Strangers In The Night

3. 38 Hours, 29 Minutes Until It Ends

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

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

Bo tried not to care. He glanced away.

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

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

"I can leave if you –"

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

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

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

"Ah."

"I, just, really don't want to talk about wedding stuff."

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

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

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

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

The guest chuckled.

Bo turned to him.

"Seriously? Not hungry?"

"Not really."

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

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

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

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

"... I'm guessing, at least, $130,000."

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

The man shrugged. "That's my guess."

"What?"

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

Bo straightened up, his eyes lingering on the guest. "That's...honest."

"You asked, though." He smiled, soft and hesitant.