Peter ambled peacefully through the streets of San Francisco. His full tuxedo drew just a few side-eyed glances in the steady eccentricity of the town. Johnny had hired a tailor to come out to his home that afternoon. All of the boys from the bridal party would get their measurements taken at once, so the tailor could take in Mark's hilariously huge jacket and make the final touches for the others. Peter remembered Johnny's child-like exuberance when he asked him to be a groomsman, and the image brought a slanted smile to his face. He didn't have heart to tell him he couldn't do it.
He pulled back his sleeve and shielded his wrist from the high-riding sun with his left hand. He stared vacantly at the numbers on his timer.
A sudden clap on his shoulder startled him. Mark stood beside him, his uneasy smile melting away as he saw Peter's fear. Peter looked away, embarrassed, and quickly fixed his sleeve. He had forgiven Mark for...the incident, and it was time to act like it. He smiled sheepishly and the two walked together until they could see the private exterior entrance to Johnny's apartment. As they watched Denny go inside, Mark stumbled, nearly tripping on his shoelaces. He told Peter to go on ahead and he'd catch up with him in a second.
Peter rang the doorbell and was greeted by the tuxedo-clad Denny, who was inexplicably holding a football. Peter hid his affectionate confusion as he crossed the room to the chair Johnny indicated. Mark followed a second later, as promised, and the other three men fawned over his slick, shaven face. Peter, in his panic, hadn't noticed it.
Johnny had just gotten off the phone with the tailor. He was running fifteen minutes late, so they had some time to kill. Fortunately, Denny had a contingency plan.
"You guys wanna play some football?" he asked.
"In tuxes?" Peter asked. Then, seeing an opportunity, he continued. "No, you gotta be kidding."
Denny sought allies. "Come on, Mark, let's do it."
"I'm up for it!" the babyface exclaimed.
"Johnny?" Denny asked.
Johnny shrugged. "Ask Peter." Peter's excitement swelled. He faced away from Denny to avoid tipping his cards.
"Come on, Peter!" Denny needled.
"No, I don't think so," he cracked a crooked smile. No one could see it.
"Please?"
Peter shook his head. "No," he said, stifling laughter.
"Come onnnn," Denny pleaded. The three of them burst into a jeering chicken song.
"Cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep," they chanted.
Peter grinned. He had never let them convince him before. It had finally worked for them: a magical day.
They rushed out to the alleyway beside the building and started tossing the pigskin. Each man asserted his masculinity in magnificent tosses and elaborate corkscrews. Peter was elated. He wished the moment could last forever. Mark told him to go long, and he excitedly scrambled up the asphalt. His right foot caught on an unseen bump, sending him crashing to the ground.
He wasn't hurt. Instead, he was healed– blessed by the sound of his friends rushing to his aid.
"Gee, Peter, you're clumsy," Denny joked as they gathered around him.
Peter smiled again. "That's it," he reflected sagely. "I'm done."
He was uplifted by his friends– spiritually and literally. He turned to the mischievous young sprite and gazed at him appreciatively.
"Great idea, Denny," he said.
The Ministry took him that night.