hard » m. phelps

XXXXIII|Michael

That moment when your two bæs take a picture together (in case you're wondering, this is Youssef El Kamash, one of the three infamous Kamash brothers that practically rule the Egyptian swimming in America. So proud of my boys :'))
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"What if she jilts me at the altar?"

I rolled my eyes as Nathan fidgeted with the green tie around his neck, as if he was suffocated by the little satin cloth.

He had been going on for about half an hour about all the possible dilemmas and worst case scenarios that could happen within the 3 hours of the wedding.

After landing in the airport, he had sent us one of our French friends, Camille Lacourt, to pick me up, while Laure Manaudou had the courtesy of picking up Clare.

I would've much preferred it if she had stuck by me, especially sine she had been feeling queasy during the last third of the flight, and that had definitely struck up my concern.

I didn't want to seem like a nosy parent, but was I wrong to want to check up on my partner?

Anyways, we had set off to our separate ways. I was to help Nathan get ready, as I was the best man, while Clare was to be aiding Nyssa, seeing as she was the maid of honor.

It seemed almost ironic for us to be the chosen ones when we had just started getting intimate; it was as if it was a sign from above.

Nathan, however, was far from being all chill and smiles. He looked so queasy and anxious, it almost hurt to see my little innocent friend this way.

I huffed as I helped adjust the tie he had messed up, "Nathan, the chances of her jilting you at the altar are literally nonexistent. Anyone could see that you guys are fools for each other."

His bottom lip quivered a little, "But what if she thinks we're going too fast?" he gulped as I stepped back, eying himself up and down in front of the body mirror in the hotel lobby we were currently staying in, "Michael, I'm not ready for this."

"Yes, you are," I growled firmly, pushing his stiff body out of the grand golden doors, leading him to the taxi we had hailed earlier, "I didn't leave my house for you to fucking back out like a cowardly chicken," he sent me a sharp look and my voice softened, unable to keep my temper up for long, "C'mon, Nate. You're better than this."

He bit on his bottom lip, slightly frustrated. Heaving out a heavy sigh, however, he nodded as I opened the cab door for him. The driver spared us a quick glance, showing us that he was a man probably in his fifties.

"Où est-ce que vous pouvez aller?"
(Where do you want to go?)

"La Tour Eiffel," I stated, and upon receiving a haste nod from him, we were quickly speeding off on our way.
(The Eiffel Tower)

Nathan kept bobbing his knee up and down, clearly his nerves getting the better of him. I rolled my eyes slightly, biting back a chuckle.

He shot me a glare as I let out a bark of laughter, "What is so funny?"

"You were at each other's throats for weeks, and now you're suddenly getting married?" I chuckled, my lips painted in smirk, "Talk about sexual healing."

He gasped a little over dramatically, "Well excuse you, not all of us lure our ladies in bed," he folded his arms against his buff chest, trying to seem as intimidating as possible, although it was practically impossible with his adorable baby face.

I laughed, punching his chubby cheeks, earning a pout from him.

"Nous sommes ici," the Frenchman informed them, halting to a stop.
(We are here.)

"Merci monsieur, voilà," Nathan stumbled with his French, seeing as he probably wasn't the most hardworking at school, and handing him a wad of cash that he seemed to think appropriate for driving us to the infamous landmark.

The man pretended to top off a hat as we stepped out, greeting the enormous monument in front of our eyes. I eyed Nathan carefully, shooting my head in the direction of the rest of the boys who were standing right underneath the heavy metal.

He nodded, following as he began to explain what had happened.

"After the incident with you and Clarisse, we decided to back off for a bit; we thought that it was for the best," he shrugged, his hair flopping a bit before he hurriedly brushed it back with his fingers, "I was too scared anyways. But then I realized that Nyssa would need nothing more than me to hold her. So I showed up at her doorstep the day you both disappeared," he gave me a pointed look with a slight smirk, "And then I let her explain why she rejected me."

I shook my head, "Man, it was so out of her character. It was obvious that she didn't just leave you like that when she was absolutely crazy for you."

"How was I supposed to know?" he asked, outraged, causing me to press my index finger against his lips, "Shh!"

He calmed down enough to go on with the story, "When I found out why she had run off, I made sure to ease her fears with a few soothing words," he shrugged a little, making it seem like it was an easy job, even though I was absolutely sure that it was far from that.

"Then, all that was left for me was just to ask her again to marry me, and as unromantic as it was, it was what we both needed following the closure," he laughed a little, shaking his head almost in disbelief.

"At least you're back together and stronger than ever," I patted his back affectionately as he walked through with us to the altar, leaving the other guys talk and laugh out loud behind us.

He nodded his head fervently, "And all it takes is tonight to bring it to a full circle."

I winked at him, knowing fully well that that wasn't the only way, "And the honeymoon too."

He blushed, shoving my shoulder, "Fuck off, Mike."

I chuckled heartily, glad that what had happened a few weeks prior hadn't affected our friendship.

Slinging an arm around his waist, I led him to the stairs, while I took a seat among the crowd. Pretty much everyone was already seated, and I assumed that only ten minutes were left till the ceremony was to begin.

As I sat down, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Whipping my head around, I let out a gasp, before tackling the person in front of me in a ferocious hug.

"Easy on me, Michelangelo," her sweet voice crawled down my spine teasingly.

I let out a breathless chuckle, "You're back, Nicole, you're actually fucking back."

She giggled lightly, seemingly everything I used to know about her intact, "And I'm here to stay."

I clung onto her tighter, as if afraid that she would disappear. Inhaling her scent of honeydew, I tried my best to memorize how she used to be; how we used to be.

See, Nicole Johnson was my first true love. We were childhood best friends, and we were glued to the hip. No one could ever separate us, but somehow, she managed to separate us herself.

After high school, she had the dream of becoming a professional journalist, and always lay restless at home, eager to chase her dreams. One day, I woke up to an empty bed (no dirty stuff though), and a note left on my bedside, assuring me that she loved me to death, and that she had left for France to work for Vogue. She promised me a happy life one day.

Eagerness coursing through me, I patted the seat next to me, encouraging her to sit next me. And for the next three hours, we talked chirpingly, our hands occasionally brushing against each other.

However, I took no notice of the tears that welled up in a pair of beautiful cerulean eyes the whole night.
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I apologize for my absence, but I'm back! School has been horrible, meh, you feel me. Also, personal issues went a bit out of hand. Sorry for the short chapter, I am unbelievably tired (even though I'm on a break from school lol).
I love you all beyond words.