Chapter Text
Nick Nelson had always been in love with the idea of being in love. Ever since he could remember, nothing brought him that same unabashed and all-encompassing joy that love did. Even as a floppy-haired, freckle-faced 8-year-old, he’d cried watching Ariel and Eric’s wedding because, well, it was just so beautiful. Sat cross-legged in his Spiderman pyjamas, he had rested his chin on his hand and sighed at the way they looked at each other as if the rest of the world had faded away. And although he didn’t realise it at the time, it wasn’t just Ariel that he had a crush on.
His feelings didn’t change as he grew up either. If anything, Nick felt even more deeply about love. He’d had to subtly wipe a tear from his eye in a GCSE English lesson, lost in the sorrow of Romeo drinking the poison and killing himself. God, the rugby lads would never have let him live that one down if they’d seen him. For Nick, it was completely and utterly heartbreaking that Romeo and Juliet’s true love never got to run its course. And he hoped with all his heart that one day he would find his Juliet, that one person he wouldn’t be able to breathe without.
By Year 11, Truham’s 'rugby king' was not short of admirers. The girls would stand on the sidelines freezing their tits off, cheering him on with their rolled-up skirts and wide, flirty smiles. While Nick appreciated the encouragement, he just didn't feel that any of the girls in his year were his 'person'. Genuinely quite bemused by their behaviour, he always smiled and waved politely back at them, even though it made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Especially each time Harry Greene, aka Year 11’s gob-on-legs (with something of an unhealthy interest in his love life that Nick could never really understand), suggested he should ask one of them out. Why would he risk going out with someone he had no genuine interest in when his soul mate could be right around the corner? Once he'd learnt what the concept of a meet-cute was, thanks to Arthur Abbott in The Holiday, he'd regularly daydream about what his meet-cute might look like when it brought him his very own soulmate.
It wasn’t until later that same year that Nick had his full-on bi-crisis and realised it was possibly not just a Juliet he was searching for. After some emotionally draining and soul-searching weeks, with a LOT of time spent on Google locked away in his bedroom, he finally opened up to his Mum, who thankfully responded in the most supportive, loving and accepting way possible. It was only then that he could confess to swooning over both Kiera and Orlando and that yes, they’d watched Grease so many times over that summer because he had a thing for Danny Zuko’s dimples. Tell me about it, stud.
In his 20s, Nick struggled with the dating scene. One Friday night, after far too many bottles of cheap white wine had been consumed, his best friends Tara and Darcy persuaded him to make a profile on a couple of the dreaded dating apps. Nick reluctantly agreed, but it was still his heart’s desire to meet the love of his life more organically. The deep-rooted hope of a wonderful meet-cute had never waned. He dreamed of sharing the funny story of how they met in his groom’s speech, wedding guests listening with tender smiles, ‘awwww-ing’ in all the right places. However, the general feedback he'd received from the various Tinder or Grindr dates he had begrudgingly embarked on suggested he gave off ‘golden retriever energy’, while they were looking more for someone who would keep them on their toes. Nick was baffled why anyone would be attracted to a ‘fuckboy’, let alone be actively looking for a person like that. He longed to wake up with entangled legs and gentle forehead kisses. He wanted to be able to slip a cute love note inside their packed lunch, to share a candle-lit bath, to listen attentively as they talked about their day. Ultimately, his heart ached to show someone just how much he loved them in a thousand different ways. For now, all his love and snuggles were given to Daisy, his beloved puppy.
Now just into his 30s, Nick had still never really felt what Ariel and Eric, Romeo and Juliet or Will and Elizabeth had felt. He'd had a couple of year-long relationships, but as they progressed, he just knew deep down in his sentimental sap of a heart that they weren’t the one for him. His optimism that it could happen for him one day was like a balloon - initially floating and full, but now slowly deflating day by day. Perhaps he just wasn’t lucky enough to find his favourite person, or maybe it ultimately wasn’t his destiny. He wasn’t quite sure how finding one’s soulmate worked outside of the movies. All he knew was that he had a never-ending supply of love to give if only the universe would give him a helping hand.
So with a need to satisfy his requirement for warm and fuzzy kicks, Nick filled his days helping people. Whether it was joining his mum for a spot of gardening, doing some shopping for elderly Mrs. Adams a few doors down, or fixing Tara and Darcy's leaking tap for them, the feeling of being useful, being needed, was soul-soothing for Nick. He subscribed to all of the love languages, but acts of service were the ones that brought him the most joy. Whilst he spent all of his spare time helping out the people he loved, his heart still ached for being able to do so for the love of his life. If only they'd appear.
Thirty-two-year-old Nick spent most of his waking hours teaching a very lively bunch of Year 3’s in a small primary school in Kent. 3N was not the easiest of classes, and Nick was permanently exhausted. Every day he felt guilty as the utter relief washed over him when the 3:30pm bell rang and his classroom emptied. However, there was one thing that made going to work this school year bearable–Nick’s huge crush. Big. Huge.
Unfortunately for Nick, the object of his desires, another Year 3 class teacher, Imogen Heaney, was totally and utterly oblivious to this fact. He’d fallen for her back in September, in the first few weeks of term. As soon as she introduced herself in the staff room and he fell into those big, blue eyes, Nick found himself with clammy palms and a racing heart. The more he talked to her, the more he realised she was an old romantic at heart too, searching for that special someone. She wanted picnics, forehead kisses and poetry. She also loved Romeo and Juliet, although Nick suspected Leonardo had something to do with that.
3H absolutely adored her, as did Nick, and he soon invented more and more reasons to pop into her classroom. He’d do both the English and Maths planning for the week and present them to her on a Monday morning. He’d bake cakes, so on Friday playtime they could sit on the small tables in Imogen’s classroom and enjoy them together. She’d flutter her long, mascaraed eyelashes at him and moan how cold it was ‘out there’, and he’d inevitably cave and do her playtime duty for her. He’d spend his lunchtimes putting up displays in her classroom, as she found the staple gun ‘too tricky’ to use. Hell, if she’d asked him to mark her creative writing assessments (which took hours), then he'd still have said yes in a heartbeat.
So it was fair to say that Nick spent the majority of his working day dreaming about Imogen. If they were ever in their shared stock cupboard at the same time, he’d imagine their eyes locking, her moving closer, him pushing her passionately up against last year's SATS papers and their lips crashing together in a hot, all-consuming kiss. Realistically, he knew she’d just gone in search of Pritt Sticks, which were like absolute bloody gold dust, but he could but dream. In staff meetings, he often found himself watching her, rather than listening to whatever crap the government had come up with next. He loved the way she twirled her finger around a strand of her hair or chewed her pen lid when she was pretending to listen. Some days he even liked to play a game where he’d try to guess how long it would take her to start doodling. 2 minutes 42 seconds was the record to date.
At break times, if he wasn’t in Imogen’s classroom, Nick could usually be found reading the paper at his desk. His guilty pleasure was The Commitments column on page 47. He thought the writer of the column, one C. F. Spring, had the most beautiful way with words; they were so captivating and wildly romantic. Love just seemed to radiate out of the pages, enveloping him in a giant, warm soul-soothing hug. He felt like he was there, on the front row, feeling the overwhelming joy and happiness of the smitten lovers. His heart melted reading the details of each couple; the stories of how they met, the proposal, the venue, hell even down to the colour scheme they'd chosen. But his absolute favourite part was reading about the expression on the face of the waiting party as their bride or groom walked down the aisle towards them.
—————-///—————-
Nick had previously been best man a total of four times; firstly five years ago for his school friend Christian who got married in Cyprus. Then four years ago for his cousin who had a winter wedding in Scotland, and twice last year; once in May for his rugby mates Danny and James who had an Australian-themed wedding in Leeds, and then again in August for another school mate Sai, who had a traditional Indian wedding.
Today, he was thrilled to be best man again. Unfortunately for him though, his school friend Otis, and his uni friend Loz, had both booked their weddings for the same day. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to be in two places at once, but he knew he just had to be there for each of them; he absolutely couldn’t let anyone down.
Nick had had a very hectic week leading up to the double wedding day, taking his best man duties very seriously. He had earnestly prepared both his speeches, each of which he'd rewritten 3 or 4 times. He’d met with caterers to save Loz having to do it, he’d dropped the bridesmaids' dresses off at Otis’ sister's house, he’d picked up and delivered the flowers for both weddings, and he’d spent his Thursday night sharing comforting words of reassurance when he could see Loz was getting nervous. Nick was even up until 1 am last night making big changes to Otis’ seating plan, all because Harry was being a dick about sitting next to Otis’ cousin, who he’d slept with once, years ago.
—————-///—————-
The long-awaited early summer sun had finally made an appearance. A beam of yellow sunlight shone through the window of Nick’s country hotel room, highlighting the tiny, white dust particles that were aimlessly floating in the air. Nick sat on the velvet padded bench beneath the bay window, basking in the warm rays. This all felt rather romantic to Nick, as he gazed out at the view of the well-manicured hotel gardens. Add in the four-poster bed with jacquard drapes, and the enormous roll-top bath, and it really did make the most perfect romantic getaway. He sighed wistfully and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his limbs restless with nerves and excitement. He picked up his beloved and well-used diary. Leg jiggling, butterflies causing chaos in his tummy, he checked both of his lists for the third time that morning. He took a deep breath and checked the contents of his bag for Otis’ wedding, for the fourth time. Not knowing what to do with himself, even though it was still early, he decided to get dressed. He unzipped the suit bag, took out his hot pink suit and slipped it on, smoothing out the creases. Looking in the mirror, he surveyed his reflection and screwed up his freckled nose. Loz’s bright pink theme was a vision to behold. He couldn't help but cringe at the sight of his ginger hair clashing terribly with the vibrant pink jacket. Still, he would do anything for her and her wife-to-be, and he wanted their day to be perfect. He made several attempts to tie his bow tie, but was thoroughly unsuccessful; he'd have to ask Loz’s mum later. Although it was only 7:30 am, apart from the tie, he was all set for both of the big days.
—————-///—————-
“Good morning! Wakey wakey!” Nick shouted enthusiastically as he knocked and then opened the door to Loz’s room. "How's the bride doing on her big day?"
He was met with silence. Nick surveyed the room. It looked as though it had been ransacked, with clothes, boxes and suitcases filling the floor. Empty champagne flutes, tacky sashes and obscene straws seemed to be covering every available surface. He stepped over a ‘lesbihen’ t-shirt which was discarded by the bed. "Loz?"
“Ugh,” a croaky, disgruntled reply came eventually from under the duvet. “What time is it?”
Nick looked at his watch for the third time in the last 5 minutes. “It’s 7:32. I was too excited to sleep and there’s so much to do!”
Loz partially peeled the duvet back to look at Nick through half-closed eyes, her hair covering almost all of her face. “Nicholas, what the hell? It’s still so early.”
“I told you to get an early night, Loz.” Nick scolded, sounding like a disappointed parent. Being the doting best man, he had been tucked up for 10 pm.
“We don’t get bloody married till 1 o’clock.”
“I know, but you have to check the flowers, get your hair and make-up done, get dressed, and then the photographer will arrive and…"
“Nick, Jesus! We’ve got ages. Please go and harass someone else.” She snuggled back down under the covers. “I knew I should have asked Tim to be best man,” she muttered, words muffled by her pillow.
“Oi!” Nick smiled affectionately. “Ok, fine, I’ll come back later, but don’t blame me if it ends up being a big rush!” With that, he closed the door, and made his way down the huge, spiral staircase to the breakfast room, excited at the prospect of putting his bread in that toaster machine with the little conveyor belt.
—————-///—————-
After eventually coaxing a very hungover Loz out of bed, managing to prise a sticky lollipop out of a very hyperactive flower girl's hair, and finding the missing father-of-the-bride’s speech, Nick was finally standing at the end of a flower-lined aisle. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Loz, holding her hand as she nervously waited for her wife-to-be to appear. He gave her hand a quick supportive squeeze and leaned in towards her.
"You look absolutely amazing," he smiled affectionately, swallowing a lump in his throat and trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill. "I’m so proud of you. Enjoy every single second."
Loz beamed and squeezed his hand back. They both took a deep breath. Nick looked down and happened to notice the train on her dress wasn’t quite perfectly splayed out. On all fours, he pulled and smoothed until it was perfect. Just as he was thinking how fucking delighted he was to be there with one of his favourite people on her special day, the first chord of Pachelbel’s Canon in D played. He shot back up and clasped his hands behind his back. All the fancy hats turned to look at Zoe as she made her grand entrance. But not Nick. His eyes stayed unwaveringly on Loz. He watched with fascination as her face lit up when she caught sight of the love of her life. Eyes sparkling and overcome with emotion, she squeezed Nick’s hand tightly, biting her bottom lip as her eyes filled up. Nick gave her a supportive smile and a little ‘you’ve got this’ nod. As Loz’s eyes moved back to take in her beautiful bride, Nick wiped away a tear that had managed to trickle its way down his cheek. It really was his favourite part.
—————-///—————-
"What time do you call this, Nelson?!" Christian shouted from the doorway of the huge, white marquee, looking more like Jack Sparrow than Johnny Depp. "Tut, tut!"
"God, sorry!" Nick gasped, out of breath. He raced across the grass towards Christian, his bag slung over his shoulder. "The Uber took ages to arrive and then the traffic was a nightmare. I haven’t missed anything, have I?" his voice now harbouring a worried tone.
"No, you’ve still got 5 minutes." Christian cocked his head to one side, making the beads in his fake beard jingle. He squinted his eyes and took a closer look at Nick. "Is that, like, back to front?"
Nick looked down. His white, billowy shirt was indeed back to front.
"Ah balls! I had to get changed in the Uber! Tell Otis I’ll be 2 minutes!" he shouted over his shoulder as he sprinted to the main building, hand clutched to the pirate hat that was precariously balanced on his head.
—————-///—————-
Ceremony over, the marquee was now hot and sweaty and the dance floor contained a sea of pirates, waving their cutlasses and twirling their skirts. After three beers and two shots of sambuca, Sai, Christian and Nick were right in the middle, over-enthusiastically performing their own unique version of the Macarena, despite it being only 6pm.
"Oooooh check out those snake hips!" yelled Sai over the music, pointing at Nick. "I don’t know how you’re single with moves like that!"
"I know, right!" Nick shouted back while wiggling his bum and jumping to change direction. "I’m surprised Strictly hasn’t snapped me up as a pro." He struck a pose, pouted, and then threw in a shoulder shimmy for good measure.
Sai rolled his eyes. ‘‘So, is there anyone here you’ve got your eye on?" he asked, waving his arms in a dance move that could only be described as ‘Phoebe Buffay when running’.
"Nope," sighed Nick. "Like I’d find the love of my life at a wedding, anyway. Oh, shit!" Nick's eyes grew wide with realisation. "What time is it?"
Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed his phone from his pocket, noted the time, and ordered an Uber.
"Sorry guys, I’ve got to dash to Loz’s reception. I’ll be back!" His Arnold Schwarzenegger impression caused more rolling of the eyes from all the lads. "Come on! The kids love my impressions! See you in a couple of hours. No more shots without me!"
He clapped them both on the back and ran to get his bag.
—————-///—————-
In the back of the Uber, Nick was trying to subtly change out of his pirate outfit and back into his pink suit, without showing any unsuspecting pedestrians his favourite and well-worn Spider-Man boxers. Dave the driver, eyes on the rearview mirror, was smirking with amusement.
"Hang on, didn’t I just drop you off here a couple of hours ago? And didn’t you get changed earlier too?"
"Yeah you did, I'm the best man at two weddings today." Nick clocked Dave’s eyes in the mirror. “Erm… I’m just trying to… Do you mind, erm…?"
"Oh, sorry!" Dave averted his eyes back to the road. "So, best man twice in one day, aye? I’ve never been asked. I was an usher once in 1998 but never a best man."
"Yeah. It’s actually my 6th time," Nick said as he tried to wriggle his bright pink trousers up over his bum.
"Six?! Bloody hell! Always the best man but never the groom eh?"
Nick felt that familiar horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach - an anchor dragging him down. It was a sensation he knew all too well, a heavy weight that seemed to crush his spirits and cloud his thoughts. He mustered up a laugh that felt forced and sounded hollow. "Ha, yeah, I guess."
He fastened his trouser button and stared out of the window blankly, eyes unfocused and thoughts drifting. His brain had started to throw questions at him that he didn’t want to consider the answers to. When would he get to be the groom? Would he even ever get that chance? Would he always just be the best man? Would Imogen ever show any signs that she liked him back? That familiar, imposing feeling of hopelessness surrounded him, crushing his chest. He took a deep breath in through his nose, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach. The rest of the drive was in silence.
Eventually, the car drove up the tree-lined grand entrance to the country hotel. Nick quickly shoved all his pirate-themed clothing into his bag, checking twice that his diary was in there, and opened the car door.
"Ok, cheers, bye."
Dave turned to the back seat. "See ya," he smirked as he caught a full-length glimpse of Nick. "Oh wow,” his greying, bushy eyebrows raised. “That pink suit is something else."
"Yeah, it’s very…. pink," Nick replied as his cheeks flushed the same colour as his jacket. He put his head down and went to close the door.
"Hang on, don’t forget your tie!"
"Oh shit! Thanks!" Nick spotted it lying on the back seat. "Got it! You couldn’t… er… tie it for me could you, please?"
—————-///—————-
After eating a five-course meal, posing for yet more photographs, and consuming a couple more shots with the now very tipsy bridesmaids at the bar, Nick sat with Tim at the edge of the dance floor, hands patting his stomach.
"Aaaah, I’m as full as an egg," he groaned. "I had three courses at Otis’ before this. I feel a bit sick."
"You’re what?"
"Yeah, as full as an egg. You know, you can’t get fuller than an egg!"
Tim’s face was puzzled as he considered this carefully. After what was probably too long (to be fair, he was on his 6th pint), he shrugged and nodded in agreement.
"Wait, so you’ve eaten eight courses?"
Nick grinned and nodded proudly, hands rubbing his inflated tummy. "I certainly did! Best man perks!"
They watched as Loz and her wife radiated happiness in the middle of the dance floor, swaying gently to Seven by Taylor Swift.
Unable to bear it any longer, Nick undid the button on his trousers and unzipped them halfway. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. The cheesecake was not quite going down, the creamy sweetness now a burden rather than a delight. Perhaps he’d overindulged a tad.
"I’m so happy for her," he smiled. "It must be the best feeling ever to find your person."
Tim gave a sympathetic smile. "It’ll happen for you, Nick. When you least expect it."
Ah, here we go with the cliches. He knew Tim meant well, but Nick was incredibly tired of hearing them all. Least expect it? He’d been single so long, he was never expecting it, but it still didn’t happen. There might be ‘plenty of fish in the sea’, but there were also sharks and toxic waste.
"Cheers mate. Let’s hope so, eh?"
A Chvrches song was now playing and a flushed Loz danced over to Nick, carrying her heeled shoes in one hand and a gin glass in the other.
"Niiiiiiiick, the bestest best man that ever was!" This clearly wasn’t Loz’s first gin and tonic. "We have a situation. My cousin is vomming outside. Can you go and sort her out, please? I need to….. circulate! And finish this gin!’’ She sipped her drink while simultaneously tossing her shoes carelessly under the table. "Plus I can’t deal with sick." Her nose screwed up in disgust, "You’re the pro with sick anyway, working with all those little germ spreaders."
Nick leaned down and arranged her shoes neatly together under the table, worried she’d lose one. "I'm hardly a pro! But fine, go on, I’ll sort it. You go and circulate."
"Thanks, Nick, I love you sooooooo much!" She smiled sweetly then blew him a kiss over her shoulder as she twirled back to the dance floor.
Nick stood up and instantly his trousers made their way down to his thighs. "Oh shit!" He frantically yanked them back up, but not before the guests nearby got a good eyeful of his Spider-Man-covered, peachy backside. Tim’s eyes went wide with amusement, and as he laughed, he spat out a mouthful of beer.
"Nice pants, Nick!" he giggled, picking up a napkin.
His cheeks turned the same colour as his suit for the second time that day, and Nick quickly did his zip back up, his eyes darting sheepishly around to see if there were any witnesses. Table 8 seemed to be all looking at each other and sniggering. His hand instinctively moved to stroke the back of his neck as he put his head down, utterly mortified. He grabbed his bag and made his way past the guests on the dance floor who were now bouncing and singing energetically. He was sure he overheard Loz’s granny saying that seeing his arse was the highlight of her week.
—————-///—————-
Charlie Spring was feeling simultaneously flustered and intrigued. As usual, he was spending his Saturday night at the wedding of a couple he barely knew, ready to wax lyrical about them in the Kent Times' Commitments column. And it was from this vantage point, tucked away in a corner of the room and able to observe everyone around him, that he happened to glance around at exactly the right time to see a pair of hot pink trousers accidentally sliding down the thick, toned thighs of the best man. Who also happened to be the most stunning individual Charlie had ever clapped eyes on. Ding dong. All too quickly, the arse-sent-from-heaven was covered again as hot-ginger-hunk rapidly pulled his trousers back into place. Charlie reckoned his gorgeous freckled face had turned a similar shade to the clothing that had been trying to make its bid for freedom, and he found it extremely endearing. However, hot-ginger-hunk seemed to be leaving the room. Damn. Just when he thought this wedding was getting interesting. He sighed and attempted to type some more notes.
Twenty minutes later, Charlie, feeling a little jaded with the stuffiness of the reception room, decided he needed some fresh air to help him keep awake. Just as he walked out of the hotel's grand main entrance he saw a taxi slowly pulling away, and through the back window, was treated to a delightful second view of the very juicy bum, clad only in tight Spidey boxers. Charlie's eyebrows bounced up to meet his hairline, and his mouth arranged itself into a smirk of approval. Well then.
By 7pm, Charlie I really had lost the will to live. He hated weddings, but even more so, he hated writing about them. He ached to write something with more depth, something that he could really sink his teeth into, not just tooth-rotting fluff about how ‘soulmates’ got together. He longed to show his boss what he was really capable of, with a proper meaty news-worthy article. Otherwise, he was going to be stuck in shitty Commitments land forever.
Thankful that he had finally made the last of his notes, he put his tablet away and stood up to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the brides gathering all the single people onto the dance floor. If this was the throwing of the bouquet, it was most certainly his cue to leave. As he turned towards the door, he was suddenly rooted to the spot as he unexpectedly spotted hot-ginger-hunk hurrying back towards the dance floor. He noted ‘hunk’ was now missing his suit jacket and tie, his shirt was untucked and his copper hair was somehow messier. The way the shirt was a little clingy on his biceps made Charlie utter ‘Jesus,” under his breath. This dishevelled look definitely suited him, and he was certainly rivalling Henry Maddox in the hotness stakes. Hot-ginger-hunk ran a hand through his hair and wiped his brow. Charlie suddenly envisaged what he might look like underneath his shirt, and felt his dick twitch. Maybe he didn’t have to leave just yet.
Loz tossed her bouquet enthusiastically to the eagerly waiting crowd. Just as hot-ginger-hunk got to the dance floor, a huge surge ensued, knocking him clean off his feet and onto his back. The loud thwack of his head on the floor, audible even over the sound of the crowd, made Charlie wince. Before he realised what he was doing, Charlie strode quickly past the victorious bridesmaid who was holding up the bouquet like a trophy and made his way through the crowd to the hottie, who now looked as though he could be unconscious. Charlie knelt down next to him, and, once he realised there was no blood, and that his chest was rising and falling, he took a moment to take in his face close up. He was so good looking that it made his breath hitch in his throat. He was unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar. Had he seen that adorable arrangement of freckles across that button nose before? He was certain he didn’t already know him. And yet, there was something, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Charlie leaned in. "Hey, can you hear me?"
He gently tapped the stranger on the shoulder, noting how firm it felt under his fingers.
I wonder if he’s queer? It would be an absolute travesty if he’s straight. I bet he’s a great lay. Would it be inappropriate to get his number after the bang to his head?
There was quite a group surrounding them by this point. The hunk's eyes slowly fluttered open, then blinked. His brow furrowed in confusion.
Charlie smiled. "Hi."
"Hi."
~ "My most brilliant achievement was my ability to be able to persuade my wife to marry me." ~
WINSTON CHURCHILL
💍Wedding fun fact💍: Most expensive wedding ever? The marriage of Sheik Rashid Bin Saeed Al Maktoum's son to Princess Salama in Dubai in May 1981. The price tag? $44 million.