Chapter Text
To everyone who heard about the wedding between Varka and Pantalone (which many did), they would shake their heads and ask the question the pair had heard many times, “How did those two find their way to each other?”
And when either of the men decided to grace the asker with an answer, it was almost always some variant of, “I’m not sure. He wasn’t in my life, then one day he was.”
Now the two stood in the middle of a small boat, hand in hand, surrounded by close family and friends. The candlelight made dark shadows on their faces, their features soft with some mixture of pure admiration and resolve. They knew this is how they wanted the rest of their lives to be, they were convinced that that was a fact.
The wedding itself was a miraculously simple affair given the standing of the two men involved.
There were no grand halls filled with nobles, no endless procession of guests hoping to be remembered by the Grand Master and the Regrator. There were only the people who knew them as they were and not as the world knew them to be.
They had chosen a small boat underneath the open sky, the gentle sound of water beneath them and the warm cradle of candlelight surrounding them. The soft light hitting the simple silver bands and reflecting back into the chest of the men, filling them with a certain giddiness and satisfaction that no one else but the other man could provide.
Varka had always been a man of motion. He was always chasing the next horizon, wanted to chart out the mysterious unknowns of the world, and carried the weight of countless commitments on his back as they were nothing more than a backpack he wore to see the world. Yet now, he found himself more than content to remain exactly where he was.
Pantalone, who was a man of calculated risks and carefully considered decisions, knew the importance of patience and preparation. He always knew when to move and when to wait. But somehow, the greatest certainty of his life had arrived without warning, without planning, and without a way to account for it.
Varka reached up and touched Pantalone’s cheek with a kind of softness that no one would suspect came from a man with such calloused hands.
Pantalone reached up for Varka’s hand, feeling the warmth radiating off of his lover’s skin, melting into the feather-soft touch. He watched Varka with eyes that were only filled with a quiet yet intense devotion.
Their stupor was broken by the flash of blinding white light.
Alice, the merry-witch, still in her young years, held an expression of light amusement from behind her camera, “Yes, that will do. That is just splendid.”
Varka blinked, “Alice!”
She lowered her camera, she asked innocently, “You were both making just a lovely expression. It was just moving.”
Pantalone stated, “You took that without warning.”
Alice looked far too pleased in herself, a mischievous smile across her face, “And yet, that is exactly the thing that makes it worth keeping.”
She handed them the camera, “Now, isn’t this just darling?”
Varka took the small contraption, peering at the small copy of the picture. To anyone else who didn’t know them, it would be considered improper. Varka’s smile was too wide, his hair trousled by the wind. Pantalone’s expression was too soft for the man whose name sent shivers down businessmen's spines.
Yet, it was unlike anything they had ever seen. They looked young, they looked happy, they looked absolutely smitten.
Not like two powerful men celebrating an alliance.
Just two powerful men who seemed simply pleased to be there together.
Pantalone pointed to the camera, “I do like that one. I would like a copy, miss Alice.”
Alice took back her camera, "Certainly. Though I must say that I am surprised.”
Pantalone looked back at her, “How come?”
“You always have been so particular about how you are perceived. I would’ve thought you would have fancied a picture where you look more composed.”
Varka said, “I like it though.” Pantalone rested his head on Varka’s shoulder, Varka’s head resting on Pantalone’s.
Alice watched their exchange with merriment, “I think that quality is what makes it worth keeping. The world already knows what you look like when you are someone important.” She looked at them, “It is much rarer to see what you look like when you are simply happy.” She stuck her tongue out, “Now, get a room. Your musings are frankly repulsive.”
Varka pressed a slow kiss into his husband’s dark hair, “It’s our night, Alice. We can be as gross as we want to.”
Pantalone hummed in quiet endless bliss, “Hm, it is our wedding after all. Go entertain yourself somewhere else, yes?”
She walked away, camera in hand. But Varka and Pantalone just stood there as they were. Varka pressed slow, soft kisses into Pantalone’s hair, and Pantalone responded with blissful silence.
And they knew, almost as it was a proven fact or a mathematical law, that that would be enough for them.