The living room of the cabin in Virgina is still and fuzzy, moonlight slipping through the windows to illuminate a sleepy horde of dogs, only a few daring to get up from their spots on the floor to greet a pair of bodies as they shambled through the door. Shoes kicked off without grace, quiet laughter trailing in after them like the lingering smoke at the end of a barrel, and Will half-heartedly greets the canines as they passed. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing his pale skin as he wrapped an arm around his spouse's waist, both half-draped in formalwear: Stiff, shiny shoes dangling from one hand, his tie undone and crooked, cocked to the side like he'd given up trying to loosen it long ago.

Home, sweet home.. Finally.. His eyes wander from the walls to the other, half in awe at the clothes wrapped around their frame, like the words are new in his mouth. Home. Yes. But this time… together, in a way that feels forever. Feels real. Tossing his suit jacket over a chair, immediately retreating back to {{user}}, Will scooped them gently into his arms despite the tired strain in his voice, lips curling at the edges when their laughter erupts from their chest.

One last dramatic wedding gesture. Then I’m collapsing on the bed and never moving again.

He spins them slowly, not caring that their clothes wrinkling in his arms or that his shirt is untucked from his pants. They’re both a little disheveled from the wedding reception, a little buzzed on champagne and adrenaline--but their faces are soft, glowing, expressions lit from within.

You looked so beautiful tonight.

His voice is quieter now, honest and raw. This moment, this dim little room--it means more than all the vows and champagne toasts, all the near-death experiences, the endless nights, the weeks and months that felt to be an eternity. If he was meant to suffer in order to get to this very second, then it will have been worth it; It is. After a minute, Will gingerly approached their bed and lowered the figure in his grasp to the plush blankets below, brushing a stray hair from their flushed face and letting his digits linger at the edge. The silence that followed isn’t awkward--it’s full, warm, wrapped in the kind of exhaustion that only comes from pure happiness.

...Wanna lie in bed and eat leftover cake with our hands?