There were lips pressed to him; it was the first thing George realised as he begrudgingly entered the horribly bright, wakeful world.

They dipped to his hair, his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, wherever they may reach. They were slow and lingering at first, just gentle, loving contact. A soft, chaste fragment of affection.

Then they become faster, dramatic noises following each one and George groaned, burying his face into the pillow beneath him. An adoring laugh echoed from above and George had half the mind to kick his feet out from under the covers and ward off his attacker. Maybe he'd kick him in the crotch, if his aim was lucky enough.

"Good morning, sweet cheeks." Clay sang teasingly.

"Fuck off." George replied flatly.

Clay brushed off George's morning grouchiness and shoved his shoulder with a chuckle, twisting him onto his back. He held him in place against the bed, hovering over him as George glared up through squinted eyes. He leant down and kissed the twist of George's lips until they morphed into a sweet smile.

George loosely looped his arms around Clay's shoulders, humming sleepily. He scrunched his nose, however, at the taste of Clay's morning breath and pulled back abruptly. "Your breath smells, go brush your teeth." He complained bluntly, wrists still crossed loosely behind Clay's neck as though he hadn't instructed him to leave.

Clay laughed again, something bright and happy and utterly world-warring, before simply kissing George quiet. George whined in distaste but made no move to end the affection. Instead, he returned it with a slow sense of warmth, a familiar taste resting comfortably in the back of his throat that overwhelmed their mingling morning breath.

When Clay pulled back, smiling down at his fiancé, George let his eyes slip closed again. It was peaceful, calm, the air settled with a certain safety that sank into the very foundation of George's being. He felt utterly content, more than ready to catch five more minutes rest.

Then Clay started kissing his face again in quick succession and George was groaning, shoving at Clay's chest feebly. His traitorous smile gave away how much he always enjoyed the attention.

"Oh my God- I'm awake! I'm awake, will you get off?" George laughed, sitting up to appease Clay. No hope for a lie-in this morning then.

Clay let up, grinning. "Breakfast is in the kitchen." He murmured, pressing a final kiss to the tip of George's nose before leaving the room to take George's advice and brush his teeth.

Most mornings were shaped in this mould these days. Now that they were home again, Clay would wake up early, boasting his now almost healthy sleep schedule; he'd then make breakfast for the both of them and wake George in some disgustingly sweet way - at a time that George would complain was far too early regardless of what the clock read - and they'd eagerly set to their days.

More often than not, they'd spend the better half of the day on wedding planning.

////:\\\\

@Fleepfloop
if only I could be paid for my tweets...
well, time to start an onlyfans ❤️
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ALKOJDSLKFLKFLAKFJASLFJKDSKJHLA VOUCH
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@luciddreamer
OOP-
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@dreamdreamdreamdreamdreamdream
Dre owes you for carrying all his tweets, just get him to pay you smh my head
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@Fleepfloop
good idea
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retweets likes

////:\\\\

The days passed by like a scrapbook George would find himself making long into the future, though he didn't know it yet. Short, snapshot images of warm days spent in even warmer company.

There were pages dedicated to days out with the band that capture lunch dates, shared dinner's at one another's houses, practices, family get togethers and even another visit to Disney World through spring showers that went decidedly better and less dramatically than the first. George sent some of the Disney World photos to the Outcast's back studying in England and was rewarded with mock replicas using cardboard boxes, plastic chairs and anything else they could find in skips around town and the local dump.

George would look fondly upon the faded evidence of Clay taking him to the beach several times; careful to keep him from burning in the way he kept George shaded with his arm, a much too large sunhat, a towel or even a sunshade he'd 'borrowed'. George had kicked water up in his wake when running into the waves one time, laughing over his shoulder at Clay's indignant cries. Clay had gotten him back easily, tackling him into a backdrop of clear blue and kissing the air from his lungs until they were both gasping breathless laughs as they resurfaced.

He'd turn warm at the hints of hours lost to simply listening as Clay rambled on about the latest thing that had hooked his interest, hands running through George's hair or fiddling with his fingers, even pulling at the loose thread in the hem of George's shirt occasionally. George would ever be enamoured with the sheer passion with which Clay conducts his every word, regardless of the amount of times Clay may turn quiet with a soft apology on his lips. George always willed that apology away, pulling on Clay's hands or hoodie and asking for Clay to tell him more, to teach him more. He could listen to Clay forever like that.

Pride would colour his cheeks at the shadows of Clay attempting to teach him guitar; sat wrapped in Clay's lap with Clay's guitar in his own, large hands guiding bony fingers. Clay's chest was a warm and supporting weight behind him, hands ever resting over George's own and head nestled on George's shoulder as George stumbled his way through until he could play a beautiful, love-worn melody. Half of it was lost to George the next day but Clay was ever patient in teaching him again and again. Clay never bothered to deny the fact that he cried the first time George played his song right back at him, with just as much love and care as Clay always put in. No one would believe him if he did anyways.

Even despite it being George's career, he'd never get tired of the countless hours spent playing with Clay and Nick, on and off camera, that were recorded on each page. They made up silly little mini games, programmed large plug-ins for whatever their hearts desired and even simply played the games as they were designed. The possibilities were endless and Clay (and Nick, though if he ever admitted that then Nick would never shut up) made every one endlessly entertaining. And George found it more than just funny that he was able to get trending any time he decided to be even the slightest bit sweet to Clay on camera.

Each little image, each day, each moment and each memory only served to solidify Clay and George's boundless happiness in the time leading to their forever. And maybe George did know he'd end up making that scrapbook, if only to entertain some sappy idea that Clay had pressed into his skin that quiet night.

////:\\\\

[Big Booty Muffins]

Nick
GUYS
11:32pm

Ophelia
WHAT
11:32pm

Nick
GUYS
11:32pm

Zak
WHAT
11:33pm

Nick
GUYS
11:33pm

George
WHAT DO YOU WANT SAPNAP
11:33pm

Nick
MY BABYS GETTING MARRIED IN A WEEK
11:33pm

Clark
WHAT
11:34pm

Clay
I AM I AM
11:34pm

Jethro
I hate it here.
11:34pm

Ophelia
MY BABYS GETTING MARRIED IN A WEEK TOO
11:34pm

George
I'm not your baby
11:35pm

Ophelia
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH YES YOU ARE
11:35pm

George
I'm literally older than you
11:35pm

Nick
LET US BE HAPPY FOR YOU NIMROD
11:36pm
OUR BABYS ARE GETTING MARRIED IN A WEEK
11:37pm

George
@Clay can we elope instead?
11:37pm

Ophelia
NO
11:37pm

Darryl
NO D:
11:37pm

Keres
NO!!
11:37pm

Nick
NO
11:37pm

Geo
NO
11:37pm

Vincent
NO (-Nick)
11:38pm

Zak
NO (whjat aer we doing)
11:38pm

Clark
NO (J if you say no i'll come give you a kiss)
11:38pm

Jethro
no (garden)
11:38pm

Clay
sorry Georgie
11:39pm
the council has spoken
11:39pm

George
I hate you all
11:40pm

Nick
i bet he's smiling rn im calling it
11:40pm

George
am not
11:40pm

Clay
(he is)
11:41pm

Nick
YEAHHHHHHH SMILE CUTIE
11:41pm

George
SHUT UP
11:41pm
Seen

////:\\\\

"Dream, please, focus." Darryl muttered for probably the third time in five minutes. "It's one night, for tradition! You can survive without seeing George for one night."

"Says you," Clay accused, though his tone held no hostility in it's high and airy mock "Mr. Zak hasn't looked at me for the last three seconds, I miss him!" Darryl spluttered indignantly.

"I do not sound like that!" He protested, looking towards Zak and Vincent for support only to be met with sceptical expressions. "I don't!"

"You kinda do." Zak replied gently, patting Darryl's arm, and Darryl let out a low 'hrrrn' of betrayal.

"Whatever, this isn't about me," He dismissed but no one missed the way he eliminated his own argument and took Zak's hand into his own, "this is about you, Clay, to celebrate! It's supposed to be fun." Clay felt a soft shadow of guilt seep into his stomach and he nursed his hardly-touched drink closer to his chest.

"It is fun! It's nice to hang out again, just us. Like the old days." Clay tried and the words held a semblance of truth - he did genuinely enjoy being out with his band again, like they used to - but it didn't take a genius to see that Clay's mind had been elsewhere for a good portion of the night.

"You keep staring at your phone like you can't wait to go home." Vincent pointed out but it was more teasing than harsh. "This is your last night of freedom before you're cuffed for life." Darryl shot Vincent a disapproving look but Clay laughed regardless.

"I know, I just... I'm happy, you know? There was a time where I thought I lost George completely and now we're... we're getting married. It's crazy." Clay smiled at his hands, curled safe around his glass. "I'm just happy."

"Oh no, the honeymoon phase begins." Zak droned, voice dry but Darryl cooed.

"They've been in the honeymoon phase since they met." Vincent added with a pointed jab at Clay. Clay wasn't sure any argument he could make up could refute that.

"It's sweet." Darryl amended, shooting the other two down lightly. "You two just don't want to admit that you're proud and happy for him."

"Ooh, he's got you there." Clay crowed, chuckling. Zak stuck out his tongue childishly and Vincent rolled his eyes, flipping his phone from where it had vibrated on the table in front of them. He smiled, an amused curve that they'd learnt was usually associated with Nick's frustration, and pushed the device towards Clay, urging him to read the notification.

Panda: if george says one more thing about how much better clay would be at this than us then im going to kill him. tell clay that his bride to be is going to be six feet under soon.

Clay laughed, Zak and Darryl leaning further on the table to get a glimpse at what Vincent had shown him. He picked up his own phone, intending to message George a thanks for the incessant compliments and a chastise for boasting, only to be intercepted.

////:\\\\

Ophelia
HELLO
6:21pm

jreem
hello Ophelia
6:21pm

Ophelia
how do you and the band feel about laser questing?
6:21pm

jreem
lazer tag? its fun
6:22pm
why?
6:22pm

Ophelia
your person is being a whiney little bitch :)
6:22pm

jreem
wh
6:22pm

Ophelia
and if he mentions you one more time, samsung fridge is going to exchange the laser guns for real guns :)
6:23pm
so we're caving and you guys are gonna come meet us :)
6:23pm
[location shared]
6:23pm
the session is in 10 mins under Alverez
6:24pm
come rescue your prince
6:24pm
if you dare >;)
6:24pm

jreem
oh youre on
6:24pm
Seen

////:\\\\

Really, Clay shouldn't have been surprised at all to find himself ditching the quaint bar he'd been in in favour of teaming up with his band to rescue his fiancé (in laser tag) on his stag night. Considering his tendencies and previous luck, Clay should have known the night would be far from conventional, far from normal. No one could find it in themselves to be at all surprised.

He couldn't find it in himself to be particularly upset either as he shrugged on a too-small, combat style vest that held four censors and an obnoxiously green, plastic gun attached. Even less so when he turned to find Darryl clipping Zak's vest closed with a certain shine to his eyes and Vincent thumbing the trigger of his gun with malicious intent.

When Nick came barrelling through the entryway to the arena, Clay didn't hesitate in lifting his gun and firing a good few times. Only after did he notice that Nick was both unarmed and deeply unimpressed. Easy mistake to make, he reasoned.

"Gonna pretend I didn't see that," Nick narrowed his eyes at Clay sourly but Clay simply shrugged in response, "They've hidden George somewhere in the arena, we have thirty minutes to find him after the alarm goes off."

Vincent wordlessly passed Nick a set and Clay made quick work of huddling everyone together to formulate their attack plan. The Outcasts may be young, even a little below average intelligence at times, but what they do have going for themselves is cohesiveness. There's a reason they're grouped to a name and never seen without one another, and that's because they often operate scarily alike to a hivemind. If anyone had figured out telepathy, it certainly wouldn't be hard to believe it was the Outcasts.

"Okay, the field is split onto two levels; the maze and the bridge. The bridge is covered, has three windows on either side and overlooks the whole arena. That's where we wanna be." Nick traced a finger in the space between them as if drawing out a map. After a few moments silence, Darryl looked over at him, confused.

"That's it? Just get to the bridge? What about the maze?" Nick clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"That's it. As for the maze," He straightened, breaking from the circle and drifting backwards towards the arena entrance in slow steps, "just don't get cornered." Clay was about to interrupt Nick's theatrics to tell him that that, while it was wonderfully acted, really didn't help them in any way shape or form. Before he had the chance to however, an alarm sounded and Nick pivoted and sprinted through, dragging a reluctant Vincent behind him, into the darkness.

"Let's get your Georgie back." Darryl smiled, brandishing his gun with unnerving familiarity and slinking in, disappearing easily around the corner. Clay didn't have the chance to turn before Zak was racing in, finger firmly held down on the trigger and gun wailing an awful noise. Clay rolled his eyes and begrudgingly followed, crouching low between high, foam walls that were decorated to look ragged and sharp with rocks.

The arena was surprisingly darkened - illuminated only by small, neon waypoints and markers of varying colours - and shrouded in an airy smoke. Clay had half the mind to straighten, knowing his head would come up over the majority of the smoke and he'd be able to breathe clear again and get a better feel for the surrounding area, but fought against the urge for fear of making himself an easier target.

He strained to hear past the low, ominous music echoing from the ceiling and focussed on keeping his footfalls light, gun rounding corners before himself. He froze at the sound of hushed whispers, pressing his back against the wall and gathering his arms close over the sensor on his chest. Breath paused in his throat, he waited with his gun poised ready, only to hear;

"Geppy, shush, we're not supposed to be talking."

"But I can't follow you if I can't hear you."

"You're not supposed to be following me!"

"You don't want to be near me?"

"Of course I do, Zak, just-"

Two shots fired, horribly fake and whining in sound.

"Sorry lovebirds!" Keres crowed lightly from far too close for comfort and Clay took his chance, barely rounding the corner to get a clear shot.

He fired once and hit, the sensor covering Keres' back lighting a brilliant blue. She turned at the wail of her pack and spotted Clay, breaking into a wide, giggly grin.

"Instant karma, huh?" Clay shrugged, smiling but still unwilling to draw any more attention to himself. "Guess I deserved that, come on guys." letting her gun hang from it's wire, she looped her arms with Zak and Darryl's, guiding them away and towards the bench. Darryl patted his shoulder encouragingly on the way past, a silent good luck.

Clay then continued, skirting around the edge in an attempt to find any way up to the bridge. He kept low and plastered to the wall, barely able to hear over the blood rushing in his ears. It took a moment to register the echoing laugh that followed the speaker beginning to project minecraft cave sounds. It didn't take long, however, to register the subsequent shot, loud curse and shadow of the word "language" before Geo was bounding past him, far to happy for someone who'd just been shot out.

"Two lefts and a right to the bridge." He said nonchalantly and Clay squinted at him in distrust. "Fifteen minutes to go, trust me or not." Geo smiled and disappeared towards the bench.

As promised, two lefts and a right later Clay found himself at the base of a steep slope that curled up around the corner toward what must have been the upper level. He crept, almost down on his knees, up the ramp and to an ominously still opening. Peaking around the corner revealed an eerily empty hall, glassless windows lining each side provide the only form of light.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting to find at the vantage point; the remaining three opponents? A trap of some sort? George? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't this endless amount of nothingness. He felt the distinct crawl of disappointment.

Clay straightened regardless, wandering to the first of six small windows and poking the barrel of his gun out, peaking around it to find at least one person within the walls of the maze below. Annoyingly, the one person he was able to spot was on his team (and if he shot at Vincent regardless, just to be certain, then Vincent didn't have to know). There was a soft click behind him, the distinct noise of fabric shifting and then-

Clark was tackled to the ground with a retched war-cry from none other than Nick himself. Clay was then able, though startled and disorientated, to land a hit to Clark's shoulder. Not before Clark, gun trapped against Nick's chest, took Nick down with him however. Collapsed in a dramatic pile of limbs, both boys cried out.

"The dishonour!" Clark wailed, shoving Nick's face to the ground in a mock attempt to disentangle themselves. No one was convinced by his act. Before Nick was able to respond, another shot sounded, hitting him again.

"I'm already dead, dude!" Nick protested as Clay rounded on Jethro, who was stood at the other end of the bridge. Clay lifted his gun, aiming to fire, and watched as Jethro did the same. Then Jethro's pack lit blue, screeching it's protest, and Vincent stepped out from behind him with a proud smirk. "Yes!"

Jethro exchanged a good-natured handshake with Vincent before striding to scoop Clark up, hands beneath his armpits, and off of Nick, looking akin to a scruffed cat. Like the petulant child Clark so often plays, he tucked his knees up close to his chest when Jethro attempted to deposit him back on his feet. Jethro rolled his eyes with a fond huff and heaved Clark over his shoulder to drape him comfortable there instead. Vincent watched, bewildered, for a moment before offering Nick a hand up as well.

"My hero." Nick chirped, squeezing Vincent's hand lightly before turning to address Clay as well. "George is in the corner box - the photo booth thingy - I heard him whining earlier."

"That has to be cheating." Clark commented, now thoroughly upside down with his arms wrapped around Jethro's midriff from behind, one of Jethro's arms curled around the back of his knees. Neither of the two seemed phased in any way of the word. Clay wasn't sure he was either.

"All is fair in love and war." He replied nonchalantly, turning to Vincent and tilting his head towards the other end of the bridge in question. Vincent nodded, folding his gun to his chest and taking the lead.

"Good luck big and little D!" Clark crowed and both Clay and Vincent paused with a confused, murmured echo of the sentiment. Clark had already been carried around the corner before they got the chance to ask what the nicknames meant, or where they came from. Nick just shrugged when consulted, bid them a cheery goodbye and trailed after where the other two had disappeared.

Traversing their way over to the small corner box was an eerily easy task, considering only Ophelia lingered armed in the arena - and she'd likely be protecting George closely. There was one small issue though; the photo booth was the only area within the arena that their packs were inactive. If Ophelia was inside alongside George, they'd have to find a way to pry her out in order to eliminate her.

As if summoned by the very thought of her name, Ophelia fired two loud shots before tumbling into the box and subsequently into some semblance of safety. Clay was able, with his boundless and frankly unfair (George had said so many a time) luck, to narrowly avoid being hit but Vincent had no such luck. He spewed a string of curses that would have Darryl collapsing in on himself before storming away, back into the maze and hopefully towards the bench.

Clay flattened himself against the nearest wall, gun trained on the doorway. "Oh come on now, don't hide." He mocked, shuffling the barest step closer and glimpsing Ophelia stood safely within the box, arms crossed over her chest and a smug smile on her face. Clay continued to take short steps and only lowered his gun once he was stood just within the doorway, green glow from his pack dulling into nothing.

He glanced briefly down at George, who was now in full view. He was sat crossed-legged on the floor, face the epitome of dull disinterest but Clay could spot a sharp spark of amusement in his eyes regardless. His top half was drenched in the faded green hoodie of Clay's that he'd insisted upon needing that morning, the sleeves empty and tied together before him. He could very easily remove the hoodie, hands sat clearly in his lap, and leave but Clay had a sneaking suspicion that George was rather enjoying this game too, even if he had to play damsel in distress for the time being. He may like to pretend that he's bigger than this but Clay knew he was loving every moment.

Clay dragged his gaze back up to Ophelia, hands flexing instinctually around his gun. He studied her frankly unnervingly, calm and arrogant expression before gesturing loosely back outside the box with his gun. "Why don't you come out and we can finish this." Clay more stated than asked, lips curling maliciously.

He felt a chill settle on the back of his neck as Ophelia's smile turned sardonic as well. She shifted her gun to hang just behind her right hip, almost unperceptively shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet.

"I'm gay."

Before Clay had the chance to react, Ophelia lunged forward, wrapping her arms securely around the back's of Clay's thighs. She tugged, pushing her shoulder into his chest hard enough to sweep his feet from beneath him and send him careening to the ground. Using the grip on his legs, she attempted to slide him far enough across the ground and out of the box for their packs to reactivate.

Clay's wits returned to him faster than she'd hoped however as he wrapped his legs around her waist and used their hold to topple her over sideways. Ophelia laughed from her place on the ground, rolling far enough away to be out of immediate reach and grabbing onto her gun. Clay pulled himself to sit upright, scooting back through the doorway when his gun began to glow green.

Ophelia was already stood, allowing Clay to stare down the barrel of her gun when he attempted to look up at her.

"I don't have a sensor on my face." Clay spoke.

"I wish you did." George quipped, forgotten on the side lines.

Clay pouted, turning to George to give him his most betrayed expression. George just smiled sweetly in return. Bastard.

In the moments he was distracted, Ophelia had rounded to his side. She grabbed his vest by its shoulder, yanking him back and out of the haven. Clay was on his back again, left to helplessly search for where Ophelia stood behind him, sensors already a brilliant blue.

In a last ditch attempt, Clay raised his gun, closed his eyes and held down the trigger.

Over the thunder of his racing heartbeat, George's laugh sounded. It was loud, incredulous, unforgiving and beautiful.

"What are the fucking odds?" Ophelia laughed after a moment of tense silence.

Clay slowly opened his eyes to find his vest still glowing an almost congratulatory green. Looking behind him, Ophelia was no longer illuminated. He sat up slowly.

"Probably one in seven trillion." George grinned. Ophelia nodded her agreement with a soft huff.

"I won?" Clay asked dumbly. Ophelia smiled, offering him a hand and yanking him to his feet.

"You weren't even looking, it was pure luck." She reasoned and Clay's grin grew to something unbearable. Oh how he would lord this over them all.

"Oh, sure it was, don't be a sore loser." Ophelia rolled her eyes but gave his arm a strong, proud thump regardless. Clay wouldn't admit that it was hefty enough to hurt.

"He's all yours." She then smiled, quirking an eyebrow over at George. George nodded. Ophelia took her leave with a slowly growing smirk.

Clay didn't notice that the ambient cave noises had continued to echo through the overhead speakers.

He dropped gracelessly to his knees before George, carefully untying the sleeves of his hoodie and watching as George rethreaded his arms into them, wiggling his fingers when they emerged out the ends. He then took George's hands into his own, gently pulling them both up onto their feet. He then continued to pull on George's hands, placing them up on top of his own shoulders. George rolled his eyes but left them there regardless when Clay's arms dropped to loop around his hips.

"Hi." Clay smiled, tilting his head the barest amount without really noticing.

"Hello." George answered, face softening. He let one hand trail up into Clay's hair, the other drifting to rest over his hammering heart. George would never get tired of the knowledge of how he made Clay's heart race, even after all these years. Clay bumped his nose against George's cheekbone. "What?"

"Where's my prize?" Clay asked lowly, grin turning bold and brash.

"Prize?" George couldn't keep the smile from slipping through his teeth. The ego of his fiancé.

"For rescuing you." Clay reasoned, eyes slipping closed as he bumped George's cheekbone once more.

"Am I not enough?" George asked, voice honeyed in fondness and tease. Clay huffed, knocking his nose against George's and ghosting his breath over George's lips.

George let himself grin for a moment, straight teeth almost against Clay's lips, before finally succumbing and closing the minute distance. Clay hummed in soft satisfaction, wrapping his arms a fraction tighter around George. George let the hand resting over Clay's chest creep lower, to the hem of his own hoodie.

Before Clay could register anything but George, George, George, another shot sounded.

George pulled back, giggling far too hard to continue kissing. Clay blinked a few times, disorientated, before looking down at his fiancé. Resting in the man's left hand was a glowing blue gun that had previously been tucked beneath his hoodie. Clay's eyes widened as he realised what had happened, the lights of the arena brightening and highlighting George's face in florescent white.

"You shot me!" George's giggling escalated into full-blown laughter and he let the gun slip from his fingers in favour of covering his face. Clay tightened his grip on George, grin incredulous but heart glowing with love and an odd sense of pride. "That's cheating, that has to be cheating. Come on now. You can't do that."

George shook his head, bringing his hands up to frame Clay's face and connect their eyes.

"Don't be a sore loser." He echoed with a shit-eating grin.

Clay wheezed a helpless sound, knocking their foreheads together lightly.

"You're the worst." He laughed.

"I love you too." George murmured.

Clay kissed him.

////:\\\\

@chiccennuggies
everyone's like "we might get to meet Dream and George at the open afterparty!!" but honk that, I'm excited about the chance to meet fleep floop
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@fleepflopped
TRUEEE FLEEP FLOOP FACE REVEAL WHEN???
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@luciddreamer
fleepfloop >>>>>>>> dnf or whatever
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@FleepFloop
I am simply better.
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     @chiccentendies
     VOUCH
     --------------------------------
     likes      retweets

////:\\\\

To say Clay was nervous would be the understatement of the century, possibly the millennia.

He bounced almost unperceptively on the balls of his feat, working creases into horribly expensive, black dress shoes. His sage green waistcoat suddenly felt excessive tucked beneath a black blazer and wrapped atop a porcelain white shirt, only serving to make him sweat tenfold. Hands clasped behind his back, he picked and scratched at his nailbed's until they were red-raw and aching.

Upon a tentative tap on his right shoulder, he twisted and was greeted by a warm, encouraging smile. Following it down, he found a colourful tangle nestled into the palm of Darryl's open hand. Darryl extended it slightly until Clay took the fidget with a shaky smile, turning to stare back down the aisle.

Lining each side were rows upon rows of his and George's family and friends, all mingled and chatting excitedly. Some exchanged introductions, others expressed their pride and others worked on rekindling the fire of old, lingering friendships that still survived the turn of time. All had smiles on their faces and sunshine in their hair, basking beneath a wonderfully clear blue sky just beyond a kind canopy of trees. The universe looked upon them with kindness, care and pride.

As the first few chords of a slow, sweet and familiar song rung out, they drifted into an anticipation filled silence.

First to emerge at the end of the aisle were Keres and Ophelia, arm in arm and grinning like lottery winners. Ophelia stood in a pale green, open shirt and black slacks, complimenting Keres' flowing, baby blue dress. They walked slow, followed closely by Geo and Kiri, each wearing equally complimenting suits in deeper shades of green and blue. Then came Clark and Jethro, wearing the brightest of smiles in a cobalt blue suit and a sea green dress that looked awfully similar to a certain smaller girls'.

Finally came Nick, eyes suspiciously rimmed red and smile wide enough to curb concern. He was clad in a black two-piece, white shirt complimented by a tangerine tie. Over one arm was a small, wicker-basket, from which he pulled handfuls of brightly coloured petals, scattering them down the aisle and over nearby guests with boundless enthusiasm.

Then, there was George.

Father at his side, he stood tall and proud and utterly breath-taking. Clay felt the air escape his chest in a rush, throat closing behind it and eyes warming with unshed tears. His hands stilled and the fidget fell to the floor behind him.

George was in a three-piece suit not too dissimilar from Clay's own. The blazer was alabaster white and waistcoat an ocean blue. The fabrics clung tight to sharp shoulders and slim hips and painted George in the wholly ethereal light that Clay so often saw him in. To a man that had seen beauty in the drool that gathered in the corner of George's lips as he slept and the darkness that gathered beneath his eyes when he didn't, the sight was simply indescribable.

As George walked slowly, ever closer, Clay began to see the stars in his watery eyes. The rush of comfort he felt from such a revelation made him huff a shaky breath that was close to a laugh and two steps from a sob, finally letting the tears roll over freckled cheeks.

At the end of the aisle, an arms length away, George's father stopped to pull him into a tight embrace. From the way George's hands balled into the back of the mans jacket so tightly his knuckles turned white, he most definitely needed it. Then, he carefully took George's hand in his own and handed it delicately into Clay's open palm.

"Hey," George whispered, reaching to take Clay's other hand.

"Hi," Clay breathed.

George lifted their hands to brush his knuckles against Clay's cheeks, clearing them of tears that were quickly replaced. He smiled, however, and brought their hands back down between themselves. For once, he decided not to tease his poor fiancé.

As Darryl - who had more than excitedly accepted Clay and George's request for him to be their officiant - began, Clay let himself get lost in the way George's thumbs dragged rhythmically back and forth over his knuckles. George looked like a dream, stood before him. No pun intended. He looked ethereal. Pale skin complimented by his pale suit, making the soft pattering of freckles the Florida sun had gifted him with even more prominent. Deep brown eyes shining with the hint of unshed tears. Before long, it was time to exchange vows.

"George," Clay breathed "these last few years, you have been my best friend, my first confidant and, as always, my biggest fan. I have had the pleasure of falling in love with every version of you, from the one that lied about liking tea to make me like him better to the one that cheats at lazer tag." He chuckled as George slapped his shoulder sharply.

"I know that out of everything I've done in my life, this - marrying you - will be my greatest achievement by far." He smiled, eyes softening, down at George. "I swear to love, cherish and pass things off the top shelf to you, till death do us part."

George rolled his eyes but squeezed Clay's hands regardless.

"Clay, over the years I have come to learn what you just proved.." He took a deep breath, sighing it back out slowly. "That you are incapable of being nice to me, so Quack and I wrote this diss track for you."

A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd as raucous music began abruptly, fading out again after a few beats - in which Clay watched George with mock betrayal.

"I'm kidding," George admonished, flashing Clay a grin to rival the sun, "Quack will be performing that later." He rushed out in a stage murmur. Before Clay had the chance to protest, George moved swiftly on.

"You have proven that, despite everything, against all odds, you always choose me. So today, it's my turn to choose you." George slowly lifted their hands to press a kiss to Clay's knuckles. "I swear to be by your side, to love you and to always be Patches' favourite, till death do us part."

"You may kiss the groom." Darryl sniffled but George was too busy pulling Clay in to make fun of him for it.

He cradled Clay's face with such delicacy as Clay kissed him, all smiling lips and tightly wrapped arms, that Clay fell in love all over again in a moments breath. Beneath the cheers, the clapping and the music, all that George and Clay heard was the sound of their heartbeats falling into sync. George felt the return of Clay's tears before he saw them.

"Why are you crying?" George laughed, pressing his forehead to Clay's and dragging his thumbs back and forth over the swell of Clay's cheeks. He couldn't resist the chance to tease his now husband twice.

"I'm happy." Clay justified, pressing his nose to the side of George's and gathering him impossibly closer. "I'm happy." He repeated, softer.

George let his eyes fall closed as he kissed Clay once more - should anyone ask, he'd deny the warmth that slipped over his cheeks and dripped from his chin.

"Me too."

////:\\\\

@FleepFloop
my Paypal is paypal.me/fleeepflop if you want wedding selfies
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////:\\\\

"Congrats!" George stumbled to right himself, Ophelia plastered down his back from where she'd no doubt leapt at him, "My baby is all grown up." She whined, squeezing tight around his shoulders.

"Still not your baby." George corrected but he let her cling to him a moments longer regardless, patting her arm before Keres gently pried her off.

"Congratulations, you both look lovely." She smiled, one hand still hovering at Ophelia's elbow. George pulled her in with a thank you, allowing Ophelia to throw herself at Clay the moment she was released. It didn't take long for Geo, Kiri, Zak and Darryl to find their way over, each echoing a congratulatory sentiment and compliment of their own. They hovered close to a long table of snacks - idly chatting and catching up not far from where a familiar looking man with flowers in their hair stood smiling with a partner, a few inches shorter than him.

It didn't take much surveying to spot Clark; hand in hand with Aurelia, he twirled somewhere close to the centre of the room in a small clearing of the crowd, Selene an arms length away and laughing. The three were a sight to see in their matching floor length dresses.

"Clark!" He perked up at the sound of his name, catching George's eye and manoeuvring his little group over with a fitting sense of grace.

"You look amazing Gogy!" He cheered the moment he was close enough, throwing one arm tight around George as the other stayed clasped safely in Aurelia's hands. "As do you Dweamy." He tacked on the moment he pulled away, shifting to hug Clay close as well. "Too late to ask to join?" He suggested with an exaggerated wink, lifting a hand to waggle his ring finger theatrically.

The scars down his arms were silvery and settled, complimented by the delicate jewellery that wrapped his wrists. Despite their origins, Clark wore them well, wore them with pride. He looked far more comfortable now. He stood taller, spoke easier and every easy smile of his not only reached but wonderfully overtook his bright eyes.

"I don't think Jethro would be all too happy." Clay laughed. As if on cue, Aurelia was whisked from Clark's side and replaced with a much larger presence. Clark turned to grin up at Jethro, who had Auri in one arm, resting comfortably on his cocked hip, and Clark's waist in the other. He pressed a wordless kiss to the crown of Clark's head where bleached-blond hair was growing through brown.

Selene stepped forward to give her congratulations, leaving a rather sheepish figure to hover just behind Clark's shoulder. George attempted, rather fruitlessly, to recognise the man before Clark caught his gaze and jumped.

"Where are my manners?" He gasped dramatically, reaching to grab the man's arm and drag him forward without leaving Jethro's grasp. Up close, George could see that he stood just taller than Clark. His hair was a mess of brown curls framing a freckled, tan face and familiar green-brown eyes. "This is my uncle, Charlie. Charlie, these are-" Clark glanced through the group "almost all of my friends."

Charlie shook George and Clay's hands with vigour, smile bright and kind and warm. "It's great to meet you both, Clark's told me so much about you. This place is lovely." Clay was quick to gather Charlie into amiable conversation while George politely nodded along, more focussed on scanning the crowd for the seemingly missing figure of his best friend.

As if sensing his search, or for the author's great convenience, George felt his phone buzz within his blazer. Only three people bypassed his do not disturb; the man at his side, his mother further down the snack table and Nick himself.

Snapmap: come outside bbg ;)

George huffed before poking a finger into Clay's side, just above his waistline. Clay jolted away, taking hold of his husband's hand.

"Nick's asked me to go outside." George informed, swinging his hand in Clay's grasp. Clay smiled, letting him swing for a moment before pulling him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Better see what he wants." He replied and George was quick to excuse himself and slip out the back door.

It didn't take long to find Nick, nestled between neatly trimmed hedgerows and bright bustles of tulips. Vincent, stood at his side, was the first to spot George. He smiled, something conspiritual yet genuine in his eyes, as he passed George and wandered toward the door wordlessly. Nick waited patient, expression painfully gentle, until George came to a stop before him.

"You asked for me?" George posed, more a question than a statement. Nick nodded but, instead of answering, simply outstretched a hand toward his best friend. George watched it apprehensively at first, wondering what plan Nick could possibly have. Perhaps Vincent had changed courses when he passed George and was hidden moments around the corner, ready to leap out and scare him. After a moments wait in which George stared in distrust, Nick rolled his eyes and gestured his hand more surely.

"Just trust me." He admonished, raising his brows. Finally, George placed a ring-adorned hand in Nick's, figuring he could simply snitch to Clay if Nick tried anything. Nick pulled him along at a kind pace, through the winding maze of tall bushes and other decorative foliage. A time later, just long enough for George to be thoroughly lost, they emerged into a vast clearing that held a lake softly nestled into the horizon.

Nick turned, keeping George's hand clasped in his. "Now that we're alone," Nick trailed off with a smirk.

George pulled his hand back with an exaggerated groan. Nick laughed, bright and loud and happy, with his head thrown back. George couldn't fight his smile, nor did he really want to.

Once calmed, shoulders bubbling with giggles, Nick fixed George with a matching smile and continued. "I doubted you wanted me to embarrass you in front of.. everyone we know but, well, your parents got a lovely last dance with you.." he paused once more, suddenly looking a touch sheepish, and held out a hand again.

"Humour me?" He finished, smile full of nothing but pride, joy and love.

George couldn't even scoff before his hand was back in Nick's and he was pulled into familiar arms.

This deep in the vast gardens, neither could really hear the music echoing from the afterparty hall and so swayed to the beat of their hearts instead. Neither could deny the swell in their lungs and the stinging of their eyes.

"When I met you.. I never thought I'd see myself here." George began, in a mock of a whisper. Nick hummed a lilting noise, urging him to continue. "I don't know what I pictured for myself but it definitely wasn't this. I never thought I'd be this lucky, this.. happy."

"I was so worried about you for so long. You seemed.. lost at the beginning. I couldn't find you." Nick smiled sadly, arm tightening around George unknowingly. "But look at you now." It was said more to himself than anything. George squeezed his palm regardless. "I may have pretended to hate him at the start, and I may have actually hated him for a while in the middle, but I.. I am so glad you and Clay found each other. I can't think of anyone who makes you happier."

George felt his heart ache and pulled back just enough to look Nick in the eye. "It's not just him, you know that right?" Before Nick had the chance to answer, George continued. "You've all done so much for us these last few years. For me. I never once had to ask, you were all always there when I needed you, right where I needed you too. You always knew what I needed, even before I did. Maybe I'm happier now that I have Clay and, yeah, he gives me the life and love I've always dreamed of but he's not the only reason."

"Nick, you have been my best friend for longer than I can remember. You have always done everything you can to make me happy, and then some. I wouldn't have ever even met Clay if it wasn't for you." George would tease Nick for the tears rolling down his cheeks if he wasn't nearly there himself. "I can't really get you an award for being the most patient best friend to have ever walked the Earth but I can thank you. I can thank you for sticking with me."

Nick laughed something choked. "Always, idiot."

"Always."

////:\\\\

@SentientAnxiety
Everyone loves a happy ending, especially to such a gruelling story :]
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////:\\\\

"Ugh, you tell that story all the time."

"Because it's such a good one."

"I think he changes it to make himself seem cooler."

"I do not!"

The squabbling continues for a few lingering moments.

"Kids!" Two heads turn to the doorframe, "that includes you right now." Now three.

"Stop antagonising your father, let him enjoy his story." The children - one young girl with near-black pigtails and a pale, freckled face and one older, blond boy with bright green eyes - pout exaggeratedly. "He'll have forgotten it by the end of next year."

"Hey!" The children laugh, full of renewed mirth.

"Dad's calling you old!" The boy crows with a wide, curling grin. He jumps into his father's awaiting arms and pokes at the soft smile-lines in his freckled cheeks.

"Next your hair will go gray!" The girl mocks, scrambling to take a spot on her father's other knee, pulling at sandy blond hair.

"Excuse you, I am perfectly young!" A smile pushes at emerald green eyes and crinkles crows-feet into the corners. "Dad's the old one." He looks to his husband still lingering in the doorframe. "He's just too pretty to tell." Both children roll their eyes at the all too common affection.

"The prettiest boy I've ever seen."

George rolls his eyes but pushes off the doorframe with his hip regardless, walking to his family to deliver a kiss to his overly-smug husband.

"Ew, stop flirting in front of the children."

"Uncle Nick!" It didn't take long before Nick was bowled over onto the last available spot on the couch, both children attaching themselves securely to his waist.

"Turn up on time and maybe we wouldn't." George quipped back, perching on the arm of Clay's chair, Clay's hand resting snug around his hip to keep him stable.

"You know we always have to be fashionably late." Vincent answered, wandering to stand at Nick's side and pat each of the children's heads, softly ruffling their hair with a wistful smile.

"Has he already told the story?" Nick asks and frowns when the kids nod their heads in unison. "Awh, damn. I wanted to tell it this time, I always tell it better." Clay rolls his eyes light-heartedly. The expression quickly morphs into a wide grin as a freshly sixteen Aurelia presents a tray of surely homemade cherry scones with pride. It was Ashton's thing at the moment, baking and cooking, and whatever Ash did Auri was sure to follow. It meant for a lot of intense hobbies for the pair but countless rewards for the group. Definitely a win-win situation in their eyes.

"You can always tell it again?" Keres mediates from her spot on the floor, head in her fiancée's lap.

"Yeah, it's practically a different story with all the changes you make." Zak teases, safe that it'll be without consequence considering his lover was helping in the kitchen with Ash, Selene, Charlie, Geo and Ms B- Quinn. They'll never get used to calling her her first name after all these years.

"Artistic liberty." Jethro quoted, hiding his smile by pretending to be busy pulling his hair back to tie in a haphazard plait before wandering towards the kitchen to mother over the cooking. That many eyes and pairs of hands in one kitchen surely wasn't necessary, but it wouldn't be them if they didn't overcomplicate things.

"Thank you, Jethro! I make it interesting." Nick admonishes with surety. George shakes his head in poorly-disguised yet fond exasperation.

"I think it's interesting enough as is," Ophelia chuckles "these idiots can never do anything Like Normal People Do."

Clay grins "Oh Ophelia... But We're Not Normal." 

George smiles at his husband, then at his son and his daughter, then at his haphazard family littering his home, then simply at himself. He thinks of an insecure boy he knew a thousand years ago, who did next to nothing but listen to one band and play games with his best friend. He thinks 'we made it'. He thinks 'I'm happy'.

"And Maybe That's Alright."

////:\\\\

9K words

The curtain closes on our long-standing, well loved story. It sure has been a ride, through a global pandemic, multiple lockdowns and an involuntary, near two year hiatus in which all hell broke loose in my little corner of the world.

Even through all this time, through all that I faced behind the scenes, I never forgot about this story, these characters and my ever-beloved wildflowers on the other side of the screen. I always hoped I'd find a way to come back, a way to give this story and all of it's lovely readers the ending it deserved. I kept notifications on on my phone, just to be able to see those comments come in and motivate myself to get back.

I'm glad to be home.

And for those interested in more on the outcasts: I'm looking forward to seeing more of you soon.

For the last time this series;

Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Yours through it all,

Dandelion