The Vaughn-Soares Wedding.

The night before:

"If you pour me one more glass of bourbon, we'll be on the edge of the infamous drunk dial."

"I'm surprised he's still capable of comprehending the five million texts you've sent."

A flick of his gaze from the screen of his phone to the face of his father, David, incites a curve of his mouth into something of a sheepish smile. "Yeah." A pause. "Well, I miss him."

There is a chuckle from the taller, blonder man pouring dark liquor to the quarter-point of a whiskey glass. "Three hours, Car. That's all it's been." He passes off the glass to his son before settling onto the couch adjacent to the younger man's position, crossing an ankle over the knee of his opposite leg, fingers clasped in his lap. "Nerves settled in yet?"

His attention briefly diverted from his phone, Carter sets it on the arm of the couch, using his freshly freed hand to scratch fingers over the backside of his scalp. "Honestly?" He swallows, fingertips roaming over the arch of his left brow. "A little."

A shadow of concern darkens over the chiseled, aging features of David's face. He does his best to dampen it before his son can catch sight of it, but fails. "Carter."

"Dad." Before David can respond, Carter raises a hand and sways it dismissively in his direction. "Don't. I'm fine. It's nothing." In spite of his assurance, the anxious drum of fingertips along the rim of his glass contradicts him. The piercing stare of his father is coercion enough to unravel his nerves into nouns and verbs. "I want this: Being his husband. More than I think I can plausibly say I have ever wanted anything." The breath he draws is meant to steady the rise of emotion swelling in the pit of his stomach. "But I was his husband and I fucked that up. History could repeat itself. I could --"

"Carter," his father interjects, the tone of his voice a level of stern that silences Carter for the length of time it takes David to speak. "You have grown. In the span of time since Cale filed for divorce to where we presently sit, you have become more of a man than you have ever been. You lost him once; we are all aware of the tragedy that was for you. That in and of itself is incentive enough to be the husband that you know he needs, let alone the husband that he wants." Without warning, David reaches across the limited space between himself and his son, resting the palm of his hand over the back of Carter's. "You can do this. You will do this."

The younger man's mouth slips into a slight smile. "Or I'll die trying."

Getting ready:

"Hey, Vaughn. Nice penguin suit."

Fingers curl around the widest point on his best man's tie and tug it obnoxiously. "I'd say you clean up nice, but a man should always be honest on his wedding day." The grin lighting the whole of his face has been fixed there since rising earlier that morning. He punctuates his statement with a handful of chuckles before he releases the hold he has on that tie.

"You ready for this?"

Throwing one last glance at his reflection, Carter locks eyes with Emmett in the mirror after making a final adjustment to his own tie. "In that way you feel ready for a performance -- stoked yet assured you'll fuck up every single one of your lines."

"I'd tell you to try that whole underwear trick, but nobody wants to see you pop a boner in those slacks."

"You should be so blessed." A shift in direction from facing the mirror to facing his best friend, Carter claps the palm of his hand down over the other man's shoulder. His expression briefly transitions into something more somber. "Thank you for showering prior to this event."

"If there's anything pop culture has taught me, Vaughn, it's that pussy is most prime at events like this. You can't get laid if you smell like shit."

"In other words," he says, fingers applying the slightest amount of pressure to Emmett's shoulder, the maintenance of his expression bordering on tanking into amusement. "You did it for your dick."

A glance down at the crotch of his pants, brows knitted together to enhance the sobriety of the moment, the tone of Emmett's voice shifts into the vibrato of a serenade. "Everything I do, I do it for you."

In an effort to catch the other man off-guard, a quick flick of Carter's wrist sends a curled cluster of fingers into the center of his stomach, his laughter audible enough to echo off the walls in the confined space of the room. "Get the fuck out." Once Emmett has straightened and recovered from the split-second sock to his midsection, Carter hooks his arm around his shoulders and ushers him toward the door. "No, seriously, we're gonna be late."

Carter's Vows:

Calix Noe Soares,

There are things in this life that I've come to believe that humanity will never fully comprehend. The way the universe works, its capacity to be perpetually late and yet right on time simultaneously, is one of them.

Years from now, when our children ask for the story of how I came to love you, the only honest answer I will be able to give is, 'I didn't.'

In some way, as impossible as it sounds, I have loved you from the moment that we met. I have loved the sideways slide of that smile and the wholehearted way you laugh at even the smallest thing you find funny. I have loved your ability to soothe and subdue the most irrational of my anxieties with little more than the sound of your voice. I have loved the contradiction of heartbeats you incite, the opposing race-and-slow rhythm that only you can cause, and the irrefutable need my body seems to have to be near yours.

Before you, before that moment you stepped into my life with your swim trunks and that smile, I laughed at the notion of soulmates and scoffed at every mention of fate. That wasn't a reality I knew; it was nothing but a string of words attached to a romanticized ideal. You, in little more than a day, challenged that cynicism. You became the living embodiment of that ideal.

Today, after everything that you and I have been through, the universe has worked its way around to gifting us a second chance at the forever we once intended to give one another. I promise you that I will never again take that opportunity for granted. I will love you the way that you need to be loved, in the way that you deserve to be loved, in every second of every moment we spend together for the rest of our lives. I will support you in times of incredible promise and in times of unfortunate sorrow. I will encourage and comfort you, provide for you, and continue to woo you without ceasing. I promise to be the husband you both want and need in all the days of our lives.

Before our family, before our friends, and before God, I take you to be the man I spend the rest of my life falling in love with again and again. I take you to be my partner in all things and my best friend above all others. I take you to be my husband, Cale. For real this time.

The night they met:

"So Emmett, my friend, wants to get together for drinks. He's bringing his best friend, Carter, who happens to be gay. I don't know much about the guy except that he's abrasive. And I'm bringing you, who is the light of my fucking life, bane of my existence or something like that. Just know that I fully support this match, if it happens, and I take full credit for it."
"You know that two people can be gay and not attracted to one another, right?"
"No. I did not know this. I only figured if you were two tops that it wouldn't happen."
"When are you planning this? I might have to make other plans."
"Don't be a douchebag, you're coming."

They'd managed to twist things around in their favor; shitting on any attempt at a blind date scenario. A New Year's Eve meet up at the gym after hours, not a date and yet there's a little bundle of nerves in the pit of Cale's stomach as he gets things arranged at the pool for their hang out time. He's not in any position to be considering dating, the word 'boyfriend' is such a turn off and bitter-tasting reminder of the years-old relationship in his past. It's time to spend with someone, to get to know someone, and that's it. ... And then he arrives.

Right away, he finds himself forgetting about the series of reminders he'd been repeating to himself all night long. Carter's smile shows immediately and it wipes the slate clean, it draws him in, nerves gone. There's something magnetic there (days later, he denies it, yet spends those days in constant communication), where words and touch give life and something new to his existence.

Cale remembers it clear as day: that feather light trail of touch down his abdomen and him asking "are you sure?" with his heart pounding against his chest. He barely hears Carter's near-breathless yes; everything about them in that moment is in sync, natural.

In the future, it's how everything happens with him: naturally.

The night before:

"So Emmett, my friend, wants to get together for drinks. He's bringing his best friend, Carter, who happens to be gay. I don't know much about the guy except that he's abrasive. And I'm bringing you, who is the light of my fucking life, bane of my existence or something like that. Just know that I fully support this match, if it happens, and I take full credit for it."
"You know that two people can be gay and not attracted to one another, right?"
"No. I did not know this. I only figured if you were two tops that it wouldn't happen."
"When are you planning this? I might have to make other plans."
"Don't be a douchebag, you're coming."

They'd managed to twist things around in their favor; shitting on any attempt at a blind date scenario. A New Year's Eve meet up at the gym after hours, not a date and yet there's a little bundle of nerves in the pit of Cale's stomach as he gets things arranged at the pool for their hang out time. He's not in any position to be considering dating, the word 'boyfriend' is sucha turn off and bitter-tasting reminder of the years-old relationship in his past. It's time to spend with someone, to get to know someone, and that's it. ... And then he arrives.

Right away, he finds himself forgetting about the series of reminders he'd been repeating to himself all night long. Carter's smile shows immediately and it wipes the slate clean, it draws him in, nerves gone. There's something magnetic there (days later, he denies it, yet spends those days in constant communication), where words and touch give life and something new to his existence.