Everything had been gone over, again and again, the suits had been pressed, the flowers were fresh, the catering would arrive in the hall they had booked for the reception any minute. Everything was perfect, but Dominik could not. Stop. Fidgeting. Trapped in the room that was to be his dressing room.
At first it was his tie, he swore he had to tie the damn thing twenty times before it would lay flat and neat. He spent the next ten minutes with spit and a handkerchief going at the minuscule scuffs on his shoes that had amassed from half a day of wear.
Finally he sat before the mirror and tried to adjust his already meticulous hair one single strand at a time. He was going mad. The million questions poured through his mind that he figured every groom would contend with. Was this the right thing to do? Was Johan as nervous as he was? Would they be able to make this last? What would change after they were married? The worry of Hell only flickered to light for a moment. He was, in fact, immortal.
Eventually the time came, he was ushered to his side of the sanctuary and brought behind a curtain, presumably to be hidden from Johan as he took his place, if he hadn’t already.
The waiting was agony but once the organ began to play his stomach twisted up like a pretzel. Dominik stepped out from behind his curtain and looked up to see Johan immediately across from him. It was like a wave of cool water pooled through him, making him relax and smile. He found himself wanting to touch, wanting to hug him, anything, as they got closer. So when they met at the back of the sanctuary, Dominik took his hand, beaming up at him before he whispered.