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Harry couldn’t believe this day was finally here. After years of struggle and strife, of waiting and wishing, he was finally marrying Ste Hay. His first love, his boyfriend of three years, the man who was already practically family to him. His dad even approved, which Harry didn’t think would happen when he and Ste had first gotten together.
So, why wasn’t he happy?
As he looked at the suit hanging on the wardrobe door, the garish shade of blue screamed at him that this wasn’t what he wanted. Never in a million years would he have chosen that colour, or the clashing maroon bowtie. In his dreams, now and when he was a child, Harry always imagined as an understated and classy affair - black and white, elegant and sophisticated - everything that the man he was marrying and the life he was choosing was not.
But it was everything James was. James was a debonair cocktail of classic literature, fine wines, opera and, most of all, elegance. The way he walked into a room with such confidence, made Harry stand up straighter himself. James’ choices would have been more to Harry’s taste.
If only Harry were marrying James instead.
That ship was well and truly sunk - Harry had made sure of that when he had chosen his family’s happiness over his own.
He moved to peer out from his bedroom, into the living room where Tony and Diane were getting Ant and Rose ready in their Sunday best. They were all smiling, momentarily forgetting Dee Dee’s life-threatening illness and their own marital problems. That’s what his dad wanted, wasn’t it? For Diane to warm to him, for the family to be happy. That’s why Harry can’t be.
Scott pranced down the stairs, looking like a traffic cone in that hideous orange suit of his. None of this is what Harry wanted! Not the outdoor location, or the autumn themed decorations, or the food, the suits, the guest list, the first dance, the honeymoon destination. His life is spiralling out of control and now it’s too late to stop any of it!
Scott had his officiant speech in hand, going over the lines he’s going to say. About eternal love and commitment. If only he knew that Harry would throw Ste and this sham marriage under a bus for the slightest chance to get James back.
There was a quick knock on the front door - Tony opens it wide and Ste bounded through. The grin on his face made Harry’s stomach churn. He’ll have to look that happy when he walks down the aisle. Luckily, Harry’s gotten very good at faking everything nowadays.
“Ste,” Diane reprimanded lightly, “You can’t be here, it’s bad luck.”
Ste barely blinked an eye, “Don’t be silly, nothin’ can jinx today, I’m sure of it. And besides, that only applies to brides - and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re two blokes. I just wanted to see Tony before the big moment.”
Ste turned to his surrogate father-figure, and Tony gazed at his future son-in-law in a way that Harry wished he had a right to. Ste is the son that Tony wanted - Ste has more skill as a chef than Harry - which, hard as it is to admit, is a quality Tony desires and Harry will always fall short (he can never quite chop the vegetables the way Tony wants them) - and Ste and Tony have history, more of a father-son relationship than Harry and Tony have ever had.
So as Harry watched his father tie his fiancee’s bowtie and smooth his lapels, the green-eyed monster is comfortably at home inside him. It’s fact universally known… that if Tony knew who Harry really was he would be ashamed. Harry would lose his family, his home, and probably the few friends he has left, if they knew about his and James.
Harry turned back to the suit - it’s not even his colour - and took it down to lay on the bed. Against the bedspread it looked even worse. But this is his hell, his punishment. For everything he has done to his family, to Ste, to James, in the past year, and even before. He has to atone. His happiness is a sacrifice he will make.
The suit came on, and in the back of his mind, it registered that this suit is second-hand and definitely not tailored. It itched, but there’s no way he can scratch during the wedding. Like a zombie, he did his tie and smoothed his own lapels. From a shoe box at the back of the wardrobe, the concealer emerged. It’s almost empty. But it will do to cover the dark circles living under his eyes, and mask the grey complexion that he doubted would every truly leave him now.
He hid it away just as someone knocked on his door. Harry cleared his throat, watching in the mirror as a confident, bright and happy young man surfaced and took over his body. He turned around to see his dad’s blinding grin, the tension in his shoulders from the past several months finally gone away.
“Yeah?”
His dad replied, “Hey, son—” The word felt foreign to Harry’s ears, “— Everyone’s ready downstairs. Time to get married.”
A tear gathered in the corner of Harry’s eye, but he wiped it away before it can ruin the make up. This was the moment. The day he dreamt of as a kid, but more recently he’s been dreaming of a different man at the end of the aisle.
“Coming, dad.”
So, like a lamb to the slaughter, Harry walked down the aisle, expecting a life of faking it until he makes it. What a beautiful future that is.