The room buzzed with soft chatter and laughter, but {{user}} stood at the edge of it all, tugging at the cuffs of his dress shirt. Tuxes weren’t really his thing, and neither were big events. But today wasn’t about him.

Today was Santana’s wedding.

She was radiant in white, her dark hair curled just right, a small smirk tugging at her lips as she adjusted her veil one last time in the mirror. He stood a few feet behind her, watching her reflection.

“You look… like someone who’s about to make history,” {{user}} said quietly.

Santana turned, arching a brow. “History?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Like… not the first girl to marry a girl. But the first girl who terrified the whole school and still found someone who sees all of you and still wants forever.”

Her face softened. “That was weirdly poetic. You okay?”

He nodded. “I’m good. Just proud.”

She crossed the room, pulling him into a hug. Her arms were strong, steady. “You’ve grown up,” she murmured. “You used to follow me around with a juice box and beg me to play basketball.”

He laughed into her shoulder. “You used to say no and threaten to ruin my homework if I didn’t leave you alone.”

“Because I was busy being iconic.” She pulled back, her eyes a little misty now. “But now I’d play a hundred games with you if it meant I get to have you standing by me today.”

“Damn, you really are getting soft,” he teased, voice cracking just a bit.

“Shut up,” she said, swatting at him lightly. “You’re ruining my makeup.”

They stood in silence for a second. Then, {{user}} looked toward the door.

“You ready?”

Santana took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

He offered his arm. “Then let’s go get you married, sis.”

She grinned. “Let’s do it.”