Chapter Text
Boston, MA, March 2025
Ed hasn’t left this hotel in two days. It’s not like he’s a nature guy or anything—quite the opposite—but after a while, he does miss the sunshine. He is going stir crazy, and is tired of talking to people about his work, their work, other people’s work… not to mention academic gossip, about which he could not give two fucks.
He will leave this Sheraton tonight, if it’s the last thing he does.
Ed is staying on in Boston after the conference ends. He usually adds on a bit of sightseeing if the city hosting a conference is remotely interesting, but the Shakespeare Association of America (jointly in conference with the Renaissance Society of America) will continue into tomorrow, Saturday. He will lose his damn mind if he has to stay here all night and tomorrow, too. And then what good will he be to NYU anymore if he loses his mind?
Besides, he’s already done his bit today in the plenary panel, discussing sugar and colonialism in Shakespeare with some of his scholar buddies. He loves this stuff, but he needs to think about something else for a few hours. Of course, every early modern British literature scholar in the world has gathered here to talk about their work, so they don’t want to talk about much else, and Ed can’t blame them. He just needs a little break.
He consults the program on the website as he grabs a coffee. Fuck, there’s a “Scholars of Color” social hour he should attend starting right now, but after that, it’s a performance of masques, which are definitely not Ed’s area of interest. He can probably skip out on that one without offending anyone important, and he’s already had lunch or dinner with most of the other friends and fellow scholars he wanted to connect with here.
But what else is there to do? Boston’s not the top city in the world for nightlife, even on a Friday, but there must be something around here. Ed consults his phone’s map to see that there’s a Cheesecake Factory in this hotel, but otherwise… It's a shit ton of hotels.
Ah, but wait. Lolita Tequila bar is a ten-minute walk away. That’ll do nicely. Close enough that he can stumble back, but just far enough away that it won’t be full of Shakespeare scholars.
For a moment, he considers reinstalling Grindr, but he puts a pin in the idea. He’s gotten to an age where hooking up has lost some of its charm, especially as they hook-upees seem to be younger and younger, looking for the leather daddy treatment. That all can be fun, but their boundless energy gets tiresome. Besides, every time there is a tiny spark of hope that he might meet someone special. Each time that spark is extinguished, it gets more and more painful.
Grindr remains uninstalled. Ed should stop looking for things that aren’t out there to find.
Before he goes, Ed does his thing at the social hour, mostly congratulating people on their talks or being congratulated on his while drinking a glass of mediocre hotel Cabernet Sauvignon and snacking on a few decent hotel spring rolls. Same old shit, different hotel and year.
Finally, around six, he makes his escape. As he leaves the ballroom where the social hour’s being held, he sees several people in very fancy suits and dresses entering an adjacent ballroom. Looks like a wedding. March is a kinda depressing month for it, if you ask Ed, especially here in Boston. But of course, no one did ask Ed. Probably cheaper now than in May, anyway.
He heads back up to his room for his leather jacket and then heads out. It’s a brisk evening, already dark. There’s a hint of spring in the air, but only just. The wind is still pretty cold when it picks up, blowing in off the Charles just a few blocks away. It’s cold enough that Ed picks up the pace, making it to the tequila bar in under ten minutes.
The place isn’t too crowded yet for a Friday, but then it’s still on the early side. The place turns out to be a restaurant as well, a sort of huge dark brick cave with red flowers and chandeliers everywhere. It’s a sorta Mexican Goth vibe, and Ed digs it. He bellies up to the bar, sitting off to the side where there are a few available seats, and orders a “Diablo” margarita with spicy tequila, lime, blood orange, strawberry, and pineapple—spicy and a little bitter, yet also sweet, just like him. He defers on food when the bartender asks, since the spring rolls he had will tide him over for an hour or two.
Ed pulls out his phone, thinking vaguely of finding a movie to see since one can only drink on one’s own for so long; it’s too cold and late to do any sightseeing.
Ed freezes when he hears a vaguely familiar voice ask, “Is this seat taken?” Shit, he was trying to avoid all the other conferencegoers, but he’d be a dick to refuse the company.
He looks up and sucks in a breath when he catches sight of a smiling face and a shock of bright blond hair. “Not taken, mate,” he rushes to reply.
The man beams at him, and Ed’s heart rate speeds up. Ed has seen him, perhaps the hottest man he’s ever seen, in a professor-I’d-like-to-fuck sort of way, once before. He’s wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches and a little bowtie, yet he clearly has a broad, strong body under all those layers.
Fuck me.
“I remember you,” Ed says as the man sits. As if he could forget. “The Will Kemp talk. Was good.” Ed saw his talk on Kemp’s fools in Shakespeare’s plays, but he can’t remember a word of it right now. It had been interesting, but all Ed could remember was drawing hearts in his notebook as he listened. He got drawn into conversation right after, and never saw the guy around the conference after that.
The man holds out his hand. “Stede Bonnet.”
Ed puts his hand in Stede’s. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but a little frisson of energy passes between them the moment their palms touch.
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Reminding himself how Romeo and Juliet ends, Ed replies, “Ed Teach.”
“Oh, I know.” The man chuckles.
“So what are you doing away from the Sheraton?” Ed asks, heading off any discussion of his work.
“The same as you, I expect.” The man waggles his eyebrows. “Escaping.”
“Yeah, you got me in one.”
Stede puts a finger to his lips. “Well, I won’t tell Shakespeare if you won’t.”
Ed barks a laugh. “It’s a deal. Can I buy you a drink?” He slides the small laminated drink menu across the bar.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Stede says, pleased. He looks down, squinting, at the menu for a moment before pulling out a little pair of gold wireframe glasses from his pocket and perching them on his nose.
Fuck me fuck me fuck me.
Ed’s drink arrives at that moment, and he takes a sip to distract from his consternation, praying to all the gods and saints he does not believe in that this particular man likes other men. Bonus points if he likes men who look like Ed. Hell, if he ends up liking Ed, then Ed will even join some church or other—maybe one of those queer-friendly Unitarian deals.
Then Stede asks the bartender for a drink called the Broken Heart, and Ed sure as hell hopes that’s not the gods’ idea of a sick joke or some kind of foreshadowing.
“I can’t believe it,” Ed says as he scrolls his phone two margaritas and forty-five minutes or so of easy chatter (about anything but Shakespeare) in. “There is absolutely nothing to do in Boston on a Friday night.”
Stede, also looking down at his phone, shakes his head. “No, not unless you want to go to a nightclub. Or another bar.”
A nightclub is not the worst idea, Ed thinks. Dancing with Stede. But given the face that Stede’s making, it’s not on the cards.
Ed sighs and takes a sip of his delicious drink. “Welp. Maybe everyone in Boston’s at the conference. Or the wedding.”
Ed’s about to ask if Stede likes karaoke when Stede tilts his head. “Wedding?”
“Yeah, in the Sheraton, in one of the ballrooms.” Ed grimaces. “March wedding. In Boston.”
Stede nods. “Mmm, they must be saving money.”
Ed punches him lightly on the brown tweed-covered upper arm. “That’s what I thought!” Before Ed can stop himself, he starts oversharing, which is always how tequila hits him: “No judgment, but it’s not what I pictured for my own wedding.”
“Oh?” Stede leans closer to him, enough that Ed catches a whiff of his cologne. Something with a citrus note, he thinks.
“Yeah, like, it would be outside. In nice weather. But not too hot. September, maybe. Autumn palette.” Ed sighs and runs his finger along the salted rim of his glass. “But it’s not going to happen.”
He sighs and puts the salty tip of his finger in his mouth. Ed is slightly sloshed, but not so much that he doesn’t notice how Stede’s eyes follow that movement. He leaves his finger in his mouth longer than he needs to.
Stede blushes and looks away. “So you’re, er, not married? No partner?”
Ed takes his finger out of his mouth. “Nope. No partner. No boyfriend or girlfriend. Or any friend.”
He slides a look at Stede, who is looking down at his hands where they’re folded on the bar. “You?” Ed asks.
He holds his breath as he watches a thousand different little expressions play across Stede’s face. “No, I don’t have anyone,” he says finally. He doesn’t sound too sure of that, but Ed looks at his left hand. No ring or telltale tan line.
Ed decides to spare him and change the subject anyway. “So there’s nothing to do, besides a conference and a wedding, and we don’t want to go back to the conference.”
“Definitely not,” Stede says, making a bitchy face that Ed wants to kiss right off of him.
“And we’re not invited to the wedding.” Ed sighs and takes a sip of his drink.
“Well… Do we need to be invited to the wedding?”
Ed huffs a laugh. “Um, yeah, pretty sure we do.”
Stede leans close once more, his eyes—some unnameable color in this dim light—wide and perhaps a little crazed. Unfortunately for Ed, that’s a massive turn-on. “Do you want to do something weird?” Stede asks, voice dropping to a lower pitch.
Ed’s breath catches. Whatever this guy suggests, Ed’s pretty sure he’s going to be up for it. If he suggested skinny dipping in the frigid Charles, Ed would hesitate (he fucking hates being cold), but in the end, he would probably be down purely for the chance of seeing Stede naked.
“What do you have in mind?” Ed asks.
“Uh, are you sure about this, mate?” Ed asks, hesitating on the threshold of the ballroom by the sign that says “Harmon-Berry Wedding” in elaborate cursive.
The last half hour has gone by in a dizzying whirlwind.
“What, you mean crash the wedding? Like the movie?” Ed asks.
Stede grins. “Yes! Why not?”
“Don’t think people really do that, man.”
“Well, if we do it, we’re people, so then it will be something people do!”
Ed, two margaritas and one hotel Cab Sauv in, could not find fault with that logic. He did however protest that he had nothing to wear, but Stede said he’d packed some extra jackets and ties. “For fashion emergencies!” he explained as they rushed back to the Sheraton.
He is an utter maniac, and Ed wants him.
And that’s how Ed found himself in Stede’s hotel room, a couple of hours before he might have reasonably expected to find himself there. Stede hands him a charcoal jacket and red tie that will “go with” Ed’s dark slacks and white shirt. Stede pulls out a navy jacket and pink tie to go with his own light blue shirt and navy slacks (looks like they’re part of the same suit as Stede’s jacket). Ed is sorry to see the tweed go, but he’s not at all unhappy about the brief glimpse he gets of Stede without any jacket on at all.
But now they’re on the fringe of the ballroom, and though not everyone is in black tie, Ed feels badly out of place now that the adrenaline is crashing and the tequila is dissipating from his system.
“It’ll be fine! Just walk in like you belong there.”
“Pfft, you know that’s a white person thing, right?”
Stede claps a hand over his mouth. “My god, you’re right. I’m so sorry—”
“Nah, it’s fine, just… brown queer folks are less welcome in some places, know what I mean?”
A dark-skinned woman in a black skintight dress passes them and walks into the room. Ed edges close to the door and looks inside. While Ed doesn’t mind sticking out, usually–fuck anyone who doesn’t like it–infiltrating a wedding he wasn’t invited to seems like a higher-risk situation. The crowd’s not all white, only about eighty percent. There are also at least three hundred people, a massive occasion. One or both of these newlyweds must have a huge family. Ed will likely blend in just fine.
“If you’re at all uncomfortable, we can do something else.” Stede is just behind him now, close enough that Ed can feel the warmth from his body. Ed can’t see his face, but his voice radiates care and concern.
The thing is, Ed longs to get into some mischief. It’s been far too long since he has, living the life of an academic, with the grind of grading and scholarship, and departmental service. He’s itching to do something fun and unexpected. Especially with Stede.
“Fuck it. We’re doing it,” Ed says. He turns to find Stede’s eyes sparkling at him.
Hazel.
Stede steps back enough to hold his arm out to Ed. “Shall we?”
“Let’s.” Ed tucks his hand around Stede’s very solid bicep, and they make their way into the Harmon-Berry Wedding.
Ed is overwhelmed at first by the change of lighting—very different from the reception he attended here yesterday. The room is softly lit, and all the guests are sitting at tables with candles and white flowers in the center.
He’s suddenly not too sure they were trying to cheap out on this wedding, though, because there are actual fucking trees in here, dripping with white strings of light, and clouds of some kind of small white flower hanging from the ceilings. This is clearly where they blew their budget.
Beside him, Stede is looking around in wonder. “They made a garden,” he breathes. “Wonder why they didn’t just wait and get married in a real garden in a few months.”
Ed shrugs. “Straight people, man.”
Stede shoots Ed an inscrutable look.
The bride and groom are at a little table near the front, by the dance floor. The bride’s dress looks as if it has a poofy skirt and a tight bodice, and the groom is in the standard sort of black tux.
For a long moment, Ed can’t move. He chokes back tears. Except for the flowers and candles, it’s all perhaps a little too clean and elegant for his taste, but it’s romantic as hell.
It’s something he’ll never have.
Stede starts steering him towards a nearby table with little placecards on it. There are only a handful left. He points at two of them. “Look, two people at table seventeen didn’t make it.”
Ed peers at the cards. “Uh, don’t think we can pretend to be Joaquin and Emma Castellano.”
“Ed! Of course not!” Stede wiggles with excitement, and it’s infectious. Ed can’t help but grin at him. “We’ll just take their places at the table and play it by ear. Let’s use our real first names, though, to prevent confusion, but think up some cool professions. Come on! It looks like dinner service is starting.”
Ed’s stomach rumbles at the thought of food, so he goes along with Stede to Table Seventeen. Sure enough, there are two empty places, and there’s a basket of fresh rolls, so fuck it, Ed sits down next to Stede.
“Hi all!” Stede sings out as he settles in and places his napkin on his lap. “Are you all with the bride or the groom’s side?”
Smart question. Whatever they say, Ed and Stede can pretend to be on the other side.
A few of the folks at the table pipe up to say they went to college with the bride.
“Ah, I see!” Stede says. He looks at Ed and then adds. “We’re with the groom.” He looks over at the sweetheart table and squints his eyes for a moment before adding. “I’m his second cousin three times removed!”
What?
“My name is Stede.” He slides an arm around Ed. “This is my boyfriend, Ed.”
What???
“Hi all. Um, yep, that’s me. Boyfriend of the second cousin three times removed of...” Ed squints at the menu on the plate in front of him to find the couple’s first names. “Sean.”
Will these folks believe the two of them are an item? Ed’s feeling anxious again, but in a way that excites him. He’s been playing it too safe in his life, it seems, if crashing a wedding is giving him the same rush as parasailing or something.
Stede gives him a reassuring squeeze and leaves his arm in place. So far, so good.
The others introduce themselves: Caitlin and Ben; Molly and Lucas; Zara and Greg. The ladies were all in a sorority with the bride, which checks out, because they’re all varying shades of carefully-dyed-and-highlighted blonde.
Zara frowns. “I thought Emma was supposed to be here with her husband? At our table?”
“I heard she went into labor early,” Molly replies. “Everything’s fine, though.”
Stede nods sagely. “Ah, they must have rearranged the seating last minute.” He reaches for the basket of rolls. “Roll, darling?” he asks Ed.
That one little word, darling, makes Ed feel like thousands of little fireworks are going off right beneath his skin. Remember, it’s a fuckery, he tells himself, but hell, Stede’s a fantastic actor. “Thanks, honeybear,” he says, giving Stede what he hopes is a flirty smile in return. Getting into the spirit of things, he even knocks his knee against Stede’s as a way of saying, Hey, we’re pulling this off!
“So what do you do for a living, Ed?” Lucas asks.
They were wise to use their real names, just in case they slip up, but telling them he’s a professor doesn’t seem any fun. “I’m an accountant,” he says.
Six pairs of eyes glaze over.
Stede nudges him. Shit, that sounded fancier in Ed’s mind. “Yeah, but, um, for, uh, a Fortune 500 company,” Ed adds. “Chief Financial Officer.”
The other couples look only slightly more interested in that. “How about you, Steve?”
Stede bristles. “It’s Stede, actually,” he says, not bothering to keep the bitchy tone from his voice. Poor guy must get that a lot. Ed takes a sip of his water. “I’m a rocket scientist,” Stede says.
Ed almost does a spit take. He has to look down at his plate and focus on buttering his roll to hide his suppressed laughter. Fucking hell, man. Go big or go home, I guess.
One of the guys—Ben or Greg, Ed forgets which, leans across the table. “Do you work for SpaceX?” he asks Stede eagerly.
Stede looks outraged at the suggestion, which makes Ed want to kiss him all the more. “What? No! Of course not.” He takes a deep breath, calming himself. “I work for MIT.”
Ben-or-Greg looks confused. “Wow, I never heard Sean mention he was related to a rocket scientist.”
Ed is about to try to distract everyone—something about how they want to retire early and open an inn, which seems like safer ground than fucking rocket science—when the salad plates start arriving. It’s some kind of Italian garden salad with balsamic vinaigrette. As the others tuck in and start to talk again amongst themselves, Ed leans close to Stede. “Rocket science? You couldn’t pick something more unobtrusive?”
Stede looks from his plate at Ed, turning his head. Suddenly, their lips are very close, and Ed has to ignore the impulse to lean forward and claim Stede’s mouth with his own.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks. “I’ve spent enough of my life being unobtrusive.”
Intriguing. Ed puts a pin in that. “You’re a fucking lunatic,” he whispers.
Stede’s brow furrows.
“I like it,” Ed clarifies.
Stede smiles, and Ed feels like he’s basking in the sun he’s missed for the past few days.
“You two are adorable,” Caitlin says to them suddenly. “How long have you been together?”
Ed clamps his mouth shut, waiting to see what outlandish thing Stede will respond with. Either two weeks or twenty years, he reckons.
Stede’s response is surprisingly reasonable: “A year and a half.” But he doesn’t look away from Ed’s face as he’s talking. “But it feels like we’ve known each other a lot longer. Doesn’t it, darling?” Stede bats his eyelashes at Ed.
Oh, it’s like that, then, is it? Ed is not just fucked, but fucked fucked. “Yeah, it does,” he replies to Stede, softly enough that likely only he can hear. “Honeybear.”
Ed can see Stede’s sharp intake of breath.
After that, they both look away to focus on their salads. Which is okay, since it’s getting a little intense and Ed needs a moment to catch his breath.
You can only stare into the sun for so long, after all.
Dinner is pretty good. The prime rib is perhaps a little dry, but given that Ed is outright stealing this meal, he supposes he can’t complain. Stede seems happy with the salmon, and to Ed’s relief, no one asks any questions about rocket science that require detailed answers. There’s a bit of lemon tart for dessert, but Ed wants to save room for some of the giant fancy white cake standing by the dancefloor, too, just waiting for the happy couple to cut it up. He’s a total slut for cake.
“What kind of cake do you reckon that is?” Ed asks Stede as they head to the—blessedly open—bar after dinner service.
“Fake,” Stede says.
“What?” Now it’s Ed’s turn to be outraged. “You mean we won’t get cake? The cake is a lie?”
Stede chuckles. “No, we’ll get cake, alright, but only the top layer of that is cake. I’ll bet you the rest of the cake to serve is already sliced up in the back. The lower tiers of that one are probably just styrofoam covered in fondant.”
“Wow, you know a lot about weddings.”
Stede shrugs as they reach the bar line. “I am the survivor of precisely one wedding of my own. That’s how we did the cake.”
“Divorced, then?” Ed asks, heart in his throat. Some married people stop wearing rings…
“Yes, we—well, we weren’t exactly a good fit,” Stede says. He gives Ed a shy look. “Seeing as we’re both q–queer. Getting married was mostly our parents’ idea. We do have two wonderful kids, though.”
Ed breathes a sigh of relief. Queer. Divorced dad. He can totally work with that. A DILF as well as a PILF. Never Ed’s type before, but it’s not too late for him to learn new stuff about himself, right?
Maybe his notions of seducing Stede after this wedding are rather pie-in-the-sky—or, well, cake-in-the-sky in this case—but they’ve shared a few heated looks now. Ed has caught him staring, too, though he always blushes and looks away. He gives himself pretty good odds of getting to peel Stede out of his fancy suit and tie later. Or letting Stede peel him out of his borrowed fancy jacket and tie. Either would be fucking fantastic.
Maybe Ed should lay the groundwork now. “Hey, I—”
A voice cuts in over the PA system, saying that the toasts are starting. Ed and Stede stay in the bar line, but also accept flutes of bubbly from a passing server. They listen politely, standing close but staying near the back of the room to be less noticeable.
Ed watches the bride and groom listen to the toasts more than he listens to the content of the speeches. Even from across a large room, it’s clear how deeply they are in love by the way they look at one another.
Ed hasn’t been to a wedding since before the pandemic—at age forty-five, most of his friends are either long married, perpetually single like him, or opting for cheaper City Hall weddings because fuck the wedding-industrial complex anyway. He forgot till now how much of a sap he is for weddings. How much they make him long for something he has tried to forget he wants. Oh, not the wedding itself, exactly, but the connection with another human soul.
“They look happy,” Stede whispers, pulling Ed out of his reverie.
“I should hope so.”
“I wasn’t, on my wedding day.” Of course, Stede must have a much more cynical take on all this.
“Sorry, man. This must be a bit weird for you.” He nudges Stede. “Was your idea, though.”
“No, it’s lovely when the people are in love.” Stede sighs. “I’d hope for that, someday.”
Not the present tense, I hope, but the conditional mood, I would hope. The if I could is unspoken but implied.
“Hey,” Ed says, “our lives aren’t over yet.”
Stede shakes his head. “What if I missed that time of my life when I was married? The time for falling in love.”
“Haven’t you heard of queer time?” Stede shakes his head. “We’re all on our own journey here, mate.” Ed gestures at the couple. “Doesn’t look like their journey. Just as valid.”
Stede smiles softly, keeping his eyes on the happy couple. “You’re right, of course. My ex-wife is in love with two people now. A man and a woman.” He looks over at Ed. “What about you?”
Ed shrugs one shoulder. “Eh, just never happened. The uzhe. Wasted a lot of years on the wrong person, too, but we weren’t married, thank fuck. Got caught up in work. No one ever clicked with me the right way.” Ed takes a sip of his champagne as the toast concludes, trying desperately to look more casual than he feels.
Stede looks surprised, but he waits for the applause to die down to speak. “I can’t believe that, Ed. You’re so easy to click with.”
It never happened before because I never met you before, Ed thinks. An insane thought, really, but then this whole evening has been insane so far. Ed’s just going with the flow.
The first dance is announced, saving Ed from having to reply to that. But maybe he didn’t need to reply to that. Maybe, for once in his life, he can just be, instead of being the perfect student, the perfect scholar, the rockstar early modernist, the cool guy who’s hot and is a great lay but isn’t the guy someone marries.
At least for tonight, with Stede, he can be Ed. A little silly and weird, and kinda soft and squishy in the middle.
[“Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran is playing]
As Sean and Danielle start swaying around the floor to that one Ed Sheeran song they always play at weddings, Ed makes a silent vow to go with his gut tonight, no matter where it takes him.
Maybe we found love right where we are
As much as Ed vows to go with his gut, he can’t seem to get up the nerve to ask Stede to dance. They’re about five songs into things, and Stede has gotten caught up talking to the grandmother of the bride about the flower choices. Meanwhile, Ed’s gotten another drink and is sidling his way up to the supposedly fake cake to see if he can tell whether it’s styrofoam. Fucking fondant. Ed can’t tell a damn thing. He hopes it is fake and they get real cake with buttercream frosting.
Suddenly, the song changes, and the crowd cheers as a familiar “We-e-e-e-e-e-elllllll” rings out across the dance floor.
[Shout, Pts. 1 & 2 by the Isley Brothers is playing]
It can’t be… But sure enough, the next words are “You make me wanna shout.” Ed spots Stede rushing over to him. His cheeks are adorably pink, and he’s holding out a hand. “Ed! Let’s dance! We have to!”
Laughing, Ed allows himself to be pulled out onto the floor, and soon they’re jumping up and down, shimmying, singing along, and laughing to the music along with the rest of the crowd.
It’s just like the montage in the movie, except without the champagne popping all over… And Ed remembers very well how that montage ended. Neither he nor Stede seems to be looking for lonely women to hook up with, though. They seem to only have eyes for each other, in between all the jumping, shimmying, singing, and laughing.
Towards the end of the song, as most of the crowd is jumping and, well, shouting the lyrics, Stede gets a mischievous gleam in his eye. He takes Ed’s hand and sends him into a spin. When Ed is pulled back in, he finds that they’re even closer than they were before the spin; their eyes lock. Stede puts his hands on Ed’s waist, lifting his eyebrows as if to ask, “Is this alright?” By way of response, Ed puts his arms around Stede’s neck, and Stede’s hands come to rest on his body.
Every nerve in Ed’s body is on fire, just from the gentle grip of Stede’s hands on his waist.
The song ends, and for a moment, all is hushed, or so it seems to Ed. In reality, everyone around them is talking and laughing. Ed doesn’t hear any of it, not when the pounding of his heart is filling his ears. All he knows is the beautiful, pink-cheeked, smiling face in front of him.
“Did you request that song?” Ed asks. “Because of Wedding Crashers?”
Stede giggles and shakes his head. “Nope! I guess they really do play it at weddings.”
At first, Ed is frozen in place in Stede’s arms. Because, of course, he is, but also, he’s not sure what happens next. The next song is slower. It starts with unfamiliar strumming and someone speaking, but Ed makes out the words “Mama Cass.”
[Dream a Little Dream of Me by the Mamas & the Papas is playing]
Oh, yes, Ed knows this one; it’s a very pretty song. Some of the crowd disperses, leaving just couples on the floor, and someone turns the lighting down so that it’s dimmer, allowing the light of the candles to warm the room. Ed tilts his head at Stede, asking the silent question.
Stede pulls Ed slightly closer, but not so close that they can’t look into each other’s eyes as their bodies start to sway to the music.
Stars shinin' bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you"
Birds singin' in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me
The magic spell that made the rest of the world fade away gains power as everyone but Stede falls away. They’re in their own little world now, dancing in a candlelit garden, holding each other and moving their bodies to the sweet tones of Mama Cass’s voice, singing about a dream. About a world where falling in love is possible.
[A digitally created art piece showing Stede and Ed dancing. Stede is on the right, in a navy suit and pink tie, holding Ed's hand with his left hand; his right arm is around Ed's waist. He is looking softly into Ed's eyes with a little smile on his face. Ed is on the left in a charcoal suit and red tie. He's looking into Stede's eyes, and he looks breathless. They are dancing in what looks like a garden, with trees with blue flowers hung with fairly lights in the background. There are flower arrangements of white flowers with candles in the foreground. The lighting is soft.]
It must be possible, actually—it’s happening to Ed, right this very moment. Has been all night.
And to think, he’d always thought Romeo and Juliet falling in love at first sight during a party was nonsense. He silently apologizes to Bill Shakespeare.
Ed feels like a schoolboy–Romeo’s age–with his first crush. He swallows and licks his lips, though he keeps his eyes on Stede’s. No one’s ever looked at him like this before. Stede’s eyes are so… soft. Fond. Ed licks his lips again, and he watches as Stede’s eyes dart at them.
Stars fadin' but I linger on, dear
Still cravin' your kiss
Ed gives himself over to the romance of it all. Spellbound, he leans forward, and at the same moment, Stede does, too, and their lips touch.