. ꕤ ｡°

He was still in his gear from the Upside Down, that backwards cap that made your head spin.

Your arm was slung over his shoulder as his arm was wrapped around your waist, helping to haul you up into his bathroom.

You groaned as you walked up the steps.

“You okay?” Steve asked as you winced with every step.

You nodded. “Yep.”

A lie.

Your skin felt like it was on fire.

The bathroom door creaked open and Steve flicked on the light, a soft amber glow illuminating the confined space.

His hands rested on your hips as he lifted you up onto the counter. “Okay,” he said, reaching into the medicine cabinet and grabbing the first aid kit. “Can you uh…” he trailed off, glancing down at your shirt that was soaked in blood. He cleared his throat, looking away awkwardly. “Take your shirt off,” he finished quietly. “Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

Of course you were comfortable with Steve. What a ridiculous comment to make.

Steve started to wash his hands as you carefully lifted your shirt up, holding it in your lap.

Steve dried his hands onto the towel and turned back to you.

He swallowed.

Hard.

You were nothing but your bra and jeans.

“You gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna help me, Harrington?” you asked, playfulness in your tone despite the burning sensation on your stomach.

Steve blinked back into reality, shaking his head as he scrambled for the first aid kit. “Right,” he chuckled awkwardly, hands shaking.

He accidentally knocked the entire kit to the floor, making your eyes widen.

He dropped to the floor in the blink of an eye, yanking the first aid kit up and laughing awkwardly. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, cheeks pink.

You smiled softly, watching as his shaking hands opened the kit, pulling out antiseptic.

“Steve,” you said softly.

“Huh?” he replied, his pretty, but nervous, doe eyes meeting yours.

You glanced down at the antiseptic in his hand, then to the large gash across your abdomen. “I’m still bleeding out to death, you know.”

Steve’s eyes widened, your hand that was on your stomach covered in blood as it leaked out.

“Oh shit,” he panicked. He raced out the room to grab a clean cloth and returned a second later. “I’ve got it,” he said softly, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist to move your hand out of the way.

He applied firm pressure onto the cut, and you immediately groaned, body stiffening.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Am I hurting you too much? I’ve just gotta stop the bleeding.”

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, voice hoarse. “Just…” you breathed out, body relaxing as you shut your eyes. “I’m a baby when it comes to pain tolerance.”

Steve laughed. “Tell me about it.”

You shot him a glare, to which he just smirked.

He applied a little more pressure as time went on. You groaned again, shutting your eyes and throwing your head back against the mirror.

Steve glanced up at you, and his breath hitched when he saw how…

Hot you looked.

Stray strands of your hair clung to your skin, your eyes were shut, jaw tight, and your back was arched slightly.

You were his best friend.

You were not supposed to be looking this good.

Especially after you just came back from two different dimensions, hadn’t slept in days, evaded the government, and dropped everyone off at home safely.

Damn you.

“Are you almost done?” you said breathlessly.

Steve almost melted right there.

Fuck, you were so perfect.

“Mhm,” he hummed nervously. “Almost.”

Your eyes fluttered open, lips parting slightly as a sigh escaped you. You lifted your head a little, looking down at the towel that was covered in blood.

Steve glanced up at you, but immediately looked away.

He figured now would be a very inappropriate time to be lusting over his best friend who probably had no interest in him.

Little did he know, you thought he was looking too good in that backwards hat.

Steve removed the towel from your stomach and set it down. He put some antiseptic on a fresh towel and turned to you. “Okay. This is gonna burn.”

Your jaw clenched as you nodded. “I know.”

Steve nodded. “Alright. One…two…”

“Fuck!” you winced, the stinging cutting through your already open wound like a knife. You squeezed your eyes shut as your head fell back again.

Steve dabbed at your skin as he cleaned it.

He also glanced up every now and then, unable to look away from the beautiful sight of you quite literally in agony.

Your skin was flushed, chest slowly taking in level breaths as low groans escaped you every now and then.

Steve pulled the cloth away, moving to grab a gauze pad. He placed it gently onto your skin, his other hand fumbling for the tape as he taped it onto your skin.

“All done,” Steve said, looking up at you awkwardly.

You let out a sigh. “Thanks.”

Steve hummed, watching you reach for the soap to wash your hands and rid it of the blood.

You were drying your hands off on the towel, still sitting on the counter when he spoke again.

“Does it hurt?”

You nodded, setting the towel down. “Yeah, actually. Like, pretty bad.”

“I could kiss it better,” he joked, earning a laugh from you.

“Careful,” you giggled. “I might find a few more wounds for you to kiss better,” you teased. Steve laughed, though his cheeks were burning bright pink. “But since you seem so eager go ahead,” you joked.

Now, when you said that, you didn’t think he was actually going to do it.

In your mind, you thought he knew it was a joke too.

Regardless, he did anyway.

His fingers delicately ran down your sides, making you shutter. His fingers slowly made their way down the sides of your stomach, stopping at your waist to hold on to.

His eyes never looked away from your face.

You swallowed hard, glancing up to make eye contact with him.

Was he fucking serious?

The pupils of his hazel eyes dilated, changing in the way he looked at you.

Friends didn’t look at each other like that.

Lovers did.

He held eye contact as he slowly bent down, his face now in front of your stomach.

Your breath hitched when he looked at your abdomen, shutting his eyes as he placed a soft kiss onto the gauze.

A soft sound escaped you, one that made his heart flutter.

His lips ghosted their way over to your skin, your heart hammering in your chest in anticipation.

He placed a soft, firm kiss onto your skin.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

It was electrifying in a way you couldn’t explain. It was like something you had craved for so long was just teasing you.

You had grown awfully fond of Steve over the years, unsure of if he could ever reciprocate your affection.

So you buried it and continued on with being friends.

But this?

This just changed everything.

“Steve,” you said softly.

He stood up straight, hands still at your waist.

You looked up at him, his pupils blown wide in not just desire, but love.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Come here.”

Steve leaned in a little closer.

“Closer.”

And he obliged like your words simply forced him to. He obliged like he would do whatever your words told him to without a second thought, without any hesitation.

He leaned in a little closer, his nose just inches from yours.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes flicking down to his lips before going back up to his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly.”

“No?” he asked, eyes slowly looking down at your perfect lips.

“No,” you whispered.

Steve smirked, one of his hands trailing down your bare arm, creating a line of goosebumps. “I’m listening,” he teased.

You both knew what you wanted.

It was right there, just seconds, inches away.

He knew damn well your thank you required no words, yet he teased you anyway just to prolong the moment.

Now you felt awkward, breath hitching at the way he eyed your lips, his fingers grazing your soft skin with such delicacy.

“I…” you faltered, looking down at his lips.

Steve smirked. “I don’t think a verbal thank you is the best way to go, huh?”

Your eyes looked up into his. Your faces were inches apart, eyes so close you saw stupid little stars in them.

“I’d rather show you anyway,” you said.

Finally, you leaned in slowly, closing the space between you and Steve.

Your lips met gently, his nose brushing against yours.

It felt absolutely electric. His lips were warm, soft, and it felt like absolute heaven.

He immediately melted into the kiss, sighing against your lips.

Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, one hand on the back of his head to keep him right where you wanted him.

His hands tightened around your hips as he deepened the kiss.

Within seconds, months, years, of built up tension released itself.

You moaned into his mouth and he kissed you reverently, like he’d never be provided the opportunity again.

The bathroom instantly filled with your pants and moans, something you would’ve found disgustingly vulgar, but it only pushed you over the edge.

Steve pulled apart, instantly kissing your neck.

You whined as he placed open mouthed kisses all over your sensitive skin. Your hands wrapped around his shirt, tugging at the fabric.

He took the hint, pulling away and tugging his shirt off over his head, followed by the hat.

Your eyes wandered his toned chest and biceps. The hair on his chest made your heart flutter and the scars along his skin from the demobats a year ago were still present.

He dove back in, kissing your lips.

He groaned into your mouth as your fingers gently traced small patterns onto his skin.

His teeth bit at your bottom lip and when you moaned, he dipped his tongue in, kissing you deeper.

You wanted Steve.

All of him.

And he wanted all of you.

You whined, fingers now pulling at his belt loop.

He smiled against your lips, pulling away for a moment as the sound of both of you catching your breaths filled the room.

“So needy, huh?” he teased, already reaching to undo his belt.

“Shut up, Harrington,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Steve laughed, unbuckling his belt as he leaned back in to kiss you.

You sighed as he kissed you slowly, as if he was savoring your taste and the moment.

His hands fumbled as he undid his belt, the sound of it dropping to the ground echoing in the room.

Your eyes were shut, but you could hear his pants dropping to the floor too.

His lips were still on yours as his nervous hands shook to unbutton your pants. He couldn’t believe it. It was really happening.

His fingers trembled as they unzipped your jeans and you gasped as he lifted your hips, pulling the fabric right off and tossing it onto the floor.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he pressed his front against you.

You moaned softly, pulling apart from Steve’s lips to catch your breath.

Steve pressed his front against you again and you could feel the prominent bulge in his underwear. “You feel what you do to me?” he asked, kissing your collarbone.

A gasp escaped you as he picked you up, carrying you into his bedroom and slamming the door shut, laying you down onto your back into the bed.

His nose brushed yours and you giggled, moving the stray piece of hair away from his face. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he said softly with that familiar smile. 

Your face flushed as his was just inches from yours. Never in a million years did you imagine you’d be this intimately close to your best friend.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, eyes adorned.

You looked away with a nervous smile and when you did so, he tucked your hair behind your ear. “Don’t turn away,” he teased.

You looked back at him, face warm, body hot. “Is this gonna make things weird between us?” you asked. “I don’t wanna lose you, Steve.”

Steve’s expression softened. “No. Never,” he affirmed. “You could never lose me, no matter how hard you tried.”

Your lips curved upward. “Even if this is super awkward?”

“Nope. Not leaving.”

You hummed, thinking of something else. “Well what if-”

“Not leaving,” he interrupted you.

“I didn’t finish!”

“You don’t need to,” Steve laughed. “You could tell me that you burned my own house to the ground and I’d still praise the ground you walk on.”

“Steve!”

“It’s true! I love you.”

Your heart immediately skipped a beat as you stared at him in shock.

Did he seriously just say that?

“What?” you asked.

“I love you,” Steve repeated. “And I have for a long time.”

And it was like the world stopped spinning for a second.

Like the monsters and all the fighting were now insignificant, because Steve Harrington just told you that he loved you.

And he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

He loved you.

You blinked. “You…You love me?”

“Of course I love you,” Steve said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love how smart you are. I love how you protect the kids. I love how considerate you are…” he trailed off. “You want me to keep going?”

You laughed. “Maybe.”

And Steve didn’t even hesitate to list the million other things about you that made him fall head over heels in love with you.

It seemed like the words were just flowing out of his mouth naturally, like he didn’t even need to think about it.

And when he was finished, you said the six words that made him melt instantly.

“I love you too, Steve Harrington.”

And that night the friendship wasn’t ruined.

Something more sacred blossomed.

Your love.

You were both so deeply in love and now neither of you ever had to second guess it anymore.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

From the reception hall to the party favors left out on the tables, there hasn’t been a single thing that’s escaped the judgement of the people of this miniscule, insipid town. They’ve dropped by your house with fabric samples; stopped you in the grocery store and absolutely insisted you use their cousin’s flower shop for your arrangements. Roy had even been so bold as to write the entire guest list himself and pass it off to you like a memo. And no matter how many nights you spent sitting between Gator’s legs crying to him about the mountainous stress on your shoulders while he listened and wiped your face of tears, there was nothing either of you could do about it. Lehigh was Lehigh. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and what was worse was that they knew it.

You couldn’t help but feel a little bitter about it, even now. This was supposed to be your wedding– theoretically, the happiest day of your life. So why were everyone else’s hands all over it?

You knew Gator felt the same way, evidenced by how many times he’d grumbled in your ear over the past weeks that the next person to approach you and give you a direction was about to be told in no uncertain terms to fuck off. He’d even offered to help with some of the planning, which had made you loose an exhausted laugh– Gator planning anything would have been more of a hindrance than a help at this point. You hardly needed the man who couldn’t tell the difference between a rose and a chrysanthemum to be picking out dinnerware with you.

But you got through it– little by little, meltdown by meltdown, you forged forward, slapping away the helping hands clamped onto your shoulders, all with your eyes on this day and this boy and everything everyone told you you were doing wrong about it.

So why is there still a knot in your gut?

You stare back at the dolled-up version of yourself in the vanity mirror of the room you’ve secured for the bridal party, and you hardly recognize your own face. It’s the first moment you’ve had alone all day, and you only barely managed to force your bridesmaids and your mother and Karen out of the room, but it’s less peaceful than you’d thought it would be. Your makeup is flawless, your hair swept halfway up with sprigs of tiny white flowers. Your dress is perfect– just the way you pictured it. And you’re exhausted by all of it.

For a moment, a memory flashes through your mind. One perfect night, some eons ago– right at the beginning of all of this, back when you hadn’t ever pictured you and Gator might be built to last. It was late, and dark, and you were still in your pretty white sundress and the cowboy boots you’d been dancing all night with him in. He was reckless driving, drifting around corners and kicking up dust behind his truck. Country music was blaring from the radio, and you were screaming at the sharp turns, cackling with laughter as you grappled for purchase on the door handles, your hair flying in your face from the wind coming off the open windows. 

And Gator was looking over at you, his face split ear to ear in a grin. So consumed with happiness it felt like it was piercing your chest, driving itself straight into your heart, so foolishly open and waiting. And you thought, nobody makes me laugh like this boy. 

It didn’t matter that you’d lost track of the number of times you’d been told to stay away from him for your own good. It didn’t matter how many fights you’d already had, even just at the beginning of things between you. It didn’t matter that he called you a tease, mocked you for playing hard to get, just because you were insistent upon hiding your heart from him until you were sure he deserved it. In that moment, country lights blurring by, stretching your legs out into his lap so he could grip your shin, nothing Gator Tillman had been before he met you meant a thing. What mattered was who he could be– who he became on a perfect night, when you got him alone, when he sagged into your arms and admitted his bravado was defeated. You could see it happening, day by day, that change. He was growing toward you slowly, cautiously, like a houseplant that had never learned how to face the sun. 

That was the night you finally gave in. You loved him. You’d loved him always. You’d love him forever.

You leaned across the car and tugged his face toward yours for one brief, searing kiss. Gator laughed against you, the noise rasping in his throat. The sound transformed him into a different person– a person he might have been long before he met you, if only life had dealt him a different hand. But he was here now– alive and sweet and grinning. And you grinned right back, unashamed and unhidden.

The memory flutters in your chest, soft and aching. That joy isn’t gone now– you know better than to think that. It’s just buried under miles and miles of stress and anxiety and shit people have been shoving on you for months. It’s too easy sometimes to forget why you wanted all this in the first place. 

The door opens somewhere behind you, and you’re glad for the changing screen that stands between you and the doorway– you need a moment to school your face back into bland enthusiasm for whatever new visitor wants to impose upon your time.

“Baby?”

You whip around on your vanity stool, your heart leaping. That’s not Karen, and that’s not your bridesmaids, either. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Gator?”

“Hey, mama,” he returns, satisfied. “Where are you?”

“Gate, you can’t be in here,” you hiss. “It’s bad luck– we talked about this.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I couldn’t stay with you last night, either,” he gripes, and you hear his footsteps as he nears. “Stupidest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.”

You shoot off your stool, equal parts exasperated by his ongoing irreverence with wedding traditions and thrilled he’s actually here. You haven’t seen him all day, or for most of yesterday, and damn it, but you’ve missed him like hell. “It’s not stupid,” you say again, although considering how much you wanted him next to you in bed last night, that argument is a little weak. 

“Come out and let me see you,” he says, thankfully staying put on the other side of the screen.

“I can’t,” you tell him, heart pounding in your chest. Something about the one person you’ve been dying to see all day standing feet away from you and not being able to touch him is getting to you. “You can’t see me. We’ll be cursed, or something.”

“You tryin’ to kill me, woman?” he tosses at you. “You’re about to be my wife. I’m gonna see you every damn day. Now get out here and let me look at ‘ya.”

You roll your eyes and loose a reluctant laugh, and mostly because you can’t stand to do anything else, you step gradually out from behind the screen. 

Gator looks unfairly good.

His hair is neat, but still loose the way you like it. His brown suit jacket sits crisply over his black dress shirt, the leafy boutonniere with white flowers pinned to his lapel expertly enough you know immediately he didn’t do it himself. There’s a formality to him, a stiffness that betrays how foreign these clothes feel on his body, but he still wears it exceptionally well. And when his dark eyes find you, he smiles at you in the way nobody else ever could. 

He reaches out for you immediately, taking both of your hands in his. “Look at you,” he nearly whistles, spreading your hands so he can see you better. “Spin around for me, baby.”

You feel a little silly, but you do as he asks, a blush high on your cheeks. The gauzy, petal-like skirts of your dress swish against your legs as you turn, the short, flowy sleeves tickling your arms. Gator’s hands slip around your waist as you come back to him, and yours find his arms, smoothing over his pristinely ironed sleeves. 

“You’re perfect,” he tells you, his eyes glittering as he smiles wider at you.

“Yeah?” you ask gently, a little ashamed to still need the assurance. 

“Most beautiful woman in the world,” he affirms, and leans in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. “You make a pretty fuckin’ bride.”

The words send another flutter through your chest, and some of your nerves dissipate. “Karen said the dress makes me look promiscuous,” you inform him sardonically. You’d thought it was absolutely beautiful until she said something, and despite how you joked it off, the comment had been needling at the back of your mind all day.

“Karen’s a bitch from hell,” Gator retorts evenly. 

Your lips press together to hide your laugh, your self-consciousness slipping away. “Gate, she’s your stepmother.”

“So?” he intones, dipping his head to kiss the side of your throat. “She’s still a bitch. She’s just jealous.”

“Jealous of me?” you snort. 

“Mm,” he agrees, the vibrations travelling along your neck. “You’re younger and prettier and have a tighter ass.”

You huff a breathy laugh, still fighting your sour mood. It’s easier now that Gator’s hands are on you– now that you’re back in his grip. People have never understood how much he lifts your temper, but then, they’ve never been in love with Gator Tillman like you have. You’d take this boy over any of them– over anything in the world.

Gator pulls back, noticing the dryness in your tone. He lifts a hand and pokes your cheek with his knuckle. “What’s with the face, huh?” he asks, and even though he’s still teasing you, a flash of concern is in his eyes. “You thinkin’ ‘bout backing out?”

“You wish,” you joke back, your hands lifting to thread behind his neck.

Gator grins at you. “Come on. You gettin’ cold feet, or what?”

You heave a long sigh, borne on the exhaustion and clamor and stress of the day. “I hate everyone,” you admit, defeated, staring up at him guiltily. “I only like you. And I just want everyone else to fuck off.”

“That’s my girl,” he laughs, pushing in to kiss you again. “You tell ‘em, baby.”

“They don’t listen to me,” you protest weakly, letting him mess up the makeup on your cheek as he nuzzles into it. What the hell– you have time to fix it later, anyway. “Nobody does. I feel like this whole stupid thing is more for them than us.”

“That’s ‘cause it is,” he agrees into your skin. Finally, he pulls back to look at you again, his eyes sweeping down your face and back up. The mischief and humor haven’t left his expression, and they certainly don’t leave when he slips his hand back into yours and retreats a step back toward the door. “Come on.”

You frown, your brow knitting as he pulls you along. “I can’t go out there. Karen’s probably guarding that door like a pitbull.”

“Relax,” Gator intones, dragging you out the door and into the thankfully empty hallway. “How d’you think I got in here?” His head turns left and right, checking for members of your bridal party. He doesn’t find any, and the two of you forge ahead. 

You’re amused but compliant as he tugs you down the hallway and towards the front door. You don’t know what insane idea has worked its way into his head, but you’ve learned over the years that it’s always best with Gator to just let it play out. “Where are we going?” you finally ask him as you make it out of the house unnoticed, spearing for his truck, parked in the driveway. 

Gator doesn’t glance behind him as he says, “We’re goin’ to get married.”

You snort. “Yeah, I think you’re jumping the gun a little, Alligator. Ceremony’s not till five.”

You reach the truck, and he drops your hand to open the passenger side door for you. He’s grinning again— ear to ear. “Who said anything ‘bout a ceremony?”

Your eyes widen as you stare back at him. “What are you talking about?”

He nods to your seat, not budging. “Get in the car, sweetheart.”

The order leaves no room for debate. A little thrill runs through you at the words– at the realization of what, exactly, his batshit-crazy plan is. You give in quicker than you mean to and climb into the car, and he reaches over to tuck in your dress before shutting the door behind you. 

As Gator backs the truck out of its spot in the driveway, you worry your hands, nerves and excitement indistinguishable inside you. “This is so stupid.”

“I can always drop you back off,” Gator threatens mildly, pulling onto the main road and gunning the accelerator.

“It’s our wedding, Gator!” you protest, though an anxious smile is already growing on your face. “We’re running away from our wedding. People are gonna care when they figure out we’re missing.”

“The hell are they gonna do about it?” he deadpans. “You’re my woman. You’re gonna be my wife. I can do what I want with ‘ya.”

“They’re probably gonna come after us on horseback,” you propose, biting at the skin beside your manicured nail.

Gator notices and grabs your hand away from your face, pulling it over to him and wrapping his fingers around it. “Relax, mama. You’re too stressed all the damn time.”

As the landscape of the ranch fades behind you, your smile grows and grows on your face. You can almost feel the expectations lifting one by one off your shoulders, kicked up like the dust behind Gator’s truck. 

Gator glances over at you, glimpsing your expression. His own grin spreads, his eyes alight. “Hey, there she is.”

You press your lips together, but it’s a useless endeavor. You feel lighter than you have in months, that bubbling joy of being with him back in your chest with a vengeance. “This is so stupid,” you say again, shaking your head. 

Gator huffs a laugh and reaches over to pull your head toward him, planting a kiss on your temple. He ruffles your perfectly-done hair as he lets you go, and you bat him away, your crinkling eyes on the open road.

By the time the truck skids to a stop outside a church you’ve only been to once in the middle of town, the ground is slick with rain. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Gator announces plainly, throwing the truck in park and popping his door as casually as if you’re stopped outside a megamart. He comes around the truck and opens your door, too, and you stare past his shoulder at the drizzling rain.

“Gator–” you protest a little. “Gate, it’s raining.”

“So?” he drawls. “You’re not gonna melt like that chick in that stupid movie you showed me.”

“The Wizard of Oz?” You correct him flatly. “You don’t remember the name of The Wizard of– oh!”

Gator cuts you off by planting his hands on your waist and lifting you out of the truck. His arms bunch around your middle, carrying you over the puddle on the ground he sloshes through, uncaring. You yelp as you land unsteadily back on your feet, the icy rain already peppering your skin as he steadies you. 

“I’m gonna look like a drowned rat,” you giggle, gripping his arms.

“Y’think that’s gonna stop me?” he teases, then slips his hand into yours again. 

Your eyes flick back to the building before you, tall and white and imposing. 

“This was the church you wanted, right?” Gator asks, voice low.

You glance over, surprised. “You remember that?”

Gator rolls his eyes. “I listen to you sometimes.”

In the early days of wedding planning, you’d scoured the area for chapels that might meet Gator’s father’s requirements, and this place had checked every single box. 

It was large enough to hold all your guests, but not so much as to intimidate; it was close enough to the middle of town that no one would have complained about the commute like they did now with the chapel near the ranch. The pastor was an amenable type of man who would have let you have your wedding any day of the year you wanted. 

And, perhaps selfishly, it was stunningly beautiful. Clean white walls, dark oak pews. Stained glass windows cut kaleidoscopically into the walls, and a stark gold crucifix at the altar.

It had been perfect– that is, perfect until Roy determined that he wouldn’t accept anything other than his home parish for the two of you. That decision, more than perhaps anything else these long months, had broken your heart the hardest. It had been the first night you’d cried to Gator about all of this, his fists clenching as he thrashed against that feeling he hated the most– being useless to you.

You shove down the emotion rising in you at the sight of the church– the one real ask you’d had, and the one thing you’d resigned yourself to lose. Emotion at the fact Gator had known what it meant to you, committed it to memory– and brought you here anyway, damning what anyone else thought. This was where he wanted to marry you. This was what he wanted to do: make you happy. Simple, unspoken, and rawer and more passionate for it.

He had always loved big, your Gator. It didn’t matter to you if he couldn’t say it well.

You grin at him again, eyes fighting tears as your voice falls back on teasing. “Boy, I’ve really got you whipped, huh?” 

Gator shoots you a look. “I can still turn and run, baby.”

You cackle, slipping your hand into his again. “Aw, I’d like to see you try. Come on. Time’s wasting.”

When you stumble through the tall wooden doors of the church, you let out a breath at the opulence. It’s exactly as you remember from that one, heartbreaking visit– more beautiful like this, even, now that it’s empty of people and sunlight.

You aren’t really the religious sort– never have been. But when you and Gator walk through those doors, slick with rain and unable to kill your rowdy laughter, you’re sure for a moment that something different is in the air. In the shadows growing against the walls, the hazy overcast pushing dull light through the multicolored glass, there is a reverence, a meaning you hadn’t anticipated cloaking the quiet space. 

Gator pulls you through the church, rapping his knuckles on the door of the pastor’s office. It takes some negotiating to get the man to come out, to make him understand that you’re not both crazy people, that you really do have a marriage license, but eventually, he relents and lets Gator drag him up the aisle to the altar.

You stand in front of the pastor resolutely as you wait impatiently for him to agree to marry you, the sight of Gator’s wet hair dripping in his face and your makeup smearing under your eyes not helping in convincing him you’re taking this seriously. He recognizes you from your visit, at least, but Gator’s pushiness has a way of getting under people’s skin, and the man doesn’t look as though he’s inclined to give in.

The pastor glances between you, skeptical. “I assume you have the rings?”

Gator pats his breast pocket. “Right here. She won’t get away that easy.”

“And you’re sure this marriage is made of your own free will?” The pastor clarifies with you, studying your face with mild concern. 

You give Gator a look. “What should I say?”

Gator’s eyes flatten. “You think you’re so damn funny.”

You laugh, turning back to the pastor. “Yeah, I guess I love him pretty bad. Might as well.”

The pastor heaves a resigned breath. “And you wouldn’t like to invite anyone else to bear witness?”

Gator turns back to you, and you exchange a brief, incredulous look. 

“Fuck no,” Gator barks, and you have to press a hand to your mouth to stifle your laughter. 

Gator’s lips twitch at your expression, and he corrects himself. “Sorry– I mean, no. It’s just us.”

“Just us,” you affirm, eyes dancing.

The pastor sighs and goes to collect his book of rites. 

Gator leans forward, his freshly-shaven face brushing your cheek as he whispers in your ear, “This is how it should have been this whole time– me and you and that dress. And whatever’s under that dress.”

You burst into laughter again, quieting yourself when the pastor turns slightly. “We’re in church, you cretin.”

Gator presses a kiss to your cheek and pulls back, smiling at you. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeat, etching that smile, that sweetness, into your memory forever.

Gator holds your hands as the pastor reads through the marriage rites– the shortcut version, at Gator’s impatient request. The quiet, rain-soaked church stares down at you, empty of judgement and opinion and objection. It’s only you and Gator and Gator and you, the mud flecks on your white skirt and the wilt of his boutonniere the only evidence it was a struggle getting here at all. And you think for a moment that whatever sealed you together to begin with, tangled you together like snarled fishing line, must be with you for this second in this church.

You’ve given a thousand furious words to this boy. He’s hurled hundreds right back at you, razor-sharp and meant to cut the both of you free from each other. It’s never worked. And the two that you utter, alone at the altar, are somehow the easiest to say.

You’re forty-five minutes late to your own wedding. Neither of you can bring yourselves to care.

By the time you make it back to the right chapel, the one with all of your flower arrangements and bridesmaids and overbearing relatives stacked up inside, the parking lot is so full Gator has to pull his truck over on the side of the road. The rain hasn’t stopped, seeping into your white dress and all but destroying your meticulously-styled hair. Gator isn’t in much better shape. His blazer is discarded in the backseat after he tried to make you use it as a canopy. His black dress shirt is sticking to his skin.

“Get your ass in gear and let’s go, woman!” Gator yells at you, waiting as you stumble away from the truck and run toward him again, pushing your sopping hair out of your eyes.

“It’s these fucking shoes!” you argue, yelping as your heels sink into the muddied grass. “I can’t exactly sprint in these things, Gator!”

Gator rolls his eyes and comes back for you, grabbing your hand and tugging you along once more. “Goddammit, you’re slow. Hope our kids don’t get that from you.”

“Not all of us played quarterback in high school,” you snap at him, though everything lacks its usual bite. You haven’t stopped grinning like an idiot since you left the empty church, and neither has Gator, much as he tries to hide it. 

He all but drags you across the lawn in a shortcut to the church, laughing when the mud catches you again and you’re pulled out of one of your shoes. He goes back for it, and for the other one when you lose that, too, and then you’re booking it toward the church barefoot, your white pumps clutched in Gator’s free hand. 

“We are in such deep shit,” you giggle, staring at the nearing chapel doors, which are suspiciously flung wide open despite the rain. They’re all waiting for you– probably furious and worried sick.

“That’s mud, stupid,” Gator teases, not slowing his pace. “And it’s on your face, by the way.”

“Better than looking like– whoop!”

Gator catches you just before you slide and eat shit on the slippery ground, and he hauls you upright with a laugh so infectious you wouldn’t have believed it came from him if you hadn’t seen it for yourself. 

Finally, you make it to the chapel, skidding to a stop in front of the bleached wood of the old, white stairs. 

Standing at the top of them is Roy Tillman, dressed and dry, staring down at you with twenty-seven years of disappointment and unchecked anger.

The humor drains out of you, Gator’s hand in yours the only thing keeping you from trembling with icy fear.

“Look at the two of you,” Roy drawls, still in that careful tone you’ve come to realize means he’s still holding back. “You keep these good people waiting, run off to do fuck all on the day a’your wedding?”

Neither you nor Gator offer an explanation– just wait. 

“It’s a goddamn fuckin’ disgrace.” Roy shakes his head at you, his eyes simmering. “Now get your asses in there, clean yourselves up, and do what you’re fuckin’ told.” With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back into the chapel, leaving you to soak in his disappointed hopes. 

Your eyes slide to Gator, examining his reaction. 

He’s already looking at you, mollified. But then his lips curl up, and he shrugs, guilty but uncaring. 

You burst into laughter, and he clamps a hand over your mouth to shut you up, his shit-eating grin the same as that first day in his truck. Humor, elation, and not one ounce of regret. 

“You heard him,” Gator mutters in your ear. “Better get in there, huh?”

You giggle again, pressing your lips together to hide it, and Gator loops your clasped hands over your head and around your waist, hurrying you both inside after his father.

By the end of the night, both you and Gator are exhausted.

Your clothes dry and your face wiped of mud and makeup, you sit in Gator’s lap in a chair in the reception hall, one of his arms tucked tight around you and the other resting on your leg. You’re ignoring the dirty looks Karen is shooting you from across the venue at the gall you have to be sitting in the same seat. People are making idiots of themselves dancing drunkenly, the lights are low and the candles in the centerpieces are glowing gently, and everything is almost exactly how you pictured it— except for one thing. You’re happier. Much happier than you would have been had things gone to plan today.

You lean back against Gator’s chest, heads pressed together in a comforting weight.

“It is pretty damn beautiful,” he admits, staring past your central table and toward the dance floor that’s only just starting to wind down. 

“All that planning had to count for something,” you agree mildly. “And people aren’t nearly as mad at us as I thought they’d be.”

“They’re drunk,” Gator replies, snorting. “Trust me, when they sober up, they’ll be pissed.”

You huff a light laugh, his cheek resting on your head. “I don’t care,” you tell him.

Gator lets out a small, contented breath. “Yeah, me neither.”

“How’s it feel to be a husband?” You ask him, fingers rubbing up and down on his forearm. One of your hands finds the gold ring now sitting on his ring finger, and you fiddle with it, turning it around and around.

“The same,” he huffs, then snorts again when you pinch his arm. “How’s it feel to be a wife?”

“A wife?” you hum, lazy and contented. “Feels like I’ve gotta step up my casserole game. Your wife?” You pull back, turning to smile at him. “Feels pretty fuckin’ great.”

“Mm,” he smiles back, prodding his nose into your cheek, nuzzling at your skin. “My wife. Sounds kinda nice.”

You give him a flat look, amused. “Oh, you think so?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your cheek. “I like you bein’ mine. All this bein’ mine. Think I’ll probably stick with it for a while.”

Your smile spreads at his teasing, and your hands smooth up his arms as he begins to place kisses across your face. “Hate to break it to you, Alligator, but all this has been yours for a long time.”

The words make something shift in him, evidenced by the tightening of his hands on your body, the deepening of his kisses. “I’m gonna take real good care of you, you know that?” he tells you, the words gentle. “I know,” you murmur, the noise of the reception hall fading into nothing in your head. 

“Every damn day,” he promises, his voice muffled by your jaw. “Gonna give you anything you want, pretty.”

“I really do have you whipped,” you laugh lightly, scratching your nails gently against his arm.

Gator pulls back and meets your eyes, his expression so serious, so overwhelmingly focused on your face. “You gonna put up with me? Even when I’m a total shitbag?” 

Your eyes crinkle as you smile at him, one of your hands coming up to touch his face. “Till I’m nothin’ but bones, baby.”

His lips curve upward, an unbelievable softness entering his dark eyes. “You know I’m gonna love you forever, right?”

“I’m pretty much banking on it,” you whisper, your thumb stroking over his cheek. “It’s a good thing I love you more.”

Gator leans forward and kisses you, so gentle it makes your chest hurt. “Sorry, stupid. Not possible.”

When he kisses you again, you feel that declaration sink into you, melt into your bones, seep into the very core of you. And for a moment, you can’t tell where he ends and you begin. You’re too tangled.

That feeling stays in your chest, tucked away like the secret you etched into stone today, hidden and sacred and beautiful. And it remains there, pressed somewhere between your intertwined arms, deep down where no one else can ever touch it.

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