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Scott hummed idly as he polished his and Jimmy's armor. He was sitting at the kitchen table in his house, while Jimmy made dinner. He occasionally looked up from his work to watch his husband's strong arms move up and down as he chopped vegetables.
Void, how had he gotten so lucky?
Jimmy glanced over at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Something wrong, love?"
"Nah," Scott grinned at him, "just enjoying the view."
Jimmy went bright red, and spluttered something incomprehensible. He was easily flustered, a trait Scott would always find endearing.
The two fell into a comfortable silence, each focused on their own work. After a few minutes, Jimmy spoke up. "Scott," he said hesitantly, "if... if we could have had a real wedding. Not that our wedding wasn't real!" He added quickly, "But, like, an actual fancy wedding, with a cake and suits and guests, what would you want it to be like?"
"Hmm," Scott hummed, as if in thought, but he didn't really need to think about it. He had spent far too many nights, curled up next to his husband, dreaming of the wedding they deserved.
The one they had had been perfect, because it was him and Jimmy and Jimmy was perfect, and he would treasure that day for the rest of his life.
It had been just them and Grian and Scar, on a sunny afternoon. Scar had officiated, and they had exchanged simple gold rings and a brief kiss, and it had been wonderful. They shared a dance, and ate the sandwiches and fresh fruit Jimmy had prepared (and the cake he baked) on a picnic blanket on a small hill. The four of them had laughed and joked and played, and for the first time since waking up here, Scott had truly felt happy.
But weddings were, usually, grand celebrations of love, with family and friends and way too much food. Jimmy deserved so much more than he had gotten, and Scott wished more than anything that he could give it to him.
"I'd like a spring wedding. Outdoors, in a flower field, with wooden benches."
"That sounds nice," Jimmy smiled at him, and he knew no matter how many times he saw it, that smile would always catch him off guard. "The wedding party would wear lots of pastel colors.”
“Yes! And the isle would be lined with lots of flowers. In all sorts of colors.”
“I’d like the arch to be more green, though. Leaves and moss, with a few flowers.”
“I like it,” Scott hummed again. “I think Grian and Scar should still be our best men, though.”
“I agree,” Jimmy said, dumping his chopped vegetables into the stew pot. “I’m sure Cleo would riot if they’re not in the wedding party, though.”
Scott laughed. “Of course they will be. Bdubs too.”
“Scar’s definitely not officiating.”
“Definitely.”
They both laughed, remembering Scar’s ridiculous attempt at officiating their wedding. They’d both been laughing so hard they could barely say ‘I do’.
“Would you rather be in a suit or a dress?” Jimmy asked.
“Probably a dress,” Scott said. “There’s just more variety, you know?”
“I agree. Plus, I just know you’ll look great in a wedding dress.” Jimmy grinned at him.
“So would you,” Scott shot back. Jimmy laughed.
Jimmy wiped his hands on his apron and came over to the table. He kissed Scott on the nose. Scott giggled, then tilted his head up to catch his lips in a kiss.
They talked about bouquets, and food, and music, and anything else they could think of. They talked about it through all of dinner.
When they got into bed that night, they kept talking, whispering about the wedding they would have. Scott traced patterns over Jimmy’s arms as his husband described the rings they would have. He imagined it, gold and moss agate sparkling on his finger.
Right before he fell asleep, tucked safely in Jimmy’s arms, he made a silent wish to anyone who might be listening; a wish that they could one day have the wedding they imagined.
* * *
Later, on a hill overlooking their far too empty homes, Scott planted a red tulip by a gravestone. His fingers were covered in mud, and his armor was dirty and bloody. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.
The grave said 'beloved husband'.
Scott thought of the wedding they’d talked about. He thought of white dresses and gold rings and pastel flowers and picnic lunches. He thought of first dances and ‘I do’s and vows.
He made a vow then. Not quite a wedding vow.
“I vow,” he whispered, “to avenge you, Jimmy. Skizz is going to die.”