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“You did what?”
Both the look on Ster’s face and the tone of his voice could probably melt the huge ice sculpture they’re pulled up next to. The elderly couple from the next table over looks at them and Jerma give the best “No worries!” hand wave he can muster despite being horrifically hungover.
“Can you fucking quiet down?” Jeremy mutters. The state of his full and steaming plate of food makes him nauseous, but he forces himself to look at it to escape Ster’s incredibly pissed frown. “It’s fine, can we not make a big deal out of this?”
“I am going to make a big fucking deal out of this,” Ster whisper-yells through his teeth as he smiles at the elderly couple behind them. “Do I have to get your fucking mom on the phone?”
“And say what, dickhead? That I got drunk?”
“That is - that is so not what I meant and you know it,” Ster says. He puts his elbows on the table and narrowly misses hitting his own plate, full with an entire loaf of bread and a cereal bowl of Lucky Charms. “I can’t believe this. This is such a you move.”
“A me move? And also, you don’t have to believe it, because it happened, alright?” Jerma grabs his fork from its napkin-wrapped prison and aggressively starts to cut up his fucking humongous waffle. “These things can happen in Vegas. You know, this was definitely not the strangest thing that happened in Vegas last night. Some guy probably got eaten by a tiger.”
“Well, did that guy also get married to a 25-year-old streamer last night, Jeremy?” Ster says. “Because I think that was just you.”
“First, Ludwig is 26, asshole, and - don’t interrupt me,” Jerma says, putting his hand up to fend against the incoming argument he sees brewing. “And it was like a bit. I don’t know. I think it was. We’ll just get divorced. It’s nothing.”
Ster watches him for a long second before his shoulders heave in the most dramatic sigh Jerma’s ever heard. Jerma’s been on the other side of a Ster meltdown enough times that the signs of it winding down are engrained in his head. First the sigh. Then the begrudging joke. Then the teasing acceptance.
“Your mom is going to be so upset she wasn’t at your wedding,” Ster says, grabbing his cutlery and unwrapping it. “And I’ll tell her too. You’re such a bad son.”
“You won’t even think about it,” Jerma mumbles. He takes his first bite of his waffle and it’s actually so greasy and sweet and warm that it alleviates what feels like ten pounds of stress off his shoulders. He puts his hand up to his mouth as he chews, closing his eyes against the brightness of the casino buffet lights. It’s almost peaceful.
“Where is your blushing bride anyway?” Ster says, slurping noisily from his Lucky Charm bowl. Jerma peaks open one of his eyes to glare at him. “Stuck in her boudoir?”
“I’ll have you know that he went out with his friends before I woke up,” Jerma says, closing his eyes again. He remembers waking up alone and the heart-stopping moment before seeing Ludwig’s text on his phone, the sorry i’m not there. slime is taking me hostage. hope to see you before churchill announces another war. <3 that awaited him. The hangover was already pounding through his head so he could barely read it, but he let it lay on his chest a second longer. Just feeling the warmth and heaviness of it, the knowledge that last night wasn’t a dream.
“Hey, by the way. What are his friend’s names, go.”
“Well,” Jerma bluffs, glaring. “There are many of them, all with different attributes. Which one do you want?”
“The bald one,” Ster says. “What’s his name?”
“His name. Is Slime. Thank you very much.” Jerma says. He is thankful Ster picked the one that was explicitly mentioned in Ludwig’s text.
“I doubt Slime is his God-given name,” Ster says. “What’s his name, Jeremy?
“Well, he’s Italian. His name is obviously Anthony. Or Vincent,” Jerma says. He’s pretty sure. He remembers that he was one of their witnesses and his shirt was off the entire time.
“How very culturally sensitive of you,” Ster says. “You married this guy and you don’t even know his friend’s fucking name. Do you even know his last name? Is it yours now?”
“We hyphenated,” Jerma mutters. “It’s Harrington-Ahgren.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ster laughs. “Did the country club send you an honorary invite?”
“Ha ha,” Jerma says drily. He bites into the next forkful of waffle, hoping for the peace the first bite brought him. It doesn’t appear. Still good though. “You’re so funny.”
“Doesn’t Nevada have a divorce policy you can follow? Like specifically?” Ster says. Jerma can see the begrudging acceptance on his face like the sun rising over the clouds. Thank God.
“I don’t know, probably. I can look into it with him later,” Jerma says. “There’s probably an “oops, got married!” excuse somewhere in the fucking marriage rules.”
“Well, there’s always the good unconsummated excuse, hey?” Ster says, breaking the bread and ripping a hunk out of it like a caveman. “Could bring that one up to the court.”
“You - stop,” Jeremy says. His cheeks feel very hot. He pushes his limp, greasy hair behind one ear and doesn’t make eye contact. The roast beef on the old guy’s plate looks pretty good now that he’s looking at it. Maybe he’ll go up and get some. Right now.
“No way. You like this guy then? Outside the bit?” Ster says like it just occurred to him. Jerma scrunches his face up like seriously? He doesn’t think that was any question whether he actually liked Ludwig or not. It was pretty obvious, he thought.
“Like-like, you idiot,” Ster says, rolling his eyes. “Do I have to use playground terms? I will. Does he give you the special butterflies, Jeremy? Are you doodling his name on your notebook?”
Jerma refuses to answer to this childishness. He eats another bite of waffle.
“Yeah, you do,” Ster says definitively. He leans back in his stiff dining chair, making it squeak. “What have you done, dude?”
Before Jerma can give another fascinating rebuttal about just how much control he has over the situation, someone starts shouting in ecstasy at the entrance of the restaurant like they just got notice that their long-contested divorce went through or that they just won $500,000. Most of the patrons of the buffet look over, including the elderly couple and Ster.
“What the fuck is going on?” Ster mutters. Jerma doesn’t look. He already knows who it is.
“WHERE’S THE LUCKY GROOM?” A short bald Italian yells from the wait-stand. He’s got a small crowd around him, craning their necks and looking differing degrees of awake and alive. “I HEARD THERE WAS A GROOM IN HERE!”
Jerma looks up and catches Slime’s eye, who “WOOO!”s so loud that it makes a reverberation of nausea crawl up Jerma’s spine. He closes his eyes against the sudden sloshing of his stomach. He just wants to eat this waffle. Please.
“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” Ster mumbles. He starts eating his bread faster as the Conga Crew starts to dance over to him. At least Slime has his shirt on now.
“Hey, there’s my man! The new Mister Ahgren!” Slime says, slapping him on the shoulder. “How are you feeling, dude?”
“Good, man, good,” Jerma nods. He tries to see if Ludwig is among their pack, but Slime’s I KISSED ELVIS IN LAS VEGAS shirt is taking up literally his whole periphery. “Enjoying this waffle.”
“Been there, brother,” Slime says sagely. “Mind if we join?”
“Not at all, grab a chair,” Jerma says. The pack settles down in the open chairs around their huge table and Slime and Aiden grab their plates and go to the buffet immediately. The other one - Nick, he reminds himself - types on his phone for a little bit, seemingly unaware that they’re both staring at him.
“Hey, do you know where Ludwig is?” Jerma says, mainly to start a conversation but also because he really, really wants to know.
“Yeah, he’s in the bathroom,” Nick says, turning off his phone and grabbing his plate as well. “Hangover goes brazy.”
He then takes off to join his chuckling brethren in line for the roast beef and Jerma’s left with Ster staring a hole into his brain.
“’Hangover goes brazy?’” Ster says skeptically.
“Shut up,” Jerma says, eating another bite of his waffle ferociously. “Be fucking nice, please.”
“If they stop yelling for ten seconds, I’ll be nice to your husband’s friends, okay?” Ster says. The word husband thrills Jerma deep in his nauseous and achy soul. Even if it’s not really real. Even if Ludwig dipping him yesterday to seal the deal was only for show. He has the paper to prove it tucked in his luggage between the pages of a magazine so it doesn’t get squished.
“You were nice to them yesterday, what changed?” Jerma says, putting his hand up to his mouth to hide his full mouth.
“They are accessories to delinquency,” Ster says, like a 16th-century priest about to condemn a witch to death. “They defiled my friend.”
“Would you shut up?” Jerma says. They’re both quiet for a moment, watching the guys at the counter grab their helpings of roast beef and banana pudding. “No one defiled anything.”
“I bet you hated that he didn’t,” Ster says, casually and cruelly.
“Can you let me have this for like a second?” Jerma says. Begs. “Just for a second. Please.”
Ster looks at him and Jerma represses the urge to overcorrect himself and make it worse and honestly, Ster already knows he likes-likes Ludwig — he can’t even let him have this sad little excuse for a marriage?
He chances a look over at Ster to find him staring at something across the room. Jerma cocks his head and turns to look when there are two warm hands suddenly on his shoulders and a stubbly cheek next to his own. His heart lifts ten feet and slams back down.
“Bon matin, mon mari,” Ludwig whispers into his ear, his voice a little raspy with residual sleepiness. Jerma shivers against their closeness and reaches his hand back to rest on the back of Ludwig’s neck. Ludwig kisses his cheek brusquely and then his hands and face withdraw.
“Hi,” Jerma says, craning his neck back to watch as Ludwig decides where to sit. “Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you too,” Ludwig says, dragging the chair on the other side of Jerma back and collapsing into it. “Sorry for dipping, Slime arranged for us to go to the gun range and apparently they pre-booked and we couldn’t miss it.”
“Gun range?” Jerma says, leaning towards him. His French, turtleneck-wearing, gun-range visiting husband. “How was it?”
“Fucking loud, I’ll tell you,” Ludwig says. His eyes drift over to Ster, who is staring him down with his arms crossed. Jerma braces himself. “What’s up, man?”
“Heard you defiled my friend last night,” Ster says, right to it. Jerma wants to bury his head in the sand like an ostrich. “Seems kinda messed up.”
“Kind of seems like none of your business, big boy,” Ludwig says, reaching over and taking a sip of Jerma’s water. “Safe, sane, consensual. You know.”
“I do know,” Ster says, leaning forward. In the right light, Ster is kind of intimidating. Ludwig just watches him with his eyebrows raised. Intimidation kryptonite. “You forced him into a sham marriage. For what? Content? How do you sleep at night?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ludwig says, putting his hands up. “You think I could force this guy into something? Have you met him?”
“Have I met him. Yes, I have. I’ve known him for twelve years, Ludwig. You have known him for, what, one? One and a half?”
“Fellas,” Jerma says weakly. He is ignored.
“Weird, twelve years and he’s never brought you up once,” Ludwig says, leaning across Jerma. Jerma sinks back into his chair. “You really must’ve made an impression on him.”
“Whatever,” Ster says. His face is bright fucking red. “Just so you know, watching random fucking YouTube videos and overreacting doesn’t make you hot shit. It makes you the lowest fucking common denominator.”
“Well, as Migos once said, you can call me what you want, but you can’t call me broke. You’re welcome for the hotel room, by the way,” Ludwig says cooly, grabbing his plate and standing. “I hope the complimentary soap is to your liking. J, you want another waffle?”
Jerma nods tightly, looking off into the distance, and Ludwig departs to join his friends at the bread table, where they are having a loud conversation on which bread is best. Sourdough seems to be winning.
“You just had to go there, huh?” Jerma says quietly. He can feel the anger fume off Ster like a furnace. “You just had to get the last word in.”
“He thinks he’s fucking king of the world in his fucking turtlenecks and his fucking music knowledge,” Ster says, gesturing to where Ludwig is peacefully grabbing three rolls. “He’s taking advantage of you.”
“I would love to know how a younger streamer with a larger following is taking advantage of me,” Jerma says. “Can you explain it, please? I would love to know. I really would.”
Ster ignores him, as expected. “I just don’t get it, man. I know you have feelings for him or whatever, but this is crazy. Even for you.”
Jerma is - he’s done. He’s done with all the weird, petty little quips and this weird rivalry and the complete lack of trying on Ster’s part. He loves him — he does, it’s been twelve years and Ster changed the direction of his life — but this ugly, petty side of him is just bullshit. He puts his cutlery down very carefully on his plate so he doesn’t accidentally throw them at Ster.
“You know,” he says. Ster raises his eyebrows, waiting. “I haven’t seen you in like, six years, dude. I invite you to hang out with me in Vegas, where I live now, to do a fun stream, and all you’ve been doing is complaining.”
“If you wanted to hang out with me,” Ster says, leaning forward. He jabs a finger towards the kitchen. “Then why are they here?”
Jerma is saved from having a Desperate Housewives-level meltdown by the sight of Ludwig and his friends coming back with their spoils. Gently balanced on Ludwig’s arm is his second waffle, topped with copious amounts of whip cream and strawberries. The anger saps out of him instantly and now Jerma wants to twirl his hair between his fingers like a teenage girl.
“Meal’s up,” Ludwig says, passing the plate over to him and he accepts it gracefully. He tosses a roll underhand at Ster, who catches it purely based on reflex and not based on any athletic skill. “And for you.”
“Thank you,” Ster grits through his teeth, and Ludwig smiles sunnily at him as he unloads his food on the table next to Jerma, his plate filled with two-quarters of a quesadilla and a bowl of oatmeal. His orange juice is tilted precariously against his chest, and, sensing danger, Jerma grabs it before it sloshes and spills.
“Thanks,” Ludwig says quietly, his smile a shade more genuine now as he sits down.
“Don’t mention it,” Jerma says, voice soft. Jerma wants to — he doesn’t know, purr?
“You guys suck,” Aiden says. He is the only one at the table wearing sunglasses indoors and there is one lone bagel on his plate that he’s not touching. “You know how tiring this was to watch before? Now it’s ten thousand times worse.”
“Before?” Jerma says, preoccupied with getting enough whipped cream, strawberries, and waffle all in one bite. “Like last night?”
“Ludwig used to talk about you so often,” Aiden says, hunching in further. “It was fucking embarrassing, to be completely frank.
“Alright, fellas,” Ludwig says. “Heh. No need for all this now.”
“No, he needs to know. You don’t start a marriage off with lies, Ludwig,” Slime says. He turns to Jerma, hands splayed. “He used to bring you up in conversation like you were a famous rapper that was showing him the ropes to stardom. You were his Doctor Dre.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Ludwig says. He looks over to Jerma too. Jerma watches between the two of them like he’s watching a tennis game. “I would just mention you sometimes when we were talking.”
“’Me and Jerma were talking about how Twitch might be the future of technology, Slime!” Slime says, pitching his voice higher in some parody of Ludwig. “He’s so cool and funny, we spent an hour on the phone together talking! Can you believe what he said? I want to be like him!”
“Can we not and say we did?” Ludwig says, now firmly not looking at Jerma. Jerma feels a happiness bubbling up through his chest, through his veins. He stretches his fingers to let the tingles go through them.
“You should hear what this guy was saying yesterday,” Ster chimes in, and everyone looks at him, surprised. Jerma squints his eyes, but Ster only raises his eyebrows back. He is neatly tearing his roll in half to put butter in it. “Be nice to Ludwig and his friends, they’re so nice and funny, whatever. He wouldn’t shut up. It’s sickening.”
Jerma wouldn’t believe it if he saw it anywhere else, but he would almost confuse this with being nice to Ludwig’s friends. Ster rolls his eyes when he sees his thankful nod. This is the begrudging agreement part of the Ster Meltdown Cycle, not a moment too soon.
“If it was going to go on any longer, I’d trap ‘em both in a room together,” Slime says. He puts his glass up for a toast, and everyone scrambles to get theirs up as well. “To the Harrington-Ahgrens.”
“Stupid name,” Nick and Ster say at the exact same time. They all clink glasses and take a drink, and Ludwig’s arm is hot on his shoulders as Jerma finishes the last of his sparkling apple cider. He feels - well. He feels good.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Ludwig says. He digs into his pocket with his free hand and chucks something small on the table. It clatters as it settles. “We didn’t know your ring size, so we guessed.”
Jerma scooches the gold band closer to him. It’s not anything fancy, but it’s heavy enough that it must be real. He looks up to Ludwig, shocked. Ludwig shrugs and gestures for him to put it on.
It slides onto his finger easily, and it looks good there. Whatever size they BS-ed must’ve been the right one.
“It’s gotta look real for our video,” Ludwig says, very blasé. He hooks his elbow around the side of his chair. “Can’t have my husband with no ring. Makes my ass look cheap.”
“Yeah,” Jerma says dreamily. Ster snorts derisively, but Jerma doesn’t even deign to look at him. “Thanks, Ludwig.
“Don’t mention it,” Ludwig says, smiling at him and running his hand through his hair. Nick coughs and fake-gags at the other side.
“Wait, I don’t have one for you,” Jerma says, concerned. It’ll only look half real. What’s the point of going through all this if it doesn’t even look real? “I’m sorry, man. I should’ve gotten you one.”
“Don’t even worry, because I got one for myself too,” Ludwig says, holding up his hand. On his ring finger lays an identical ring in silver.
“We match,” Jerma says, putting his hand up next to Ludwig’s. “That’s great.”
“This actually sucks,” Slime says, crossing his arms. The three donuts he brought over are sweating in the air conditioning. “I take back what I said before.”
“Welcome to my world,” Ster says, popping the last of the roll in his mouth.
They make a plan for their video — a little vlog footage, a patented Ludwig Story Time, a fun little bit on Jerma’s next stream where he tells chat he got married and Ludwig comes in halfway through and pretends like he doesn’t know he’s streaming — and the conversation goes on from there, but Ludwig’s arm stays firmly around Jerma’s chair, and Jerma’s grip is firm on Ludwig’s hand under the table, playing with his fingers.
—
“You and him ever —,” Ludwig asks, then gestures loosely. They’re alone for the first time all day, back in Jerma’s hotel room. They filmed all their bits and are all packed up to leave tomorrow. Ludwig is coming back in a week to do his cameo on the stream, but it’s going to be weird going from seeing each other every day to whatever frequency they’ll do now. Maybe once a week. Once a month. Something.
“What?” Jerma says, a little preoccupied with drying his hair with one of the nice towels from the bathroom. “Who?”
“You know, you and Ster. You ever...?” Ludwig says. He was watching something on the television while he was waiting for Jerma to leave the shower, but it’s paused now. Jerma squints at it. It looks like some sort of dog show.
“Ever what?” Jerma says, trying to figure out what breed of dog is on screen. It’s a small white dog. He’s definitely seen one somewhere before.
“God,” Ludwig says. He shifts forward on the couch so that he can rest his elbows on his knees. “Did you and Ster ever fuck?”
“What?” Jerma says, startled. “No, oh my God. No. Never.”
“Huh,” Ludwig says, leaning back again. “Interesting.”
“Interesting? What? Why do you ask?” Jerma says.
“Nah, no reason,” Ludwig says, lacing his fingers together on his chest. “Just thought maybe he was being weird about it for like. Other reasons. You know.”
“No, he’s just weird in general,” Jerma says. “You know, it’s odd that you say that, because everyone thought it back in, like, 2013.”
“Is that so?” Ludwig says, inclining his head. “But you weren’t?”
“God no,” Jerma says. “He’s married now and they were dating back then. I would never.”
“You ever think about it?” Ludwig says. Jerma pauses. “No judgment meant. Just curious, man.”
“If I’m honest,” Jerma starts. He runs the towel through his hair again, more to hide his face than anything. “I.”
Ludwig mercifully stays quiet and just watches him. He doesn’t think he could get it out if Ludwig makes a joke or even moves too fast. He’s so — fragile isn’t the word. He’s on a precipice that Ludwig could shove him off of if he wants.
“I think there was a maybe,” Jerma says, eyes on the floor. He doesn’t think he’s ever admitted it, not out loud. It’s loud in the space outside his head, filling this room. “I think there was a chance. But it was 2013,” Jerma says. “And I wasn’t — I didn’t want to think about it. But.”
“But,” Ludwig echoes.
“But it never happened. And he got married. And he never stopped being weird about anyone I dated,” Jerma says, a little bit of ugliness leaking into his tone. “Never liked a single one.”
“Surely that’s not fair,” Ludwig says neutrally.
“No, it isn’t,” Jerma says softly, looking down, watching the rise of his chest under his shirt. “We haven’t hung out in a long time.”
“Except for now,” Ludwig fills in. Jerma nods.
“Except for now. He’s been,” Jerma rolls his eyes, “Himself. But I think he does like you. And your friends. Specifically Nick, I think.”
“Hey, I feel that,” Ludwig says, stretching out like a cat. “One last question though. Would you say yes?” Ludwig says. His eyes are wide and very, very understanding. “If he asked?”
“No,” Jerma says firmly. He wants to go over to Ludwig and shake him. “No, I wouldn’t. He’s an asshole. Plus, I would never get any fucking flowers. Ever.”
“And now you’re married now too,” Ludwig says, gesturing to the ring, still firmly on his left hand. “So don’t even think about it.”
“I actually take our marriage very seriously, I’ll have you know,” Jerma says. He sits down next to Ludwig on the couch and watches as he unpauses the dog show. The announcer proudly says that the dog is a West Highland Terrier named Dixie and she’s two years old. Dixie prances off-screen. “I told my mother. She wants you to come to Easter with the whole fucking family.”
“Well, that’s going to be difficult, because my mother actually wants you to come to Easter,” Ludwig says. “You wanna flip a quarter?”
“Isn’t your mom scary though?” Jerma says nervously. Ludwig scoffs and reaches an arm around the back of the couch. There is no one else here but them. Jerma slides a little closer to Ludwig and tucks his feet underneath himself. He feels small, not in a bad way. He gently leans his head on his shoulder, tense, like Ludwig of all people will call him gay. “She’s, like, French or something?”
“Do you think my French mom is more terrifying than your mother from Boston?” Ludwig says. Jerma’s hair is soaking a wet patch on his shoulder. “She probably eats Red Sox fans for dinner.”
Jerma huffs his laughter into Ludwig’s sweater. He feels like he wants a bottle of red wine and the rest of this dog show and Ludwig. Him and his sweet, turtleneck-wearing husband.
“Hey Ludwig,” Jerma says, muffled into this sweater. Ludwig’s hand is slowly stroking his back, brushing one notch of his spine at a time. “Do you - Did you?”
“Yes,” Ludwig says very, very quickly. “Whatever you’re asking, yes. I did. From the beginning.”
“Huh?” Jerma says, leaning back to look incredulously at him. Ludwig looks very, very serious and very, very fervent. “You didn’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Oh, yeah. Shoot,” Ludwig says, leaning back. He clears his throat and shifts his weight. “Yeah, go ahead, man.”
“Uh, okay,” Jerma says. He puts his head back on his shoulder carefully. He twists his fingers in the fabric of Ludwig’s shirt carefully, subtly. “Were you jealous?”
Ludwig doesn’t answer. That’s okay. Jerma didn’t really expect him to. You see, people call him dumb, but he’s not that fucking dumb.
“Can you come here?” Jerma says quietly, leaning back again. Ludwig looks at him and he looks like he thought he was being real fucking sneaky. “Please.”
“I-,” Ludwig says. The mask, the Ludwig mask, loosens and starts to peel. He looks scared. “Really?”
“Yes,” Jerma says. “I do. Please come here before I ask again and embarrass myself in front of all of the fucking dogs.”
“It’s the Hound category,” Ludwig says, sounding light-headed. Jerma kisses him then because he’s not getting any younger and Ludwig’s his lawful wedded husband and he spent the whole night in his hotel room, rather than out with his friends in Vegas. Ludwig is shocked — his whole mouth is stiff. His hands are pressing deep into his sides, like Jerma will float away if he lets go.
Jerma shifts so that he’s slightly taller, and then he whispers, “Ludwig.”
“Yeah,” Ludwig whispers back. His eyes are still open.
“Do you really want to kiss me or did I misread this whole thing?” Jerma says, closing his eyes. He needs to know so that he can launch himself off the balcony if it’s true.
“No, no, no,” Ludwig says. His grip tightens on the back of Jerma’s shirt. “You’re - you’re -,” Ludwig pauses. Jerma can hear the click of his throat as he swallows. “I never thought that you were. I never hoped.”
“You can kiss me back,” Jerma says firmly, his eyelashes brushing against Ludwig’s cheek, “In fact, I am begging you to. Please.”
Ludwig keens high in his throat, and then grabs his face and pulls him down. Finally, Jerma thinks as Ludwig’s hands flex, finally finally finally.
“Wait, you asked me to marry you before you even asked if I was into you?” Jerma says, pulling away a little. Ludwig looks deranged and mussed and utterly confused on why they aren’t kissing still.
“I’m not smart,” Ludwig says, his voice high. “I’m not a smart guy, Jerma. I’m not smooth. I pretend to be on YouTube, but I’m not cool.”
“I think you’re alright,” Jerma says softly, leaning their foreheads together. “I think you’re cool.”
“Ster’s a fucking idiot,” Ludwig says furiously, and surges forward again. Jerma smiles against his mouth. Ludwig’s hands grab at every part of him, like a thirsty man to liquid. Like no amount of water could quench him.
Something settles in Jerma’s chest, something warm. He thinks his fucking eyes would start glowing if he opened them.
Whatever he says after is swallowed up. They never find out who wins.
—
“Do you want to?” Ludwig says into his ear.
They’re in a nightclub. Slime and Nick have left to go plead their case to the DJ to play Macklemore and Aiden has been talking up some girl on the bar for the last ten minutes. It’s just them and has been just them for a while. Jerma hadn’t minded — he likes dancing with Ludwig, if you could call what he’s been doing “dancing.” Ludwig had clapped and whooped when he did, so he kept doing it.
“Want to what?” Jerma yells. Jerma is currently hanging off his shoulder, head pressed against his neck. The music is very, very loud, and the lights are very, very red. He is categorically too old for this. Ster begged off and made him promise to go to a buffet the next morning. He hopes he actually wakes up in time. Maybe he’ll sleep in Ludwig’s room so that Ludwig will wake him up. That’s a good idea.
“What Slime was talking about before,” Ludwig says. His hands are heavy on his back. “Like, some sort of prank marriage thing. I think it would be a killer stream idea.”
“Are you fucking — you’re fucking with me,” Jerma mumbles. He brings his mouth up to Ludwig’s ear to be helpful, to talk more clearly. “Get married?”
“Yeah, Jerma and Ludwig get drunk-married in Vegas,” Ludwig says, putting his hand out to illustrate it for him. “We’d be the talk of LSF. You’d also get at least 500k retweets. At least.”
“Whatever that means, man,” Jerma says. He wants to stand here next to Ludwig a little longer, hang off him like a sorority girl. “I’m in.”
“Really?” Ludwig says, his voice getting higher. His grip on Jerma’s back gets tighter too. like he’s getting excited just thinking about it. Jerma smiles at it. He likes making Ludwig happy.
“Yeah,” Jerma says, looking at him and smiling. He sees at that moment that Ludwig is nowhere nearly as drunk as he thought he was. In fact, he seems just like he did earlier, clear-eyed and confident. “Yeah, anything.”
Ludwig smiles at him and then grabs his hand to lead him through the crowd, to where Slime is loudly shouting at another guy about movies and Nick looks two seconds away from taking his shirt off and punching the guy. Aiden, who has apparently struck out, just shouts from the sidelines.
What Jerma’ll never admit is that he was just a little buzzed off two vodka cranberries. But he theatrically stumbles through his vows with the panache of someone who’s faked being drunk many times, and he lets Ludwig dip and kiss him under the cheers of his shirtless friends, and he stumbles back into his room with his husband on his arm, who sings under his breath as he gets ready for sleep, and he thinks finally finally finally.