Weddings and post-period frustration can deliver this kind of depression.

A relative of mine just got married. I ate like a pig.

This is what you have to bear for me getting the inspiration from every microscopic thing that can be in the air I breathe.

Welcome back, Maiji <3

[I'm not a fan of 30 seconds to mars. I just happened to listen to the song this moring before I went, and it got stuck with me the whole day. I put it in the title because I couldn't think of anything else. But the concepts are not related]

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Oh yeah, the food feels good.

It feels really good.

Even though he's got no damn idea what the hell could that pink glossy sculpture drowning in slivers of yellow be. It tastes like fish. Maybe sushi.

Sushi is fashion, by now. You're cool if you've got sushi at your wedding.

But, the hell, sushi must be recognizable for someone like him.

Maybe that's because he's got something else poking at his synapsis right now.

The bride's beautiful.

But the skirt of her dress is too big.

And she smiles too much.

Her eyes are too lively.

Her hands clap too loud.

She's too happy.

Run away till you can, silly bride, Chester's not one for marriages.

His first one ended in shit. And that's even why you're his wife right now.

That's right, you're his wife. Can't run away anymore.

Chester smiles like he's nuts. Too much to be true.

Or maybe Mike's just deluding himself. How could he ever even think of finding happiness somewhere else.

Chester accepts gifts and wishes like he really needs them.

Mike can think about only one thing he must need right now.

People dance. They're happy.

Mike dances. He observes.

Chester and his new wife (yeah, just like a toy) dance in the exact center of the hall, holding each other in the middle of their friends' cheerful circle.

Mike can only see something else.

Chester's hands delicately caressing the bride's white-clad hips.

Chester's hands clinging onto his hair.

Chester's eyes admiring the powdered face of his wife.

Chester's eyes staring hungrily at his mouth.

Chester's lips kissing the excessively pink ones of his woman.

Chester's lips on him.

Two little boys play just a few feet away from the dancing adults. The older one must be four.

They roll all over the floor like they really find falling down fun, somehow.

The taller of the two is laying over the smaller one. Their childish visages close to each other, completely at peace.

Little boys, be happy while you can. Something like what you're doing can only be seen as "pretty" at your age.

They serve chocolate cups. If you ask them, they fill them with rum.

Mike asks.

He doesn't eat the cup. He only drinks.

His throat fries like he swallowed acid. His eyes water. What a sight he must be.

But that's okay, because he could make use of it.

His breath smells burning when he tells Chester something he's got no idea about. Just something that could make his lips be close to his face. Something that could make everyone see that he's got something to say to the groom. Like hey everyone, look at me, I'm practically making out with his ear and he's listening to me, I'm important, I'm allowed into his personal space.

And when Chester turns to him to his words, none of them is surprised that their faces are too close, and they talk like that, mouths exchanging alcohol-filled breath and eyes not even being able to see 'cause they're almost inside their objects.

Toilets are downstairs. In the red-velvety-upholstered hall.

One of the guests makes a strange face when he sees a black-haired man getting inside one of the cubicles along with another one. Two men inside one cubicle? For real? He isn't able to tell their faces because they were too swift.

Thank god.

They hump each other silently.

Even though the walls are made of pink marble and no sound would get outside.

Chester's mouth tastes like champagne. He's been celebrating.

Mike tastes like rum. He's been searching for oblivion.

"Do you like me in a suit", Chester asks. He gets Mike a bite on the shoulder.

"I don't", Mike answers. He likes Chester, but he doesn't like the fact that he's in a wedding suit.

They don't undress. They pull at each other's lips like they're not satisfied with the food that's inside the hall, that could really feed the whole Africa, America and Asia at once.

When Chester gets back, they ask him to kiss the bride. He does.

The cute waitress winks at Mike.

He tells Brad he doesn't feel well.

The terrace's empty when he leans on its white marble railing, looking at the night. The wind blows peaceful. The nausea he feels goes away.

Just a little.

Music comes from the inside. Chester's made this present to his new wife, he's made dancers come perform beautiful dances to traditional music. He knows she would like it.

Dancers are cute. But Mike's outside, can't see.

When the music stops, he gets this fantasy. That someone would walk outside, reach his side and say "I know how you feel."

Just that.

And kiss him.

And let him make love to them.

"You don't make love, you feel it", a song sings from inside.

His fantasy doesn't come true.

He's alone on the terrace, until he leaves.