Three Means 1

Party

The decorations were uninspiring: beige and white dominated the room in a dull monotony that seemed to mock the supposed happiness of the occasion. It was as if joy itself had been carefully muted, pressed flat by some oppressive hand. The guests, too, appeared burdened. When they did talk, it was quiet and stiff, with long, uncomfortable pauses in between. Yet, among this somber gathering, Arthur stood out. His features had an inscrutable tension that seemed to draw the very air from the room. At least, that's how it felt to Dulce, whose vivid imagination and habit of overanalyzing emotions turned Arthur's mood into the most intense and impossible to ignore part of the night.

She couldn't help but wonder: was it the decoration, the guests, or the man himself that seemed to overshadow the entire celebration? What was being celebrated? Certainly not love. At least, not the sort of love that stirred hearts and painted the world in neon colors. This was love in its most unconvincing disguise: a cold, colorless thing, dressed up for the occasion but fooling no one, least of all her.

The dress Dulce selected was perfect for the occasion or, at least, as perfect as the occasion called for. Her wardrobe offered a rainbow of options: deep reds, playful blues, bright yellows, any of which could have added a touch of cheer to her look. Yet she had reached, unhesitatingly, for black. Black, the color of finality, of mourning, of endings. As the fabric clung to her skin, she could not help but think of funerals. And as she stood among the muted conversations and polite chatter at the party, the familiar, haunting numbness from her mother's funeral crept back into her chest.

Was she mourning the inevitable end of whatever fragile connection she had once imagined with Arthur?

Speaking of which, she thought bitterly as his voice slid into her ear, low and familiar.

"How are you enjoying the party?" Arthur asked with a polite tone, as if they hadn't been kissing mere weeks ago.

Dulce swallowed. "It's... very..." Her words failed as her eyes drifted across the room, to the beige walls and boring decorations, to the yawns barely covered behind polite hands and the empty smiles exchanged. She turned back to him, her lips curving into something that might have passed for a smile. "...entertaining," she finished, choosing the word with care.

Arthur's mouth twitched, just slightly, as if hiding a smirk or maybe even a sigh. It was impossible to tell which. "I'm glad you think so," he replied, though his eyes, oh those beautiful eyes, deceived him.

"And you?" she asked, faking interest as she reached for a cupcake from a passing tray. "How does it feel to celebrate your happily ever after in a room that looks as cheerful as a waiting room at the dentist's?"

The shade was subtle, sugarcoated by her sweet voice, but Arthur caught it. He smiled. "It's not the decorations that make the party," he replied. "It's the company."

Dulce raised the cupcake to her lips, hiding the way her jaw tightened at his words. The company. Of course. She took a small bite, pretending to ignore the way his eyes lingered on her.

Arthur moved closer, just enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. "Do you even realize what you do, Dulce?" he asked, his tone calm. "Standing there, pretending you're untouchable. Acting like I haven't thought about you every damn day since.." He stopped himself, exhaling sharply, his jaw tightening.

The words hit her and she tried to calm her breathing, to swallow the sudden lump forming in her throat. "Don't," she said softly, almost whispering. "Don't say things like that."

"Why not?" he asked, earnestly, the teasing edge gone entirely. He tilted his head slightly, searching her face. "Why not? It's true. I can't help it, Dulce, I-" He stopped himself again. "Do you know how insane it is? To stand here, so close, and know I can't have you? To watch you, knowing exactly how your lips taste, how you sound, and still pretend I'm not thinking about it every damn second?"