Astraphilia

Blaine shakes his head, turning onto his back and opening his arms. “Don’t be quiet. Come to bed. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Hard to sleep with you shuffling around trying to be quiet, babe. What’s wrong? Come to bed.”

Nate felt like he was eight years old again. “I'm sorry.” He stopped his pacing. “I’ll be quiet.” 

I'm always cranky. Inhaling water vapor isn't really going to change that.

So, how are those prewedding jitters coming along? I’d ask if you two are sure you don’t want to go run off and elope, but I think our parents would kill you both. Then again, all you’d have to do is remind them there’s still two more weddings they have to sit through, they might left you off easy.

I’ve been feeling like I’ve had to throw up for the past four days, what do you think, Sammy?

Is that what it is? Butterflies? Because I feel like I'm going to throw up. All the time. We have less than a week, Blaine. Holy fucking shit.