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Not so disastrous after all
Planning a wedding is far from an easy task. Now add to that the fact that the couple getting married are Eric Cartman, drama queen extraordinaire and extravagantly over-the-top, and Kyle Broflovski, perfectionist to the point of neurosis, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for disaster.
Of course, the moment they exchanged rings and officially got engaged, Kyle swore he wouldn’t let their wedding turn into a circus. So, he took over the entire planning process. He committed to handling all negotiations with the vendors, Eric just had to sit down, keep his mouth shut to avoid ruining things with some offensive comment, and give his opinion on things like what color he wanted for the tablecloths or similar decisions, because, as much as it pains him to admit it, the man is much better at that kind of stuff.
In short, everything decoration-related was up to Eric, but the conversation to get to those decisions was Kyle’s responsibility. And he was prepared for that.
What he apparently wasn’t prepared for was the task turning out to be far more titanic than it should have been. Because really, what was the need for all the bad luck in the world to cling to him so fiercely?
None, in his humble opinion. There was absolutely no reason why organizing his wedding should be this hard.
If he asked Eric for his opinion, his default response would be to just go with the flow and relax a bit.
Not that those were his exact words, of course. Kyle hadn’t actually stopped to properly ask him.
When the first problem came up, Eric found him pacing the living room, muttering under his breath, and as soon as he saw him, Kyle started ranting freely. Something about a mistake in the printing of the invitations or the color of the paper; not that Eric had paid much attention, too busy enjoying the frustrated expression on his fiancé’s face.
“Khal, we’ve still got months until the wedding,” he said, trying to hold back a laugh. “We can totally fix that in time.”
“I know we still have months until the wedding,” Kyle snapped, stopping mid-stride and narrowing his eyes at Eric’s calm expression. “But if they’re making such stupid mistakes this early on, what’s waiting for us down the line?”
“Dude” he couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer, covering his mouth to stifle the sound, but it was too late.
“It’s not funny, Eric. This is our wedding, everything has to be perfect, and…”
“If it’s such a big deal,” Eric interrupted, clearing his throat, though the amusement was still written all over his face, “and it’s stressing you out this much so early, maybe you should hire a professional to handle all the talking. That way, we just approve things and enjoy the ride.”
Kyle’s angry expression twisted into one of pure outrage, which made Eric laugh again. He cupped his face, kissed his forehead, and let go to head into the kitchen to make dinner.
“You’re stressing over nothing, neurotic Jew. Chill.”
Those words, instead of calming him down, were taken as a challenge. Not that Eric was surprised, of course, but he hadn’t expected Kyle to take it as a literal challenge to power through without asking for help, except when it came to aesthetic decisions.
So, Eric settled into just observing, keeping his comments to a minimum. Not because he didn’t find it funny, watching his fiancé try to keep from yelling profanities and gritting his teeth to avoid being sarcastic was endlessly entertaining, but because, contrary to what the redhead might think, Eric was aware that the last thing Kyle needed was for him to contribute to the stress.
Still, something, some universal force or whatever, seemed determined to ruin their moment.
With each new inconvenience, from menu issues to a mistake with their tuxedos, Kyle’s stress kept growing, and Eric was no longer finding it amusing. Sure, Kyle being angry had always been an endless source of amusement for him, he’s never denied it, but the problem now was that Kyle was holding back, hell-bent on being polite to people who were clearly being dense on purpose. There’s no other explanation for supposed professionals making so many mistakes doing things they supposedly had years of experience in. And it was starting to affect him, too.
More than once, Eric had come home to find Kyle screaming into a pillow before going back to a phone call. And the toll it was having on their sex life? Unacceptable. Outrageous. Unforgivable.
Eric even tried, very much against his better judgment, to get Kyle to delegate some things to Stan, who was supposed to be his best man. Even Kenny, Eric’s own best man, had offered to take some things off Kyle’s plate after one of his many diatribes. But the redhead had always been stubborn, and the more people insisted, the more he clung to keeping control.
Not even Sheila had managed to talk sense into him after Kyle threw a “Kyle-style” tantrum when the florist they hired informed them the arrangements might not be ready in time. Something about not having enough of the flowers they chose, and not knowing how long the order for replacements would take to arrive. Eric thought it sounded suspiciously deliberate, but Kyle, after calming down, tried to reach a solution; one that ended with replacing the chosen flowers with others the florist had in stock. The new flowers didn’t even match the rest of the decor, and it was too late to make any changes at that point. Less than three months to the wedding. They had no choice but to suck it up.
Well, Eric sucked it up and didn’t say a word only because Kyle asked him not to. If it had been up to him, the solution would’ve been... different. Preferably more violent and rude.
Things seemed to settle down after that, Kyle’s stress levels returning to normal, allowing Eric to joke freely about it again. Every day, the date of their big moment got closer, and just thinking about it was enough to make them smile like two stupid, love-struck teenagers.
Everything was relatively calm. Too calm.
They should’ve known that only meant a storm was coming.
And that storm hit without warning, less than a month before the big day.
When Eric walks into their shared apartment, he’s met with a deathly silence that makes him pause. It wasn’t the usual silence of an empty home, and he knew Kyle was there; he’d seen his car in the parking lot when he arrived, and the kitchen light is on. No, this is a heavy silence, tense, crackling with static. He could swear the hair on his arms stood up and goosebumps erupted on his skin.
It' a silence he knows far too well.
He closes the door carefully, drops his keys in their usual spot, and walks slowly toward the kitchen. If Kyle is about to explode, Eric thinks cautiously, he definitely doesn’t want to be the one to set him off. In other circumstances, he’d gladly take the blame, but he can already imagine what had gone wrong this time, and he ain’t going to be the scapegoat for that mess.
He stops in the kitchen doorway, his eyes immediately falling on Kyle. The redhead is sitting on one of the breakfast bar stools, hunched over in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable; his elbows are on the counter, one hand tangled deep in his hair, the other clutching the phone so tightly his knuckles had gone white, like it is the only thing anchoring him to his sanity. The receiver isn’t even near his ear, and Eric can hear a muffled voice rambling on the other end.
Lying in front of him is one of the wedding contracts, Eric knows because he recognizes the scribble that passed as his signature at the bottom. Why is it out of the folder Kyle’d meticulously filed it in months ago? He isn’t sure, but he has a vague idea. And it wasn’t a good reason, he assumes, especially seeing the crumpled upper corners.
Eric shifts his weight from foot to foot, debating whether to let Kyle finish his call or intervene. The decision is made for him when Kyle’s hand twists harder into his curls. Nope. No way he’s letting his fiancé go bald right before the wedding. That would ruin the photos.
He approaches the breakfast bar with steady steps, making his presence known so as not to startle him, but Kyle doesn’t move or even acknowledge him. Eric frowns and sits on the stool next to him, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.
“Khal?” he calls softly, unable to fully see his expression.
Kyle doesn’t answer right away, but shifts slightly, just enough to let Eric know he’d heard him. Finally, he looks up, and Eric sees his frustrated expression in all its glory: red face, jaw clenched so tight his teeth were probably about to start grinding, and a vein visibly throbbing on his temple. Kyle stares at him with wide, bloodshot eyes, maybe from not blinking, though Eric can see the tears welling at the edges. It’s probably worse than it seems.
He opens his mouth to say something, then shut it again. He runs a hand through his hair, glances around, and his gaze falls on the contract. Looking closer, Eric realizes it’s the one they’d signed with the venue for the ceremony and reception. He frowns, then looks back at Kyle.
“What happened now?” he asks quietly, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.
Kyle opens his mouth, but no sound came out. He clears his throat harshly and sits up a bit straighter, finally letting go of his hair and resting his hand on the counter. Eric immediately grabs it, preventing him from going back to assaulting his scalp.
“They canceled the venue,” he says once he gets his voice back. It’s low and hoarse, like he’d been yelling recently. Eric doesn’t doubt he did.
“What do you mean they ‘canceled it’?” he asks, incredulous. "What happened?"
"They say it was a 'scheduling error,' that they hadn’t noticed there was already an event booked for our date." He squeezes Eric’s hand tightly, anger blazing in his eyes, and with every word that leaves his mouth, his voice cracks more as he tries to keep it at a reasonable volume. "They said they’re very sorry about what happened, but it’s too late to fix it."
He clenches his teeth, leaning closer. His other hand lowers slightly, still gripping the phone tightly, while on the other end, a muffled voice rambles some nonsense he can’t understand.
"That they tried contacting us," he scoffs, "and weren’t successful. As if it’s my fault they’re a bunch of useless, incompetent, assholes…"
He stops abruptly and straightens up. He lets go of Eric’s hand to cover his face with it and holds the phone out to him. As Eric takes it, their fingers brush, and he can feel the slight tremor in Kyle’s hand. ‘My poor Jew,’ he thinks as he gets up to wrap an arm around his shoulders, ‘trying to carry the weight all by himself when the solution was right under his nose from the beginning.’
"... and also... hello? Mr. Broflovski? Are you still there?" Eric hears as he puts the phone to his ear, a nasal, annoying voice, dripping with fake sympathy that grates his nerves instantly. "Listen, we really are very sorry, and we understand your frustration, but you must understand this is something beyond our control. You know how computers can be, sometimes they glitch, and it’s likely the email we sent you…"
"You’re speaking to Mr. Cartman," he interrupts without hesitation, using the sweetest fake voice he can muster, "you know, the other groom. Could you explain to me exactly how, after confirming and reconfirming the date of our wedding, signing a contract with you that clearly states the date, and putting you in contact with the decorators who were following our specifications, our event has suddenly been canceled?"
He doesn’t raise his voice at any point, keeping his tone casual but dripping with condescension in every word. He can feel Kyle’s incredulous gaze on him and, guessing he can push a little without getting his head bitten off, he glances down at him with a sweet smile. ‘What the fuck?’ Kyle mouths, squinting, and Eric just strokes his shoulder before looking back ahead, focusing on the pathetic excuse the person on the line tries to give.
"Mr. Cartman! Hi, yes, look, as Mr. Broflovski must have explained…"
"That’s the point, Roger..." he begins, smiling slightly.
"My name’s not…" the man tries to cut in, stammering a little.
"I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt me, Roger," Eric cuts him off, rolling his eyes. "As I was saying, that’s the point. My beloved fiancé hasn’t had the chance to explain. You’ll understand how devastating it is for him to find out such an important event, such as our wedding, which he’ve been planning meticulously for months, has to be canceled because someone didn’t do their job properly."
"Mr. Cartman, with all due respect…"
"And you’ll also understand the financial burden you’ve just put us in, right? Since now we’ll have to either move the venue or change the date. All the invitations we’ll have to redo, all the contracts we’ll have to change," he continues as if he hadn’t heard him. Beside him, Kyle snorts, making him smile even more. "Not to mention the financial strain this puts on our families. Everyone flying in from other states to be with us on such a special day."
"Mr. Cartman, you must…"
"Unless, of course, you’re planning to give us a full refund of the deposit we paid?" he finishes, adding a small note of relief to his voice that makes Kyle chuckle softly.
"Wait, wait," the man raises his voice a bit to be heard, and feeling generous, Eric lets him talk, just to see what kind of nonsense he’ll come up with next that he can use against him. "I’m really very sorry, Mr. Cartman, but given the circumstances and how close the payment deadline is for the venue, the best we can do is waive that final fee and…"
"Is it because we’re gay?" Eric asks suddenly, and Kyle can’t help the small incredulous laugh that escapes him.
Eric looks down, grinning broadly when he sees him covering his lips with one hand to stifle his laughter, all traces of tension erased from his face. Kyle looks up at him and laughs again, smacking his side with his free hand.
"What? No, no, Mr. Cartman, I assure you that…" the man stammers on the other end, panic creeping into his voice.
"This is all because we’re gay, isn’t it?" And with an Oscar-worthy performance, Eric makes his voice sound horrified without ever losing the smile he gives Kyle. "So much trouble just to sign the contract, to make the first payment, to schedule a tour of the venue. All of it because we’re a pair of men in love."
"Mr. Cartman, I assure you it has nothing to do with…"
"There’s no other explanation. A bunch of homophobes waiting until the last minute, knowing we wouldn’t be able to find another venue so close to the date during wedding season." He raises his voice, sounding as scandalized as possible. "This won’t go unnoticed, of course. I’ll make sure the media and every wedding site that recommended you hears about this. So many broken hearts when the world finds out about your discrimination."
Kyle rolls his eyes at the dramatics but doesn’t stop watching him, hanging on his every word. The smile on his lips and the relief in his eyes betray the reproach he’s trying to send his way.
"Mr. Cartman, please, be reasonable," the voice on the other end sounds as desperate as Eric expected. "The fact that you and Mr. Broflovski are men has nothing to do with…"
"Then is it because we’re Jewish?" Eric ignores Kyle’s quiet snort, focusing on the task at hand. "Homophobic and antisemitic? I can see your reputation collapsing in seconds."
"We’re not… that has nothing to do…"
"But that can be avoided, of course," he drops the horrified tone and returns to the casual, relaxed one from before. "You can forget about that nonsense of canceling our reservation and knock off 50% of the remaining balance. What do you say?"
The line goes quiet for a few minutes, but Eric waits patiently for their decision. He runs his fingers through Kyle’s hair, gently massaging the spot he’d been gripping earlier, his smile softening as he feels him relax into him.
"Mr. Cartman, we can reinstate your reservation and ignore the cancellation," the man finally says with a deep breath, "but we can’t give you a discount on what’s owed. You signed a contract that states…"
"A contract you all seemed ready to invalidate," Eric gently reminds him. Not getting a response, he continues, "Roger, I don’t think you fully understand what’s going to happen."
"My name’s not…" the man tries weakly.
"If you don’t do what I’m saying, I will personally make it my mission to destroy your venue’s reputation," he says slowly, dragging each word out in a polite but pointed tone that leaves no doubt he’s dead serious. "By the time I’m done, no one will rent any of your venues, not even for trashy parties. Am I being clear?"
"I…"
"Am I being clear?" he repeats, more firmly.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Cartman. We’ll send confirmation that the wedding space is still yours, and that you’ll only need to pay 50% of what’s left," the voice on the other end sounds tightly controlled, equal parts annoyed and terrified.
Excellent.
"Perfect! Make sure to send that information to the other email listed on the contract. I don’t want you bothering my fiancé with any more of your nonsense. Have a great rest of your day."
"You too…" but Eric hangs up before he can finish.
The kitchen falls silent for a few seconds, both of them processing what just happened before bursting into laughter. Kyle clings to him, pressing his face into his shoulder and trying desperately to stifle his laughter against the fabric of his shirt. Eric lets him, holding him tighter and completely ignoring the dampness that starts to seep in after a while.
"God, you’re awful," Kyle says once he manages to catch his breath, pulling back just enough to wipe his face. They both pretend the tears on his cheeks are from laughing and not the stress.
"And yet, you’re still marrying me in a few weeks. Tragic," Eric grins, turning him on the stool so they’re face to face.
He places his hands on his cheeks, wiping the tears away gently, and presses a kiss to his forehead with a soft smile.
"Feeling better?" he asks softly, running his hands through Kyle’s hair with gentle strokes.
"Better," Kyle nods, eyes closing. He wraps his arms around Eric’s waist with a quiet sigh. "I can’t believe you pulled the ‘is it because I’m gay?’ card."
"I can’t believe you didn’t pull it earlier. Wasting your breath when the solution was right under your nose," he chuckles, massaging his scalp again.
They fall quiet once more, enjoying a few minutes of peace in each other’s arms.
"Thank you," Kyle whispers after a while, pulling back to look at him. "I was about to lose it."
“I hadn't noticed,” he replies sarcastically, earning a pinch for it, to which he immediately complains dramatically. “Khal! That's no way to treat your wonderful future husband. After what I just did for you.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with fake regret.
“Okay, it wasn’t that big of a deal,” he tries to pull away from the hug, rolling his eyes.
“It’s not my fault someone made me promise not to use my powers for evil,” he jokes, holding him tighter against his chest.
“You're unbearable,” he mutters, giving in and slumping slightly to rest his cheek against his belly.
“And, again, you're still marrying me. You really need to pick better insults, Jew,” he teases, running a hand down his back. “Now, you know what we have to do?”
“Hm?” he asks softly, his voice much more relaxed than before. He’s probably about to fall asleep. “Enlighten me, oh great guru.”
“We need to make a list of everyone that pissed you off in the past few months. I bet your monthly salary I can get your flowers back if you just let me do my thing.”
“You’re going to make them hate us and do something stupid at the wedding in revenge,” he protests, though without much energy.
“No, no, Khal. They'll hate me, I promise, and your good boy image will remain untouched,” he shrugs slightly, kissing his hair. “Wouldn’t be the first time anyway.”
“Eric…” he looks up at him, frowning slightly. His annoyed expression doesn’t really land, considering he can barely keep his eyes open.
Adorable.
“Oh come on, Khal, it’s not like I’m lying,” he says, kissing his forehead and tightening his hold to make sure the comment doesn’t come off with any double meaning. That seems to calm him, because his frown softens. “But back to the point, give me the list of every asshole. I remember the flowers thing, we still have time to teach them a lesson. Is there anything else?”
“You’re impossible,” Kyle laughs softly and sighs. “Alright, I’ll make you the list. Just promise you won’t go overboard.”
“Please, who do you take me for?” He rolls his eyes playfully at the snort he gets in return. “Okay, I promise I won’t go overboard. Just what’s necessary to straighten the path of these so-called professionals.”
“Fine,” he agrees, yawning softly. “Thanks. I love you.”
“I love you too, even if you’re a neurotic Jew,” he whispers, kissing his forehead again. “Come on, to bed, or tomorrow you’ll be whining about how terribly you slept. These bones aren’t made for you to fall asleep on the breakfast bar.”
“Eric, we’re 30,” he protests, but still gets to his feet, letting himself be guided to the bedroom.
“And you act like you're 60,” he laughs as they reach the room, helping him settle into bed. “Tomorrow we’ll go over what’s left for the wedding.” He promises, getting an exhausted sigh as answer.
Kyle hesitated a little to let Eric take on the role of groomzilla, not because he didn’t trust him to get results, because obviously he would, but because he tends to exaggerate more than necessary. However, and to his complete relief, Eric kept the dramatics at a manageable level, as promised. The relief doubled when he solved the issue with the flowers and the menu without much resistance.
If he threatened them once or twice with ruining their business’ reputations, well, it was easy to turn a blind eye to that and enjoy the last few weeks before the wedding in relative peace.
Fortunately for both of them, and their best men, the day finally arrives without any more setbacks.
And to make sure both grooms could enjoy getting ready for the ceremony without thinking about last-minute details, Stan and Kenny offered to supervise that part. Kyle, of course, wanted to refuse, but Cartman convinced him to let them handle it. What magic words he used to get him to ease up a bit, Stan doesn’t even want to imagine, but they worked.
Although, he thinks with mild amusement as he sips from his coffee, trying to ignore the bitter taste, maybe Cartman’s words didn’t work that well, because he’s seen Kyle do a couple of rounds through the venue. If he didn’t know him as well as he does, perks of being his super best friend and all, he’d be offended by what looks like a lack of trust. Thankfully, he knows him well enough to realize that even if Kyle trusts his and Kenny’s judgment, he just can’t sit still in the prep room knowing people are still putting up decorations and setting up the chuppah.
He had warned him not to show up too early, but of course he didn’t listen.
He smiles in amusement and decides it’s time to take a walk through the reception area, appreciating the dual setup idea. The wedding would be outdoors, taking advantage of the nice weather, while the reception would be indoors. He has to admit neither of them skimped on decorations for the ballroom, though he heard Cartman tell Kenny he got a small discount, and the layout looks pretty good.
On one side are the guest tables, on the other the buffet and cake table. The dance floor is in the center, and across from it, the DJ setup.
He walks over to the buffet tables, checking that the trays are placed where Kyle had instructed, each one properly labeled. The cake will be brought out only when it’s time to cut it.
So distracted, he almost doesn’t realize he’s not alone in the room, until he hears whispering not too far from where he is. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he quietly approaches, trying to make out what they’re saying.
“God, this can’t be over fast enough,” complains a young man, who, judging by his uniform, is a waiter.
“Right? I just want to go home,” a girl replies, nodding to her coworker’s words. “I mean, work is work, but the groom…”
“Ugh, the groom’s not making it easy,” another girl agrees, nodding vigorously. “He’s a total headache. The pay barely makes up for the fact that he made Cathy cry… barely.”
“Well, at least the pay is good and we only have to deal with the groomzilla for a few hours,” the first guy says solemnly, patting his coworkers on the back.
The first girl’s about to add something when she looks up and startles upon seeing him. Stan blinks and gives an awkward smile, unable to pretend he didn’t just overhear them. Refusing to stay another second and suffer the embarrassment of giving in to curiosity, he nods at them, turns on his heel, and walks away as fast as he can without looking like he’s running.
“Was that the best man?!” he hears one of the girls ask, her voice a bit louder, probably from nerves.
“We’re screwed,” the other two mutter in unison, groaning lowly.
Stan wants to reassure them that he won’t tell anyone he heard them badmouthing his best friend. Because he assumes they were talking about Kyle. He might be his best friend, but he knows him better than anyone and knows exactly how he gets when he wants things to be perfect. If those poor workers had even dealt with a fraction of the stressed Kyle from the past few months, he honestly feels for them.
In fact, as he walks toward the room where he’ll help Kyle get ready, he makes a mental note to leave them a tip later. Maybe even convince Kenny and Butters to do the same.
“Miranda,” Cartman’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “What did I tell you about those flowers?”
He stops, frowning slightly. Cartman was supposed to be in his own prep room, and Stan hasn’t seen him since that morning. What was he doing here?
“Mr. Cartman, I told you that’s not my…” a female voice answers, presumably Miranda’s.
“And I told you not to interrupt me when I’m speaking,” Stan recognizes that tone, saccharine and condescending.
He steps closer, peeking around the corner to decide if he should intervene or not. He’s surprised to see not only Cartman and the woman, but Kyle too, standing a few steps behind Cartman with his arms crossed, watching the exchange.
“What did I tell you about those specific flowers, Miranda? That they should go…?” Cartman has his hands clasped in front of him at chest height, striking a pose very much like a parent patiently scolding a small child. And Stan would believe that’s the intent, if it weren’t for the malicious smile on his lips.
“Around the altar, where the officiant will stand,” the woman nearly sighs in exasperation but holds herself back, “but it would be better to place them…”
“Ah, ah, ah. I’m not paying you to think, Miranda, am I?,” Cartman releases his hands and wags a finger before pointing toward the patio where the ceremony will be held. “Those flowers were chosen specifically to contrast the chuppah’s arrangement. Put them where they belong.”
“Of course, Mr. Cartman,” the woman replies mechanically and walks off muttering under her breath.
“And make sure someone replaces that horrible red carpet with the green one we picked. I don’t remember approving that change, so I expect it fixed before the ceremony starts,” he adds, raising his voice a bit without turning to look at her.
‘Ugh,’ Stan thinks, watching the woman fan herself slightly. ‘Come to think of it, this makes that earlier “groomzilla” comment make a lot more sense.’ He looks back at Cartman, shaking his head slightly. He supposes old habits die hard.
He's about to step closer and let them know he's there, but he stops when he sees Kyle drop his arms and rest a hand on Cartman's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He blinks when they share a knowing smile before parting ways and heading to their respective rooms.
Stan has absolutely no idea what just happened, but for the sake of his mental health, he decides not to ask questions and to pretend he didn’t see a thing.
For Kyle, the rest of the day passes like a dream. The ceremony was perfect, exactly as planned, except for Eric’s ridiculously cheesy vows. He’d say he regretted not having a properly Jewish wedding to prevent his fiancé… his husband from saying such embarrassing things about him, but the truth is he enjoyed every damn second. His own vows nearly made Eric cry, though he’s sure Eric will fervently deny it in a few years.
Good thing he made sure Stan and Kenny recorded the whole thing.
The reception was even better and, aside from a minor incident with a waiter who accidentally dropped a tray of drinks, there’s really nothing to complain about. By that point, he was too happy and relaxed to be upset that some alcohol splashed on his suit and probably ruined it.
It’s likely that his lack of reaction had more to do with the drinks he’d already had than with not caring, tho.
“What’s my favorite Jew thinking about?” Eric’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. He blinks slowly at the man, who’s gently swaying him side to side on the dance floor without really following the rhythm of the music.
“That the day didn’t end in complete disaster like I thought it would,” he admits, tightening his arms around him, and they shift positions so now he’s the one leading Eric across the dance floor.
“Of course the day was perfect, Jew, you married me,” Eric jokes, the dumb grin on his face stripping the words of any malice they might have carried.
Kyle laughs, resting his forehead on Eric’s shoulder, making them pause for a moment. Eric lets him laugh, gently patting his back. When he calms down, they go back to their pseudo-dancing.
“Thank you,” Kyle whispers, pressing his forehead to Eric’s.
“Better thank me on our honeymoon,” Eric replies, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively before giving him a small kiss on the lips.
“You have no idea how much I hate you right now,” Kyle replies with a loud laugh. He’s probably had a bit too much to drink.
“Oh, the feeling is mutual, my dear Jew, until death do us part,” Eric laughs along, pulling back a bit to lead the dance properly, now actually following the rhythm of the music.
They’re both exhausted, the day’s been far too long, and they can’t wait for it to end. A quick glance around the hall tells them that aside from themselves, their best men, and a few scattered guests, the place is practically empty. And the terrified waiters, of course, who keep glancing at Eric like they’re expecting him to explode and start yelling at them over the spilled drinks from earlier.
‘Maybe we should send them home and spare them the suffering,’ Kyle thinks, closing his eyes for a second.
‘Maybe later,’ he tells himself, once they’re ready to wrap up the party and go start their newlywed life.