isn't it? [taylor swift] ✔

epilogue

Riven had seen Leia Hudson do a lot of impossible things - negotiate with an arena director mid-meltdown, survive a six-hour press day on three hours' sleep, stay sober from drugs for five years now - but nothing had ever looked quite as impossible, or rather as easy, as this.

She stood at the far end of the bridal suite in a dress that made the air around her feel slower, quieter, like the room itself was holding its breath. Her back was to the door, veil spilling over the floor in soft folds. Riven was supposed to be adjusting her train... that's what the stylist had said, handing him the job like it was sacred... but when her dad walked in, he forgot how to move.

For a second, no one spoke. The photographers stopped, the laughter dimmed, even Georgie's voice dropped to a whisper. Leia turned, and her father just... froze. His hand went to his chest like his body was trying to catch up to the sight in front of him.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, barely getting the words out.

Leia smiled, eyes glassy but steady. "It's not that bad, right?"

Riven's throat tightened. He wasn't family by blood, but in that moment, he felt something twist in his chest all the same. He'd been there since the early label days, before the stadiums and the headlines and the fame and the ring on her finger. Back when she was just a girl with a half-broken guitar and too many lyrics in her phone and non-stop worries about making a name for herself. And now here she was, about to marry the biggest pop star on the planet, looking like sunlight had finally found somewhere to land.

He caught her dad's eye when the man stepped forward to hug her — both of them smiling in that wordless, stunned kind of way that said how did we get here?

And honestly, Riven wondered the exact same thing.

Georgie, looking uncharacteristically sentimental, sidled up behind Riven in the mirror's reflection. 

"If you cry, they'll make you blot her lipstick again," she stage-whispered, her own eyes suspiciously bright. "And we both know you both hated that."

She was already in her maid-of-honour dress, legs crossed at the ankle and phone in hand, but the video she was pretending to watch for TikTok content had long since ended. Riven elbowed her lightly, not trusting his voice.

If Riven was being honest - and today, of all days, felt like a time for honesty - he'd always expected a little more meltdown, a little more chaos. This was Leia, after all: he'd literally never felt in control of a single thing when it came to her and the never ending chaotic drama that seemed to follow her throughout her entire career. 

But she was so calm now, and if she had been anyone else (that wasn't a recovering addict), Riven might have wondered if she'd slipped some Xanax into her mimosa. Instead, a part of him wondered if this was just the stillness that happened when you hit the centre of the tornado and realised, for a single breath, that you were safe.

He got it - to an extent. His wedding had felt like the most perfect day of his entire life, but even then he hadn't felt as relaxed as Leia looked. He was honestly quite jealous of that, but he was sure he had never been relaxed in his life.

He finally moved towards her and fussed delicately with her train, smoothing it into place while Leia twisted from side to side, a little restless. 

"You're gonna murder them out there," he said, meaning the crowd, the press, the entire universe. She rolled her eyes, but when their reflections caught in the gilded mirror, she reached back and squeezed his hand with a secret, grateful pressure.

She cleared her throat, glancing at her own reflection, then at the clock above the door as if remembering there was a whole world waiting for her outside this glowing, snow-globe.