Two of them. A small room, twenty people, not a single moment that felt arranged.

He stood at the front with his hands clasped, best man already laughing. She was still having her bow done up in the corridor.

Through the ruins in the afternoon sun he jumped, actually jumped and later, deep in a field of purple sage, the sky going grey and dramatic behind them, completely unbothered.

These two had a way of making everywhere feel like their place. The quirks, the laughs, the total lack of interest in performing any of it.

These are them, perfectly themselves, on a Saturday in June.