Chapter Text
- Epilogue -
Armie weaned Timmy off Starbucks pretty damn fast. Sleepovers at Armie’s became regular occurrences, and so Armie took that as an opportunity to introduce Timmy to different roasts, his favorite local shops, and different preparation methods. When it came time for Timmy to renew the lease with his roommates, he opted to drop out, instead accepting Armie’s offer to move in.
“We’ve been together for a year,” Armie had whispered against Timmy’s ear. “I want you here. You and all your stuff .”
“As long as you promise to keep making me coffee.” And that was that, Timmy moved in by the end of the month.
As for R&G, Armie ended up getting promoted to director of the business operations team. After a year and a half, Timmy was wrestling with staying at R&G or taking an opportunity at Facebook. As much as Armie loathed to think about Timmy leaving the company (call him selfish, he liked seeing his boyfriend all hours of the day), he knew Timmy wanted to be in a position where he could really hone in on his creative passions. As luck would have it, a social media project manager was leaving the company, and the perfect role opened up for Timmy. He absolutely thrived, and Armie was so proud to watch his boyfriend grow and learn in his new role.
So they both stayed at R&G, much to Saoirse’s, Greta’s, and Florence’s delight. They were teased mercilessly, although in good faith, by their friends and coworkers. But the day of most teasing came two years after Timmy and Armie started dating. It was a Monday morning and Armie squeezed Tim’s hand, winking at him as they stepped off the elevator and headed toward their respective desks. It was only an hour before Armie heard Florence scream from the other side of the room, suspiciously from where Timmy sits. Armie grinned and made his way over to Timmy’s desk, not surprised to find Saoirse, Greta, Florence, and a few other employees gathered around him.
“Oh my god, when ?” Saoirse squealed.
“This weekend,” came Timmy’s voice, soft and full of adoration. “We were at our favorite restaurant last night, this little Italian place downtown. We usually go with his friend, Nick, but it was just the two of us. And between dinner and dessert, Armie just…”
“Got down on one knee and popped the question,” Armie supplied, sauntering up to the little crowd.
“Go get the champagne,” Greta demanded, shoving Saoirse in the direction of her office. “We’ve been saving it for six fucking months .”
Florence was clutching Timmy’s hand, admiring the simple silver band now on his finger. It was the perfect accessory, one he’d never tire of seeing on Timmy’s finger.
Eventually, the date was set, plans were finalized, invitations were picked out and sent out, and the wedding planning was in full swing. Luca, as the owner of the restaurant where they got engaged, graciously offered his villa in Italy for their wedding destination. After much back and forth, they decided to accept, figuring a small affair in Italy was the perfect way to celebrate.
And so here they are, in Italy for their wedding, along with their closest friends and family. The day before the wedding, Armie decides on a bike ride through the countryside, forcing Timmy away from the binders of information spread out over every available surface.
“But,” Timmy tries as Armie drags him toward the door.
“No buts, Timothée Chalamet, we’re going out. The wedding is tomorrow. There’s nothing we need to do or change, so it’s high time we start relaxing.”
Timmy huffs but follows his fiancé dutifully out to their bikes.
Armie wakes the next morning to an empty bed, but he can hear Timmy in the kitchen. He smiles, reminded of the first time Timmy slept at his place. He hears Timmy saying something to Archie who, of course, came along for the nuptials and would be going back with Nick so that they could enjoy their honeymoon in peace. Timmy comes back in, still dressed in his pajamas, and he settles on the bed next to Armie.
“Morning.”
“Mmh, hello.” Armie rolls onto his side so he can press kisses against Timmy’s neck. “Technically, we shouldn’t even be seeing one another until this afternoon.”
Timmy rolls his eyes and shoves at Armie’s shoulder. “Come on, you don’t believe in all those stupid superstitions.”
Armie is about to answer when there’s a knock on the door. He groans as Timmy shoves him out of bed and he stumbles to answer. He’s greeted with a cacophony, provided by Florence, Nick, and Timmy’s sister Pauline.
“What are you still doing in pajamas?” Pauline cries out, absolutely aghast.
Nick shoves his way in, suits in hand, and goes directly to the closet to hang them up. Nick wasn’t supposed to bring their suits for another two hours and Armie had really been looking forward to some time in bed with Timmy. “What the fuck…?”
“You think getting ready will take an hour?” Florence asks as she sets up a box of makeup and a whole slew of hairbrushes, a blow dryer, and a curling iron. “We need to get you guys ready, ourselves ready, and have time for pictures.”
Timmy pads in and receives a glare from the three newcomers. “You too?” Nick asks, aghast. “Jesus, it’s your wedding day and you’re just sitting around! Into the shower, both of you!”
Pauline heads straight for the kitchen while Florence ushers them toward the bathroom. “And no funny business,” she says sternly. “Twenty minutes tops .”
Once the bathroom door is closed and firmly locked, Armie sags against it in relief. Finally, some peace and quiet, at least for twenty minutes. He tries to jerk Timmy off in the shower, but Tim resists, giggling as he tries to firmly tell Armie that, “Our friends are right outside!” With a few well-placed kisses, Armie eventually convinces Timmy, and they bring each other off with soft gasps and moans under the running water. Their shower ends up being a little over twenty minutes, but when they come into the living room wearing matching sheepish smiles, all is quickly forgiven.
Pauline places two plates of eggs and toast in front of them and demands they eat quickly before Florence can work her magic. From there on out it’s a flurry of busy hands and a never-ending stream of discussion as Florence blow dries Armie’s hair and then works on drying and curling Timmy’s. Armie thinks he’s free after his hair is done and he plans on going out for a cup of coffee, but he’s forced back into his chair so Pauline can apply some coverup under his eyes.
By the time they’re in their suits, Armie and Timmy are sent on their way to the villa where the ceremony and party will be taking place. Armie glances at his watch as he slides into the backseat of the car. “Shit,” he murmurs as Timmy climbs in next to him, careful not to crease his suit. “They were right. We’re gonna be just in time to meet the photographer.”
The next two hours pass in a blur and soon enough, Armie and Timmy are standing under a canopy of flowers. Greta, who was ordained for this very occasion, is officiating the ceremony. They’re flanked by Nick and Florence on Armie’s side and Saoirse, and Pauline on Timmy’s. Archie sits patiently at their feet, looking up at them both with a dopey face. Armie is smiling so hard his cheeks are starting to hurt, but he can’t stop. Timmy is beaming up at him, squeezing his hands, and Armie can’t quite believe this is happening. He’s actually about to marry the love of his life in front of all their family and friends.
“The rings,” Greta requests, reaching out for the two silver bands which Saoirse has tucked neatly in a little pouch. Greta places Armie’s ring in Timmy’s hand and vice versa and then asks them to recite their vows.
Timmy takes a deep breath and Armie gives him a slight nod of encouragement.
“I love you more than I love Nutella on my toast,” Timmy starts, his voice a little shaky. The crowd chuckles and Armie winks at him. “I love you for always believing in me, for making me feel strong, and for helping me to believe in myself. I’m so incredibly lucky to have you in my life, Armie Hammer. You make every day the best day ever, even if we fight over whose turn it is to load the dishwasher. You’ve been the most encouraging, supportive partner I could ever ask for, and I’m forever indebted to Saoirse and Greta for hiring me at R&G in the first place. I can’t imagine my life without you in it and I can’t wait to spend the rest of it married to you.” Timmy slides the ring onto Armie’s finger, sealing his vows with a kiss to Armie’s now adorned hand.
Armie clears his throat before beginning and tries to blink away the tears in his eyes, but the waver in his voice is a clear indication of his emotion. “Timmy, I love your immense capacity for love, whether it’s directed at me, your family, two pigeons on the street, or for your stuffed animals.” Tim’s face flushes pink and he hastily wipes a tear away. “I knew you were the one for me the day I met you, and each day since has only made me surer. I have loved you all the days I’ve known you, and I always will. But I have to admit…” Armie pauses and there’s a sharp intake of breath. “I absolutely despise caramel macchiatos.”
All at once, Timmy gasps, laughs, and gives Armie’s shoulders a playful shove. There’s a bit of confused murmuring from the crowd as the wedding party all bursts into laughter. “How come you never told me?” Timmy shouts, but he’s still laughing.
“I couldn’t bring myself to! I liked you too much and you were being so sweet. I tried to give you so many subtle hints, but you never took them.” Armie squeezes Timmy’s hand, loving the way his ring bites into his finger. “Will you still marry me, Timothée Chalamet?”
“Yes, you absolute idiot .”
Armie only has a second to slip the ring onto Timmy’s finger before he’s practically assaulted, Timmy jumping into his arms and leaning up for a kiss.
“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husbands. I’d say you may kiss the groom, but I guess they already got the memo,” Greta says as Armie wraps both arms around Timmy’s waist. They receive a standing ovation, their lips locked for way longer than necessary before Saoirse and Florence shove them firmly down the aisle.
Dinner and dancing are set up at the back of the house in the courtyard surrounded by peach trees. Florence and Pauline, the self-assigned decorating task force, did a lovely job setting up the long table underneath strings of lights. The table is overflowing with fresh flowers, the two seats at the head adorned with flowers of their own. It’s a perfect night, and the party lasts well into the morning, with plenty of wine, delicious food provided by Luca, and great company.
They finally stumble into their bedroom just past 3 am, opting to stay at the villa for the night before taking off for their honeymoon: a three-week tour of Italy, all planned by Nick and Luca.
“Whoever came up with wedding night sex didn’t have a very good wedding,” Timmy mumbles, barely coherent as he strips and falls into bed. “I’m fucking exhausted.”
Armie grunts in agreement as he climbs in next to Timmy. His feet are sore and his legs are aching, but he’s exhausted in the best way. “It was a good wedding, wasn’t it?” he mumbles against Timmy’s neck. They assume their usual positions with Timmy as the little spoon, easily curling into Armie.
“Love you, my husband.”
“Love you.” Armie hugs Timmy tight, nuzzling his face into sweat-damp curls and pressing a kiss to the back of Tim’s neck before drifting off.
Armie wakes the next morning to the bedroom door clicking closed. He cracks open an eye to see Timmy slipping back into the bedroom, two white to-go cups in hand. “Morning, sleeping beauty,” he whispers.
“Mmh, for me?” Armie asks, pushing himself up in bed. He makes grabby hands toward Timmy, first taking his cup before Timmy settles back into bed next to him.
“Yes, from that place in town you like. I had Florence drop them off, along with some pastries.”
“No Starbucks this time?” Armie teases, inhaling before taking a sip. Ahh, there’s nothing like coffee in Italy. Especially on your honeymoon.
“You know what? I should have, after yesterday’s revelation. You don’t deserve anything except caramel macchiatos for the rest of your life.”
“As long as I have you for the rest of my life, that’s fine by me.”
Timmy laughs and leans up for a coffee-flavored kiss.