
Simple in theory, but it felt like crossing a fault line in reality â even if, given the circumstances now, it hardly mattered anymore.
His thumb hovered over your name on his phone for a long moment before he finally pressed it.
The line rang once.
Twice.
A crossable distance away at the exact same moment you were sliding into the driverâs seat of a car you absolutely had not been given permission to take.
Your bag sat on the passenger seat beside you, hastily packed. Because when the alarms had started screaming across the city, one thought had settled in your mind with absolute certainty.
There was only one place you wanted to be. The engine turned over just as your phone started ringing.
Incoming call Jud DuplenticyâŠ
You stared at the name on the screen for a second before letting out a quiet breath.
Of course.
âYeah?â you said, pulling the car onto the road.
On the other end of the line, Jud closed his eyes for a moment when he heard your voice.
ââŠWhere are you?â he asked quietly.
You glanced at the road ahead.
âFunny story,â you said. âI might be committing a small felony.â
A small pause. Then you added, softer this time.
âIâm coming to you.â
Above both of you, far beyond the fragile blue of Earthâs atmosphere the sky kept burning.
â
The road to the church feels longer than you remember now.
Maybe because the world feels wrong. Too quiet in some places, too loud in others. Sirens somewhere far away. Radios blasting from open windows as people try to understand whatâs happening.
But eventually the small stone building appears at the end of the road, exactly the way it always has.
Unchanged.
The church door is already open.
You park the stolen car a little crooked in the gravel and grab your bag from the passenger seat, slinging it over your shoulder as you step out. The air smells strangeâlike dust and heat and something metallic you canât quite place.
For a second you just stand there looking at the door.
Years of silence between the two of you.
And now this.
You let out a quiet breath and push the door open.
Inside, the church is dim and cool. Jud is sitting in the first pew but he looks up over his shoulder the moment the door creaks.
For a second neither of you moves. Itâs strange how quickly your brain tries to measure the time between who someone used to be and who they are now. The years stack up in your mind all at once.
But then he stands and suddenly the years donât seem to matter very much.
You shift your bag higher on your shoulder, tilting your head slightly as you walk toward him.
âWell,â you say dryly, âof course the occasion that finally forces us to talk again is the possible end of the world.â
His mouth twitches. That familiar almost-smile he used to try so hard not to show.
âSeems about right,â he replies.
You stop a few steps away from him. Up close the changes are easier to see. The faint lines around his eyes. The calmness that settled into him somewhere along the way without you being there to witness it.
The collar as a symbol of the life he chose. The life that quietly pushed the two of you onto separate paths.
For a moment neither of you speaks.
Then you say softly, âHiâ.
And something in his face breaks open just a little, his dimples showing in the dying light of the church.
He doesnât answer with words, instead he closes the distance.
The hug is immediate.
Strong.
Arms wrapping around you like itâs the most natural thing in the world, like muscle memory never forgot the shape of you.
For a second you stiffen in surprise. Then your arms come up around him too, fingers gripping the back of his shirt as your face presses into his shoulder.
And just like that it feels like no time has passed.
All the stubborn pride.
All the circumstances bigger than both of you.
They fall away in the quiet of the church like they were never strong enough to hold in the first place.
You feel his breath leave him slowly, the way someone exhales after holding it for far too long.
Your voice comes out muffled against his shoulder.
âYou look⊠annoyingly the same.â
That earns a quiet laugh against your hair, followed by the softest, most fleeting kiss.
âYou stole a car,â he murmurs.
âBorrowed,â you correct. âTemporarily.â
His hands settle more firmly against your back, like heâs making sure youâre actually there. The church stays quiet around you. Dust drifting through the colored light. The outside world holding its breath somewhere beyond the stone walls.
Your hand shifts slightly against his back. You feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. The same, calming rhythm that used to lull you to sleep.
When you finally pull back just enough to look at him, you realize something strange.
All the things that once felt impossible to bridge between you donât feel so big anymore.
Not when the sky itself might be falling.
Your thumb brushes lightly against the sleeve of his shirt.
âYou built a bunker next to a church,â you say, one eyebrow lifting slightly. âYou know that sounds extremely suspicious.â
Jud huffs quietly. âIt was practical.â
âRight,â you say. âSure. Very normal priest behavior.â
His eyes soften. âYou really came.â
You shrug one shoulder lightly. âWhere else would I go?â
â
The bunker smells faintly of concrete, dust, and something metallic thatâs been sitting untouched for too long.
Jud pulls the heavy door shut behind you with a deep, echoing thud that settles through the small space like a punctuation mark.
For a moment the two of you just stand there in the dimness, then he reaches over and flicks on the small camping lantern hanging from a hook on the wall.
A soft, yellow light fills the bunker.
Itâs only bright enough to see the narrow bunks along one wall. The stacked boxes of canned food. Bottled water lined neatly in crates. Blankets folded with quiet, careful precision.
He built this to last.
To carry someone through weeks, maybe longer.
Outside, something hits the ground far away. The tremor travels slowly through the earth before it reaches you. The floor beneath your feet shivers faintly, like the world just took a small uneasy breath.
You both feel it, neither of you says anything.
Jud lowers himself onto the edge of one of the bunks. You sit beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
The lantern flickers slightly.
Somewhere above you, the sky is still breaking apart.
Another distant impact.
The bunker hums quietly with the vibration before it settles again into silence.Â
Time moves strangely when the world might be ending.
You rest your elbows on your knees, staring at the soft glow of the lantern between your feet.
âYou know,â you say eventually, voice quiet but edged with your usual dry humor, âthis might be the most dramatic way weâve ever resolved our communication issues.â
Jud huffs a quiet breath beside you. âYeah.â
For a long moment Jud just sits there, hands loosely clasped between his knees. His gaze stays fixed on the floor like heâs trying to organize something in his mind that refuses to sit neatly.
Then he speaks. âI thought about calling you a hundred times.â
Your head tilts slightly. âBut you didnât.â
âNo.â
A short, heavy pause, before his voice continues, but thereâs something underneath it now. Something old.
âWhen I decided to become a priest⊠I told myself it was the right thing. That some things in life are bigger than what we want.â
You glance at him but he doesnât look at you yet. Maybe he canât.Â
âAnd maybe that part was true,â he says quietly. âBut I also told myself it would make things easier.â
A faint tremor passes through the bunker again, this one lasts a little longer.
He finally lifts his gaze. âI thought if I chose that path⊠it would make it easier to stop loving you.â
The words land softly, almost fragile in the small room, but they hit just as hard as anything falling from the sky.
The lantern flickers again.
Jud lets out a quiet breath. âThat was the lie I told myself,â he says.
Outside, somewhere very far away, something enormous tears through the atmosphere.
The ground shivers faintly again.
You turn your head slowly toward him and to your surprise you find no panic in his face.
Just honesty. The kind that only shows up when thereâs nothing left to hide behind.
âYou chose God,â you say softly.
His gaze doesnât leave yours.
âI thought that meant I had to stop choosing you,â his voice cracks on the last syllable and your own eyes fill with tears that donât fall yet.Â
You lean back slightly against the wall, sniffling.
âWell,â you murmur.
Another tremor ripples through the earth above you.
âGood news, Jud.â
His brow lifts faintly.
You glance toward the ceiling instead.
âIf the world ends tonight,â you say quietly, âthat whole dilemma becomes extremely irrelevant.â
That earns the faintest ghost of a smile from him. The kind that barely moves his mouth but softens everything in his eyes.
The one that made you fall in love with him.
Another stronger impact shakes the bunker. Dust drifts slowly through the lantern light like pale snow.
You feel your hand move before you really think about it, your fingers slide across the small space between you and find his. His hand closes instinctively around yours and you lean against him, your head settling against his shoulder like it always used to, like your body remembers something the years never managed to erase.
Judâs thumb moves once across the back of your hand. Absent, careful. The kind of touch that carries a thousand unsaid things.
Jud exhales slowly beside you.
âI love you,â he says.
The words come out simple. Unadorned. Like something he stopped trying to hide from a long time ago.
âAlways have,â he adds quietly. âIn case that wasnât clear.â
A faint tremor runs through the floor beneath your feet.
âAnd if this is the end,â he murmurs, his voice softer now, âIâm glad Iâm here with you.â
Your answer comes almost immediately. âSame.â
The word is muffled as you nuzzle your face into the warm curve of his neck, your nose brushing the warm skin there. For a second you simply stay like that, breathing him in, holding onto him like heâs the last solid thing left in a world thatâs slowly breaking apart above you.
You lift your head slowly, your hand rising to his face. Your palm cups his cheek gently, thumb brushing the faint stubble there as you guide his head toward you.
Judâs gentle eyes search yours for the briefest second.
Years ago he would have stepped back. Chosen restraint. Chosen the life he believed he was meant to live.
But now the world is ending. And when your lips meet his, he doesnât hesitate.
He melts.
The kiss is soft at first like touching something fragile that was once lost and suddenly found again. Then something in him gives way completely. His hand slides up your arm, fingers curling against the back of your neck as he kisses you back with a quiet desperation that has been buried under years of silence and restraint.
Your forehead rests against his when the kiss finally breaks, your breath mingling in the small space between you.
Above the bunker, the largest fragment of the broken meteor finally reaches the earth.
The ground stills for a moment. A strange, suspended quiet like the world itself pausing between two heartbeats.
Then the light comes. Blinding and absolute.
It tears through sky and stone and earth alike, racing downward with a force too immense for the human mind to hold.
You tighten your arms around him instinctively, your face buried against his neck again as the noise outside rises into something deafening, something enormous and final.
Jud holds you just as tightly. And in that last fragile second â right before the light reaches you â the words slip from you almost without breath.
âIâm gonna find you in another life.â
Theyâre barely louder than a whisper, almost lost in the roar of the world breaking apart.
But you know he hears them, feel it as his arms tighten and his face is buried in your hair.
For a moment there is nothing.
No sound. No weight. No world.
And then air rushes into your lungs. A sharp, violent inhale like someone surfacing from deep water after staying under just a little too long.
The world returns slowly.
The distant rumble of a train moving through underground tunnels. The murmur of voices. The metallic screech of rails.
Then the movement. Your hand grips the cold metal pole inside a crowded subway car as the train lurches slightly along the tracks. Your body sways with it automatically, the way commuters learn to balance without thinking.
Itâs warm. Busy. Ordinary.
People stand shoulder to shoulder, staring at phones, lost in their own thoughts. Outside the windows the tunnel rushes past in blurred streaks of dark concrete and flickering lights.
The train shudders suddenly with a small turbulence in the tracks.
Your shoulder bumps into someone beside you.
âSorry,â you murmur automatically as you steady yourself.
But the word dies halfway out of your mouth.
Because when you look up you meet his eyes.
Heâs holding the same pole as you, fingers wrapped just above yours. Close enough that your hands almost touch.
A stranger. At least thatâs what your mind tells you. But the moment your eyes meet, something in your chest shifts with seismic intensity.
For a brief second, those eyes carry the same quiet weight as the ones you loved in a life you canât quite remember anymore.
The subway keeps rattling forward. Neither of you looks away immediately.
And then you both smile. Small, instinctive.
Like two people sharing a quiet, inexplicable understanding neither of you could possibly explain in words.
And somewhere, deep in the quiet place where memories sleep, something in you already knows â you kept your promise.Â
tags (tell me if you wanna out or in!) @rhapsodyofdarkness @judasjud @rosetintmworld @likedovesinthewnd @ch3rrybl0ssomtree @poetrypoesblehhh @sidelit @knives-out-boy @soealt @explorerof-theunknown @post-apocalyptic-rebel-leader @strawberrymochi07 @peelfreshapple @sea-eyed-dream @roryheartz
STAY SAFE!! [ID: the Gilbert Baker pride flag with the words âHappy pride to all those who are unable to celebrate openly and safely. You are loved and seen!â in all-caps black text over it. /end ID]
Idk yet where to go with it, but I thought before you guys forget me, Iâm gonna feed you with a little something đ
The ache of almost loving you turned into something that clawed at his skin the closer he got.He spent months trying to keep his distance, telling himself it was pastoral care he offered.
Guidance.
But all it came down to was a pretty lie dressed in scripture, because his thoughts always betrayed him.
Mostly at night, when the darkness pressed down on him and the loneliness became so loud it echoed, he imagined another life.
A life where heâd take you out to some restaurant. Just two normal people having normal conversations. No weight of a life visible around his throat. White as linen and, some days, just as suffocating as a dog collar.
He dreamed of you holding his hand, of those same hands running through his hair without a second thought, simply because you could. Heâd spent so much of his life building himself around sacrifice that the thought of happiness felt almost out of the question.
Summary: Everything is ready for tomorrow: the flowers, the dress, the vows. Everything except your hearts.
Tags: #forbidden love #angst #childhood friends to lovers #mutual pining #catholic guilt #yearning #star crossed lovers #the wedding is tomorrow btw #he is literally preparing her wedding #someone sedate Jud immediately #and her too honestly
Wc: ~2.3k
Jud kept still for a long time after you disappeared between the trees. The clearing slowly returned to its usual quiet. The stream kept running. Leaves shifted softly in the branches above. But something inside him had shifted in a way that would not easily settle again.
He remained there a moment longer, his hand still half-raised as if some part of him had not yet understood that you were gone. Finally he exhaled and ran it over his face. Then he began the slow walk back toward the church.
The path felt different now.
The same dirt trail, the same branches brushing against his shoulders, the same soft crunch of leaves beneath his steps. And yet every few paces the memory of your mouth against his returned without warning, vivid and impossible to ignore. The warmth of it. The sound you made when he pulled you closer. The way your fingers had tangled in his hair.
He closed his eyes briefly.
âLordâŠâ he murmured under his breath. The word came out more like a tired breath than a prayer.
By the time he reached the church the light had begun to soften toward evening. The doors were open. Jud stepped inside. The air was cooler there, as always, heavy with the faint scent of old wood and candle wax. But there was something different this time.
Flowers. Fresh ones.
White arrangements had already been placed along the edges of the pews, tied with thin purple ribbons that stirred slightly whenever a breeze slipped through the open doors. At the altar, larger bouquets waited in tall vases, pale violet petals catching the fading light from the stained-glass windows.
Someone had been there earlier preparing everything for tomorrow. Preparing the church for your wedding.
Jud stood still for a moment in the doorway.
The stained-glass windows caught the lowering sun, scattering fragments of red and blue and gold across the stone floor. Some of that colour spilled over the white flowers, staining their petals briefly before the light shifted again.
He walked slowly down the nave. Not toward the office, but toward the altar. For a moment he simply stood there, hands resting lightly on the back of the first pew.
The decorations were simple, tasteful. Exactly the kind of ceremony you had said you wanted.
His gaze lingered briefly on the aisle. Tomorrow you would walk down that aisle. Toward another man.
The silence of the church wrapped around him like something patient. Waiting. Jud bowed his head. His lips parted as if to pray, trying to remember how to separate the man he had once been from the one he had promised to become.
And failing.
Nothing came. Not words. Not the familiar rhythm of the prayers he had repeated a thousand times before.
Instead there was only the memory of your voice.
Ask me not to marry him.
He let out a slow breath and sat down heavily on the pew. His fingers drifted almost unconsciously to his mouth, brushing lightly over his lower lip as if the warmth of the kiss might still be there.
âGod help me,â he whispered.
Outside, somewhere beyond the church walls, the evening continued as it always had.
Inside, Jud Duplenticy sat alone in the quiet of the nave, surrounded by the preparations for a wedding he would have to perform. Wondering how he was supposed to stand at that altar tomorrow⊠and pretend his heart had not already broken.
***
That evening felt like something you moved through rather than lived. Voices filled the table. Laughter. Questions. Stories from Jakeâs parents, warm and well-meaning. Your mother moving between them, attentive, proud, glowing with a happiness that felt almost untouchable.
Everything passed around you, but never quite reached you. Laughter came when it was expected. You smiled. You nodded. You answered when spoken to. But your mindâŠ
Your mind kept returning to the clearing.
To the way Jud's voice had softened when he said your name. To the way your body had answered his without hesitation. To the kiss. It lingered in your body in a way that refused to fade. Not just a memory. A presence. Your lips still felt it. Your skin still held the echo of his touch as if something had been left behind beneath it.
And no matter how many times you tried to pull yourself back to the present, something in you refused to stay there.
When dinner finally ended, the relief came sharper than you expected. Saying goodnight to Jake felt⊠Wrong. He stood to leave with his family, already gathering keys and jackets. Your mother insisted again, half joking, half serious, that it was bad luck for him to see you on the morning of the wedding. He smiled, indulgent as always. When he stepped closer to you, his hand found yours easily.
âGet some rest, okay?â he said softly.
You nodded.
âI will.â
He leaned in and kissed you. Soft. Familiar. Careful. And then something inside you recoiled in a way you couldnât control. Not outwardly. Not enough for him to notice. But you felt it. Felt the difference. Felt the absence.
And when he pulled away, smiling, unaware, the guilt that followed hit harder because that kiss had felt more like a betrayal than what had happened in the woods.
And you couldnât explain why. Or maybe you were afraid to do it.
You watched him walk away with his family, toward the small inn at the edge of town, your motherâs voice echoing in your mind about bad luck and tradition. It felt almost like relief when the door finally closed behind them.
âGet some rest,â your mother said, already gathering plates. âTomorrow will be a long day.â
You just nodded.
She smiled, soft and emotional, brushing a hand against your cheek. âMy beautiful girl.â
You forced a smile and went upstairs before she could say anything else. Your room welcomed you with the same quiet it always had. The same faint smell of wood and time. You closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.
Your heart was still beating too fast. Not from nerves. Not from tomorrow. But from him.
You crossed the room slowly and sat at your desk. The paper in front of you remained almost blank.
Your vows.
You had been trying to write them for days now. Weeks, even. Words had always come easily to you. They had always been yours to shape, to bend, to place exactly where they needed to be.
But this⊠This had resisted you. Because every time you tried to begin, something felt⊠false. Or incomplete. Or like you were writing around something instead of through it.
Your fingers moved to the drawer almost without thinking and opened it. The old diary was exactly where you had left it. You had found it a few days ago and started reading without really knowing why. At first it had felt like curiosity. Nostalgia.
Now it felt like something else entirely.
You opened it carefully, the worn cover soft beneath your fingertips. Pages filled with careful handwriting. Little drawings in the margins, dragonflies, over and over again. And there⊠a clumsy little figure, arms too long, standing inside a badly drawn heart.
You let out a quiet breath. The signs had always been there. You just hadnât known how to read them. Not then. Maybe not even until today.
You turned to one of the last blank pages. The pen hovered for a moment. Then, slowly⊠you began to write.
I donât know if these are the words Iâm supposed to say.
Or if theyâre the ones I was meant to keep to myself.
But if Iâve learned anything⊠itâs that some truths donât disappear just because we choose not to speak them.
You paused. Your hand trembled slightly before continuing.
Knowing you was the best thing that could have happened to me. What happened today, in the clearing, in our clearing, was the most beautiful kind of mistake.
The kind you donât regret, even when you should.
Because something in me has always known that whoever I becameâŠ
I would never quite exist without you.
Your throat tightened.
I tried to grow without you.
I built a life. I learned how to be someone else. I have tried, for years, to convince myself that you were just a memory. Something small. Something finished.
But you never were.
There was always a part of me that still looked for you in the quiet.
You were the calm voice I carried with me when things felt too heavy.
The place I returned to when I didnât know where else to go.
The version of myself that had felt seen.
You swallowed hard.
If loving you is a sin, then it is the best one Iâve ever committed.
Even if no one else ever knows.
Even if it only ever exists between you, me⊠and whatever it is that watches over the things we never say out loud.
Your pen slowed.
Maybe thatâs the punishment for this I feel. To carry something this bright⊠and never be allowed to call it yours.
The ink pooled slightly where the pen lingered.
But if thatâs the price⊠then I would still choose it.
I would still choose you.
And nothing would make me happier than you chose me back.
You stopped. The room was completely silent.
Your chest rose and fell unevenly, as if you had just run a long distance instead of sitting perfectly still.
The words stared back at you from the page.
Too honest.
Too real.
Too late.
And not meant for the man waiting for you at the end of the aisle tomorrow.
***
Morning arrived too quickly. You hadnât slept. Not really. You had drifted in and out of a shallow, restless haze, waking every time the memory of Judâs mouth returned. Warm, urgent, nothing like a goodbye. At some point near dawn you had given up, lying still in the dark with the dragonfly charm clutched tightly in your fist.
Now the house was alive with voices and movement downstairs. Your motherâs nervous laughter. The clatter of plates. Someone adjusting chairs. Life moving forward whether you were ready or not.
You sat on the edge of the bed in your robe, staring at the dress hanging on the wardrobe door like it belonged to someone else. White silk and lace. Beautiful. Final.
Today was the day.
The words settled heavily in your chest.
A soft knock sounded.
âSweetheart? Itâs time.â
You closed your eyes for one last second and finally stood up.Â
The hours that followed passed in a blur of hands and voices. Your hair was brushed, pinned, curled. Makeup applied with careful brushes. Someone laughed about how perfect everything looked. You smiled when they told you to. You tilted your head when asked. You stood when they needed you to stand.
When they finally slid the dress over your shoulders and began fastening the long row of tiny buttons down your back, you felt strangely detached, as if you were watching it happen to another woman.
Your mother stepped back once the last button was done.
âOh my GodâŠâ Her voice broke. She pressed both hands to her mouth, eyes already wet. âYou look⊠perfect.â
You turned toward the mirror. The woman staring back at you was stunning. Elegant, serene, the kind of bride little girls imagine becoming.
And yet you felt like an impostor wearing someone elseâs happiness.
Your mother came closer, adjusting the veil with trembling fingers, eyes shining.
âMy beautiful girl.â Emotion thickened her voice suddenly. She laughed through it, embarrassed by her own tears. âYour father wouldâve completely fallen apart if he could see you now.â
Something tightened painfully in your chest.
Then, after a moment, her expression shifted with sudden determination, as if remembering something important.
âAlright,â she murmured, brushing quickly beneath her eyes. âTradition.â
âSomething oldâŠâ She touched the pearl necklace resting against your throat. âYour grandmotherâs necklace. I wore it on my wedding day too.â
Your gaze lowered briefly to the delicate tiny pearls.Â
A second finger.
âSomething borrowedâŠâ She smiled softly. âMy veil.â
The delicate fabric trembled faintly where it fell behind your shoulders.
A third finger lifted.
âSomething newâŠâ Her hand smoothed lovingly over the fabric of your dress. âThat oneâs obvious.â
A small silence followed.Â
âAndâŠâ Then suddenly your mother froze. âOh God.â
You frowned slightly. âWhat?â
âWe forgot something blue.â
For a moment neither of you spoke. Then your fingers moved instinctively toward the inside of your dress, just beneath the left side of your bodice, where the tiny safety pin rested hidden beneath the fabric.
The dragonfly pressed lightly against your skin.
Small. Worn. Blue. Right above your heart. A quiet warmth spread through your chest at the feeling of it there. Something inside you eased just slightly.
âItâs okay,â you said softly. âI already have something.âÂ
Your mother let out a relieved breath immediately.
âOh thank God,â she laughed weakly. âFor a second I thought weâd cursed the whole marriage.â
You forced a smile, but your fingers lingered one second longer against the hidden shape beneath the fabric before letting go.
As if reassuring yourself that it was still there.
As if some part of him was too.
A secret. A sin. A promise no one else would ever know.
For the first time that morning, your eyes filled with tears. Your mother mistook them for emotion about the wedding.
âOh, sweetheartâŠâ she whispered, pulling you into a gentle hug, careful not to ruin your makeup. âItâs normal to feel overwhelmed. This is a big day.â
You closed your eyes and let her hold you, breathing in her familiar perfume.
âYes,â you whispered against her shoulder. âItâs a very big day.â
