How dare you bring Samson into this, Merida. How dare you.

Yet bein’ the operative word there, aye? Yeah… still. I mean, there’s still that - y’know, at t’funeral… are we okay over that?

Simba holds Merida close as they spin slowly around the dance floor. He’s in his best tux, custom fitted just for today, and she’s in a dress that’s absolutely perfect for her. Understated, sure, and maybe a little short for the occasion, but still completely beautiful, and still completely her. They meet eyes and smile shyly and he feels a dull ache in his chest. The pain isn’t as white-hot as it had been once, but it still hurts, and he knows now that it always will.

It’s Simba’s wedding day, and he’s dancing with the love of his life. But she isn’t his bride.

There had been a time when he was sure this day would take place with Merida meeting him at the end of the altar. Merida next to him at the sweetheart’s table. Merida hiding in his chest from the embarrassing family toasts. Thinking about it now just leaves an empty feeling in his stomach, forcing him to remember how different everything was then. How impulsive he’d been. How naive.

It seems so long ago now, although he knows only a few years have passed. They were inseparable then, almost attached at the hip. If he tries hard enough, he can still see it all as if it were yesterday. The way her whole face lit up when she laughed, the flush of her cheeks when they kissed, the special glint she would get in her eye when she was ready to do something adventurous and stupid. He knew her like the back of his hand then, which only makes looking at her now feel even worse. She’s a stranger, the person in his arms, but her face is still so familiar. He thinks that, more than anything, is what makes him say it.

“I had this all planned out for us, you know.”

It slips past his lips without a second thought and for a moment he thinks he’s ruined everything. Thinks she’s going to walk away and leave him in the wake of her whirlwind, just like before. But she surprises him--she always does--by smiling softly, meeting his gaze with kind eyes.

“So did I. You were going to wear a kilt.”

He laughs then, a real belly laugh, and it hurts but it’s a good hurt. A hurt he can recover from.

“I guess I could’ve worn a skirt for you. I always thought you’d wear a short dress, though.” When she asks him why, he chuckles again. “A compromise with your mom. Figured it’d be the only way to get you into a white dress.” She gives him a wry smile and he knows he was right. He also knows her mother forced her into a huge tulle princess dress on her wedding day, but he decides not to bring that up.

“I was also dead set on a chocolate cake.” She makes a face at that and he smiles. “I know you don’t like it, and you’re wrong by the way, but I figured it’d be the only thing either of our mothers would let me have a hand in choosing.”

She doesn’t respond then, just gives him a fond smile. He returns it with one of his own and for a moment they’re happy not saying anything. Just being with each other is enough. She squeezes his hand and when he meets her eyes again, the sentimental look on her face is gone, replaced with something that he hasn’t let himself feel in a long time. Her voice is low, but there’s no mistaking what she says.

“We were so close, weren’t we? So close to having everything.”

He takes in a deep breath, his next words laying heavily on his tongue. They’re true, they know that now, but it doesn’t soften the blow any less.

“It wasn’t enough.”

Their eyes bore into each other’s, and he doesn’t even think they’re swaying to the music anymore, just standing in the middle of the dancefloor with the weight of their past sitting in between them. For a wild moment, he thinks about kissing her, just one last time. But almost as soon as the thought enters his mind, Eric and Nala are next to them. He’s asking if he can steal his wife away and Simba feels himself nod.

He knows somewhere in his mind that they switched partners, that he’s now holding his new wife by the waist as she leads him around the dancefloor (he’s always had a thing for strong women). He knows that Merida’s been whisked away to God knows where. He knows that everything is different now. He knows that too much time has passed. He knows all of this, sure, but he feels like he’s 19 again. He feels like he wants to run and never look back.

Nala rests her head against his shoulder, pulling him into a comforting embrace. She whispers softly in his ear, turned away from the crowd so it onlookers will think they’re enjoying a romantic moment together. He registers cameras flashing around them and he’s struck by just how wrong it feels.

“I’m so sorry, Simba.”

He sighs, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment as he squeezes her tight. This isn’t what he had imagined when he was younger, but he’s glad he has his best friend to face the future with him. Nala is concrete. She’s solid in a way that he’s never been and he loves her so much for it. She and Merida were different in that way. Nala was always. Merida had been...