[It's a good thing Fraser understands where Ray's coming from. Good for both of them, because Ray feels like he's getting somewhere and Fraser doesn't get a face full of fist. Right now Ray is back to being a bundle of energy, all jitters and nerves and anxious bubbling just under the surface because everyone is here. Almost every single person he's ever known in his life is here, at this wedding, like an audience to far too many emotional issues for him. Not only has he had to deal with losing his wife to another, but now he's got the added issue of his best friend being possibly something more than just his best friend. And said best friend publicly being a total moron.
It's really quite the miracle that Ray hadn't already exploded or vibrated himself through the earth's core or snapped and kicked every single person in the room. Maybe he really was learning something about patience after all.]
Yeah. We can practice all over that dance floor. After food.
[It feels like a lifetime ago that they were sitting on that bed scoffing down pizza and Ray's stomach is acting like that estimation isn't far off. Perhaps all that crying and happiness and pure emotional fuckery really is a drain on energy, because at this moment he's barely got the energy to stand, let alone dance. Food first, then dancing for as long as they need. And maybe he'll let Fraser dance with others, but that's up for debate right now.
For now Fraser goes to make his apologies and Ray goes to fill his face, lurking near the buffet and piling up his plate with all manner of foods, although backing down the moment he sees Welsh shoulder in. Welsh is, after all, alpha male. He's the boss whether they're both clocked in or not and if he's moving in for food, Ray quite willingly steps aside for it. He even ducks his head, but that might be just as much for the sake of awkwardness and fully attempting to pretend that speech never happened.]
It's not a mafia weddin', sir. Just Italian.
[And, he thinks, if Mama Vecchio cooked even half of this stuff, he knew it was going to be good. He was hungry enough to be picking at his food where he stands, not dismissing himself from Welsh's presence out of habit. It's rude to just walk out on superiors.]
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It's really quite the miracle that Ray hadn't already exploded or vibrated himself through the earth's core or snapped and kicked every single person in the room. Maybe he really was learning something about patience after all.]
Yeah. We can practice all over that dance floor. After food.
[It feels like a lifetime ago that they were sitting on that bed scoffing down pizza and Ray's stomach is acting like that estimation isn't far off. Perhaps all that crying and happiness and pure emotional fuckery really is a drain on energy, because at this moment he's barely got the energy to stand, let alone dance. Food first, then dancing for as long as they need. And maybe he'll let Fraser dance with others, but that's up for debate right now.
For now Fraser goes to make his apologies and Ray goes to fill his face, lurking near the buffet and piling up his plate with all manner of foods, although backing down the moment he sees Welsh shoulder in. Welsh is, after all, alpha male. He's the boss whether they're both clocked in or not and if he's moving in for food, Ray quite willingly steps aside for it. He even ducks his head, but that might be just as much for the sake of awkwardness and fully attempting to pretend that speech never happened.]
It's not a mafia weddin', sir. Just Italian.
[And, he thinks, if Mama Vecchio cooked even half of this stuff, he knew it was going to be good. He was hungry enough to be picking at his food where he stands, not dismissing himself from Welsh's presence out of habit. It's rude to just walk out on superiors.]