The thought is enough to make my throat tighten; perhaps it is merely the weary expression on his face that makes him seem... old. Perhaps it is merely that I am weary, too.

"Lord Gloria," he says, and those marvelous green eyes shift away from me, uncomfortably, and my stomach ties itself in cold knots. He's delivered the worst insults he could think of while glaring at me unflinchingly; what could be so bad, that he can't meet my eyes?

"Dorian," he tries again. "I have news... I wanted to ask you a question."

"Yes?" I say, and I realize that I'm clenching my hands together tightly, the knuckles white from the strain. Whatever it is... some dread disease? The sudden decision to turn me in to InterPol after all? Cancer? Whatever it is, I'm ready for it...

"I'm getting married," he says, and my stomach drops, and the world falls out from beneath me. "Tomorrow."

It's rather like losing a limb, I'd imagine. The sharp tug, and the blind, numb shock, and the knowledge that in a very short time, pain will become one's whole world, and the knowledge that one will never, never be the same again.

"Married?" I say, and my hands are pale, and my voice shakes loose from numb lips. "To whom, may I ask?"

"A woman of good family. Her name is Adelinda."

"Ah. Well. I suppose congratulations are in order," I say, and force my lips to smile, and all I can think is that I have to get away from here, I have to get away *now* because I can't bear to let him see me cry.

"I wondered... if you'd be my Best Man," he says, and turns to the window, *knowing*, damn him, and he lights a cigarette and stares out at nothing, pretending that the foppish faggot he has held in such contempt, the closest thing he has to a real friend after all these years, is not on the verge of an emotional breakdown. It's only then that I notice his hair *isn't* in a ponytail; he really has cut it off. It's as short as his father's... his symbol of freedom, and independence, gone. No wonder he looks old...

"I'd be honored," I hear my voice saying, as if from a long way off.

"Dorian..." He looks concerned, and I can't blame him. He's probably terrified that I'll ruin his wedding with my outlandish appearance and behavior. Surely he'd know that I'd rather desecrate every priceless piece of art in my collection than shame him on the most important day of his life. Surely he'd know....

"I have just the tuxedo for it," I say, meaning to reassure him. "Very somber." The last time I wore it was at a funeral; how apropos.

"Thank you," he says, and his voice sounds oddly strained. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be right back."

He steps out of the room, and I realize that I'm hyperventilating, and I have to force myself to breathe slowly. Married. Klaus is getting married. Finally lost the battle to be his own man and live his own life... oh, Klaus.

By the time he returns, I've pulled myself together. I am, after all, Dorian Red Gloria, Earl of Gloria. I come from a long line of people who knew the meaning of keeping a stiff upper lip.

"Well, Dar-- Major--"

"Klaus," he says brusquely.

"Klaus," I agree. Funny that I've known his name for so many years, and it still feels strange to say it. "It's my duty as Best Man to entertain you tonight. What would you like to do, on your last night of freedom?" I ask, forcing a light tone and a bright smile.

"You," he says, and those eyes burn into mine, smoky green and compelling.

I only *thought* the world had dropped out beneath me before.

Schloss Eberbach has never looked so grand or so beautiful; the flowers, the candles, the crowds of well-wishers decked out in their finest... all the pomp and circumstance one could wish for. Klaus's father, damn him to everlasting Hell, has spared no expense to be sure that his son is married off in style - and quickly, before he can get cold feet or be called off on duty. There won't be any stay of execution this time.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror; strange. It feels strange, and the wind whispers down my neck coldly, and I know that, after today, it won't matter any more.

My bathroom at home is a complete wreck, carefully-tended curls littering the floor, but I am impeccable enough to meet even Herr Eberbach's exacting standards. I move to stand by Klaus's side, prim and somber in my black tuxedo, my severely short haircut mirroring his own.

In some parts of the world, cutting one's hair signifies mourning.

Klaus looks at me, then looks again, and there is a brief flash of something in those fabulous eyes, something painful and stunned. Did he really think he was the only one being sentenced to a cold life? My freedom is gone, just as surely, and my reason for joy.

I can still taste him on my lips, bitter-salty and perfect; I can still hear the sweet, soft groans torn from his throat, the helpless, needy whimpers as I loved him, every inch of him, with hands and lips and body, taking all I could in the one night that was given to me, and not mistaking the miraculous gift for anything less, or anything more, than what it was.

It was perfect. It was my whole life, all I've ever wanted, and losing it hurts like nothing I could have imagined.

The bride walks down the aisle, radiant, and for the first time I know what it is like to truly *envy* someone. I'd gladly kill her, in an instant, if it meant I could take her place.

Instead, I stand in silent support as the love of my life descends forever into propriety. My darling... He vows to honor and protect her, forsaking all others, and I wonder if I'm the only one who notices that there is no love in what he promises her. He'll be true to his word, and true to her.

But he'll never love her.

In the end, this is all I can give him, to stand by him and then let go. On this one day, I will do nothing that might shame him. I will behave with the perfect manners I learned at my mother's knee. I will smile, and dance, and wish them both well, and I will bloody well *mean* it. I will give him this, my wedding gift, even if it means ripping out my still-beating heart for his sake.

I won't cry. I won't cry. I *won't* cry. And even if I can't help but fall apart inside...