Your Local Wannabe Comedian

“Soon-to-be,” you smile, picking at the white lace of your bodice. 

“Oh man.” You practically hear your still-fiancé’s fingers fly up to pinch the bridge his nose. “Sweetheart, you should’ve told me you were such a goody-two shoes before I put that ring on your finger.”

“You didn’t get the memo after I’ve been landing you in hot water with Hunnigan for three years now?”

Leon’s palms clap dejectedly against the door. Half-surrender, half-plea.

“For the millionth time, go away,” you giggle. You lean your back against the door. Imagine him doing the same when the wood paneling seems to press back. Breathe for a beat too many before saying, “You’ll see me in a bit, I just…I need the luck for today to be perfect.”

You think you’ve finally won when he goes silent. For a second, anyway.

“So that’s what it is.”

“Hm?”

“Are you nervous?” Leon asks quietly.

“What girl isn’t nervous on their wedding day?” you whisper back.

“Does it have to be? What if our wedding isn’t perfect?”

Talk about a surefire way to spike a bride’s heart rate. You frantically check your reflection in the vanity mirror. Clutch your bouquet tighter lest it fall fantastically apart at his words. 

“See, this is why you’re not supposed to be here,” you hiss at the door, “now I’m panicking!”

One last roll call. You’re sure you’ve planned for everything. Your something old: your mother’s wedding veil. Something new, the diamonds on your neck. Something borrowed: the roses you’ll carry to the altar, gathered from your maid of honor’s garden that you’ll make sure to toss back. Something blue…

“Shit!” you cry out. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I forgot my something blue, Leon, I can’t walk without it!”

“You’re sure?”

Of course you’re sure. It’s Wedding 101, the one rule you can’t break. Everything you’ve been through with the man on the other side of the door has led up to this moment. Your jobs never allowed you the privilege of making mountains out of molehills, but today? This is the moment you’d been promised would be perfect – in spite of the endless trials and tribulations the universe seemed intent on imposing on the both of you. 

Sleepless nights. Far-flung disappearances. Knives at your throats. Knives at each other’s throats that one time with the parasites. Thanklessly saving the world from the brink of disaster only to have each other to lean on at the end of the day. Over and over, falling in love with the only person who understands the fatal mistake of taking normalcy for granted. 

Just once, you wished you could have it like everybody else waiting for you to walk down the aisle. 

“Open the door, sweetheart.”

Your voice cracks. The no doesn’t come out like it should. 

A muffled swish of fabric sounds from the other side, and Leon repeats himself, tacking on a soft please this time. “Do you trust me?”

Nobody more than him.

“Just stick out your leg,” he murmurs. “I won’t look.”

An odd request. You crack open the door. Hesitantly step out your right foot. 

“Little more, please.”

If you’re not mistaken, the faintest of sighs sounds the moment you do. Leon presumably drops to his knees at the muffled thud of carpet that ensues, and it’s suddenly your turn to gasp. He’s reaching up your dress, fingers skirting over your leg, along your thigh-

“What are you doing?” you squeak, gripping the doorframe.

“Not that I’m into the garter thing, it’s kinda gross, actually – phew, you’re not wearing your holster – but maybe this will work.”

Smooth, silky fabric encircles your thigh in seconds. 

“Too tight?”

“Mm-mm…”

He chuckles softly and ducks out, taking care to fix your skirts as if nothing ever happened, looking decidedly the other way the whole time. You pull your foot back into the safety of your dressing room and bunch up your dress in confusion to find-

A navy bow tie wrapped around your upper thigh.

“How’s that?” Leon ventures hopefully.

It’s something. It’s blue. You relay this to him, disbelief eventually bubbling into laughter. 

“But now you don’t have a bow tie, stupid!”

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get rid of it? You know how much I-”

“-hate things around your neck.”

“Right?” The exasperation in his voice makes you giggle. “And they wouldn’t listen when I told them, baby. I told you, I’m hopeless without you.” 

Leon’s hand reaches out on a mission to find yours, one that it fulfils, complete with a kiss on your knuckles. A mission with ulterior motives; you pretend not to see the flash of something blue that glances up at you. The blue you can’t wait to wake up to for the rest of your life.  

“Perfect wedding or not, I just wanna marry you. Don’t you?”

You don’t save the I do for the altar.

What’s one more imperfect tradition?

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