Perfect
I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands over my jacket, turning to Steve. “How do I look? Do I look okay?”
“You look fine, Buck. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Steve said, grabbing me by the shoulders. “I don’t understand why you’re so nervous.”
“I just...you know, wedding days and all,” I said, inhaling, and checking myself out in the mirror once more, straightening the belt around my waist and pulling on my sleeves. “Of course, you wouldn’t know, you still haven’t got the guts to propose to Peggy.”
“I do! It’s just...not the right time,” Steve said defensively. “We’ve only been dating a year and a half.”
“You’ve been in love a lot longer.”
“Stop trying to change the subject!”
He had his uniform on as well, almost matching mine, save for the different pins and patches. I shrugged, exhaling roughly. “God, I can’t believe I’m finally gonna marry her.”
“I know. It’s been almost 7 years, Bucky.”
“She wanted to wait ‘til the war was over. It’s her fault we’re waiting ‘til now. If I had it my way, we would’ve gotten married the second I met her.”
“Good to know you’re still hopelessly in love with her.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Okay, it’s time. You ready?”
“Isn’t that what I just said? I’ve been ready since 1938, Steve. I’m just nervous.”
“Okay, then, come on,” Steve said, leading down the stairs to the ballroom of the hotel. I took my place at the altar, next to the officiant. “You’re gonna do just fine.” He clapped me on the shoulder. I took a few more deep breaths and waited for the music to start. Five of Y/N’s friends accompanied the Howling Commandoes down the aisle, and they lined up on either side. Then Steve and Peggy, then Y/N and her—oh God, she looked perfect.
She would probably know the exact terms for the dress she was wearing, but the only way I knew how to describe it was “perfect”. It fit her perfectly. Her hair looked perfect, her makeup looked perfect. Just everything about her was perfect.
She reached the altar, grinning like an idiot (like me). I grabbed her hands and a million thoughts were going through my head, several being “I want to rip that dress off her”, “I want to kiss her ‘til I smear that red lipstick” and “I wonder what she’d look like in only those heels”. Thankfully, I ended up sputtering out none of those. The only thing I managed to say was “You look perfect.”
She replied with, “You look perfect-er.”
I couldn’t possibly dream of marrying anyone else.