Work Text:
"So, who asked who...?"
To the happy couple,
Congrats on your marriage. Congrats on making each other happy. Congrats on finding that.
Ryou-san, Youichi is stupid as all hell. He’s going to piss you off and pretend that the whole world sits on him. But he’s the nicest guy out there. People like you can’t really get it, I don’t think, but try to take care of him. Okay, maybe people like me too.
Youcihi--you’re stupid as hell. I’d tell you not to mess this up, but it seems like Ryou-san likes you despite all that stuff about you--the personality thing.
Your friend
MK
“I did.”
Says Kuramochi with a fond smile from a room on the sixth floor. It's bright out, blindingly like the summer's day it is. Blindingly like the occasion.
The bastard Kazuya laughs in his face, and adjusts the flowers on his breast. “How many times did you have to ask then?” For better or for worse, his former teammate, constant annoyance, and closest friend is Kuramochi’s best man for his wedding. Despite deriding him at every turn, he's done a pretty good job at it too, captainly, even.
“Once!” Kuramochi barks back, jabbing Kazuya in the gut with his nails. “Ryou would never make me chase him around.”
“Debatable.” Grins Kazuya. He stands behind Kuramochi’s chair and watches their reflections banter in the vanity. This clams him up, for some reason. And at the sudden silence from a guy who usually can't shut the hell up, there’s a moment where they’re both quiet. The words are gone, consumed in endless white.
Kuramochi looks, too, letting the quiet speak for itself. It’s hard to believe he’s getting married; and that the same asshole is still here beside him. It’s a moment; a snapshot.
A noise escapes Kazuya akin to that of a deflating balloon; a whimper or a wheeze or a rapid breath out. He wipes his glasses on his lapel.
Kuramochi swivels to snap at him. “Oi! That’s a rental, not a glasses cloth.” It’s only then that he realizes the stray tear Kazuya wipes away from his eye. Kuramochi howls loud and unrestrained, it wouldn't be a surprise if Ryou heard him all the way from the fourth floor. “Cat got your tongue, Kazuya?”
Kazuya scoffs and rests his head on Kuramochi’s shoulder, leaning over the back of the chair. “Yeah, that’s it, I mean it must have taken you hours to look this good.” It did take time, particularly because his pain-in-the-ass white suit had to be treated like the crown jewel in transport. But Kuramochi decides it was probably worth it, because he feels regal in formal wear that fits him. Regardless, no amount of truth will change the fact that Kazuya is an insufferable prick.
Kuramochi decides that's about as much of a compliment he can hope for from Kazuya-the back handed kind. “Shut it! Go back to ogling me or somethin’--” Kazuya's phone interrupts Kuramochi. They both know what it is.
“It’s time.” Kazuya smiles, offering a hand to help Kuramochi up. “Go get ‘em, Cheetah.”
Dear Kominato Ryousuke and Kominato Youichi,
Aniki, if you had told me when I came to Seido that you were going to marry You-san, I probably would have believed you. I’m glad you stuck together, it’s like the heavens wanted you to.
You-san, welcome to the family, and thank you for having us in yours. Please be patient with my brother, he has trouble showing that he’s happy until the last moment.
Your Younger Brother,
Kominato Haruichi
“He thinks he did”
Smirks Ryousuke from a room on the fourth floor. It's a miserable time to be getting married. Hot and sweaty and gross. But Ryousuke is used to the heat, and today, he doesn't mind a little misery.
Haruichi combs his hair back with delicate fingers, ever the best man Ryousuke could have dreamed of. “Are you sure you didn’t force him, Aniki?” His brother slides their mother’s pearl clip into place, and adjusts it until it’s perfectly centered. Without Ryousuke having to ask, he holds up a mirror to reflect the back of Ryousuke’s head in the vanity.
Ryousuke tilts his neck from side to side, admiring the simplicity of clip with the same ease he saves for when he's nervous. “Youichi isn’t that weak.” He answers with surety, confidence. “I just dropped hints that I was ready for him.” It was a long time coming from the day Youichi showed up as a first year on Ryousuke’s university team; whispered something to the tune of I told you you couldn’t be replaced , as they made out on the roof of the dugout. It was practically set in stone by the time they signed to the same professional team afterward; ‘Saitama’s Iron Wall’ took its place on the national stage. But still, Ryousuke had wanted Youichi to be the one to ask, not to rush.
“What kind of hints?” His brother, presses as stubborn and insufferable as ever. Haruichi still looks like a carbon-copy of Ryousuke. He had been careful to pick out a suit that wasn’t too similar to Ryousuke’s. Probably to avoid rubbing him the wrong way. Considerate. Infuriating.
“I told him that when he proposed, I wanted it to be after we made a play together.”
“ When? ” Haruichi giggles, and makes a pathetic attempt in covering it up with a cough into his elbow when Ryousuke glares at him. “You didn’t even give him a choice!”
Ryousuke knows, one-hundred-and-forty-six percent, that Youichi proposed because he wanted to-regardless of any persuading on Ryousuke’s end. They've long since moved past the empty doubt between them that Youichi only followed Ryousuke’s lead, or that Ryousuke only saw Youichi as a utility. They've grown. Together. What’s left is certainty, and complete and unwavering faith in one another as partners on and off the field. He half-smiles, a nonchalant warning sign to his nosey brother. “Is that what you think?” He asks quietly.
Ryousuke stands and tugs Haruichi by the arm so that they are side by side. He smiles at them both and Haruichi does in kind.
“You look happy, Aniki” Haruichi hums. “You-san won’t stand a chance with you like this.”
He does look good. He better after a day’s worth of prep. Ryousuke snickers and checks his watch, it’s nearly time. “Think he’ll trip on his way to the altar?”
His brother gasps in feigned shock loops an arm through Ryousuke's, leading him towards the elevators. “Aniki! You’re horrible.”
ryou.
y oure probably gonna make fun of me for this. i guess i wanted some souvenir of today to remember how im feeling.
im waiting upstairs for the sign to come down. my heart feels like its going to burst out of my fucking chest just thinking of seeing you at the other side. until meeting you, i never found a place where i belonged. you gave me that and so much more. so thanks for the biggest thrill of my life. l ooking forward to the next. i love you, ryou-san, ryousuke, ryou.
your partner always,
kuramochi
kominato youichi
When they make it to the door to the reception hall, all of Ryou’s party has already walked. It’s empty, serene, a perpetuation of the calm of his waiting room.
Kazuya's hand hovers over the handle and he looks back at Kuramochi. “You’re not gonna bolt at the last minute, are you?” He grins like he did when they first met-like an asshole and a bastard and everything in the universe Kuramochi wants to sock in the smug idiot face.
With a light shove, Kuramochi urges his best man forward. “Find out.” But there isn’t a chance in hell Kuramochi is passing today up.
With a nod and one last glance, Kazuya vanishes through the door to the muffled tune of the music Kuramochi and Ryou chose together.
Kazuya waits for the music to change. It’s the longest minute or so of his life. At his own insistence, he hasn’t seen Ryou in a few days as they both prepared for the wedding. And now that it’s finally time, he's pretty sure he'll black out before making it to the altar. “Might not be so bad.” He mumbles to himself. Dying looking at Ryou would probably be the best way to go.
Knowing Kazuya, he probably walks down the aisle with the bravado of a dickhead and the insouciance of an asshole. For how awkward Kuramochi knows his best friend is, it’s infuriating how well he can put on a brave face where it counts.
Kuramochi tries to keep his thoughts on Kazuya, rather than on where Kazuya is headed. But envisioning him walking to the alter to join Haruichi on the sides naturally leads to the ultimate reality. The man waiting at the center.
His impatient mind reels, his pulse hammers, and adrenaline flows through him like he’s running for home.
And he is.
The music changes. Kuramochi hesitates.
[2 months earlier]
“Loop it here when he’s late.” Kuramochi’s fiancé orders mercilessly. Their pianist nods and give it a shot, it sounds seamless, and ties up nicely as if 30 seconds hadn’t been stretched into 40.
“You’re worrying too much, Ryou.” Kuramochi nudges him, making the smaller man look up with the same knowing smile. “I won’t let ya down.”
Ryou lets out an audible “hmmmmmph,” in silent acknowledgement of Kuramochi’s insistence and a loud and clear ‘we’re doing it anyway.’
Ryou will definitely, absolutely, give Kuramochi shit for this later. Kuramochi can practically hear the ‘ I told you so ’ in Ryou’s quiet, sing song, and terrifying tone. He’ll thank him for it, too. For saving him.
He takes a breath, this is later than they rehearsed. Finally, he pulls the handle and urges his legs.
Forward.
You really love this sappy kind of garbage
I’m not complaining, or anything, it's just the truth. But i dont mind playing into it every once in a while. And its cute, when its you.
I bet you’re going to write me one of these so i have a keepsake from our wedding day. Its typical of your romantic streak. Im not going to have you making me out to be a bad husband, so im going to write you one too. It'll be better and longer.
Until i met you, i wanted to erase all my shortcomings, blindspots, and weaknesses, so no one could tell me i couldn’t do it. Then, you became my partner, and you sucked shit. And you saved me, and saved me, and saved me. It doesn’t matter if im weak because i have the strongest man in the world behind me. The way we are alone doesn’t matter.
Im going to back you up till the end. So you can keep this as a keepsake from our wedding day. And while you’re at it, keep me as well.
Yours
Ryousuke
All his friends, his former teammates from Seido, had joked about Youichi running at the altar. It’s what he was good at, after all. But Ryousuke never thought twice about it. And even now, when the wedding march plays and no fiancé meets his queue, Ryousuke doesn’t flinch. He knows Youichi will come.
And he does.
The double doors open and Youichi only looks stunned for a second before he walks in time with his march. It’s not as shaky as Ryousuke may have imagined or hoped, it’s eager, steady. He definitely doesn’t trip. Youichi walks like a snotty first year who thinks his legs will carry him to the top, and that attitude enraptures the entire room. Ryousuke is the one who stares uncontrollably, feels his legs wobble. He feels Haruichi pat his back.
The white they’ve both chosen emphasizes the warmth of Youichi’s sun-damaged complexion, the hazel of his irises and the dumb-assity of his shining, brilliant, beautiful grin. He’s styled his hair like he always has, a friendly and comforting familiarity when he’s dressed to the nines. Ryousuke doesn’t want to stop looking at him, and he'd probably fight anyone who tried to make him. When Youichi reaches him, and Ryousuke takes his hands, he can feel them sweat, and shake. But his are no better.
“You’re crying, stupid.” He croons; a sweet nothing. It's sickly with the love and impatience he's built over several days of separation, and several years of waiting.
“Y--yeah, well.” Youichi bares his teeth wide like he’s holding back more; like his face is about to fall off. “What about you?”
Ryousuke huffs quietly, fully aware of the irregular and painful grin plastered across his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. “You started it.”
Their banter ends as their officiator starts the ceremony, reads their vows, and gets to the good part.
“--I do.” Youichi cuts her off before she even finishes asking the stupid question.
Ryousuke snickers, earning a hissed ‘ hey ’ from his betrothed, which he ignores entirely.
“Me too.” Ryou replies, before she even turns to ask him. Her mouth lulls open, clearly assessing what to do. But Ryousuke is focused on other things. On better, more interesting, more striking things than simple ceremony. He asks for what he wants himself.
“How much longer are you going to keep me waiting?”
Their officiator lets out an audible sigh and steps back, waving her hand permissively. Youichi howls his characteristically symphonious laugh and cuts it short himself.
He doesn’t keep Ryousuke waiting at all.