May 3rd, 2023 -- 15 months later
Omniscient POV
It was thirty minutes to, and Yuri was rethinking the flowers. They'd gone with fluffy, plum-colored wisteria as the centerpiece for the arrangements and white peonies to add a bit of contrast, but now, as Yuri looked at the purple and white flowers woven into his hair and in the silly little bouquet he would carry, he thought it might've been a mistake.
Who used wisteria for weddings? Who did that?! He'd been all for an original, no,-roses-are-so-cliche-you-dumbfuck,-Victor choice, and he and Otabek definitely fit with a less stuffy, traditional vibe, but, really, roses might have been the safer option.
Fuck. Yuri had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from biting them (he'd had them done, for once in his life, and for how much it cost -- he refused to believe that beauty should be so expensive -- he was not going to fuck them up so close to the ceremony). But, what if they looked back on the photos ten years from now and both he and Otabek thought the flowers looked stupid? It would put a damper on the memory of today, and Yuri didn't want anything to ruin this.
***
It was twenty minutes to, and Yuri was regretting his choice of 'groomsmen'. Why the hell had he picked Mila?! Okay, so maybe she was great at hair and makeup, and maybe she'd figured out how to make his shoes shiny but not too shiny as to look Victor-level stupid, and maybe she had been the perfect choice, but had he forgotten about her personality?
Yuri glanced over to the other side of the room where Mila, Yuuri, and Victor (he'd been forced to let the latter two into the wedding procession) were singing karaoke. Karaoke. At a wedding! What the actual fuck?
"Yuriiiiii, come sing with us! We can put on a love song!" Yuri smacked his head against the wall -- carefully, so as not to mess up his hair --; how was he going to survive long enough to get married?
***
It was fifteen minutes to, and Yuri was having a heart attack. An actual, honest-to-god, how-the-fuck-is-this-happening-I-don't-deserve-this-bullshit heart attack. Because Mila had gotten out the champagne. And all hell had broken loose.
He'd been in the bathroom when it had happened, unable to intervene when Yuuri began to drink, and Victor began to drink, and Mila began to drink-- again. When he'd come out it had been to an empty bottle and a dancing pig.
No.
Thankfully, Victor was Russian and a third of a bottle of light alcohol wouldn't trash him, and Mila, though she'd had considerably more, was also still relatively clear-headed. Yuuri, however, was neither Russian nor clear-headed, and, for a moment, Yuri thought they'd have to cancel the wedding.
Thankfully, he came back into his right mind quickly enough to write off the idea as utterly ridiculous and help Mila and Victor our coffee down Yuuri's throat before Victor put the man's pants back on.
***
It was ten minutes to, and Yuri was trying very hard not to cry. His grandfather had just come into the room, looking prouder than Yuri had ever seen him, and sat Yuri down for a talk. He'd told him, with happy tears in his eyes, that he was so glad he'd lived long enough to see this day, and that, more than anything, he knew that Yuri's grandmother would've loved to be here too. Then, the old man had patted Yuri's hand and had given him a huge hug, one accompanied by the words,
"And if you ever hurt that boy, there will be hell to pay."
It was ten minutes to, and Yuri wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
***
It was five minutes to, and, with every fiber of Yuri's being, he was trying not to puke. How was he this nervous? Why was he this nervous? He hadn't acted like this since his first senior Grand Prix, and now he couldn't really call JJ a shithead and throw himself into a vicious triple Axel to get over it.
Well, he considered, he could, but it might seem a bit out of place, even at two skaters' wedding.
***
It was three minutes to, and Yuri was stationed in front of the makeup vanity with Mila feverishly working on his face. Katsudon was now coherent, and Mila and Victor were more or less sober, but Yuri, being the idiot he now freely admitted to being, had wanted a cup of coffee, and had not envisioned the possible results.
His suit was fine, thank god, if coffee had stained it, they never would've been able to get it out, but he now had a dark smudge-y ring around his mouth, and Mila was working faster than she had ever worked before to remove all of the makeup near the coffee stain, reapply it to look normal again, and blend it so Yuri didn't look like Frankenstein's monster.
It was three minutes to, and Yuri seriously thought he might throw up again.
***
It was two minutes to, and Yuri's makeup looked normal again -- he'd have to remember to buy Mila a car or something after that magic -- and, much to Yuri's surprise, there was no major catastrophe. Out of everything that had gone wrong that day, how was there not a news alert that a nuclear war had just been started on his phone yet?
Yuri was overcompensating, he knew he was overcompensating, but how was there nothing wrong? The makeup was fixed, the hair was done, the groomsmen weren't drunk -- noticeably, anyway -- and everything was going perfectly. This wasn't right. How was there nothing left to worry about?! Weren't grooms supposed to be foaming-at-the-mouth worried that something would go wrong on their wedding day? As far as Yuri knew, nothing was wrong. Nothing he could think of would be wrong, except -- fuck.
Otabek could be wrong.
Otabek could be getting cold feet.
Otabek could be, at this very moment, while Yuri was safe and waiting in his dressing room, be running, escaping through a window never to be seen again. And who would blame him? They were crazy young -- 22 and 25, what were they thinking, getting married at such ages? Marriages so young almost never worked out!
What if they got a divorce? What if Otabek stopped loving him? What if Otabek resented him for making him move to Saint Petersburg -- all logic had clearly gone flying out the window by now, for Otabek had been living in Russia for years at that point --?
If they didn't work out, Yuri wouldn't be able to handle it. He'd die, die of a broken heart like one of those stupid characters on TV that he'd always mocked for being so pathetic. He was that pathetic now. Oh, God.
***
It was thirty seconds to, and Yuuri was talking Yuri down from a panic attack.
Yes, Otabek was still there (Victor had checked). No, Otabek wouldn't resent Yuri for making him move to Saint Petersburg (here the Russia logic came in). No, Otabek wouldn't leave him (Yuuri and Victor had given him a very strict talking to before they'd met Yuri to get ready earlier that day). And, no, 22 wasn't too young to get married, and they wouldn't regret it.
Yuuri had said, calmly, kindly, that, most of the time, 22 would be too young, but for Yuri and Otabek, it had been a long time coming. He'd also said that the marriage wasn't a spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment type thing: they'd been engaged for over a year -- plenty of time to back out --, they'd planned the whole thing -- why waste so much money if they weren't 100% sure? --, and, overall, Yuri and Otabek belonged together. They loved each other, and Yuuri had no doubt in his mind that they would spend the rest of their lives together.
It was thirty seconds to, and Yuri took a deep breath, ready to walk down the aisle.
***
It was now, and, as the doors opened, and Yuri saw Otabek waiting for him, smiling and looking happier than Yuri had ever seen him, all of Yuri's worries went flying out the window.
**A/N**
Well, this is the end, folks. It's been a long ride. Thanks to anyone still reading this, and anyone reading it in the future. I've treasured this journey, and I'll see you guys again soon. ♥
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