Chapter Text
A sea of white, of fabric, reflects at Levi as he peers through the window of the bridal boutique. He’s already regretting his decision as he watches women bustle in and out of the store, some carrying huge bags and others smaller ones. He feels like he’s mentally cringing as he follows you to the entrance.
You’re practically vibrating in front of him, movements jerky and excited as you open up the door of the shop, an entryway bell chiming overhead to announce your arrival. While he’s tempted to settle you some for his own nerves’ sake, he can’t quite bring himself to dampen your excitement.
It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. Who’s he to ruin that for you? Even if the realization that he’s about to see you in a wedding dress is making this whole ‘commitment’ thing startlingly real. He’s starting to think that tagging him along for dress shopping wasn’t a good idea.
A woman makes her way forward from behind one of the counters set up at the front of the shop—black slacks, a black blouse—clearly a consultant.
“Welcome in!” she greets, eyes shining as she focuses in on you.
Levi tunes it out. You and the woman begin to chatter animatedly, all sunshine and rainbows, as she begins to usher you back behind the entryway counters. Rows and rows of lace and shimmery gowns await you.
Most of it goes over his head.
The consultant finally reaches a row, hands fisting through the thick fabrics to show them off while they’re on the rack. She’s speaking to you, all smiles, asking questions, trying to gauge her probability for a sale.
When’s the big day? What theme? How long have the two of you been together?
What fabric? Sweetheart neckline? Strapless?
What style? What the hell is a mermaid dress? He wonders, brows crimping together in concern as he attempts to listen to the conversation.
Levi is struggling to follow what's being discussed. His discomfort grows, and he finds himself crossing his arms while standing at your side. You’re answering questions in rapid-fire succession, having been thinking about the answers from the day the two of you had officially moved in together. You’d always known he was yours.
He didn’t realize so much went into this decision-making process. He realizes the dress is important, especially to you, but it’s still a dress. For all he cares, you could show up in something plain (it doesn’t even have to be white!!) and he’d still find you pretty, still the one he wants to spend the rest of his days with, but clearly it’s more than that to you.
He keeps his mouth tightly shut as a result, lips a firm line, and expression grim. You’d think he was in a serious situation - not a bustling bridal shop with chattering women and emotional moments. He’s able to keep it quiet until the consultant finally directs her gaze to him.
“Are you the groom?” she inquires, eyes alight with intrigue.
The discomfort grows. He’s starting to realize maybe traditions are traditions for a reason. It vaguely registers he’s the only man in the shop. It feels like he’s stepped into something intimate, secretive. A woman’s space that he knows absolutely nothing about. Levi is a man of control, a man who figures things out no matter what, but he feels clueless.
“Yeah, I’m the groom,” he says, exhaling for the first time since he’s come in, when he finally catches your eye.
Bright, eyes wide, excited. Hands clenched and a smile that could outshine the sun alight in your features. Your happiness practically radiates. He can feel the analytical, overly cautious part of his heart cracking.
Yeah, he can’t fuck this up.
“Oh! That’s wonderful. We don’t get grooms often. It’s not traditional, but you know I don’t mind….” the saleswoman starts, turning on her heel to lead the two of you deeper into the storefront.
The consultant’s words float, suspend. Levi isn’t catching them in his uncomfortable stupor. He doesn’t need her to tell him it’s not traditional. He knew before he came, and he’s quickly figuring that out as other patrons are shooting the two of you odd looks as she leads onwards to the next rack of dresses.
You extend a hand to him, a silent offer. He doesn’t love PDA, but you can tell he’s out of his comfort zone. The smile you give him when he looks over at you is more tame, more reassuring than dazzling happiness. His heart is a puddle in his chest when he takes your hand. Always so good at reading him. Your fingers twine loosely, and he can feel himself relax just a little. The softness of your hand against his own calloused one soothes.
He’s here with you, and that’s all that matters. He wants you to never forget today if it’s so important.
It doesn’t take much longer before things explode in a flurry of lace, taffeta, and silk. After browsing through a few racks, the consultant has ushered you into a room after prodding about all your preferences, wanting to surprise you. He hasn’t had much to say. He’s opinionated, but he doesn’t know where to start giving his opinion - entirely out of his element.
Levi’s sits comfortably in a guest chair outside of the fitting room, legs crossed and arms folded as he waits. He’s never been a fidgety person, but if he wanted to start being one, now might be a good time.
The consultant passes by him, three billowing white dresses slung behind her, using her shoulder as support. They’re big, and they look heavy.
Probably expensive, too, he gauges tiredly.
Weddings sure do add up.
He hears you exclaim something as the consultant enters, muffled by the walls of the fitting room, and then he’s left alone in the lobby with patrons again. The waiting is the worst part. Of course, he’s eager to leave because he feels out of place, but he’s also intrigued to see what you’ll look like.
Marriage had never been on the docket for him, never something he had considered before you. He was content in his own space, doing things the way he preferred. Taking stock of his emotions and controlling them carefully, not allowing them to control him. It got lonely sometimes, but he’s almost always been alone. And then you came along.
It was like a sunrise.
It had started slowly at first. He enjoyed your company. You made a damn good cup of tea. And then the color started to bloom in his dark skies when he decided to let his walls down just a little. Just when he realized, he started to miss seeing you, and that he didn’t tolerate your company - he wanted it. He invited you out with him, and the sun came up on him, warming something long forgotten, something long suppressed.
It was you - the sun in his sky, warming weary, scarred bones and coaxing out all the warmth he had forgotten lived within himself. It startled him more when he realized the bloom of color was starting to turn into daytime in the isolation he’d built for himself; the familiar stars of burden he carried that he often kept within reach faded under your light.
He enjoyed the warmth. He felt seen. He decided to stay.
He decides to stay now, expression impassive but deliberate as he listens to you fuss in the dressing room, fabric rustling as the consultant pulls and pokes to adjust the first dress on you.
The door clicks. His palms sweat.
“Here she is!” the consultant exclaims, all smiles as she swings the dressing room door open.
And then you step out. Levi expects to be blown away, to be in awe, after all - it’s you, but his heart does a somersault in his chest instead. It chokes him.
You grin at him atop a mass of white. It’s a bigger, over-the-top dress, stretching further out than you’d ever truly want. You already know it’s not the one for you, but you just wanted to get his reaction. The red creeping into the tips of his ears and the softness in his expression tells you enough.
You step further out onto the show floor, onto the small podium, waiting for you to further analyze it in the multitude of mirrors. You do so, admiring yourself and smoothing the fabric around your waist carefully. You turn slightly, gauging, brows furrowing. Definitely not the one you want. It’s too much. A classic princess dress that looks like it’s been dreamed up by a child. It’s a fairytale dress, but not you.
You catch his eye in the mirror. He’s staring hard. His usual indifferent expression is nowhere to be found, struggling for dominance in his features as he flounders to fish out a compliment. You know he’s bad at it.
“Do you like it?”
He’s staring at you through the mirror, trying to drag his thoughts back down to earth.
He gets to marry that? What did he do to deserve this? Who does he have to thank?
“Yeah,” he starts, clearing his throat, trying to seem nonchalant when really his brain is short-circuiting.
“That one’s nice. A little big, maybe,” he adds after a moment, trying to be helpful when really he just feels stupid for saying it. The red creeps up his neck steadily.
He can feel his ears burning. He doesn’t like the smug, knowing look you shoot the consultant. The consultant returns it, and he feels extremely left out.
What the hell was that look? Damn women.
“I think so too,” you reply, hands finding hold in the dress to lift it slightly as you step off the small podium.
“Something else then?” the consultant asks, gently grabbing at the folds of fabric at the back of it to assist you.
“Definitely, yes,” you chirp back excitedly, already mentally cataloguing just how flushed you can make the seemingly stoic man observing the whole interaction.
Levi has a strange feeling he’s going to be here longer than he bargained for.