So I thought I would try my hand at fanfic. Here’s the result of my first attempt at it. If you have any constructive criticism please send it my way-I’m keen to see where I could do better. I apologise for the suckage in advance. It IS my first time writing fanfic. Of course it’s gonna suck.
Thanks for reading in advance.
Also available on my personal: thefloorlamp on Tumblr.
In sum: It’s Fridtjof’s wedding day.
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They stood together, alone, just the two of them, in a small room near the back of the church.
Jakob cracked the door open and peered through. Guests were slowly streaming in, and the church was nearly full. The church was alive with the hubble and bubble of the guests’ idle chatter. The waiting was killing him, and he could see it was killing Fridts too.
Fridtjof was pacing up and down the room, twisting and fiddling at the little silver cufflinks-the ones Jakob had given to him as a gift-at his wrists. His wide blue eyes darted around the room anxiously. It wasn’t like him to be so jittery, thought Jakob. Nothing ever really fazed him.
At least, almost nothing.
‘Hey,’ said Fridtjof, suddenly stopping in front of the other. Jakob swore he could see his hands shaking. ‘Am I okay to go?’
‘Hold it. Lemme check.’ He carefully scanned Fridtjof’s appearance.
Just then, Jakob saw something on his suit shoulder.
'Wait.' He plucked at the stray piece of lint and flicked it away. ‘There we go.’
Jakob stood back for a moment, checking again to make sure.
‘You okay?’ he finally said. ‘You seem nervous.’
‘That’s because I am.’ Fridtjof said. He craned his neck to the ceiling and sighed. ‘What if she doesn’t turn up? What if she is the one, but she is not the one?’ His voice grew panicked. ‘What if it doesn’t work out? God, I don’t wanna deal with her fucking mother either! What if-‘
‘Calm down.’ Jakob placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders. ‘You’ve got this.’ The ball of jealousy and nerves flared in his stomach. ‘She loves you. You love her. It’s simple. Whatever happens, you’ll be okay. Got it?’
Fridtjof swallowed nervously.
‘Look at me,’ said Jakob. Fridts did as he was asked, lowering his head, so the two were eye-to-eye. ‘You’ve got this.’
‘I’ve got this,’ repeated Fridtjof, taking a deep breath. ‘It’s gonna be fine.’
‘Yes, it will be.’ Jakob smiled reassuringly. And so will I, he thought. Or so I hope.
‘Jesus.’ Fridtjof laughed, embarrassed. ‘Sorry about that.’
They both fell silent, the chatter bubbling in the background and his own anxiety bubbling in his stomach. Jakob felt the familiar urge to raise his hand and ruffle that head of hair like he used to, back when things were simpler and happier and-
‘You look awesome,’ said Fridts, snapping Jakob out of his reverie.
‘Wha-?’
‘You drifted off, ‘ he said. ‘I said you look awesome.’
‘I know.’ Jakob grinned. ‘Don’t get too jealous.’
‘Well, shit. ‘ Fridtjof threw his hands up in mock indignation. ‘You got me.’
‘You better be.’
His mind briefly flashed back to that painful November evening, so long ago. Fridts had told him that he wasn’t enough, that he didn’t like his tendency to shy away from conflict, that he’d lost his trust forever, that he drank too much, that he was too stubborn for his own good…
Worst part was, Fridts was right, though Jakob. He’d screwed it up, and there was no going back. He’d tried to change, he really had-he swore to God-but it wasn’t enough. It was too little, too late.
They’d eventually agreed.
It was for the best.
They’d had their chance, and they’d-he’d-blown it.
He sighed and absently glanced at his watch. I swear to God, if she fucks this up…
‘Shit.’ Jakob glanced at the door.
‘What?’
‘It’s quarter to,’ he said. ‘She’s supposed to be here at 2. You ready?’
Fridtjof shut his eyes, as if to collect himself, and drew a deep breath.
‘Fuck, I hope so.’
‘Don’t worry, man.’ Jakob moved to the door and opened it. ‘You’ve got this. You first.’
They walked out, together, Jakob following Fridtjof.
This was for the best, Jakob reminded himself as he strode along the aisle. We’d had our chance together, and I blew it.
