Archive of Our Own

Max stared at his reflection in the large Venetian mirror. His white tuxedo was specially requested from Tom Ford, who apparently was about to launch his own brand, so he was clearly a big deal. As fancy as that sounded, it kind of felt like it was shrink-wrapped onto his body. "I think I packed on some weight," he said to PJ, who was currently squinting at a tiny smudge on his cufflinks.

"You look great, man."

"No, no, clothes are not supposed to cling like this," Max insisted, running a hand over his waist.

Heaving a suffering sigh, PJ walked over, placing both hands on Max's shoulders, and stared him dead in the eye. "This is a custom-tailored tuxedo. It's supposed to look like that. I'm telling you, man, you look great. Now, chill."

Max couldn't focus on anything but PJ's mustache. It was thicker than usual today, and even though his friend had supported this look since college, it was still hard to get used to. The whole premise of the grownup mustache was to age himself up from looking like a baby-faced highschooler to the dad he now was.

Speaking of fatherhood, Max knew that dopey grin on his best friend's face. "I'm gonna go check on the flower girl." PJ was already making a beeline for the door. "Little Maxie is probably all decked out in that pretty princess white dress right now."

"This Little Maxie needs you, Mr. Best Man!" Max snapped, pointing at himself with two white-gloved fingers. "Dude! The ceremony is in twenty minutes!"

The sound of the door closing was the answer he got.

Yep, his bud had named his baby girl after him. Maximiliana Pete was born on May 13, 2002, a day memorable mostly because her mother, Vicki, had to be yanked out of her own graduation ceremony and piloted to the hospital in Bradley's precious Benz by his own boyfriend. Bradley still held that unforgettable sin over him. The young parents did appreciate his impulsive heroism, hence naming their daughter after him.

He looked at his reflection again and sighed, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. PJ could have been at least more sensitive; it wasn't like he wasn't a complete wreck at his own wedding. Max was there as the dutiful best man through every cummerbund crisis, every groan-infested, angsty poetic line, and making sure PJ didn't go into his usual 'climb the drywall' panic attack. It didn't help that PJ had decided to get hitched at the ripe age of almost-twenty, right at the end of their sophomore year. PJ having cold feet would have been understandable had it not been his idea to get married that young.

The door creaked open, revealing three-year-old Little Maxie in a lace tulle, cotton white dress, clutching a basket full of white rose petals. Her soft red hair was pulled up into a tiny bun hiding behind a crystal tiara crown, and her chubby face broke into a wide grin when she spotted her favorite uncle. Max couldn't help but snicker at the cute sight. He dropped instantly to one knee, wrapping her up in a massive hug. As he held her at arm's length, another laugh escaped him, it was like looking at a mini-PJ wearing pink lip gloss.

"Aw, Max, look what she did!" PJ, who had followed her in, now pointed in terror at the pink lip print staining Max's shoulder.

Little Maxie jabbed a chubby little finger at it. "My kiss is on your shoulder."

Max grinned back at his namesake. "How about you give me one on the other shoulder to even it out?"

She leaned in to kiss him there, but PJ swiftly swooped her up, keeping her away from the white material. "It's like you don't even know the man you're marrying!"

Max chuckled, standing up. "Chill out! I was kidding." He glanced at the pink smudge on his pristine white tux. "A little water on a napkin will take it right off."

PJ held up a hand. "Don't even touch it, dude! I'll get Pistol. She'll know exactly what to do!"

"Bye, Uncle Max," the apple of her uncle's eye waved goodbye over her retreating dad's shoulder.

"Bye, Little Maxie," he waved back, already hearing Bradley roaring in his ear. It had taken Max hours of nagging and earlobe nibbling to convince his fiancé to have her as the flower girl. Bradley was convinced she'd end up dumping her rose petals at the start of the aisle, then bolt right down the middle, completely wrecking the expensive floral display at the altar where they were supposed to say their vows.

Right. His vows. He pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and winced at the folds. Bradley had provided elegant card stock for the ceremony, but after Max went through a bunch of drafts, and realized he'd need more cards than any person should, he opted to use regular paper for his endless revisions. He'd planned to copy the final version later. Unfortunately, 'later' was more of a 'never.' Well, his soon-to-be-husband already knew the screw-up he was marrying, considering Bradley himself had proposed on impulse. The moment they heard Massachusetts had legalized gay marriage, Mr. Ninety-Day Notice dropped to one knee at a crowded hot dog stand outside the DMV. Max's blurted "yes" echoed Bradley's unpredicted impulsivity.

The door burst open.

Pistol marched in, tugging a whimpering Bobby along by the ear. Her free hand balanced a small bottle of club soda and a clean white washcloth. The ridiculous sight of a highschooler dwarfed by the grown man and his giant mohawk almost made Max crack a laugh.  

"I caught your friend here," she grumbled, tightening her grip, "flirting with my best friend."

Max grimaced. "Seriously, Bob-man? She's seventeen!"

"She didn't look seventeen!" Bobby argued, finally wrenching his ear free from Pistol's strong grip. He rubbed the reddened lobe and glared at his aggressor. "And she was the one initiating the flirt-age. Digging these bad boys, ha?" He then wiggled his oversized glasses for emphasis.

Pistol scoffed, already dabbing the stain on Max's shoulder with the club soda and washcloth. "Puh-lease. Like she'd be into a freeloader with Harry Potter specs and a mohawk that is so 1994."

Ouch. Max knew better than anyone to stay clear of Pistol's wrong side.

Bobby wisely changed the subject, eyeing Max's tuxedo. "Maximus, looking sharp, my man. Old Crust will tap that."

Blood rushed to Max's entire face. He darted his eyes at Pistol, who delivered a light slap to his arm. "I'm in twelfth grade, Max. I've heard worse, trust me." She stepped back with a smug smirk. "There. All shiny and new."

Max nodded in approval at the spotless spot, then closed the distance to Bobby, gripping his arm and leaning in to whisper.  "Any news on Bradley's dad?"

His groomsman shook his head. "Sorry, man. He's a no-show so far."

The tightness in Max's chest had nothing to do with the stiff tux. He had banked everything on the older Uppercrust showing up. Could it be that his stunt a week ago, bursting into the man's corner office with Tank's help, had been a bust? He was sure his angry reproach had compelled the man to attend the wedding and finally show pride in his only son.

"I'll be on the lookout again," Bobby promised. He whipped out a thick stack of professionally printed cards. "And handing out these!" They were his promotional cards for the record company he launched right after college, which was still struggling to get off the ground.

"Thanks, man," Max said with a sigh. "And maybe stay away from high school girls."

"She hit on me!" Bobby protested, walking backward and pointing dramatically at his own chest as he reached the door.

Pistol scoffed. "He wishes."

After Bobby was gone, her attention snapped entirely to Max. He instantly felt self-conscious, bracing for her next zinger. Her gaze zeroed in on the crumpled paper in his hand. "Practicing your vows? Did you let PJ write them for you, like I told you?"

Max shot her a glare. "I can write my own vows, thank you very much."

She gasped. "Max! Are you insane?" She extended one hand toward him, using the other to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Hand them over. Let's see if we can salvage this damage."

"Hey!" he protested. "They're fine!"

"'Fine'?" her voice rose to a horrified squeak. "Fine won't cut it. You're marrying an eloquent, laser-minded language expert who was valedictorian both in high school and college. Do you have any idea how your 'fine' vows will look next to his beautifully-crafted, emotionally-devastating sonnet?"

Insecurity seeped into Max. What if Bradley's vows were so moving they had the whole room bursting into tears? How could Max possibly follow that? Maybe he should go first. But what if his inadequate words made Bradley feel let down, dulling the emotional impact of his heartfelt vows?

"Okay, listen," he said, desperation overriding dignity. "I need you to check Bradley's vows for me. Just a sneak peek. Tell me I stand a chance."

Pistol smirked, folding her arms across the bodice of her elegantly beaded blue dress. "And what do I get out of this?"

Max narrowed his eyes at her. "The satisfaction of helping the guy who once gave you his whole allowance just so you could buy enough balloons to float off the patio."

"Yeah, yeah, my services are not cheap," she continued, completely unfazed. "I need front-row tickets to 50 Cent for me and my girlfriends."

"How many girlfriends are we talking?"

"Eleven."

"Eleven?" Max gasped.

She twirled slowly, letting the beading of her blue dress catch the light, while her impeccably coiled copper updo remained flawless. "What can I say? You're talking to Spoonerville High's most likely to win Prom Queen."

Max shook his head. "Eleven front-row tickets is too much, Pistol. That's a mortgage payment."

"That's pocket change for Flip Skateboards' most talented pro-skater! What are you pulling in, like, a million a year?"

"I've been on Flip for barely two years, and let's be real, I'm hardly the Tony Hawk of the team."

Pistol cut him off with a bored wave of her hand. "Whatever, cheapskate. If you're not a millionaire, you're marrying one."

"Your point?"

"What use is marrying the CEO of a successful tech company with a high net worth if you're not leveraging that power for premium concert tickets?" she countered, her logic flawless and petrifying.

"I'm not marrying Bradley for his money," he said automatically, though he knew she was baiting him.

"Come off it, Max. I'm just happy one of my brothers had the good sense to land a big fish with a dozen yachts."

Max rolled his eyes. She only ever called him her "brother" when she wanted something. "Fine," he conceded, defeated. "I'll get you the tickets. Now go peek on those vows."

She executed a slow, dramatic glide toward the door, making his exasperation levels shoot through the roof until she finally slipped through the crack.

He glanced down at his vows and read the first line: "Bradley, you were a legend before I met you. When I first saw you on the steps of your fraternity house, I was in awe, wishing I could be as cool as you. That is, until you opened your mouth."

He scowled. Did he really have to drag their crappy first year into his vows? Maybe he should skip ahead to the second year, when Bradley showed up as his TA. Sparks flew despite Max trying desperately to quell them, reminding himself that the man standing at the podium assisting the professor was the same man who had almost killed him the year before. But Bradley's charisma and extensive knowledge in ethics silenced any logical debate his brain attempted. Wait, should his vows mention their secret, forbidden relationship, AKA student and teacher assistant, to the entire wedding party? He never told his dad about that part. And he knew Bradley wouldn't want anyone to know. They hadn't come out as a couple until Max's junior year, after Bradley was no longer his TA.

Oh, man, he was screwed!

"Got time for one last heart-to-heart with your old man?"

Max's head snapped up. His dad stood in the doorway, wearing the slightly-too-large, dark-blue suit purchased specifically for the event, his face split by a trembling smile.

"Look at you," he whispered, walking toward Max.

"Hey, Dad," he managed, crumpling his vows into a tight ball and stuffing them back into his pocket.

Goofy reached out, placing his large hands on Max's shoulders, taking in the sight of his son in the bespoke white tux, his eyes glistening with pride. "My little boy, all grown up," he murmured, voice catching, and then pulled Max into one of his warm, tight hugs.

Max sank into the embrace, burying his face deep into the soft, slightly scratchy wool of his dad's jacket. His eyes flooded, and tears slipped free, dampening the wool over the familiar shoulder. He held on tight, clinging to the feeling of safety and unconditional love his dad had provided for all of his twenty-four years.

Finally pulling back, he quickly swiped at his eyes, trying to clear the sudden rush of emotion. "Gee, Dad, look what you did," he said with a playful smile as he finished wiping his face.

"You're one to talk." Goofy chuckled, using an old handkerchief to wipe his own eyes. "Now, you go on and have the best day of your life, son. Everything's gonna be mighty great."

Max took a deep breath and nodded.

~*~*~*~*~

In a similar room on the other side of the venue, Bradley Uppercrust III was a textbook picture of a stressed-out CEO preparing for a hostile takeover.

"Tank, are you sure the caterers understood the canapé rotation schedule?" he demanded, examining his white tux in the mirror. "We explicitly agreed on a twenty-minute cycle for the seared scallops, not the twenty-two minute window they tried to sneak in. That delay compromises the flow of the pre-dinner drinks and interferes directly with the harpist's second set."

Tank cut off the hysterical monologue, guiding Bradley away from the mirror to straighten his tie with calming motions. "Calm down, baby. Everything is going according to the detailed, fifty-three-page event schedule you personally wrote. The scallops are seared. The harpist has been threatened with legal action if she improvises. The floral arrangements are precisely 180 degrees symmetrical, just like you demanded. You need to breathe, sweetheart. This is your wedding, enjoy it! Don't turn this into the Gamma annual charity gala."

The habit of being in control and running things to absolute perfection was a trait inculcated into Bradley since a young age. He'd micro-managed every birthday party, every school club event, and was more involved with the planning of the parties his mother hosted for his father's associates in their mansion than anyone realized. The impulse to excel, to achieve unblemished perfection in every endeavor, fueled Bradley's drive to take extreme measures to guarantee success. The cheating in the college X-Games, for example, stemmed directly from his obsession with maintaining a perfect winning streak, a streak his beloved fiancé deprived him of during Bradley's final year of college.

That imperfection on his otherwise flawless record was the biggest slap that shook his entire world. It was followed by the brief fallout with Tank, the deep disappointment of his mother, and the fury of his father, who had to bail him out of felony charges by paying massive fines, covering medical expenses for the injured competitors, and paying to repair the damages to the X-Games setting, from the shattered ramps to the giant X logo. The whole ordeal was a brutal wake-up call for Bradley, who finally realized he had a problem.

The immediate employment at the family tech company post-graduation was abruptly shelved. Instead, Bradley's father had started him in therapy and restructured his professional launch. He insisted Bradley pursue a Master's degree while serving as a Teaching Assistant at State College. The TA role would force Bradley to develop maturity and acquire leadership experience outside the company bubble, providing him with the necessary external academic credentials to legitimately justify his eventual promotion to CEO. The fact that the position was a TA in Ethics was a piece of poetic justice his father found deeply satisfying.

Bradley would never forget the first time he saw Max among the sea of sophomores in the lecture hall, just as he was introducing himself on the podium. He'd swore to ignore the sophomore, determined to maintain nothing but a strictly professional relationship. It was hard to overlook such a sharp student, though. Max's out-of-the-box arguments and brilliant insights captured Bradley's interest. He'd always been so focused on destroying Max in his best element, athletics, that he'd put a blind eye to Max's other talents. The electricity every time Bradley would challenge Max's argument about Socioeconomic Justice and the heated debate that followed was not lost on Professor Melton or the whispering students. Bradley had wisely let the matter slide, even though Max would constantly egg him on in class for another confrontation.

Max had repeatedly tried to corner him outside class to continue their discussions, but Bradley had always firmly declined. Unit Max had eventually worn him down, and they agreed to meet at a coffee shop. Their opposing views were expressed in passionate debates that frequently drew in the attention of the customers. Max was raised in a trailer for years before moving to Spoonerville, having never experienced wealth in his entire nineteen years, while Bradley had been steeped in upper-class luxury, never once staring poverty in the face. They were from two different worlds, making the heat of their intellectual rivalry intensely captivating.

A sudden clap on the shoulder jerked him back to the present. Tank grinned down at him. "Only twenty minutes 'till the big show. I'll check on the exact spacing of the aisle candles."

As the bigger man started walking to the door, Bradley called after him, "And make sure the Champagne flutes are polished with a lint-free cloth and aligned perfectly on the serving trays."

"You got it, darling." Tank waved as he slipped out.

Bradley attempted the deep-breathing exercises prescribed by Dr. Smith, his therapist of five years, whom he still saw to mitigate his severe obsession with perfection and control. Dr. Smith had noted he was relapsing badly since wedding planning began. The therapist had praised Bradley's completely spontaneous proposal in a moment driven by the sheer happiness of finally being able to marry the man he loved. But Bradley felt differently. Max deserved much, much better, and this wedding would compensate for that ring-less, on-the-spot proposal. Unlike many gay couples who rushed to marry immediately after legalization, Bradley knew he needed a full year to plan the wedding, so the wedding date was set for the spring of 2005.

A girl with ginger hair and an elegant blue dress walked into the room. Bradley recognized her as PJ's younger sister, but her name eluded him. It was something martial: a rifle, a grenade, or maybe a cannon? She was fanning herself wildly, trying hard to keep the tears from ruining her eyeliner and mascara.

"Is something wrong with Max?" Bradley lunged toward the door, but the girl snatched his arm to stop him.

"Relax, Romeo! Nothing's wrong with your beau. It's just... he read me his vows, and they were so beautiful."

Bradley beamed. "Yeah?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "They were so spontaneous and sweet. None of that boring, dictionary vocabulary that no one would understand. They were just right to the point."

A wave of warmth filled his chest. "That is so Max."

The girl blinked up at him. "What about yours?"

"Mine?"

"Are your vows simple-worded and naturally articulated?" she pressed.

"Well," Bradley patted his pocket where his polished vows were transcribed onto a cream-colored card.

"Hmm, you seem unsure. I just hope Max can decode what you're dishing out."

Bradley glared. "Hey! I'll have you know Max had aced his GRE Verbal section!"

"Honey, I've known Max longer than you have. He's not exactly a mastermind in linguistics. Once he wrote articles for my dad's short-lived newspaper and the only adjective he used was 'awesome'."

"Wasn't he a child then?" Bradley countered.

"Here's the gist: Max hates poetic, flowery language. An ode sounding vows won't be his half-pipe."

Her words struck home, and doubt poisoned his confidence. Max did value simplicity over ornate eloquence. His usual red T-shirts and baggy pants were proof enough. Reluctantly, he offered her the card. "Would you check them out, Miss Pete?"

"Miss Pete?" she said indignantly, snatching the card. "Call me by my first name! I'm practically your sister-in-law."

"Right, eh..." Firearm? Revolver?

"Pistol," she deadpanned.

"Yes, Pistol. So, what do you think?"

She smirked. "I will help you out, but that'll come with a cost."

"How much do you want?" He began patting his empty pockets. Damn it. His wallet was with Tank.

She blew on her fashionably manicured nails. "Well, I already have twelve front-row tickets to the 50 Cent concert. It would be great to escort my entire posse in a giant limo."

"Done!" Bradley said without hesitation. "Now get on with it."

She glanced down at the card. "Yep. Maximum fancy wording. You'd better dial it down a notch."

He yanked the vows away, his frantic gaze falling over the big words he'd chosen. Scintillating and irrevocable? This was a disaster! He snapped his eyes up at Pistol, but she'd vanished.  

Driven by panic, he tore around the room, desperate for a pen to downgrade his lexicon. He searched the dresser, the discarded garment bag, the small vase of white lilies.

A gentle tap on his shoulder startled him.

He whipped around to face the wide eyes of his mother. "Bradley, darling, what in the world is going on?"

"Mom, have you got a pen on you? A pencil? An eyeliner would do!"

Concern clouded her features as she placed her palm flat against his forehead. "You're not feverish. That's a good sign. Honey, stop fidgeting and turning, you're messing up your hair."

He thrust the card forward. "I need to make last-minute changes to my vows."

"I read your vows. They're perfect."

"But are they Max-perfect?"

"Honey, Max will love your vows. Trust me. He'll love them because they're authentically you." She began to gently smooth his agitated hair and straighten the lapel of his tuxedo.

He relaxed at her gentle touch. The simple act of her hands adjusting his appearance instantly transported him back to childhood, to the quiet anxiety before a big school tryout or the dread before an important exam. Back then, her quiet focus on ensuring every hair lay in place, every collar straightened, was her unique brand of pre-game soothing.

She beamed warmly up at him. "Look at my beautiful boy."

"He doesn't hold a candle to you, Mom," Bradley murmured, his panic fully dissolving as he gazed into her shimmering blue eyes.

Always a vision of composed elegance, Audrey Uppercrust glowed in her navy blue dress. She was the much-needed antidote to the jagged stress Bradley had absorbed from his father, offering the steadying calm he craved. While Bradley had inherited almost everything from his father, down to his volatility, his only refuge lay in taking after his mother in eye and hair color.

He drew her into a tight hug and whispered, "I'm so glad you're here, Mom."

"What kind of mother would dare miss her child's wedding?" she chided softly, holding him closer.

The question of his father's absence seared his throat, but Bradley choked it back. His father had made his disapproval of the relationship with Max unambiguously clear. Max was a man, and worse, he was not from their elite class. To the elder Uppercrust, Max was a nobody. The fact that his son was marrying the most successful professional athlete in the entire country was completely irrelevant to him.

She pulled back and looked at him with a tender smile that disappeared the moment her gaze landed on his face. Must have noticed the tension around his eyes. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing instead on the elaborate decorations of the room.

He had been dead set on booking a date at the Hilton Boston Park Plaza ever since the ruling to legalize same-sex marriage was made back in November 2003. He'd stayed at the hotel with his parents as a child when his father had a lengthy series of board meetings in Boston. He vividly remembered witnessing a wedding there with his mother. She had asked if they could just take a quick look, and the families of the bride and groom were kind enough to let them step inside. Bradley had been captivated by the grandeur of the ballroom and the soft, golden light filtering through the windows. He'd never imagined then that he would get married there one day.

Smoothing the lapel of his tux one last time, his mother gently took his hands. "Look at me, Bradley," she said softly, holding his gaze. "You are standing on the edge of the rest of your life. Don't let anything, or anyone, diminish this moment. I am so proud of you. The man you are today is everything I ever hoped you'd be."

A shaky smile finally broke through his tension. "Thank you, Mom."

"You deserve this happiness, darling," she murmured, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his cheek, carefully ensuring her lipstick left no mark. "Now, take one more of those deep breaths, get down that aisle and make that wonderful boy yours."

Bradley took a slow breath, the anxiety somewhat receding. He gave her a confident nod.

The door swung inward then, and Tank strode in, a wide grin splitting his face. "Well, look at you two." He walked over and clapped Bradley lightly on the shoulder. "It's time, baby."

~*~*~*~*~

The guests took in the intimate and elegant setting of the Georgian Ballroom. The room's architecture created a feeling of refined grandeur, providing an ideal backdrop for the ceremony. Guests of both grooms were seated in precise rows of white Chiavari chairs, all facing the magnificent arch of white and gold flowers that marked the altar.

On the right was Max's side of guests. Sylvia, his grandparents, Aunt Carol and her husband occupied the first row, followed by the Petes and the Zimmeruskis, then his father's trusted friends, Max's honorary aunts and uncles who had helped his single dad raise him when he was a child, and finally, friends from high school and college, trailing back to the extended Goof family he'd only encountered a few times in his life. On the left sat Bradley's elite world, the Uppercrusts took the first rows, followed by his maternal relatives, then Tank's parents and siblings, and then friends from State College faculty, his work colleagues, and the few Gamma brothers he still kept in touch, like Slouch and Leo.

As the room hushed, the sentimental melody of Endless Love carried sweetly by a cello and piano. The song choice was obviously Bradley's as Max had lobbied for something current, but Bradley had been dreaming of this exact moment since he was six years old. This was the cherished ballad he and his mother used to perform as a duet at family gatherings and karaoke nights.

Max had begrudgingly relented, but only under the condition that he alone got to choose the song for their first dance as a married couple. Bradley knew that he would probably regret this, but as long as the fine ballad of Diana Ross and Lionel Richie played as he made his entrance, he was willing to accept whatever tacky, outrageous song Max had decided upon later.

To the tune of the music, Little Maxie took her first determined step onto the long aisle. Her mother, Vicki, watched with a calm smile from her seat next to the Petes, offering encouraging hand genstures.

As the little girl passed the front rows, a delighted laugh erupted from Grandma Peg, who gushed, "That's my Maxi-kins! You go, Marshmallow Maxie Pie!"

"She's a Pete, see?" Grandpa Pete declared proudly. "Gets the job done!"

Little Maxie thrived on the wave of affection, grinning at the scattered "awwws" rippling through both sides of the family. Reaching the end of the aisle, she apparently decided she wanted a do over. She dropped her basket and began earnestly collecting the scattered petals she'd just thrown, until her mother stepped out, took her hand and gently guided the now-protesting flower girl to her seat.

The next part of the procession had been the source of considerable drama during rehearsals. Both Max and Bradley had groomswomen: Max's were Pistol and his cousin Debbie, while Bradley's was his gorgeous cousin, Sarah.

The major issue was Bobby, who had fiercely insisted on escorting Sarah down the aisle, despite Sarah's own preference to walk with Max's older cousin, Gilbert. The thirty-four-year-old cousin used to be Goofy's little pal before Max was born. This minor rehearsal showdown almost gave Bradley a heart attack. He finally put his foot down, deciding Sarah would walk with Gilbert, much to Bobby's dismay.

The procession now began. Pistol strode confidently down the aisle, her arm linked with one of Bradley's cousins, followed by Debbie and another of Bradley's relatives. Then came Sarah and the usually shy Gilbert, who had already scored Sarah's phone number, finally ending years of bachelorhood. Trailing them was a visibly grumpy Bobby, whose hand was locked with David, Bradley's maternal cousin. David kept hissing he'd rather have walked with Max's hot older cousin, Gilbert.

PJ walked with a natural stride, grinning the moment his gaze landed on Little Maxie, who was already squirming in her seat near the front. She gave an enthusiastic jump and waved both her arms above her head. He caught Vicki's smile, and blew both of them a kiss. Both his girls mimicked the gesture in return.

Following him was Tank, who carried the weight of the moment with intensity. As he walked, his siblings on the left side of the aisle scrambled to capture the moment, holding up their thick cellphones with their tiny camera lenses, clicking away and whispering excitedly to document his appearance in the fancy suit.

Max stood before his father, taking a deep, steadying breath. "This is it, Dad."

Goofy blinked back his tears, replacing them with a wobbly smile as he offered his arm, and Max took it. As father and son emerged into The Georgian Ballroom, guests from both sides rose to their feet. Max was instantly overwhelmed by the intimate setting and the welcoming presence of the crowd. His hand instinctively reached to clasp his dad's, who gave him a firm, reassuring squeeze in return.

Max's eyes flickered to his side of the aisle, all these people had come for him. The thought was staggering. He watched his distant Goof family smiling warmly, then noticed an excited Roxanne and Stacy snapping pictures. Huey, Dewey, and Louie stood next to their mother, Della, giving him mischievous winks that pulled him back to their childhood prank wars. Donald was teary-eyed, while Daisy beamed with pride. Mickey was holding a weeping Minnie, who had been his surrogate mother during the first six years of his life. Little Maxie waved at him, securely held by a smiling Vicki. Peg, his surrogate mother ever since they moved to Spoonerville, was wiping her eyes. Next to her, Pete nodded once to Goofy before giving Max a rare smile of genuine affection. Max saw his grandfather point at him and whisper something to his grandmother, who had been struggling with Alzheimer's for years. Aunt Carol and Mr. Miller, Debbie's parents, waved at him. Finally, Sylvia regarded them both tenderly, her dark green eyes brimming with happy tears.

Reaching the altar, Max's gaze fell on PJ's happy grin, Bobby's enthusiastic thumbs-up, Pistol's encouraging wink, and Debbie pressing an affectionate hand to her chest.

Max and Goofy paused just before the steps of the altar, embracing in a lingering hug. Then, Max stepped up to the altar, nodding briefly to the officiant before positioning himself in front of PJ. He watched his dad walk over to his grandparents, sharing a hug with Grandpa and kissing Grandma's forehead, before pulling Sylvia into a side hug and planting a kiss on her lips.

The guests remained standing, creating a wall of expectation. Max's breath caught in his throat, and his heart pounded, waiting for Bradley to walk down the aisle.

Outside, Bradley offered his arm to his mother, who accepted with a serene smile, and together, they made their formal, long-awaited entrance.

The whole atmosphere surpassed every detail of the fairytale wedding little Bradley had pictured in his head years ago. As he began his walk, his critical eye, honed by months of careful planning and supervision, swept over the result. He noted the deeply paneled walls and the elegant architectural details of the Georgian Ballroom. The carefully selected lighting, which he had personally overseen, was flawless, catching the pale-gold drapery he insisted on in a way that made the room seem warm and inviting, and the fabric was hung without a single wrinkle. The white and gold floral arch was even more voluminous than the florist's renderings, framing the space where he and Max would stand.

His gaze flickered to the left, and a small smile touched his lips when he saw Slouch, Leo, and Chad offering him their signature Gamma salutes. Beyond them, his work colleagues offered polite, respectful nods. Next came his professors from State College, many of whom he'd worked alongside during his three years as a TA for his master's degree. Dr. Melton, his mentor who was guiding him through his current doctoral studies, watched him with deep affection.

Tank's parents grinned happily, their younger children snapping hurried pictures. They were the siblings he'd never had, and fond memories of scavenger hunts and adventures in their family's farm flooded his mind. His maternal side of the family was equally enthusiastic with their cameras. Aunt Nora, his mother's sister and Sarah's mother, was determined to capture him and his own mother from every conceivable angle for her enormous family album. Even the Uppercrusts, his paternal relatives with whom he maintained a formal relationship, offered smiles that were, interestingly, affectionate as he passed.

Then, Bradley's feet abruptly stopped. His breath hitched, and his lips slightly parted as his gaze locked onto the man standing at the end of the aisle.

His dad came.

His dad came.

He felt his mother press tightly against his arm, and he glanced down at her, seeing her blue eyes dancing with happiness. Bradley swallowed hard, looking back at his father. Though his eyes weren't clearly visible through his glasses, the small quirk on his lips was unmistakable and genuine.

His mother gave a gentle tug on his arm, and Bradley resumed walking, his gaze reluctantly breaking from his father to fall upon his future spouse. Max looked breathtaking in his white tuxedo, his usually unruly black hair neatly gelled back into a classic, slicked-back style. Bradley was captivated by the rich, expressive brown of Max's eyes, where the clarity of his devotion and longing made Bradley feel entirely seen and loved.

They reached the altar, and Bradley turned to his mother. She pulled him close, holding him in a long, silent hug. He whispered his gratitude into her ear before she released him, stepping gracefully to stand before her assigned seat.

Then, he held his breath as his father stepped forward. Overwhelmed by the unexpected presence and emotional weight of the moment, Bradley immediately opened his arms wide for a full embrace. Simultaneously, his father extended a stiff, formal hand for a handshake.

Arms suspended awkwardly mid-air, Bradley stared at the extended hand, feeling a chill seeping through his chest. His father frowned, taking in his son's frozen pose and the obvious desire for an embrace, and gruffly cleared his throat. He then shifted closer and pulled Bradley into a brief, clumsy hug.

Bradley tightened his grip when he felt his father beginning to withdraw, holding him fast. "I'm so glad you came, Dad," he whispered fiercely into the elder man's ear.

His father finally returned the squeeze, whispering back, "I can tell he loves you. I hope he makes you happy."

Bradley stepped back, meeting his father's eyes with a grin. "He does."

He then noticed him looking over at Max, and the two men shared a knowing nod. Could Max have had a hand in his father's last-minute appearance? Why else would his father say he could tell Max loved him?

Watching his parents finally take their seats, Bradley stepped up to the altar, exchanging smiles with Tank, Sarah, and David.

Finally, he stood directly in front of Max. A profound stillness settled over him as their surroundings faded into soft background noise. All that existed was the man before him. Standing there, close enough to feel his pleasant warmth. This was the moment he had fought for, the hard-won peace after the battle. It was the culmination of standing up to his father, defying the rigid traditionalists of the Uppercrust name, and finally claiming his own life. To be here on the verge of marrying the man whose future was intertwined with his own.

The officiant began speaking, but his words were an indistinct hum for the two grooms. They were locked in a gaze, their genuine joy reflected in their eyes. Bradley watched Max's Adam's apple bob with a nervous excitement that mirrored his own. Max leaned in just slightly and subtly mouthed, "I love you." Bradley mouthed back the same heartfelt reply, "I love you, too." They continued to gaze at one another, exchanging volumes in silence.

The officiant's voice shifted as he looked at both grooms. "And now, before all those gathered here today, it is time for you to speak the promises you carry in your hearts. We should proceed to the vows."

Max smiled expectantly at Bradley.

Bradley smiled just as expectantly back at Max.

A wave of anticipating smiles rippled through the guests, who were now eager for the emotional heart of the ceremony.

The officiant tapped his foot once, discreetly but firmly. "Well? We are ready to proceed."

"Go on, Max," Bradley urged, nodding toward him.

"You're supposed to go first," Max countered, looking flustered.

"Why?"

Max gave a slight shrug. "Well, you're older, you're the one who proposed, you're the one who paid for all of…"

"And that," Bradley cut him off, "is exactly why it's your turn to take charge. I'm spent."

Confused murmurs and suppressed chuckles erupted from the guests.

PJ leaned forward and whispered urgently behind Max. "Uh, buddy, what's going on?"

Bobby popped his head up from PJ's shoulder. "Yeah, Max-a-mundo, why the stall-age?"

Meanwhile, Bradley felt Tank lean in close to his other ear. "You're okay?"

Bradley swallowed hard, his gaze darting to Pistol, who was positioned just behind Bobby. The teenager's eyebrows shot up, followed by a dramatic eye-roll and a meaningful look that screamed, "Are you for real, fancy pants?"

The only thing preventing Bradley from leaping over and throttling her was Dr. Smith's firm instruction to control his impulsive anger. He squeezed his eyes shut and began the prescribed, deep, calming breaths, inhaling the scent of lilies to focus.

"Bradley?"

He blinked his eyes open to see a concerned Max looking at him. The younger man took a huge, shuddering breath, then plunged his hand into the pocket of his tux, extracting a severely creased paper which he then tried to flatten with one hand. Bradley stared at the crumpled paper ball with wide, unblinking eyes, his therapist's voice failing to reach him over the sound of his own perfectionist brain screaming.

"Okay, okay, don't flip out," Max said with a nervous chuckle. "I... uh... I forgot to copy the final version onto the card stock." He gestured at the paper wad. "But, hey, it's just the words that matter, right?"

Bradley proceeded to take much-needed deep breaths.

"Right," Max confirmed with a wince. He coughed into his fist. "So, I'll go first. My vows might not be, you know, encyclopedically good, but these are from my heart, and I promise they're mostly in complete sentences."

He avoided Bradley's gaze, holding the crumpled paper wad up close to his face.

"Bradley, you were a legend before I met you. When I first saw you on the steps of your fraternity house, I was in awe, wishing I could be as cool as you. That is, until you opened your mouth. And then... the awe got complicated," Max paused as the guests laughed. Venturing to look up, he found Bradley watching him, the earlier panic replaced by a soft, amused chuckle.

Smiling back, Max let out a breath and looked down at his vows, his voice softening with emotion as he continued, "See, I saw the worst of you before I ever saw the best of you.  When you showed up a year later as my TA, I started seeing the actual man underneath all the overpriced V-neck sweaters. You challenge me and make me think in a way no one else ever had. Back then, you made me crack more books and read more and push harder just so I could try to keep up with your brain. You saw more to me than the athlete, and helped me pick my major in marketing. You keep telling me that my aspirations fall short of my potential. And that's one of the many reasons why I love you."

He reached out and gently squeezed Bradley's hand. "I love you for the man that you are. Every aspect of you, the leader, the intellect, your confidence, your expressive face that tells me exactly how you feel, and yes, I love the perfectionist in you." He looked up, and seeing the tears in Bradley's eyes, he almost choked up himself. "I mean, look," he gestured towards the stunning ballroom. "You did this! You're extraordinary. I know it causes you anxiety issues, but…" He sought the last line in his handwriting. "I promise to be by your side, always, and remind you to stop and just breathe. I love you."

Max looked up again, and in that moment, the room faded away, leaving only the sight of Bradley wiping tears from his face. His jumbled vows managed to move the man he loved. That was all that mattered.

The officiant nodded. "And now, Bradley, it is your turn to speak your vows to Max."

Bradley reached for the card in his pocket and mumbled, half to himself, "Like I can possibly top that."

Max chortled. "Oh, you'll manage, Mr. Valedictorian."

Bradley let out a watery laugh, giving Max's hand a heartfelt squeeze. He swallowed, feeling the hundred pairs of eyes focused intensely on him. Max had just laid bare his heart exactly as he wrote it, and Bradley would do the same.

"Max," he began, his voice surprisingly steady. "You caught my attention the moment you flashed past the Gamma residence, a vision of scintillating motion upon four wheels. My initial, consuming desire was to possess that spark, to have you on my side. When you refused to join my fraternity, I saw it as a deeply personal attack. It was the first time someone had ever truly rejected me, and the depth of that irrevocable hurt was why I, shamefully, wanted to hurt you back."

He looked up, meeting Max's gaze. "I know that is not an excuse for my behavior, but it is how I felt then."

Max nodded warmly, his smile soft and understanding. "I know."

"My attempt to destroy you ended up destroying me, everything I was, everything I had built my life upon. I ended up at my lowest while you seemed to rise high. You were an emblem of the unattainable perfection I had always sought, only yours was built on virtue, not vanity. Your inherent kindness and selflessness were qualities I realized I did not possess. As I reflected on my own shortcomings, I was drawn to your goodness. When you chose to save Tank's life over crossing the finishing line; when you stopped the race to make sure your friend was okay..."

"He's talking about me," he heard Bobby hissing to PJ, and the other man shushed him.

"...I should have realized that your refusal to join the Gammas wasn't you rejecting me, but an act of loyalty to your friends, whom I had carelessly shut out. Your deep love for others, and your willingness to go the extra mile to make sure they're happy, that is what I love most about you. I may have been your teacher, but you were the one who truly taught me to look beyond my privileged nose, forcing me toward an ethical self-reflection."

"Today, I am making a promise to spend the rest of my life learning from your light, protecting your beautiful heart, and devoting myself completely to you."

His chest heaved slightly as he lifted his gaze to look at Max, whose eyes were glittering with tears. The younger man already leaned forward to kiss him.

The officiant held out a hand. "Not yet, gentlemen." The room chuckled again. "First, the legalities. Max, do you take Bradley to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in marriage, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, dedicate yourself only to him, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Max answered without hesitation, his voice thick with emotion.

"Bradley, do you take Max to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in marriage, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, dedicate yourself only to him, so long as you both shall live?"

Bradley met Max's eyes, the intensity of his gaze a vow in itself. "I do."

"Now, the rings."

Tank and PJ stepped forward, reaching into their inner pockets with a precision that suggested the ring delivery had been timed to the fraction of a second in the fifty-three-page schedule, and presented two elegant platinum bands.

Max took the ring for Bradley, his hands shaking slightly, and gazed into Bradley's earnest blue eyes. He gently slid the cool, smooth metal onto the older man's finger.

Bradley's hand was steady as he took Max's gloved hand, holding it with delicate care. He used his thumb and forefinger to gently lift the stiff, white fabric of the glove just enough to create a small gap at the base of Max's ring finger. Then, he carefully slipped the ring beneath the edge of the glove and onto Max's finger. He gave Max's hand a loving squeeze through the glove before letting go.

The officiant gave an affirmative nod. "By the authority vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and in the presence of your family and friends, it is my honor to declare you married. You may now kiss your husband!"

Max threw his arms around Bradley's neck, pulling him into a searing, unrestrained kiss. Bradley responded with equal intensity, wrapping his arms fiercely around Max's waist. The room erupted with cheers and applaud.

When they finally broke apart, both men were breathless, Max's slicked-back hair slightly mussed. They were laughing, eyes shining. Max threw his arm over Bradley's shoulder, turning to face the cheering crowd. Near the front, Goofy and Minnie were locked in an embrace, their joyful tears streaming, while their partners patted them on their shoulders. Audrey leaned her head against her husband's shoulder, clutching his arm tightly. Bradley's dad simply watched the scene, offering a small smile.

As the newlyweds began their walk back down the aisle, the rich melody of Endless Love rose to meet them, enveloping the room in a sweeping crescendo.

Following the ceremony, the entire party transitioned seamlessly to the lavish reception awaiting them in The Grand Ballroom. Bradley's gaze swept across the place, registering every detail. He noted the towering floral centerpieces, cascades of white hydrangeas and pale gold roses, rising from antique silver vases, positioned impeccably atop linen cloths that shimmered like liquid moonlight. Hundreds of candles cast an intimate glow, reflecting off the crystal chandeliers that hung like inverted fountains. Every chair, every place setting, every silk ribbon tied to the napkins was exactly as he had specified. Every single instruction had been met. A rare, deep wave of satisfaction washed over him.

On the other hand, Max was focused solely on the groups of happy guests. He spotted Roxanne and Stacy playing with Little Maxie, who was already dissolving into giggles, while PJ and Vicki looked on with parental contentment.

In a quieter corner, Goofy had located the table designated for his old-time friends. He was settled beside Sylvia, deep in a passionate conversation as the old group laughed and caught up on years of shared history. Max noted how easily Sylvia had integrated, already feeling like the missing member of their tight-knit crew, a place once briefly filled by Max's late mother, Penny.

Meanwhile, Bobbie was already in full networking mode, talking up his record company to David and the triplets, Huey, Dewey, and Louie, before smoothly passing out his business cards.

Gilbert and Sarah were seated, lost in a deep, private conversation.

Bradley's parents were paused mid-mingle near a floral arrangement, posing patiently while Aunt Nora snapped a picture. Over by the bar, Tank's parents, the Petes, and the Zimmerskis had gathered together and chatted loudly, exchanging stories about their children's infamous college years.

Max pulled on Bradley's arm to get his attention as he pointed across the room at Tank laying on the charm thick with Max's cousin, Debbie.

"I thought Debbie was a lesbian," Bradley commented.

"She's bi, like yours truly," Max replied with a proud eyebrow wiggle.

"Is everyone in your family bi?" Bradley asked, dryly.

"What can I say? We like… it all."

They stared at Tank chatting up Debbie as she laughed, lightly brushing a hand through her striking red hair. Bradley leaned in to Max's ear, lowering his voice. "Isn't she in her thirties?"

"I think the age gap between them is roughly the same as ours, old man." He ducked quickly, letting out a snicker as Bradley's hand sliced harmlessly through the air where his head had been.

A cocky voice cut through their conversation. "Look at you two playing elderly socialites."

Pistol stood before them, arms crossed, a smug smirk firmly in place. "Not to forget, the 50 Cent concert is two weeks away. Maybe settle the limo situation for me now so I won't have to interrupt your honeymoon plans."

Max and Bradley shared a look, before Bradley gave a slow, measured smile. "And why would we wanna do that?"

She lifted an unamused eyebrow. "For my priceless vow-vetting services."

"Funny you should mention the vows, Pistol. 'Cause I read every single word exactly as I wrote it."

Max grinned, leaning his elbow onto Bradley's shoulder. "We didn't change a thing. Your help was not needed."

"What does that have to do with my eleven front-row tickets and the limo?"

"It means, sis," Max emphasized the last word with a poke on Pistol's forehead, which by the thundercloud brewing in her eyes, she clearly did not appreciate, "that we already paid the emotional toll! The original deal is officially off."

Bradley smirked. "No tickets, no limo. You're welcome to enjoy the concert on your Dish Network subscription."

She glared. "The concert isn't airing on any network, you pretentious snobs!"

Both men shrugged. "Tough break."

She stomped the heel of her shoe. "Urgh. I hate you guys. This sucks it's like I got a third useless obnoxious brother." She stalked away, while Max and Bradley high fived.

The DJ tapped his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the newlyweds for their first dance!"

Max turned to Bradley, his face split by an enormous grin. "Ready, hubby?"

Bradley let out a sigh. "The things I do for you."

Suddenly, the house lights dimmed, casting a theatrical glow on the enormous white screen Bobby had set up. The projector flared to life, casting a retro font title card: What were the grooms doing ten years ago? (Summer of '95)

The screen filled with photos of Bradley's high school graduation, him in his cap and gown standing on the podium giving his speech as valedictorian, Bradley and Tank beaming in their graduation gowns, Bradley posing with his parents, and the Bradley standing next to a brand-new Ford Mustang his father had gifted him.

Bradley let out a soft, nostalgic sigh. "My second car. Ah, the memories of that leather interior."

"Rub it in, rich boy," Max hissed with a glare. He had not owned a car until he graduated from college. Though that car was actually a gift from Bradley.  

The clips then shifted to shaky, camcorder footage of Bradley and Tank's Across Europe Adventure. The crowd howled as a clip showed Tank with a pukey face in a restaurant as he accidentally ordered sheep's intestines in Paris, followed by a shot of Bradley attempting to haggle for a street map in broken German before a local woman simply handed him one with a weary look. The crowning moment was a short video of Bradley attempting to paddle a tiny gondola in Venice, tipping it into the murky canal, forcing Tank to rescue him while tourists took pictures of them.

Then, the screen filled with sun-bleached, grainy images of a very happy, gap-toothed, fourteen-year-old Max and his dad inside a haunted house, another of them beaming at the entrance of Waterslide Paradise, Max and a mustache-less PJ making faces outside Pete's RV.

The montage ended on the iconic, unforgettable moment of Max sliding onto a concert stage, taking his spot between his dad and the global superstar Powerline. The screen held on the three of them as they broke into synchronized dance moves.

The final frame froze, and then the screen instantly cut to black as the first, electrifying beat of Powerline's I 2 I exploded from the speakers.

The ballroom erupted in screams and cheers. Spotlight beams locked onto the center of the dance floor, illuminating the married couple. Max looked ready to vibrate out of his expensive tux, and Bradley just smiled at his giddy husband.

The newlyweds launched into the choreographed routine Max had spent months teaching Bradley. They executed different dance routines from the Perfect Cast to the moonwalk, and nailed the original, high-energy Powerline choreography.

The guests were screaming and clapping. Max's friends were miming the moves from the sidelines. Bradley scanned the crowd and saw his mother's wide, delighted grin, and even caught his father's amused headshake.

As they finished the final pose to a deafening ovation, Max leaned his head close to Bradley's ear. "See? I told you this was better than some slow dance."

Bradley just pulled him close, ignoring the hundreds of cheering people. "You know what," he whispered, kissing Max firmly on the temple. "You make it better."

The End