This is a reaction fic to a manip I saw on Tumblr. I do not know the creator of the manip; if you do, please let me know, so I can give credit where credit is due. I recommend looking at the manip before reading the fic, because CUTE. You can find it here (once you take out the spaces): b i t . l y / JabWEA
Nerves
He knows he's not having a heart attack, because his father told him all about what it feels like to have a heart attack, and this isn't it. Sure, the heart-in-the-throat thing is the same, but his dad didn't say anything about hands shaking so hard they were a blur in his lap, or a leg jiggling up and down like someone had stuck a quarter in it. He certainly didn't mention a violent need regurgitate every meal he'd ever eaten ever. Is this what a stroke feels like? Maybe he's having a stroke.
He pushes himself off the loveseat of the little room and begins pacing. He's almost dressed for the occasion, with his undone bowtie resting around his neck and his tuxedo jacket, boutonnière in place, waiting on the back of the desk chair. He can't even remember putting his shoes on, much less tying the laces. He looks down; they are more or less tied correctly.
His phone buzzes on his desk, but he ignores it. He knows for a fact that if he tried to text, all he would manage is an incoherent keysmash, and if he has to answer an actual call, he will probably squeak and vomit. No, communication with the outside world will have to wait until it absolutely can't.
He's purposefully ignoring the full-length mirror standing opposite the door. Somehow, through the body-numbing terror he has the presence of mind to know he will look a mess right now, skin flushed, hair pulled every which way, eyes wild with fear. Acknowledging that image will only make the anxiety worse, he's sure.
The phone finally stops buzzing, and he's not sure if he's relieved or not. The grandfather clock in the hall chimes eleven o'clock, and he knows, he knows he needs to man up and finish getting ready.
He just—can't.
He stops his pacing again and stares out the window. They chose November because of the colors, and because of two important anniversaries. Plus, a honeymoon in Key West is a lot more enjoyable when you're leaving behind nights that dip below freezing. The vibrant trees are accented with just the barest hint of snow, like New York is telling them to enjoy the foliage while they can. They could not have picked a more beautiful day if they had a crystal ball.
A soft, inquisitive knock on the door jolts him out of his reverie. "Kurt?" The voice is tentative, familiar and welcome. "You're not answering your phone, and…we were just starting to worry. Can I—can I come in?"
When he doesn't answer immediately, a new voice squawks, "Oh my god, he ran didn't he, I had a bad feeling about this, we have to fi—"
"Rachel, please, you are not helping. Just…can you go check on the musicians? Please?"
"Fine."
The knock again. "Kurt?"
He clears his throat. "Ye-yeah."
The door creaks open, and the most beautiful face in the world peeks in. "Hey, how are you?"
Kurt turns to face him, and now he knows he looks a mess, because Blaine reacts at once. "Oh, sweetie…" He enters the room, door swinging shut behind him. "Are you—are you okay?"
Kurt falls into his open arms as easily as breathing. "I'm…I'm okay. I'm just…"
"Nervous?" He nods into Blaine's collarbone. "The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was check my phone for a text from you. The second thing I did was throw up."
Kurt looks at him in alarm. "You're nervous, too?"
Blaine lets out a laugh that Kurt wants to hear every day for the rest of his life. "Are you kidding? We're getting married, and we're not even legally allowed to drink the champagne we're having at our own reception. I think we have more than enough to be nervous about."
"It's not because…" Kurt swallows thickly. "It's not because you're not sure we'll work, right?"
Blaine doesn't answer. Instead, he takes Kurt's hand in his own and leads him to the little loveseat. He lies down, lower back rest against the arm, careful not to wrinkle his suit pants, and helps Kurt lie down against him, back to his chest. "Do you remember…opening night of West Side Story, after the show, on stage?" Kurt nods, playing with Blaine's fingers on his stomach. "I was so in my head, because I was a complete and utter douche to you the night before, and I wasn't sure you were ever going to speak to me again.
"But then you came in, looking honestly unfairly attractive, I mean really—" Kurt jabs his elbow into him a little, with a smile. "—and you reminded me that I have a safe space in you, a place where I can be the world's biggest idiot and still be loved.
"And then you invited—well, yourself, I guess, back to my place. And I knew what was coming next and I was terrified, right down to my core."
Kurt turned a bit on the loveseat in surprise. "You were?"
"Of course. For about a second and a half. And then I was totally and completely unafraid. Because I knew whatever we were going to do that night, we were going to do it together, and there is no one else I would rather go on life's amazing adventures with than you."
Kurt sniffles a little bit. "It's not time for vows yet, Anderson."
Blaine whispers in his ear, "Won't be able to call me that for very much longer."
They're silent for a little while, and then Blaine asks, "Is this because…you know. What I did."
"No!" Kurt stands quickly, tripping a bit over Blaine's leg. "No. I have no doubt in you whatsoever. I know…we went through a rough patch. It didn't start with…that, and we've talked through it a million times. I trust you with every facet of my being. That is not at all the issue here."
"Do you know what is?"
"It's stupid," Kurt whispers, looking away.
Blaine stands, takes Kurt's face in his hands. "Nothing you say will ever be stupid." He pauses. "With the exception of that time you said I maybe know too many female power ballads. That was pretty dumb."
Kurt rolls his eyes. "I guess…I'm afraid of messing up."
"What do you mean?"
"Going out there, tripping down the aisle, realizing the bridesmaids' dresses clash horribly with the floral arrangements, forgetting my vows, dropping the ring, do I need to go on?"
"No." Blaine kisses him fully on the lips. "No you don't, you silly man. Have I told you today how lucky I am that I get to marry you?"
"No, and it certainly wouldn't hurt."
"I'll tell you in a little bit. Gotta save something for the vows. Come on." Blaine herds him over to the mirror, where with a few swoops of his fingers he fixes Kurt's hair. He carefully applies a touch more makeup to hide some of the red. Kurt sags under the pads of his fingers, like butter melting. Blaine turns him to face the mirror fully and moves behind him. "Time for the most important part of the ensemble."
"I can do my own bowtie, Blaine," Kurt insists, but Blaine knocks his hands away. "Only one of us in this marriage is the Bowtie King, and I think we can both agree it's not you."
"Just because I don't have an unhealthy obsession—"
"Shh, I'm doing something romantic and husbandly."
And he is, gracefully looping the halves of the fabric around each other until a flawless bow sits beautifully at the base of Kurt's neck. Blaine rests his chin on Kurt's shoulder for a moment, hands on his stomach, gazing at their reflections. "We make one gorgeous newlywed couple."
"Yeah, I guess I'll keep you."
"Good, because trying to score another hot one? In this town? Impossible."
"Don't push it, Anderson."
They're just about to kiss again when a harsh bangbangbang interrupts them. "Is he in there?"
Blaine rolls his eyes. "No, Rachel, I've been in here by myself for the past ten minutes, trying will Kurt back into the room with my mind."
"Well hurry up! You left your jacket in your dressing room and the Warblers have some questions for you!"
"Alright, alright, I'm on my way. Let me just say goodbye to my fiancé—won't be saying that ever again."
"Mm, you better not," Kurt murmurs against his lips.
Blaine looks him in the eyes. "So are we good? Ready to get married?"
"More than anything."
Blaine kisses his fiancé for the last time and then leaves the room, humming a tune just under his breath.
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
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