Snow Globe Moments

Stupid and Cute

Gerard hates suits.

Gerard doesn't hate suits, actually, it's just hot.

Except they're standing in the snow in the middle of Central Park in December, it's not hot.

Gerard just doesn't like ties.

Gerard loves ties, really, he thinks they're dapper, and it probably has something to do with the way he got so used to wearing a clerical collar for years.

Fuck, he doesn't want to think about that right now. No priest thinking. Not allowed. Not here, not now.

The only thing he's allowed to think about now is that the park is beautiful. And it would be a lot more beautiful if he could focus.

As it stands, he can't breathe, and his hands hurt because they've been clenched so tightly into fists in his pockets that they're losing blood flow. The cold isn't fucking helping, either, and he has a split second of wondering 'who's fucking idea was this anyway?' when he remembers that the answer is him.

A snowy Christmas Eve wedding was his idea. Romantic, and stupid, and cute.

Or it would be, if it wasn't already thirty-five (yes he's counting) minutes past the starting time, and Gerard wasn't standing on the bank of The Pond staring holes into the side of Gapstow bridge behind him. It's a miracle it hasn't crumbled yet from the intensity of the gaze, really. He's not even sure if he's blinked in the last five minutes.

"Gee," Mikey's hand is on his elbow and Gerard takes a deep breath and gives his head a minute shake.

"Please don't," he whispers, chewing at the inside of his cheek.

"It's– I mean it's Christmas Eve."

"I know."

"He'll be here," Sky says gently.

Gerard shakes his head again, sniffling because of the way the winter wind is stinging his nose. "I know."

"He will," Mikey's hand hasn't moved. "Take a breath. It's just... Traffic."

"Or he's, I dunno," Gerard shrugs, "Changed his mind."

Sky has completely bypassed Gerard's brother and brings herself around to Gerard's front, smoothing her glove-covered hands over the lapels of his coat, "He didn't change his mind. He wouldn't," she tells him firmly. "Don't go there. He's just late."

"He's either not coming, or he's dead," Gerard says, trying to ignore the way his stomach contracts at the possibility of either of those things being true. "I can't think of any other reason that he wouldn't be here, Sky. Why would he be late?"

"Traffic," Mikey says again, and now he's got both of his hands on Gerard's shoulders, squeezing there, like he's trying to anchor his brother to the ground. "It's only been like fifteen minutes, dude. I've sat in traffic for longer on a random Tuesday, let alone Christmas Eve. Calm down."

Gerard's head jerks and he glares daggers at his little brother. "Please tell me that you didn't just say the words 'calm down' to me while I am standing at the proverbial altar by myself because my fiancé is late to our wedding," he snaps. "And it's been over half a fucking hour."

Sky makes a face and a 'cut it out' gesture across her throat at Mikey. At least the fucker has the decency to mutter out an apology before Sky reaches up to grab Gerard's face in her hands and turn it back towards her. "He will be here. He's not dead. Like Mikey said, it's New York City on Christmas Eve."

Gerard is more than aware that he's frowning, or maybe still glaring - a residual side effect of having to deal with Mikey and his big mouth.

Sky literally places her index fingers on the corners of his mouth and pushes them up. "All smiles," she says, "Wedding day. So happy."