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“Spiffy.” She’s leaned up against the door frame of the makeshift dressing room, a little awkward in a gown that’s slightly lopsided, the skirt too low and the bodice sagging around the ribs. It’s not what he would’ve expected from Alex. Super fitted - or it will be, once it’s all done up - all lace and mature elegance. The smooth look of it, the perfectly done hair and makeup, it clashes with the crooked smirk on her lips.
“Thanks,” Jonas smirks back for all of a half-second— an impulse reaction to that look. He glances down at his suit (something designer, he doesn’t know, he just had to go get measured however many months ago and wait for it to show up), and shifts awkwardly foot to foot. “Steph handled most of it.” The type-A sister of the groom. “Bridesmaids, groomsmen, all of it.” He picks at the cufflinks, lips pursing. Never had to wear cufflinks in his life before now. “Got to pick my own shirt at least,” he concedes, wryly. (Even if all the options were chosen for him.)
“Well.” She smooths out his collar, flattening the lapels of his (pretentious, in his opinion, and way too hot) three-piece suit, smiling up at him with that slightly teasing look he’s so used to. Like she’s trying not to snicker. There’s a short amused exhale before she turns, giving him the invitation to follow her inside. “You look nice.”
“So do you.” Jonas closes the door behind them, eyes skirting over the room. The whole property is kind of… well, spotless white wicker and delicate flower arrangements everywhere. It’s clean and perfect and off-puttingly ideal for a wedding. Her wedding.
“Nice? Really?” She turns on him again, leaning against the little linen-draped side table where her bouquet is patiently awaiting its walk down the aisle. “It’s like the most important day of my life and the best I get is ‘nice?’”
“You look beautiful,” Jonas amends, hands shoved into his pockets. But you always look beautiful.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about, much better.” Alex grins. She turns to the full length mirror, a hand coming up to idly poke at her perfectly-coiffed hair. Back to its natural brown after all the colors she’d tried through college. Before getting together with Jason. Now it’s super smooth, tamed into some complex updo. Distractedly, she adds a quieter, “thanks,” as her grin lessens to a smile, then to something more focused. Concerned.
Fingers pluck at the lace of her dress, and she sighs. When she speaks again, it’s with a rueful smile, a bit of deadpan humor. “I feel like meat in a sausage casing. I think I gained like five pounds since this was tailored, and that’s enough to make it feel snug.”
“Christ,” Jonas mutters, shaking his head.
“But we suffer for beauty, right?” It’s sarcastic, shooting him a darkly amused look in the mirror before an unimpressed, “Pft.”
The room goes quiet again. Alex keeps fidgeting, playing with heavy jeweled earrings that would probably look too gaudy in any other circumstance— no doubt a gift from Jason’s parents. The new in-laws seemed keen on expensive jewelry, even if Jason himself had picked out something simple for the engagement. Jonas can’t help but stare at her in the mirror, trying to read her expression, to gauge her thoughts. “…How are you feeling?”
“Honestly?” There’s a brief pause, and Alex sighs, turning to face him. “My head is killing me, there’s like fifteen bobby pins jammed into my skull.” She pokes at her hair briefly, about to rub her eyes before remembering she’s got the whole professional makeup thing done, and instead going back to picking at the lace. “And I can’t get into this without a little assistance. And I’m thanking god that these heels are comfortable ‘cause I already know I’m gonna be stuck pacing around waiting for my grand entrance or whatever.” Her playful mood has dissipated, the anxiety coming through clear as day as she rolls her eyes.
“Can I help?” It’s his job, after all. Man of Honor and all that.
She manages a sheepish - grateful - smile. “Help me do up the back?” It’s a simple enough request. He’d almost expected it to come earlier; she’s been waiting around half-fastened.
She steps up onto the little step (he knows it’s not just a display stand, but it seems like one) in front of the mirror, bringing her a little closer to his level. Jonas takes up his place behind her, and she holds the bodice in place as he tugs the zipper up to the top and starts on the multitude of little buttons.
“…God, the boning in this thing is like a straitjacket lovingly hugging my ribs,” Alex murmurs wryly.
Jonas glances to her in the mirror, and she’s staring down at her skirt, kicking her knees out a bit, missing the mobility that would’ve come from a different cut. It’s not how he’d expect a woman to look at her wedding dress. Carefully, he broaches the subject. “…I know it’s kinda… kinda rude, but-”
She reads his mind. “It looks good.” That’s why. Why she picked a dress that’s suffocating her. “I like how I look in it, I do.” It’s like she’s arguing, trying to convince him - or maybe herself - that the choice makes sense.
“But not how you feel.”
Her eyes flick up to meet his in the mirror. His observation hangs for a moment. Both of them know that this isn’t just about the dress.
“…Jonas…” It’s a wary tone, not exactly pleading, but he can feel how uncomfortable she is with the statement.
“Look, it— it’s not my place, but—” Why is he still talking? He doesn’t need to be saying this, he should let her be happy, let her enjoy this. “I just… Do you really want this?”
There is so much doubt in her, it’s palpable.
Alex doesn’t confirm. But she doesn’t deny it, either.
Right. So that’s a yes. Yes, she wants to do this, and he’s going to have to accept it. To accept that this is what she wants, and it’s not his place to change that.
Jonas sighs, turns his attention back to the line of buttons, deftly tucking them into their loops one by one. This whole contraption is ridiculous. Gorgeous, yes, but patently not Alex. Anything this restrictive is not Alex. She fidgets as he reaches the top of the bodice, and he briefly puts a hand on her waist to keep her still before going for the last few buttons at her neck. The goosebumps breaking out over her skin aren’t lost on him. He decides to blame it on air conditioning.
When it’s all done up, his hands smooth out over her shoulders, giving her a comforting little squeeze. There’s only a fraction of hesitation before he ducks to press lips to her neck briefly. It’s meant to be reassuring. Like a peck on the top of her head, but not. At least, he tells himself that as he draws back. But he glances into the mirror and she’s staring at him and he knows that look. He’s seen it before, when they were younger. And he saw it not too long ago, even if it was a lot more obvious then - less guarded, though that was almost assuredly due to the whole alcohol thing.
Her breath catches - or maybe it’s his - and he freezes for a moment. She looks pained. Guilty. Wanting.
Fuck, he’s an idiot.
They’ve been silent for too long, he needs to stop. Jonas’s hands slip from her shoulders, blinking and glancing away, turning back—
But Alex is faster than she looks, and has already turned and has a hold on his tie, pulling it loose from his vest, and she’s tugging him back to face her again.
There’s a second of pause where he just waits. Looks from eye to eye, trying to read the mix of emotions flickering there.
Then she softens. She glances down for a second, and he can feel her gaze on his lips. Alex gives a gentle tug at his tie again, and he’s helpless to argue. Her mouth presses against his and his eyes are closed tight, trying not to think about all of the things wrong with this picture. Trying not to think about all the feelings he’s had for her since forever. Trying not to think about how she deserves so much better than the man who’ll be waiting for her at the altar, who’s already decided he’s going to spend his life with her, who she’s decided to spend her life with as well. Or at least, Jonas thought she had. Do you really want this?
It feels like the kiss - chaste as it is - goes on too long. When Alex pulls away, she looks more conflicted than ever.
“…Is that a no, then?” It’s only partially a joke. If it’s a joke at all. Jonas really isn’t sure.
“That’s a— this is a lot.” She glances down again, releasing his tie, settling it back into place, fiddling with his jacket again. “And I don’t-” Alex nips at her lip for a second, looking guilty. “I mean, getting cold feet is normal-”
Nope. That’s a yes. That’s a she’s feeling vulnerable and you’re not helping and it’s a big neon sign screaming wrong from all angles. Jonas jerks back, but she’s got hands in his lapels this time, and he has to stop to keep from pulling her off balance to go tumbling down in her heels. His voice is a warning as he shakes his head, “Alex, I can’t come between you and him, not if this is just some last minute panicking that you’re going to regret in a few minutes-”
“It’s not.” Her eyes are bright, intensely watching him.
“Not what?”
“Not last minute.”
His heart is suddenly in his throat. There had been the possibility. He’d given up hope, really, resigned himself to watching her be happy with someone else, but then there had been the possibility. But she’d seemed to forget it, so he’d tried to as well, to accept her choice, and not think too much about her confession.
“…Jonas, I-”
“You said, in Vegas.” The words are out of him too quickly. His lips snap shut, mouth dry, and he clears his throat.
“I… I did?” Alex looks perplexed. She still hasn’t let go.
“You- um.” His gaze is memorizing her face, trying not to meet her eyes for too long, feeling the heat working up his neck. “You said you weren’t sure it was the right choice. And that-” he swallows hard, “-and that you missed me.” He’s hoarse. “And what we used to have.” There’s a moment of hesitation. “…And you kissed me.”
Another long silence. Her brow is furrowed, lips in that stubborn line, like she’s trying to recall the memory, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.
“…You were completely shitfaced though, so I don’t really put any-” He can’t even finish the excuse before she’s kissing him again.
It’s a lot less chaste this time around. A lot closer to how they used to be, before they were scared apart. She’s demanding, and he’s happy to oblige, and— God, he’s missed this.
She pulls away too soon. Her eyes flick over his face, reading him. “…Like that?”
Fucking hell. He’s half-stunned. “…I mean, boozier, but that was the general idea, yeah.”
There’s the slightest twitch at the corner of her lips. Then her brow furrows again. “I can’t do this.”
It doesn’t matter that she’s the one who kissed him, Jonas is already ready to shoulder the blame. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
“No, dumbass, this.” Alex manages a weak huff of laughter, even looking so troubled. “I can’t do this.” The look she gives him is meaningful. Pleading.
“Alex…” The instant narrowing of her eyes brokers no complaint. “…Okay. What do you want to do?”
“Leave.” She sounds so sure of herself.
“Now?”
“Now.”
“And go where?”
“Home, maybe.” Home. But that definitely doesn’t mean the place she’s been living with Jason. The way she says it, she means Camena. That was always home, even when she was living with her dad. And if any parent can forgive her for a decision like this, it will be Grace (with a little help from Jonas’s dad). The other half of this… they’re less likely to understand.
“What about the wedding?”
“I can’t do this,” Alex repeats, firmly.
She wants to leave. To ditch her own wedding. It’s… it’s absolutely insane. Her dad - and Jason’s family - dropped way too much cash on this; tens of thousands of dollars, countless hours of planning and picking and prepping and primping, all leading up to…
“…Okay.” Fuck it. They’ll figure it out later. “Okay. Let’s go, then.”