#i think they deserve to be dopey and sappy about weddings actually

[imhereformysciencefriends]

@loturaweek2023 day 2: Earth Culture!

“But it’s Shiro and Keith’s wedding,” Allura reminded with something of a whine, tapping on her screen like it’d make the intergalactic internet load faster. They really needed to get Earth on the same network that the rest of the universe used, which was admittedly run and structured primarily by the Galra, since they’d been so dominant on the universal scale for so long. But at least she didn’t have to wait longer than a dobosh for one page to load.

“And we are their guests,” Lotor reminded, far gentler. “They’re not going to hold it against us if we don’t have every little detail memorized.”

“That is extraordinarily rich, coming from you,” she muttered. Lotor did that charming little thing he did where he snorted, then caught himself halfway through and hid the noise and his smile behind the back of his hand.

“I suppose you have a point,” he admitted, settling himself in against her and pulling her hair away to kiss the crook of her shoulder, hairs on the back of her neck prickling pleasantly.

“And maybe I want to have every detail memorized. Maybe I like these Earth customs. What they have planned is much shorter than any Altean wedding ceremony.”

Lotor hummed. “Longer than Galran,” he remarked.

Earth was, in terms of size, absolutely massive. Most planets that could support life were large enough to form unique ecosystems and usually only one or two centralized bodies of power and authority. Altea and Daibazaal had been fairly large, compared to most of their neighbors, large enough to cause some variation in genetics and cultures, but not so large as Earth’s. Earth, with hundreds of cultures and ethnicities and customs that changed with each.

Shiro was very attached to his Japanese heritage, and the wedding bore marks of that all the way up and back down. Keith had insisted on a few “southern customs,” but Allura admittedly was hard pressed to tell what came from Keith and what came from Shiro. It was all so foreign to her, so unique and thrilling and… lovely.

Royal weddings were, of course, a little stuffier than most. More formal. With the understanding of the politics that surrounded them. By comparison, this was almost entirely and holistically… sweet.

Purple fingers skimmed over her arm, eliciting an electric little shiver out of her, and she turned her eyes away from the article on what to expect at a wedding to observe her own lover.

“It’s pleasant,” he remarked, “An endless war, brought to an end. And at that end: a wedding.”

“It is rather romantic,” she agreed, turning entirely from the tablet to face him, skirts sliding against the blanket they both sat on. He smiled at her, a quiet, private thing, and she basked in its glow.

He threaded fingers through hers atop the bedding. “And they love each other so much.”

Allura was familiar with this type of conversation. A metaphor all through it, meaning both hidden and yet quite plain.

“They do,” she agreed, leaning in. He leaned in as well.

“It’s only natural they should be wed,” he said, and she might’ve imagined it, but she could feel his breath against her lips.

“Of course. It would be rather expected, at this juncture,” she agreed softly, tilting her head to the side, her silver-white curls tumbling off her shoulder.

He kissed her. She kissed back, slow and sweet and gentle, like they had all the time in the universe now fully at their fingertips.

Altean proposals were, like their weddings, far lengthier and more complicated than Earth’s, so Allura was hardly disappointed when that trail of conversation ended there. But He was open to the idea, and she’d given voice to the fact that she was more than ready.

If Lotor didn’t have the first stage of a proposal ready for her by the next week, she would… probably begin planning to do so, herself. She doubted he would propose to her in Galran fashion, and she wouldn’t even know how to do the same for him.

She picked her tablet back up, returning to her research. Maybe she could look into Galran proposals. Find something to integrate. There was something quite lovely about meshed cultures in a marriage, after all.

[astrhae]

steve + twitter + (sort of) wedding party + asgardian mead = lovely disaster

part of my social media aus, 4/?

.

“Steven, no,” Tony tries to swipe the phone out of Steve’s hand, but Steve, even tipsy as he is from the Asgardian mead Thor had brought as a wedding gift, still manages to raise it above both their heads. At that height, not even Tony’s platform shoes can help him reach it, but Tony’s determined and unashamed enough to climb Steve like a tree if need be.

“I want – want everyone to see how pretty you are,” Steve smiles dopily, and Tony stops in his efforts for a moment to admire that smile, some part of him melting at how sappy his fian – his husband is. Steve laughs, no cut that, he giggles at Tony and presses a wet kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, dear,” Tony replies on instinct. God, Rhodey’s right. They are both saps.

The actual wedding, with the vows and the tears had been a month ago, closed with a well-mannered dinner that had ended quickly because they’d both been unable to keep their hands off each other for long. A honeymoon later and the press complaining that they’d been tricked into missing the wedding of the millennium, Tony decided to throw a wedding party.

So they’re here. The mead is halfway drained, the cake has been demolished, an upbeat song is playing for their friends to dance to, and Tony is failing at stealing Steve’s phone because Steve has decided it’s a world-ending emergency if he doesn’t tweet a picture of Tony right now.

“Tony. Tony, you don’t get it. You’re beautiful,” Steve pulls Tony in, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder and nuzzling at his neck. Tony leans into it, not even being able to muster a scrap of frustration that Steve’s other hand is still raised high up in the air.

Tony sighs fondly. He knows. Steve had… shown the depths of his admiration for Tony’s suit when they’d gone to the fitting. They aren’t using their wedding suits – those are stored safely away – this is one of the contenders that Tony had nearly worn. The first contender had been too destroyed to wear tonight.

Steve himself is a sight to behold, but Tony isn’t trying to post any pictures, now, is he? He’d much rather enjoy Steve’s beauty in the privacy of their bedroom.

Huh. That might be enough incentive for his husband.

“Steve, light of my life, why don’t we call this party quits instead?”

“No,” Steve pulls away to pout at Tony, “people need to appreciate you. You don’t – you don’t get enough love.”

Tony thinks his heart might burst.

He reaches out to cup Steve’s cheek, brushing his thumb along it until the pout turns back into the dopey smile that Tony knows his mirrored on his own face. “I get enough love from you.”

“There’s no enough. Not for you,” Steve’s face scrunches up into a frown, his raised arm lowered slightly as he tries to think, and then, a second later, his face lights up in revelation, as if he’s figured out the secrets to the universe. Tony’s about to ask when Steve declares, “you. You deserve everything.”

“Okay,” Tony laughs. His cheeks hurt from smiling too wide. “Okay. If I deserve everything, then I deserve to be given your phone.”

Steve’s face falls, eyes blinking and hand finally lowering. “That’s cheating. But I love you.”

Sufficiently distracted from his original goal, Steve’s arm is pliant when Tony pulls it further down and takes the phone gently away. He slips it into one of his pockets, and accepts the kiss planted into his hair. Tucking himself under Steve’s chin, Tony wonders how he got so lucky.

“I want to marry you again,” Steve says after a moment, the rumble of his words gentle and sure, “I want to marry you every year and every day.”

Laughing, Tony brings his arms around Steve and starts swaying them both softly to the lilting piano notes drifting through the room. “I think that’s called an anniversary, darling.”

“Oh,” Steve actually sounds disappointed, but he tightens his hold around Tony. “Then I’m glad I married you. I want an anniversary every day.”

“I think,” Tony promises, closing his eyes and listening to the steady, warm beats of his husband’s heart, “that can be arranged.”

.

.

-x-

.

.

It’s only in the late hours of the following afternoon that Tony thinks to fish for Steve’s phone in his discarded suit jacket. Steve’s in the kitchen cooking them an overdue breakfast and lunch, and Tony respects his husband’s privacy. He really does. 

But. He’s curious of what it was about the photograph of him last night that made Steve so determined to post it for the world to see. That made Steve ramble about Tony more passionately than ever.

So, he presses his thumb against the scanner and waits for the screen to light up. When it does, it’s still stuck at where Steve last used it: the gallery app’s camera folder.

There are many, many blurry pictures of the party. Some of them are the vague outlines of Tony’s face, the back of Tony’s head, and something that looks suspiciously like Tony’s ass, but the most recent one – the one that’s been selected and has a tick on its upper corner – is Steve’s face.

Curiously pressing on it to make it fill the screen, Tony finds his smile growing wider and wider. It’s a video, only three or four seconds long, and it’s obvious that Steve had mistakenly switched cameras.

There’s no sound to the recording, but Tony can read Steve’s lips calling out his name, and that look on Steve’s face, utterly besotted and undoubtedly gazing at Tony, not bothering to hide his affection –

Tony sends the file to his own phone. And to his private servers. And also to his backup private servers, just in case. 

Through the open door, he can start to smell the eggs and bacons sizzling on the pan, and he really should give Steve back his phone and go out to help with the plates, but he’s still far too mesmerized.

Softly, he traces his thumb across the screen, along the crinkles at the edge of Steve’s eyes, never more grateful that he designed the camera to capture every little detail.

Yeah, that’s going up as his lockscreen.

He might even get it printed and frame it.

And if one day it ends up on Twitter, well.

It’s not Tony’s fault he can’t deny his husband anything.

[soft-stormcloud]

Panic Cord: Please Don’t Say You Love Me [2/3]

Synopsis: When Virgil and his fiancé, Logan, take in Virgil’s ex boyfriend Roman and his boyfriend, Patton, Virgil’s forced to come face to face with his guilt. 

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Prinxiety, Analogical, LAMP, background logicality

Word count: 3580 out of 8823

Trigger warnings: Implied abusive parents, very heavy guilt, financial problems, potentially unsympathetic Virgil? It’s complicated, everyone makes mistakes.

Part One

    Logan was, of course, okay with it. 

    Virgil dared say he was excited. He took a day off work (he had a lot of personal days saved up) to spend making sure the apartment was clean and inviting, and his office was cleared out for Roman and Patton to move in. Virgil had to move his vanity to make room for Logan’s desk, but he didn’t complain. 

    When they arrived, Logan pulled Patton into a tight hug while Virgil took Roman’s luggage to carry it inside. 

    “Is this all you have?” He asked, frowning. 

    Roman shrugged and followed Virgil into the apartment. He was sort of dazed as he looked around. “Well, I had a few of Patton’s things over at my place, but when he was evicted, his landlord sold his things. I had to be fast to leave so I just filled up whatever I could in this suitcase and we left.” 

    “I’m surprised you let Patton in your house,” he said as he pushed open the door to what was previously Logan’s study, now Roman and Patton’s room. 

    “What?” He frowned. “I didn’t.” 

    Virgil set his suitcase down in the bare room and looked at him in confusion. “You said you had some of his things?” 

    Roman blushed and looked away. “Just, like, sweaters and stuff.” 

    He couldn’t hide a grin. “You’re still so sappy.”

    “It’s not exactly a bad thing!” Roma pouted. 

    “I didn’t say it was.” He didn’t bother unpacking the suitcase, leading Roman right back out. “Logan and I called in a favour with our parents- Come with us, we’re getting you some furniture.” 

    “What?” Roman smiled nervously. “You don’t-” 

    “You’re at least getting a bed.” Virgil gave him a flat look. “Besides, my mom was way too happy to help. She and Dad actually want to have dinner with you and meet Patton, whenever you’re up for that.” 

    Roman only blushed brighter. He was embarrassed, but in a good way.

    When they went back into the living room, Logan was explaining to Patton how they could afford such a nice apartment. 

    “Virgil’s and my parents got together and wrote us a cheque for our Christmas present,” he was saying. Virgil stepped beside him and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist. “They covered half the costs. We’re also pretty lucky with our jobs, they pay us well, and we’ve been saving up for a while.” 

    As they walked out the door and headed for the apartment’s elevator, Patton looked at Logan curiously and asked, “What do you guys do?” 

    Virgil hid a smile as Logan lit up, launching into an excited ramble about his job. Logan loved his job, and he wasn’t quiet about it. He didn’t even do anything super exciting or that he’s passionate about; It was just convenient, and well-paying, and easy. He said he mostly enjoyed it because he got to put all of his energy into his studies, and his relationship with Virgil, not having to waste any to pay for basic living expenses. 

    The four of them went out to a few of the surrounding furniture stores, somehow managing to fit a nightstand, the parts of a dresser and a bed, and a shit ton of hangers inside Logan’s tiny car. They went ahead and used the leftover money to buy Patton new clothes, and a little for Roman, as well. 

    When Roman and Patton were distracted with the clothes, Logan pulled Virgil aside. “Are you doing okay?”

    Virgil frowned in confusion. “Yeah? Why?” 

    “I just… Know this isn’t exactly what you wanted.” Logan took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

    He shrugged and ran his thumb across Logan’s palm. “It’s not what they wanted either. It’s not a big deal.”

    Logan watched him carefully. Virgil seemed… Truly unbothered. 

    “Verge, you know you don’t have to answer this, but… Why did you two break up?” He laughed a little and shook his head. “I’m so confused about your relationship.”

    Guilt flooded Virgil’s system. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “No, it’s… I don’t want to talk about it.” He did want to tell Logan, both because Logan deserved to know and because Virgil thought he may feel better after getting it out. 

    But there was always the possibility that Logan would leave him, would find his actions so disgusting and mistrustful that he decided to go. 

    “It’s okay,” Logan whispered, pulling him into his arms. “Don’t panic, it’s fine. It clearly doesn’t matter anymore, whatever happened. He doesn’t seem mad at you.”

    “That’s not what I’m worried about,” Virgil mumbled. 

    xxx 

    The next few weeks living with Patton and Roman were… Interesting. For Virgil, most of it consisted of not ever letting himself be in a room with Roman alone, while also making sure Roman and Logan were never in the same room alone. It was pretty exhausting- Not just the act itself, but the guilt that came with it. Was it wrong of him to be stunting Roman and Logan’s relationship so badly? Was he proving that he hadn’t changed at all in he and Roman’s time apart, by doing pretty much the exact same thing? Was his reasoning justified in meddling with the ecosystem of their apartment? 

    Logan, someone who was always straightforward and blunt with him, didn’t seem to care. Or even notice. He and Patton were growing closer and closer by the day, and if they were a ‘normal’ couple, Virgil would be frightened every time he found Logan and Patton tangled up on the couch, asleep together, or walked in on them talking quietly and holding hands. 

For once, it was not because of the guilt. Most things Virgil did in his life was because he felt guilty. But, truly, it was because he would do anything to keep that dopey smile on his fiance’s face, and he wasn’t bothered that he wasn’t the only one to cause it. He and Logan simply had too much love to give that could be dropped onto one person. 

One day, Logan, Patton, and Virgil were in the living room, Virgil doing his makeup before work and Patton and Logan doing a puzzle, when Roman burst through the front door with sunshine in his face. 

“Love?” Patton stood and smiled, coming over to hug him. Roman picked him up and tossed him a bit, spinning him around and holding him tightly. Logan snickered as Patton squealed. “Woah- What’s going on?!”

“They’re doing auditions for Dear Evan Hansen down at the Carnation, and I got an audition!” Roman set his pink-faced boyfriend down and smiled so wide it changed the way Logan and Virgil saw him. 

Virgil had missed that smile. 

“I’m auditioning for the role of Connor!” He reached into his messenger bag, a large hole in the side patched up with the scraps of a thin red scarf, and pulled out a clean, new script. It was thin and unlaminated. “They gave me a few scenes to practice for, I need to go right now!”

Patton wasted no time following Roman into their room. Virgil was embarrassed, because half of him tried to get up, too. For a split second, he had fallen back into his old life, his old self, and as terrifying as that was, he still felt ecstatic when Roman poked his head out and said, “Hey, Verge? You wanna come, too? Patton wants to read for Zoe, but you can play Evan!” 

Virgil desperately wanted things to go back to how they were, and he desperately wanted to never go back. He was terrified that Roman being here would put him back into old habits, that all the work he had done to change and be better and build a life with Logan would vanish. But he was also so, incredibly, ridiculously happy to have Roman back, and achingly sad in a way that you only feel when you just now realized how much you’ve missed a person. He wanted to be able to pick and choose, to reach back and pluck certain elements out of his old life and drop them into his new one, and forget about the remnants. 

But life didn’t work that way. 

So as he and Patton helped Roman prepare for his audition, with Logan sitting on the bed with a book, he kind of wanted to cry. 

xxx 

“I want to be a halfling!” Patton cried in excitement. 

They were all crowded around the living room table, Virgil and Logan’s D&D Player’s Handbooks laid out in front of Roman and Patton. 

“Okay,” Logan chuckled. He was sitting next to Patton, hand planted beside his hip, so his arm was almost around him but not quite. “Then, here, these are the stats you get, you put those here.” 

When Roman and Virgil were still dating, Virgil mentioned a few times how he always wanted to get into D&D. Roman agreed, and they always said they would play together, once they had time and enough friends to make a party. The day Virgil and Logan met, Logan was wearing a Critical Role t-shirt and was buying supplies for his weekly session, a few days out. He offered to take Virgil with him, and the plan was just to watch and hang out but he got along with their party so well and already had an idea for a character, they insisted he started right away. 

It didn’t escape Roman’s attention that Virgil ended up doing something they always planned on doing together, with Logan. He was sad about it even though he knew he shouldn’t have been. How could he expect Virgil to have put his life on hold, for a reunion that neither of them thought would happen? 

There was still a part of him that felt betrayed. Roman often felt betrayed when thinking of Virgil, and it was so frustrating because he didn’t want to be mad at Virgil, especially seeing him now, seeing how much he’s changed. He was engaged, and happy about it- Excited, even. Every time someone brought up their upcoming wedding, Virgil positively lit up and couldn’t stop himself from attaching himself to Logan’s side. 

Although… As betrayed as he’s felt these last two years, as sad and as angry as he’s been… It faded as the four of them spent the night playing D&D, sinking six hours into it, making a clumsy team with Logan as their ruthless DM. It faded away for very familiar feelings to take its place. 

That morning, after Patton went to bed and Logan went to work, Roman found himself wandering towards Virgil’s room. He was so confused, and surprised, and he didn’t think he could wait any longer- He had to talk to Virgil. During their relationship, nobody could calm him down and make him see clearly the way Virgil could. He hoped they hadn’t lost that, that all this time apart hadn’t made them strangers. 

Virgil called him in after knocking, looking a little wary. He knew it couldn’t have been Logan, so it was either Patton to chew him out about all he did to Roman, or Roman himself, which had its own problems attached. 

“Hey,” Virgil said haltingly. “You need something?”

“Not really.” Roman shrugged one shoulder, not able to meet his eyes. “Just, uh…”

Virgil scooted over and Roman took the silent invitation to sit next to him, pulling the covers over his lap. “What is it?” Virgil actually looked concerned, and Roman hated that that surprised him. 

“Does it feel… Weird to you?” He risked peeking at Virgil, risked noticing the way his faded purple fell in his eyes and the way he still looked so, so tired. “Being back together?”

Virgil fell silent, and Roman was patient. He knew the face Virgil made when he was thinking, when he was choosing his words very carefully to both say what he meant and spare feelings. His eyebrows scrunched up and he chewed on his upper lip and he looked, just faintly, defeated. 

“It does,” Virgil said. “But it’s not… All bad. I just don’t think we were expecting it.” 

Roman was relieved to hear that, but it also scared him, because that meant they were thinking the same thing, and that could be dangerous. He thought of Patton, Roman’s ray of sunshine. For a short amount of time, Patton was the only reason Roman stayed alive. He loved Patton fiercely, but that kind of love was familiar to him, and he had been feeling it double lately. 

“I bet you got rid of everything.” Roman didn’t mean it as an insult, but he could acknowledge that it definitely sounded like one. 

“Actually,” Virgil said, annoyed, “I still have all of it.”

Roman’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I was going to get rid of it during the move here, but… I don’t know.” 

He crawled over Roman to get out of bed, and went over to the closet in the corner of the room. He disappeared inside for a minute, clothes being moved on racks sounding out into the room, and came back with a scrapbook and a shoebox. 

The shoebox was unassuming, nothing like the one Roman had spent hours decorating, that still sat somewhere inside his parents’ house, or maybe the garbage at this point. The scrapbook was a lot more exuberant- They made it together. Somehow Virgil ended up with it. 

He got back into bed and set the scrapbook into Roman’s lap. 

But then they didn’t move. 

They both wanted to open it, and they knew that, but something about it felt wrong. Were they making a mistake? 

Just as Roman started to contemplate, Virgil took off the shoebox’s lid and tossed it aside. All of Roman’s concerns disappeared at the sight inside. 

At the very top, there was a brown leaf that looked like it would crumble with a single touch. On their one month anniversary, Roman took Virgil for a walk, which was really a disguise for a secluded, romantic picnic. He took Virgil down a dirt path with overarching trees, blooming all vibrant shades of green in the summer sun. Virgil wanted to stop, to check out a little alcove of trees off the path, and they ended up staying there for longer than planned. As they made their way out, Virgil plucked a leaf off one of the trees and stuffed it in his pocket. 

Now, Virgil reached down to pick it up, and under the weight of the wind it shattered, all over a card Virgil had made for Roman’s 19th birthday. 

They both snickered, and Virgil dropped his head back, frustrated and happy. Roman flipped open the cover of the scrapbook. The first picture was from Roman’s 19th birthday, about two months into their relationship. They both had writing and scribbles all over their arms, Roman’s in purple, Virgil’s in red. Virgil squinted to try and read some of it. 

In red, Don’t Forget Your Meds!! <3  

In purple, audition at 2:30. see you there 

There were drawings, random scribbles in red and little icons and comics in purple. Their arms were like that in most pictures, and in a picture they had taken at the park, where Roman had Virgil picked up with one arm, a little ink peeked out under his raised shirt, on his tummy. 

Looking at these pictures, Virgil had never felt so dumb. 

After they finished looking at the pictures, neither of them felt like letting Roman go back to his room. Guilt gnawed at Virgil’s insides as he and Roman scooted close to the wall, leaving enough room for Logan when he got back from work. They fell asleep with their legs tangled and their bangs brushing together. 

When Virgil woke up, it was like he had never gone to sleep. A blink of time passed and he peeked over Roman’s shoulder, worried Logan had gotten home and gotten angry, left to sleep somewhere else, and was only mildly relaxed to find him there in his usual spot. He had actually scooted closer than he had to in order not to fall off the bed, almost spooning Roman. 

Virgil laid there until Logan woke up. The morning was one of Virgil’s favourite times to spend with Logan, because Logan was sleepy and affectionate like a cat, and they often spent the mornings drinking coffee in silence. Just being in the same room was often enough for Virgil. 

It wasn’t like that this time. Virgil could barely look at him. Was he angry? Was he going to accuse Virgil of cheating, or wanting to leave him? 

He knew Logan would never have this conversation without at least a cup of coffee, so he stayed quiet. Logan prided himself on being able to articulate himself, and he couldn’t do that when he was tired. 

After a little bit of Virgil stewing, and cooking breakfast for four, Logan finally turned to him and said, “What’s going on? You’re freaking out.” 

“Was that inappropriate? Are you mad?” 

Logan hummed and turned off the stove, putting the pan on a different burner. “I think for normal couples, the answer would definitely be yes, and we would need to have a talk.” He opened up his arms and Virgil sunk into them, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder. “But we’re not normal. Does he make you happy?”

That wasn’t a question Virgil was prepared for. Maybe that was stupid, but it wasn’t that he didn’t know the answer, it was that he wasn’t sure if he earned the right to say it. 

But this was Logan. He was always safe with Logan. 

“Yes.” 

“Do I still make you happy?” 

“Yes!” Virgil pulled back, looking at Logan in concern and panic. “What kind of question is that?!” 

Logan cupped Virgil’s face in his hands and kissed him, just firm enough to keep him grounded, to remember where he was. Virgil rested his hands on Logan’s waist and sighed into it, kissing him back. 

“We tell each other before we do things,” Logan mumbled. 

“Right. And the other has to be okay with it.”

“And I’m okay with it. And the other has to know the new person. Don’t I?”

Virgil swallowed and nodded. “Yes. And it goes both ways.” 

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Logan whispered. “But if you really can’t shake that feeling, then we should have a different conversation.”

Virgil and Logan had put their polygamy into practice before, but never for anything serious or long-term. Virgil felt guilty about a lot of things, it pretty much ruled his life, but this had never been one of them. 

“Morning, guys,” Patton said as he wandered into the room. Virgil and Logan pulled away so Virgil could make Patton a plate while Logan greeted him. 

Patton and Logan ate their breakfast and then headed into Patton and Roman’s room, because Logan promised to help Patton prepare for his job interview and then drive him there. While Virgil was making his own plate after finally getting hungry, Roman came into the kitchen. 

“Hey,” he said nervously. 

Virgil glanced back at him and then forward. “Hey. Are you hungry?” 

They sat next to each other with their plates of food, and ate in awkward silence. When Virgil went to reach for his drink, Roman set his hand over Virgil’s. He didn’t remember the last time his heart had jumped so high, or so much excitement flooded his system. 

“I have my audition today,” Roman said quietly. “Are you busy?” 

Virgil was walking on eggshells. Everything lately felt like a decision, like one way or another his life was changing, and he had to make the decisions without knowing what it would lead to. 

“I’m not busy,” he settled on, because it was the truth. 

Roman linked their fingers together, and Virgil squeezed his hand. Virgil thought of what Logan said, that he was okay with it- And suddenly Virgil realized that he himself might not be. As Roman leaned closer, Virgil jumped out of the chair and scrambled to grab his half empty plate and head into the kitchen. 

“Actually, I just remembered that I, uh, have a lot of stuff to get done today,” he stuttered, fumbling for a tupperware to put his leftover food into. “Sorry, I, uh, can’t make it. Sorry.”

“Virgil.” Roman frowned and stood, coming over to him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just- I can’t make it.” Virgil slid his food into the fridge and put his dishes in the dishwasher. He tried leaving, but Roman was blocking the way out of the kitchen. “I can’t make it, okay?”

Roman looked at him in frustration, and hurt. Virgil hated how familiar that was. Of all the things Virgil wanted to see again now that Roman was back in his life, that was last on the list. “Do you think- Maybe we should talk about what happened? Because you’re acting-”

“No!” Virgil’s eyes widened. “No, what? What are you- There’s nothing to talk about. How would that help?” 

“Virgil, if you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but-” 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Virgil insisted, and he kind of felt like crying. 

Roman stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to change his mind or say he was kidding. Then Roman grabbed his keys and his jacket, and walked out the door.

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[its-love-u-asshole]

Without a Doubt [fic]

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou

Summary: Only they would get lost on the way to their own wedding.

Rating: T

Tags: fluff, established relationship 

Note: I managed to finish one more thing for kurotsuki week! I was just in the mood for pointless fluffy love and honestly that's what kurotsuki deserves so I hope you all enjoy this! Thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over! I also wanna thank @kirinokisu for always supporting me and encouraging me to finish wips, I wouldn’t get anything done without her ; ; 

AO3

Only they would get lost on the way to their own wedding.

It's not something which surprises Tsukishima truthfully. He's less frustrated by it than he would've thought two hours prior, when they were rushing and bickering and fielding calls from annoying relatives. Normally, when on such a big time crunch, Tsukishima would be antsy, distressed, the anxiety bubbling up through his blood and limbs.

But...not today. Not on the most important day.

Tsukishima watches with a calm patience as Kuroo shuts the car door quickly from about ten feet away, the rain pouring down so heavily the droplets look more like sheets. Maybe they are. After all, it is winter, and Tsukishima smiles fondly at the realization. Perhaps this is the universe's revenge for their unconventional ways. 'Should've planned a June wedding,' it probably screams with thunder and the harsh slap of raindrops.

The weather has no mercy on Kuroo's old high school joggers, or that horrible sweater Tsukishima has told him to throw out for years now. He wouldn't go back and change the date though.

Tsukishima hates the summertime, it's too hot and muggy, his skin hates it and his mind hates it even more. He wants to be happy on his wedding day. In fact, he considers it to be essential. When he'd told Kuroo that all those months ago, the raven had been in complete agreement, that dopey smile on his face...

"Whatever you want stardust."

But Kuroo could be such a fool. Recalling the memory, Tsukishima shakes his head. He probably could've asked him to hike up Mount Everest and he would've, or trekked to hell itself. But doesn't Kuroo know that smile of his, all caring and solely for him, made Tsukishima just as weak?

It’s the one he wears even now, when they're an hour away from the venue, stuck with less than a quarter tank of gas in their rental, and standing under an old church awning to shield themselves. The cracks in the stone let some water in, hitting Tsukishima's head.

It should be miserable for both of them.

So why do you look so happy right now?

Even as Tsukishima thinks it, he can't stop smiling as Kuroo approaches him, soaked magazine failing to cover the top of his head. He knows the answer. It's the same for him.

When Kuroo throws the magazine to the ground with a wet slap, Tsukishima snorts, because shit, it's the wedding catalogue Terushima had poured over, circling all kinds of unnecessary decorations and adornments. It ends up being strangely funny, how the thought of them possibly missing said wedding, with all those fancy arrangements and desserts, doesn't make him stressed in the slightest. Their clothes are drenched, it's cold, and they're probably making Terushima and Bokuto (self-proclaimed wedding planners) have strokes, but...

"We're getting married today," Kuroo all but sighs, adoring, despite his messy bangs and wet shoes. The squish of socks is audible regardless of the rumbling in the sky. Kuroo's biggest pet peeve is wet socks, but he looks like he's on cloud nine, and Tsukishima can't blame him.

Yeah. That.

"We're getting married today."

It's a lot of things at once; a fact, a promise, a disbelieving show of excitement. As if even if the rain never let up, or if the world decides today is the day to flood over completely, taking humanity with it, they would still be getting married.

(On a raft, but oh well.)

Basically, it's a 'don't worry,' so Tsukishima doesn't. He trusts Kuroo too much now to doubt him. He laughs, like a teenager, because he simply can't help it, the giddiness he's feeling. This is so dumb, he thinks, so immature. They should be calling people, trying to get a taxi, something.

Instead they're running a good thirty minutes late, standing under an old stone chapel in the dead of winter, and looking at each other as if they were getting married right then and there, in their pre-wedding frumpy clothes with no rings, no music, no cake.

(Yes, the last thing on the list is important.)

It's amazing.

"Mm, we are," Tsukishima says, meeting Kuroo halfway as he leans in for a kiss, and their lips are so chilled but they don't care. Kuroo shivers--yeah that's right, the human heater shivers, so Tsukishima is the one to pull him closer, shielding him from the elements.

"Not sure if it'll be on time," Tsukishima adds as he pulls away, content with the way Kuroo's hands rest on his lower back. His fiancé winces, and Tsukishima laughs again. "But I think early weddings are overrated anyways."

They'll make midnight weddings popular again. They'll all see.

"On a scale of one to ten, how mad do you think Terushima and Bokuto are?" Kuroo asks, bumping his forehead against Tsukishima's.

Oh. Well that's just a scary train of thought.

However, they have time to run through the thousand possible (and all equally believable) scenarios which comes attached to the question, so Tsukishima only smirks. It must be what Kuroo expects of him, because he looks so close to laughing already.

"Well, assuming the place isn't on fire already--"

"And what a bold assumption that is," Kuroo says, voice solemn. He's right though, which again, scary.

"Bokuto is probably worried sick," Tsukishima continues.

"Ah yes, so pure."

"Akaashi is comforting him, because he surely must've known this was gonna happen since he knows everything."

"A god among men that one..."

Tsukishima hasn't broken his neutral face yet but it's a challenge. He almost slaps Kuroo's hands away due to the commentary, but he can't bear to. "Terushima is freaking out and has to be on his third shot by now, and that's being kind. And he’s possibly insulted the two guests who I secretly don't like but had to invite anyways."

"He's a gem."

"He really is."

"Who's next?" Kuroo asks, and it's a ploy all along. As soon as Tsukishima's jaw opens while he debates on it, Kuroo steals a kiss, deep and toe curling.

Tsukishima hates him (but not really).

"Mm," Tsukishima hums against his lips, and he sees the temptation in Kuroo's eyes to take it further. That's the one thing he won’t allow. Not out in public...in the rain anyways. He breaks the kiss, and continues his 95% accurate inferences. "If Terushima’s not drunk enough, he's cursing our names, and Akiteru is probably taking a video so he can show me later. Our parents are obviously at the bar."

"That's not as bad as I pictured it actually," Kuroo says, nodding in appreciation. Tsukishima only sends him a disbelieving look.

"Tetsu."

"Yes?"

"That's only scenario one of many equally possible misfortunes."

Mock fear, which masquerades so perfectly as genuine only because of the man displaying it, covers Kuroo's face enough to make Tsukishima look away. He's going to crack.

"Wait, is the worst scenario that the place burns down?" Kuroo squints, and he must know, as he knows Tsukishima, the fire isn't remotely close to being the worst potential outcome.

Their parents could get in a bar fight over caterers (since they'd both been so insistent on choosing).

A secret madman could hold the whole ceremony hostage.

Kuroo's exes could show up. (Less dire, he knew, but he hated them). Worse, Tsukishima's exes could show up. Ugh.

Tsukishima won't even scratch out the possibility of a zombie apocalypse, but maybe he's been watching too many reruns.

There's all those and about a million more unexpected worst cases, but what Tsukishima ends up saying is the one he truly cares about, the one which matters most.

Kuroo stares at him after the pause carries on too long, concerned and thoughtful in the usual way, and Tsukishima knows what he says truly is the worst of worst cases.

"The worst outcome is...we don't get married today," he whispers, so small and oddly fearful it makes him stumble. It's childish. He knows missing one date doesn't mean the proposal is revoked, but...he likes this day. Not because it means anything or is significant, but he'd spent so many hours planning it with Kuroo in the late hours of the night, folded over brochures and catalogues, tasting cakes and foods, looking at flowers...

Arguing about whether they should put bow ties on their dogs' collars or not...

This day has become quite a big deal, to say the least. Part of Tsukishima's heart is unfairly sentimental about this random day in this random week in this random winter month.

Part of his heart is irrevocably, unfairly sentimental about anything to do with the man in his arms, and it's almost a curse, how much weight it carries. It's good weight though, weight he wanted and weight which felt light in every way.

So even if he has to walk the fifty miles to the venue, he will, as long as he makes it by midnight.

Surely, Kuroo's going to say something equally if not more cheesy, but instead, Tsukishima watches as his fiancé’s brow furrows in confusion before dissolving into amusement.

It's the same look Kuroo gives him when he's about to fight Tsukishima on whether or not a particular flavor ice cream is good, like Tsukishima is oh so misguided. (Yeah, that's what they fight about.)

It makes Tsukishima glare playfully, but Kuroo's next words honor Tsukishima's initial expectations.

"Wait a minute, you said all these scenarios were likely," Kuroo emphasizes, the soft smile already blooming across his face. "That one's impossible."

God.

The words are so unbelievably sappy, the tone drenched in love like the rain seeping through their clothes, and Tsukishima doesn't say anything. Can't. He's so done for.

Why is every response Kuroo has the exact response he needs?

He'll never truly get it, but he'll never take it for granted.

He leans in, and Kuroo meets him like always, connecting their lips as if they'd never get the opportunity to kiss again.The promise sits between them, solid and stable.

Yeah, you're right. We're getting married today.

He'll repeat it as long as he needs to, until the ring is securely on his finger.

And at that moment, a car honks, and they hear tires roll over the gravel of the parking lot. Their reckoning has arrived.

He's not as prepared as he thought.

Terushima leans out of the passenger window, too far out, because as Tsukishima predicted, he's in no state to exist let alone drive. Akaashi looks so smug beside him. "Save it for after the damn vows you hooligans! You're ruining my wedding!"

Tsukishima squints through the violent rain, not moving quite yet from the safety of the awning. "Hooligans? Big insult from the guy I definitely know didn't tie that tie himself. Did my mom help you?"

Beside him, Kuroo finally loses it, and it's possibly more rewarding than the rescue. Also this is Tsukishima's wedding, thanks very much, and he can be a little late if he so chooses.

Terushima stares at him, mouth open and mind torn between venturing out into the rain to personally fight him or ignoring the comment all together. "....Fuck you Kei, you're lucky you're the groom. Can you guys just please get in the car? The clock is ticking!"

Oh, is it now?

With false disappointment, Tsukishima looks to his fiancé and sighs, and Kuroo rolls his eyes along with him. "I mean, I guess."

Yet despite the sass, they do start walking towards the behemoth of a car, the nervous excitement already building in Tsukishima's heart. No matter what he says, all he can think is finally. His steps are hurried, and not even the rain phases him anymore. Soon he'll be in his tux anyways, surrounded by warmth, and he doesn't mean the heated venue.

Kuroo turns to smile at him, and Tsukishima knows it's a mutual feeling.

As they pile in, Terushima has the nerve to sass them once more, but Tsukishima allows it. After all, that's the job of a wedding planner. Or so he's told, and they've probably given Terushima a fair amount of heart attacks already. "You guys do know you're getting married today, right?"

It's like being scolded by his mother. Or Akiteru. It's a toss-up honestly.

The question makes Tsukishima laugh as they pull out of the driveway and onto the main road, the rain heavy against the windshield. Beside him, he feels a hand intertwine with his own, squeezing tight.

He dreads letting go, but knows it'll never be for long.

Kuroo shrugs beside him, but they lean closer, until there's no space left. "Oh, you have no idea."