I sat on the hardwood bench of the tiny gazebo, ivy climbing its pillars and walls as the arms and hands of green covered my sight. The slate gray sky above peeked through the cracks of the vines, which held still despite the musings of the late October winds that cooled my face and dried the moisture from my eyes. The day was young, but the sun refused to peer from beyond the drapes of the stage as I sat idly. Music tended to me from the snail shells slotted into my ears, notes and chorus in tandem as I took reprieve beneath the gaze of concrete spires that pierced clouds and lit up like torches the size of redwoods.

  It was a pleasant quiet, one I rarely admired out of the word's tendency to distract and detract, or the constant preoccupation of my mind on matters both grave and trivial, or the simple fact that I, like many others, tended to take for granted the moments of minutiae that we so desperately crave when our weariness builds and stores.

  So, call it melodrama or an instance of understanding. However, I felt more than inclined to sit still and enjoy the scenery with nothing but my thoughts, music, and the embrace of a gentle winter day.

  Ah, what a perfect place for a wedding in January.

  The oak planks beneath my feet began to shake and bend, footsteps not audible but made known as someone made their way to my side just beyond my peripheries. I could feel them inch closer before something plucked out one of my earphones—an ear becoming exposed to the cold air and an even colder voice, "I've come to find mundanity in your odd habits, but even I didn't expect you to enjoy teen angst music from the mid-2000s. Seriously, just what is your music taste?" Myla spoke, sitting down with one of the shell-shaped devices to her ear as a thin chord connected us.

  "Well, I don't really subscribe to just one genre. It kinda depends on the day and mood, y'know? Something I wouldn't have to tell you if you just gave me permission to hook up my phone to the car's speakers." I answered, turning down the volume a bit so we could chat.

  "Nope, still not happening. My car, my rules." As she said that, she took my phone and turned the volume back up, corny lyrics and heavy bass echoing in my ears.

  How lovely. Now I just need that blue tint filter everyone used, and we're good to go to become a mediocre song carried by nostalgia.

  "Firstly, it's the company's car. Second, if you're going to be the aux cord queen, at least purchase the premium subscription. Those damn ads and the weirdly sultry way they speak to you get on my nerves." I remarked, earning a tiny laugh from my partner.

  "If you're so bothered by it, why not pay it for me?"

  "If that means we at least get to share the account, then deal." Mutual beneficence was the way to go, even if at the expense of one party.

  And that kids is how capitalism works. Now then, our next lesson is home ec! Three ways to prepare a dish using your local billionaire, but if you don't have one, politicians are a great substitute.

  "Still, if what you said about your taste is true..." I turned to her, and while the music was high, it felt drowned out once our eyes met, and her voice spoke a simple truth, "You're still not fully up for all of this, are you?"

  I winced at the sudden question, my eyes probably selling my unease better than the smile I tried to conjure in response. It wasn't that I was depressed or unwilling, just plain worried. Being told I wasn't alone and packing plans was one thing, but actually getting our boots on the ground and hands dirty was a whole other conversation. One that I wasn't quite sure how would pan out.

  "How are you holding up?" Myla once again asked, lowering her posture to level with my eyes that fell to the floor.

  "Like a beaver with a toothache," I answered cryptically, straddling between sarcastic and honest.

  "And that means..?" Her eyes turned confused.

  "It means I've got a lot of damns to give, but I ain't in the mood or the shape to make any." From amusement to confusion to worry and disappointment, I was a master at bringing out any number of emotions from my taciturn companion. She pinched her temples, exasperation clear as the silver in her locks.

  "Just how long did it take you to come up with that one..." Her eyes were still closed, but I still grinned at the successful annoyance.

  "I've been saving it for a few days now, actually."

  "You thread the line between pitiful and insolent like an acrobat, Bridger." Once her eyes opened again, what arrived wasn't irritation, but instead a trepidation that had not worn off since our foray at the base, "I'm being serious here. Are you alright?"

  "...Better than last time, that's for sure. So, not no worries, but less worries, you get me?" Brushing it off was futile, seeing as her keenness pried through any such attempts, "Besides, I don't wanna drag them down with my sour mood, or else you'd lord it over me until the end of time." But that didn't stop me from turning that sadness into a joke. Or two. Or maybe a few more than two.

  "You're the only one who thinks like that." There was truth in that statement, but the fun in life comes from convincing yourself otherwise.

  "Really now? But I'm such an easy target! Come on, take a potshot." Myla, however, was an equally perplexing existence. She saw through me, always did, I think, but what was once a way for her to shut my humor down or bicker with me endlessly was now her way of tearing through whatever walls I carefully or haphazardly built.

  It wasn't quite a smile, but what she did offer was more than enough as her expression hardened, and her tone turned stern, "I'll try to keep close to Amanda for the day. You can take Keith's side. That should be enough to keep things steady for the time being. What do you think?" But there was an undeniable kindness veiled beneath.

  "Not like there's many alternatives. As always, thanks for the assist."

  I took off the remaining earbud, delicately placing it into my partner's ear and handing her my phone, "But seeing as you're here, guess that means it's time to work for our paycheck, eh?" I stood up, stretching a bit and taking a breath of the dry air.

  Myla quickly followed, walking to the steps of the gazebo with white cords mingling with her silver strings as the greenery of the space made it look as though she was guarding the gateway to a forest of no name, "Glad to see you're quick on the rebound." But in reality, she was as familiar as could be.

  "As long as you're the one passing." With that, we stepped out and made our way to our clientele.

  We opened the glass doors into the lobby, exposed brick walls and wooden floors welcoming us. The room, and well, most of the venue, carried this rustic vibe that bordered on being industrial but remained grounded in a certain coziness. We stepped through, the sounds of our footsteps creaking on the planks before we arrived at the lobby, where four chairs surrounded a maple coffee table. The ceiling was low, and the fireplace hosted only embers as pendant lamps showered us in a warm light. Even so, the copious amounts of potted plants and floral-based decor remained the stand-out setpiece and what drew my eyes the most.

  If not for the pair sitting on two of those four seats, "There you two are. Hopefully, we didn't keep you waiting." Amanda spoke with an upbeat voice, a clover green sweater too big and too long hugging her and falling past even her hands.

  "Not at all. I take it you guys both got time off to come here this early?" I replied, pulling back a chair and letting Myla sit before I took mine. As we did, I noticed her eyes beading on me for longer than usual, a peculiarity only answered when her hand outstretched toward my face and her slim fingers brushed against the locks of my hair, returning to her with a dried leaf between her fingers and a small smirk on her face that spelled out the words "Chivalry isn't really your thing, is it?" rather plainly.

  This little action didn't go unnoticed, as the pair in front of us sat with goading smiles, "My schedule's a lot more lax around December, and Amanda's not handling too many clients either. So, it was easier than it seems." Keith eventually answered—a denim jacket coating his body that was a blue as deep as lapis lazuli.

  "Have you two seen this place? It's great, right! I thought the photos looked good, but actually sitting here, it's just...It's like..." Amanda seemed lost in the stars that gleamed in her eyes, the honor of finishing her sentence being granted to someone else.

  "Like you can already see the day?" Myla spoke up, a curious look on her face. Amanda energetically nodded, head and spirit bouncing at the walls as her mind ran faster than our breaths could catch.

  "That's it! Seriously, doesn't this place just scream cozy? It's like being bundled up in your own little rose garden, and it's just all..!" Her giddiness wasn't exclusive to her voice and expression—the elation ran from her head to the tips of her toes and fingers as she shook and fiddled along in her seat—stationary yet dynamic like a dancing flame confined to its pit, "Have you two checked the courtyard? How big is it? Are the ivy vines as green as they were in the pictures? What about the view? Or maybe the flowerbeds? Do they have flower beds this season? The ballroom? Please don't tell me you checked out the ballroom before us or-"

  "Woah, woah there, ease the blood sugar level, girl. We just got here too, alright?" I tried to calm her down, my expression one of playful concern.

  Myla reassured her in the same way, backing up my statement with a little less sweetness in her tone, "Indeed. We haven't had the chance to look around aside from the gazebo outside-"

  "Eh?! They have a what now? Even the promotional pictures didn't show that! Now we've really gotta go out and check it all out!" The woman with olive eyes suddenly stood, legs of the chair screeching as her face was flushed with emotion and vigor, "Get up, you two! We're taking as many damn pics as this gallery of mine can hold!"

  If it's anything like I remember, then we can get like fifteen photos tops. Seriously, this girl cleans her storage as often as I do my house...Wait, no, one of those is significantly worse.

  But where we struggled, someone else moved as naturally as a bird does the sky, "You know, we've got plenty of time to check things out. If you promise to settle yourself before then, I'll lend you my phone to take pictures." Keith suggested casually and cooly, and despite the simple words, they were enough to ease the girl back down to her seat.

  "Now you're just cheating. Just 'cause you have a better phone camera than I do, you say stuff like that..." Amanda pouted, charmingly mumbling her fusses."Half of my photos are of you, so I can barely call it my phone camera anymore. So, let's take things slowly and a few more dozen pictures along the way, alright?" The introvert's expression was soft—as if it could coddle and hold someone in the embrace of his irises. And perhaps it was doing just that as he stared at his other half.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  There was a certain truth to the old adage of opposites attract. From my time with aiAI and my chats with both JC and Myla, the reality was more often that similar people were more likely to enter relationships, be they naturally or artificially built. Still, that didn't mean people who were different couldn't become couples. It was less about contrasting traits being opposed and more about complementary traits being the key. I was reminded of that thought when seeing the two now, how one's silent astuteness grounded the other's vibrant expressiveness. And how the other's emotive gestures brought out one's unspoken affection. I wondered if I used to do that for Amanda back then. How wistfully sentimental of me, right? Or, if perhaps it was better to compare them to another pair I've come to know just as well. One where conflict danced with camaraderie and where you never quite knew where endearment ended and exasperation began. My eyes drew to the one beside me. One focused with a clipboard at the ready, a tiny leaf attached to its clip, and an affirming glance subtly given.

  Complementary, huh? I guess that's the optimist's way of looking at us.

  "I take it you were the ones who made the appointment for January?" A new voice joined the exchange, well put, formal, and with a hint of suave in it even if the query was simple, "aiAI surveyors are always an assuring sight since that usually means the couple has an extra two heads to work with. Now then, good morning, I'll be your guide for the day. Please call me-"

  "Hunter?" The blonde hair, the slim figure, and a face that could draw appeal and gaze from men and women alike were unmistakable traits of our eccentric former client, Hunter Harper.

  I didn't fully recall what his work was from his file, nor did I ever find myself wanting to ask after. But the juxtaposition of his idiosyncratic passions and the well-put man standing in front of me now felt perfectly characteristic that just one double take was enough to turn surprise into acceptance, "Oh? Bridger! There's no other bridge I'd rather see. Don't tell me you came here wanting to see me? Not that I mind one bit, it's just I'm not used to such a sudden show of affection, seeing as I'm a married man-"

  "One more word, and I'm telling Ilya about your last spending spree." Luckily, being oddly well-acquainted with your clients comes in handy from time to time.

  "Hello, honored guests! Welcome to the Evergreen Room. I'll be your host for the day, Hunter Harper. If I may confirm, the to-be-weds are Miss Adler and Mister Kirby?" We all had to work, so there was no judgment there. However, I did find it amusing that his sociable tact and admittedly pretty face were actually being put to good use whenever he wasn't indulging in his Eastbourne hobbies. Plus, despite my teasing, it was nice to find a familiar face all the way here. The pair nodded, letting him continue his spiel, "We offer menus, photography services, and any number of decoration motifs. You can look them up on our website, but if you'd like me to show them to you now..?"

  "Ah, about that, actually," Amanda interjected, expression like a kid with a school trip for the next day, "We're also allowed to change things to our liking, right?"

  "But of course." And her face lit up at the response, "Before that, let's have a look around, shall we?" Before long, we were out the door and touring the final stage.

  "So the courtyard building's been here for way longer, but we officially established it as an event venue back in 2003. Ever since then, it's been part of the North River neighborhood's heart as its little secret garden that hosts everything from weddings, meetings, and political parties." We began walking through the stone path, the walls of burnt cherry-colored bricks decorated by a creeping ivy that resembled a living tattoo on the breathless building, "You've already seen the lobby at the entrance, so we'll skip that. Otherwise, the nearby buildings are our partners should you or your guests require accommodations. This outdoor area is where reception can take place, and we'll give you a more detailed floorplan on your way out." Hunter explained, leading us with the couple behind him and Myla and me at the very back. However, that didn't stop the eccentric from sneaking in a few nudges and comments whenever our pace slowed, "Speaking of which, before you do leave, talk to me so I can exchange some recommendations. I've saved up, like, thirty series-worth of stuff for you to binge."

  "Do I have a choice on that matter?"

  "Nope."

  With us having gotten distracted, the ever-energetic archiphile ran amok at the walls, but with her other half joined at her hip. "Look at this place! The urban industrial masonry, the incandescent globe-mounted lamps, and the French doors matched perfectly with the transom windows..!"

  In stark contrast, the introvert had a hand to his chin, eyes scanning, and words mumbled in contemplation, "I see. So we can probably set the aisle here and there, and the guest count should keep things from feeling too cramped..."

  "This is where most clients prefer to have the festivities. You can have a look around while I find a few pictures from previous events." Hunter spoke, fiddling with a tablet.

  "For a place that's directly in the heart of a city, it's really biophilic, isn't it?"

  "Biophilic?" Myla stepped forward, now at Amanda's side, as she looked down and up the walls starry-eyed. The girl seemed overjoyed to find someone whose ear she could chew through with random facts and terminologies, and the sight of an overwhelmed Myla was always a welcome one.

  "So? Is it...Too much or too little?" Keith spoke up, now the one taking my partner's place.

  Wait..? When did the spot by my side become Myla's?

  I shook off the unconscious comment to tend to the query, "Hmm? Why the sudden worry? Of course, it's good. After all, you two picked it out together."

  "No quip about it being boring or tacky?"

  "I'm wounded. You expect so little from me." My hand reached for my aching chest, a laugh arising from the unknowingly sadistic young man. "Also, you cheeky little bastard. This was what you meant when you said I'd be the best man for the job, huh?"

  "Ah...I've been found out..." Though he didn't seem at all threatened. The three remained a fair distance ahead, Hunter showcasing a set of photos and Amanda giddily staring at them as Myla squirmed in her clutches. I could swear that she was throwing some looks of desperation my way, but I was inclined to put my full trust in her earlier statement to deal with it, so I blissfully returned to Keith.

  What a reliable partner she is. She must've gotten that from me.

  "So? Are you really gonna ask me to do that?"

  "Only if you're up for it." I couldn't help but chuckle at the mix of hesitation and hope.

  "You've surely given me a strange set of circumstances."

  "Apologies if it's a bother."

  "Nah, it's fine," I reassured him, casual and cool as if it was nothing more than being asked to fetch him a drink, "I already took on quite the big responsibility here, so that little bit more isn't really anything, right?" We began to fall behind the three a bit, but our pace didn't adjust to follow, as if what we had right now were words that had to be spoken.

  The winds began to pick up as if in response to our leisurely steps, greenery rustling and the whistling of air floating alongside the murmurs of voices that came from ahead of us. If nothing else, the backdrop was nice to observe and organize my thoughts on a certain Kirby.

  Poyo! Sorry, I had to do it at least once.

  Withdrawn, reserved, and perhaps even a tad high-strung, Keith Kirby wasn't what you'd call a mess but instead perhaps the complete opposite. He was over-organized. The type who was so sure of themselves that they became unsure of others, not to a malicious degree, but to a self-deprecating one. One who struggled to understand others as well as they understood themselves, but one who wasn't blind to those differences. But what really made him special was his desire to explore those differences. To try and understand them. To grasp at them and see- feel for himself just what it was that overcame the thoughts and actions of those around him.

  That ability to change and shift is what makes me proud of him. You might think I'd be jealous or annoyed or have some other vague form of negative emotion bared towards him, which is admittedly not an unfair assumption. But strangely enough, that wasn't the case. As I stared at his content face, tenderly brushed by the October wind and illuminated by what little sundrops could pierce the clouds, an enchanting patchwork garden of greens and reds surrounding him not enough to draw his eyes away from his lover, not a single bleak thought flashed inside my mind. There was a strange solace in that, one that also intermingled with fear. That it was that my unease and doubts landed not on Keith, Amanda, or anyone else for that matter. But instead, I was all centered on myself and only myself.

  Never thought we'd do an angsty-I-hate-myself-it's-not-a-phase-mom rerun from back in my teen years, but here we are.

  My thoughts would've continued to run up and up the infinite stairwell had it not been for a sudden voice, "...It's been on my mind for a while now, but why exactly did you suggest taking up all of the work from out of the blue?" Keith asked, his glasses agleam and hiding his eyes.

  "I mean...I already mentioned it, didn't I? Think of it as a final gift of sorts." I answered in a way that revealed as few emotions as I could. At least the ones I didn't want to be seen.

  "It's a tall pile of gifts you've made for us then. Still, it doesn't really explain why you do it. It's not like you've got some sort of debt towards us."

  "I like to think otherwise." The words teetered on detachment.

  "And do you think it'd be better if we thought the same?" But his response was what left me petrified.

  ...No. Anything but that. If that were the case, then what I'd be doing now would be worthless. It'd just be selfish and nothing more...It'd be...I would...

  "...Hate that." I said in a whisper, "I'd hate that." And then, in a declaration, "I don't want either of you to think this somehow makes it necessary for you to repay me. You two deserve this, nothing more, nothing less." Cracks could show, but as long as I held firm, then things would work out.

  "That's an awfully selfish way of thinking." Keith maintained a smile, one that seemed cautious as he adjusted his spectacles.

  "Selfishly selfless, you mean." I returned a similar expression but did well to fuel it with some sarcastic assurance. He seemed to take to it, half-laughing with the tiniest hint of sadness in his hazel eyes.

  "Well, that's how you've always been, Bridger."

  "Yep, stubborn as a mule with a superiority complex." I began walking again, my steps leading me away from the young man. The three were even farther ahead, by the door of another building that stood tall and seemed to be where the banquet hall was.

  "...So I guess it's about time I started properly thanking you." The faint voice was carried forth by the breeze, my back chilled, yet my ears felt as if they were warmed, "Thank you, Bridger." I turned around, and there stood, fallen leaves at his feet and wind gently nestling his dark brown hair, a man whose gaze dripped with nothing less than overwhelming gratitude. The sound of the doors closing came soon after, leaving just the two of us in the wintry garden of vines.

  "I've never been the best at...Articulating what I wanted. When Amanda and I started dating, I was always worried about figuring things out—about figuring out what I wanted and if it aligned with hers." Keith began striding around me, his mien resembling the one he carried when we talked under the light of the moon when I first listened to his true desires, "I always loved the monotony of my past. To some degree, I think I still do. There was comfort in the consistency, and I always felt that I'd prefer, it over constantly wishing something was different. Maybe I was boring, but I could never come to hate it. Which is probably what made the search for something else so scary." That's right. That's what he had told me. His life was simple, quiet, but fulfilling. Some would say that wanting more than that was greedy. But in reality, I think Keith was just easily pleased.

  Which, at least to me, meant that he always deserved more than what he had, "But right now, I'm thankful. Super thankful." His expression beamed at me as if trying to challenge the cold of the air and embrace me with its reach, "To not only be given the chance to search for that something, but to also be guided towards an answer—an answer to the question of what lets people break free from their monotony. You showed me that it was for a reason greater than themselves. A reason you could only find with someone else, for someone else, but entirely hidden away inside yourself." I found my thoughts held in place by his words. I was in equal parts shocked and amazed, memories of what he was and what he's become clashing and coalescing into the whole that was the person standing in front of me.

  ...It looks like things will be just fine, huh?

  Left there in the concrete underbrush, overcome with emotions and time passing without measure or tangibility, all I could do was laugh and reply with the first thing that came to mind, "Now...How long did it take you to practice that script?" Our expressions flipped, and the face that earlier looked like it stole a piece of the sun turned into one snickering so quietly that not even the ivy leaves would sway.

  "A good long while, Bridger," Keith replied, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Our feet carried us forward, the path narrowing as we trailed the steps of our other halves, "Well, you're welcome, I guess. But all the thanks I need is that you uphold your end of the deal." His eyebrow raised as we stopped at the entrance.

  "And that is?"

  "Be the best damn husband she's ever had." His body froze, and his complexion became instantly flushed with a red vibrant enough to turn his face into a gradient resembling a sunrise. I gave him a grin, his tact only barely returning through a few coughs to clear his throat and resettle his composure.

  "I'm not so sure about that. There's some pretty stiff competition."

  "You bet there is." With that as my final line—a challenge and an affirmation tied together—we opened the doors and entered the banquet hall. It was empty, housing only three figures at its center as dull beams pierced through its windows. The ceiling was high, the corners far, yet most importantly, it felt like a canvas from which one's eyes alone could begin to paint and create a fantasy that would one day become a reality.

  A reality that I would make sure would come to pass.