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Cocktail Hour

Cocktail Hour - 5:15pm

There were wait staff carrying trays of champagne through the masses of people, almost ducking and weaving between them as they reached out long hands to snatch glasses from silver trays, no regard for weight distribution as they continued their conversations, their hands seemingly with a mind of their own.

It wasn't really that it was all that interesting or intricate, it was just something to watch, and he supposed he should be grateful he was up here watching it all. The longer he stayed here, the longer he could avoid the stares; as the happy couple had been introduced, he'd felt the eyes linger a little too long on his face, and he was sure when he made his way back to the wedding party, they would return. As another wave of guests migrated toward the grooms, smiling and shaking hands, seemingly far too delighted by the prospect of congratulating the happy couple. He rolled his eyes, sipping his glass of whisky again; technically, the bar hadn't opened, but being part of the wedding party had its perks.

His eyes were still lazily watching the floor below when a young woman interrupted him, and he was almost thankful as she smiled awkwardly and offered him a flute from her silver tray; he smiled in return, trying to seem as genuine as he could muster and took the one nearest. Then she turned tail and headed back down the stairs toward the rest of the guests.

He should have said thank you properly; he thought after she was already out of earshot, he downed the fluteful in one quick motion, depositing it on the short side table barely within reach. She had been nice to come all the way up here, away from everyone else, to offer him a glass; after all, there was no guarantee he would have said yes.

Eyes searching for her again and seeing her back in the thick of it. The ballroom was large, and she had made her way across it surprisingly quickly; it was sectioned in two, one side (the smaller portion) dance floor and the other (larger) housing the approximate twenty-five or so ten-person tables for the guests. He was sure there were at least that many because Michael had complained about struggling to get the guest list down to 250.

That was all part and parcel of marrying the son of a millionaire; when daddy is paying for everything, you have to play by his rules, and that means inviting as many executives, competitors, prospective clients, etc as he wants.

He'd remembered Michael saying once upon a time that he wanted a wedding in the park, twenty people maximum and plenty of finger foods.

'I don't want people sitting; I want them dancing and talking' came Michael's voice, surely borrowed from some memory as it lingered a little too long in the back of his mind. He smiled though as the image came with it, the excited look he'd had as he'd explained, Calum hadn't understood at the time, but some people were wedding people and others weren't he supposed.

This prompted him to take his eyes back to the wedding he'd actually ended up with once again; there were people talking, he supposed, but no dancing. It was still early, and this was only the first round of champagne, which also meant that he couldn't hide up here forever; it was only the beginning of the evening.

Up here was an odd second landing, up a set of stairs toward the back of the hall. The back of the hall being the part that had two-story windows that looked out on the perfectly manicured lawns. Michael had mentioned wanting to get married out there, but his father-in-law had insisted on a church wedding, not wanting to offend the guests.

He rolled his eyes to himself; maybe he could sneak out at some point, he would need a smoke sometime during the evening. It was unclear what the landing he was on was for, but it had a bar that was closed with ornate Baroque sofas and armchairs. The way it was set, it looked like a VIP section, but the way it was styled suggested a higher-brow; it didn't matter. He supposed he was out of the way here and could look as forlorn as he wanted without interruption.

Another long sip of his whisky and sigh before leaning on his elbows against the ornate railing, dinner was still a long way off, and the end of the night even further. He fingered his lighter in his pocket, too early to go for a smoke; he needed to save that excuse for a stickier situation. He turned, deciding at that moment to head back downstairs, find something to busy himself.

When he turned, he saw someone else ascending the stairs, another staff member? As they came into view, he had the opportunity to take them in before they noticed him. Tall, golden hair that fell just an inch-if that- above his collarbones in loose, lazy curls, sharp features, unmissable cheekbones, soft lips, sharp jaw, ill-fitting suit, not wait staff that was certain.

Then his eyes flicked up, seemingly unsurprised to see someone else in the secluded landing. The eyes were soft around the edges, not insisting upon themselves, but when they met his own, he was surprised by the intensity of the centre; he faltered for a moment, unable to keep moving past the man as the eyes drew him in.

He gave Calum an uncomfortable smile, almost as though he might laugh before speaking with a knowing voice, "so which groom are you in love with?"

First Chapter! This fic is about 10kish and will start being posted when 'Time Will Tell' is finished. But let me know what you think! :)