that never could have been. In a few minutes chapped lips would press against his, soft, passionate, everything he’d dreamed they would be yet so cold in comparison. The sweet taste of the fruit punch would be bitter on his tongue, the lasting flavour a stain on sour taste buds,

the lingering tang unpleasant and unwelcome. He’d feel so lost, so hurt, and he’d grieve as his husband tangled slender fingers in short hair. He’d cry into his lover’s mouth as people clapped, applauded the couple, and it would be the best day of his life.