Lutteo one shots

A little fresa wedding III

Last part up and I hope you enjoy it!

The same procedure as every year, James: ac-ars and sky-girls on Tumblr the name Rory first. I used my own brain to end up with this name (also because of my roommate who is obsessed with Gilmore Girls and keeps trying to talk me into watching it), which is why I didn't give them any credit.

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Pt.V - First dance

Luna is completely sober. Not a single drop of alcohol is running through her veins. But she doesn't feel sober.

The DJ announces the first dance, and hand in hand, she walks over to the dancefloor with Matteo, the edges and corners of the room slightly blurry in her vision. She feels tipsy like she was with 18, when Matteo came back from a studio session to an empty house and they felt silly enough to buy a bottle of cheap booze and lock themselves into the storage room. Kissing and drinking and talking, they ended up laughing so hard she got a hiccup that didn't stop for an hour.

The fun she had was worth the terrible headache the morning after.

She feels tipsy like that again, tipsy on Matteo's smile, on the little kisses they sneak in between every few minutes, on the new ring gracing her finger. She feels tipsy, but outright drunk at the smirk which unfolds on her husband's face. (Husband.)

"Don't stumble over your own feet, chica delivery," he whispers. Luna rests her hands on his cheek as she pulls a grimace at him, thinking of one of the last lessons. "Better follow your own advice, chico fresa."

He laughs and places his hand on her waist from behind while the other hand embraces hers, like they practiced so many times before. "Esposo fresa, please."

"My bad," she replies, although it gets drowned in the beginning music – a ballad. Simón wrote it for them as an early wedding gift, and every tune, every beat is made to match them and their movements. The first time he played it for them, she cried endlessly, while she spotted some tears in Matteo's eyes as well. Now they heard it more times in rehearsals than she can count, but to her joy, the song doesn't feel worn out, like most hits on the radio.

No, this song is still magical to her.

Simón's voice carries her away from everyone and everything, his words let her relive her relationship to her favorite fresa throughout the years. They dance, and nothing around them exists or matters anymore. Not the chandeliers in their brilliance, not the bouquets blending in with the decoration. Not the afternoon sun falling into the ballroom, casting every table and guest in a golden light. Nothing exists beside Matteo and the music and the choreography Juliana drilled into them.

The dance itself is a work of art, if not her trainer's masterpiece.

Each step allows them to be close. With each turn, her dress whirls around her legs. Luna feels like she's living a fairy tale, the one where a princess meets her one true love and dances with him into her Happily Ever After. Matteo's eyes never leave her, filled with adoration and the promise to always catch her, even when she already knows he will.

Although they're not wearing skates, she swears they are flying.

It's better than flying, even, it reminds her of skating at the Olympics. Back during the competition, Luna thought nothing could ever be better than gliding over the ground there, than jumping and twisting and turning in front of the whole world cheering for her, better than finding herself with a golden medal around her neck as she sobbed and smiled for the cameras.

She was wrong. This is better than any competition, any Olympics, any medal. No one is judging her here, no one is expecting this or that from her, no one is following her every move, trying to spot the smallest mistake. Here, her loved ones want to celebrate with her. Here, she's free as a bird moving on the floor. She's not afraid, she is more certain than ever that she won't fall, because she's with him and he'll catch her, always.