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Five minutes. Five minutes, that’s all Hitoka has to make sure that this entire wedding doesn’t go up in flames.
She scurries down the winding stairs of the church, a gargantuan building dating back centuries. The stairs are creaky, the bell quite rusted, and the steeple’s slightly crooked when you look at it from choice areas in the courtyard. However, it has that sense of history, that tangible impression of time passed on Earth, that longevity that Oikawa had been so excited about when he’d come to her with the idea.
The concept in itself had been interesting, given that both Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s families practice Shintoism. But the idea of a traditional wedding at the temple had quickly been shot down by Oikawa who had enthusiastically explained that growing up, he’d always seen picture perfect weddings take place in churches on T.V. and always wanted to experience one himself. Iwaizumi, ever easygoing and willing to do whatever made Oikawa happy, hadn’t had any qualms with the plan and that had been the end of that.
Or at least, it should have been.
Unsurprisingly, the plan wasn’t very popular with their grandmothers, all four older women coming together and insisting that the pair couldn’t be considered properly married until they completed an exchange of sake in the presence of kami, which had then set the stage for a lengthy battle with neither side willing to back down.
In the end, it was decided that they’d have two weddings to appease all parties. One at the temple so the elders could sleep easy and one at the church so Oikawa could live out his Hollywood dreams.
It’d seemed like an easy solution at the time and Hitoka had naively agreed to organizing both ceremonies for the same day. She’s realizing now, however, as she dodges a few guests, feet aching from running down the winding steps, that this is one experience that she never wants to have again. Primarily because an offset of five minutes can throw the entire event off schedule.
Five minutes. That’s it. That’s all it takes to uproot over six whole months of planning.
She puts a bit more purpose into her jog as she reaches the final step before breaking out into a full on sprint, high-heels be damned. Her clipboard is thumping against her chest, her ponytail swaying on the crown of her head, and she’s breathing harder than she ever did running after volleyballs for a team of over-energetic, over-enthusiastic teenage boys back in the day.
She spots Hinata at the end of the hall, talking animatedly with a few of his former schoolmates as he mindlessly fingers the petals of one of the flowers lining the walls.
Sunflowers. Oikawa had insisted on white sunflowers and daisies for the decor. Wrapped in baby blue gauze and tied with generous lengths of twine.
He’d explained a legend, something about Apollo and Clytie and a water nymph. A story that had gone over her head aside from the conclusion: how sunflowers represent loyalty and always follow the sun, regardless of where it goes. Across the sky and down the horizon and to the ends of the Earth.
Iwaizumi had seemed very embarrassed during the entire recollection, especially when Oikawa mentioned that he had been the one to start the tradition of giving his boyfriend sunflowers instead of roses after taking a class on world mythology back in college. It was a very sweet fact that Hitoka had been surprised to learn, given that she’d always perceived Iwaizumi as someone gruff and menacing, not someone capable of being this romantic when it comes to his best friend.
Four minutes left.
She comes to a stop when she reaches Hinata, slams a hand against the wall to catch her breath before puffing, “Have you seen Iwaizumi or Oikawa-san?”
Hinata will know — he always knows where his friends are. And true to her inkling, he nods. Points to the third hall away from them, the one that leads straight into the nave. “I saw Iwaizumi-san walk in there a few minutes ago. They should both be back there.”
Hitoka frowns as her mind catches up. During planning, they had agreed that Iwaizumi would wait at the altar. That Oikawa would be the only one to walk down the aisle. And with only a few minutes left before the start of the ceremony, they should already be in place.
She thanks Hinata, asks if he can help usher the remaining guests into the wedding hall, and smiles gratefully when he cups his hands around his mouth. Yells loud enough to grab the attention of all the lingerers and points towards the open doors. Slowly but efficiently, he starts to herd them into the hall like cattle, telling them to hurry up and not keep the grooms waiting.
Hitoka watches for a few seconds before sighing. She takes a moment to straighten her skirt and rub her calf before throwing back her shoulders and walking in the direction Hinata had pointed her in.
Turns out, tracking down the pair isn’t as easy as she thought. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are standing by the entrance like they’re supposed to be, suits well pressed and hair pristine, ready to escort the groomsmaids in. Oikawa’s nephew is there, too. Obviously bored with his face glued to a Nintendo Switch, his bow-tie slightly lopsided.
Oikawa’s mother and sister light up when they spot Hitoka walking towards them, pull her in for quick hugs and kisses to the cheek, clearly unfazed by the missing grooms, and Hitoka suddenly wonders if she’s throwing this entire offset out of proportion. Clearly none of the involved parties seem worried. But then again, none of them have their jobs on the line.
“Have you seen Oikawa and Iwaizumi-san?” she asks, pulling away from Oikawa’s sister and arching a brow.
The older girl nods, reaches up to brush some lint out of Hitoka’s hair, beaded bracelets clacking as she points to another doorway a bit further away. “They went back there a few minutes ago. The decor is lovely, by the way. You did very well.”
She tilts her head back towards the ceiling, admires the stained glass lined with Oikawa’s choice flowers. With fancy ribbons and various silver adornments, the smell of cherry blossoms prevalent in the air, and the late afternoon light painting the ground in a variety of abstract rainbow shapes.
Hitoka would be in awe as well if she wasn’t in charge.
She gives Oikawa’s sister a bow and hurries to the door, a bit of the adrenaline she had first experienced while rushing down the stairs beginning to wear off. However, she still has an anxious edge to her thoughts, nervous that something could still go wrong, though it’s apparent from the faces of all the participants that they couldn’t care less.
The door leads into an empty curved corridor and her heels click loudly against the plywood floor as she starts to make her way down its wide expanse. The initial plan was to burst in, to immediately let them know about the deviance from the schedule and her plan to fix it. Give them a heads up and somehow ensure them that their special day wouldn’t be ruined.
However, now that she’s calmed down a bit, she starts to formulate her thoughts into something less alarming and more reassuring. She’s mulling over how to eloquently phrase her words as she rounds the corner, trying to decide between two different starts, but immediately stumbles back with a gasp, left hand pressed over her mouth.
It feels like she’s walked in on a scene from a movie. The romantic ones that she likes to watch after a particularly rough day at work, her hair pulled back and bangs pinned up. A tub of ice cream by her side and a large blanket draped over her shoulders as she watches the main characters profess their adorations for one other over and over again, wondering when she’ll be lucky enough to experience a smidgeon of such a deep love. If it even exists.
Apparently, it does.
The cathedral veil Oikawa picked out doubles as a cape. When time comes, he’ll be able to pull the hood over his face and give Iwaizumi the chance to unveil his husband.
It’s currently, however, draped delicately over his shoulders, the long flowing gauze spread over the entirety of the nook they’re huddled into, making him look ethereally sacrosanct.
Iwaizumi is holding both of his hands in his own, gently murmuring something to Oikawa who hums and nods along to his words and while Hitoka knows that the two are desperately gone for one another, she has never seen them behave this intimately.
Iwaizumi reaches up to brush a few stray hairs off of Oikawa’s face with the tips of his fingers, whispers something else that makes Oikawa laugh softly, and Hitoka feels her stomach churn at the sound.
There’s a voice in the back of her mind telling her that she shouldn’t be here. That somehow, she’s infringing on a very private moment and that she should leave. But there’s another part of her mind, the logical part, that’s yelling at her to get it together and do her job. Let the grooms know about the issue at hand so that they can fix it.
There’s only two minutes left.
She tries to open her mouth, force any noise to come out, but her feet feel like they’ve been glued in place and she watches with wide eyes as Iwaizumi lifts Oikawa’s hands to his upturned mouth, brushes his lips over the backs of his knuckles, eyes never leaving the other’s face. Oikawa’s cheeks tint a beautiful light pink and he smiles widely at his best friend, the corners of his eyes curving up into crescents.
Outside, she can hear the sound of the ancient church piano reverberating through the cathedral. The pianist, an old friend of the grooms and someone who Hitoka vaguely remembers as the old setter for Fukurodani, plays a few warmup chords and scales, obviously getting his fingers used to the feel of an unfamiliar instrument.
He hadn’t been available for the previous rehearsals, given that he lives in Tokyo and spends most of his days locked up in the back of a publishing house with energy-bars and triple shot coffee acting as his lifelines.
However, he had promised that he’d be able to get a hold on the wretched thing and Hitoka is relieved when she hears the opening notes to "Canon in D" shakily begin to play, an obvious attempt to distract the guests — mostly unruly athletes who somehow have even more energy than they did back when they were in high school.
Hitoka figures that it spurns from the fact that they’re all at the top now. Have achieved a good majority of their goals and are living off the high that comes with success.
She shivers as Akaashi transitions towards the lower end of the piano, the sound of the music deepening and the notes echoing for far longer. He begins to slow down his speed as well, settles into a gentle rhythmic march that steadily grows more confident with every passing second.
Oikawa is reaching over to straighten Iwaizumi’s tie now, despite it not even being crooked in the first place, touch lingering. He smirks mischievously as Iwaizumi says something else to him, only to make a surprised sound when the other leans up to kiss his forehead.
Iwaizumi-san has to push up on his toes to kiss him, Hitoka notes as she watches the exchange, but it’s obvious he doesn’t mind. Instead, he kisses Oikawa’s forehead again and then again. And when he finally drops his heels back to the floor, he closes his eyes and allows Oikawa to lean forward and press their foreheads together.
Their hands grasp at each other’s shoulders, each other’s wrists, and they finally manage to find one another when their fingers twine together and drop down to their thighs. They begin to breathe in sync, still murmuring something that Hitoka cannot hear over the echo of the piano music, its melody haunting and loud and vibrations somehow shaking the walls of the ancient church.
Hitoka swallows, tries to steady herself but this entire experience is making her head spin. She can feel the walls beginning to cave in on her, mind throbbing as it travels back to a time she doesn’t even remember, but is still somehow nostalgic about. The music, centuries of years old, managing to elicit an emotion that makes her want to curl up in a ball because of its reminiscent nature. Makes her yearn for a love that she knows very few will ever have. The decor, shiny and white, and depicting the very innocence of the grooms’ relationship — the fact that they have never been apart.
And of course, the grooms themselves aren’t doing her any favors. Not with the way they’re staring at each other, their foreheads still pressed together, breathing in tandem. In, out. In, out. Smiling those private smiles with their fingers tightening in a way that suggests that they’re afraid to let go.
One minute left.
Iwaizumi reaches over Oikawa’s shoulder, draws the veil over his head and then, in a surprising turn of events, ducks under the gauzy fabric himself, shrouding them both from any wandering eyes. Oikawa laughs breathlessly as Iwaizumi curls a strong arm around the small of his back. Tugs him forward so that Oikawa’s hands have no choice but to curl around his shoulders for balance and then he’s walking Oikawa backwards. Huddling in close so that he’s pressed against the stone wall of the cranny, the two still exchanging murmurs in between gentle presses of their mouths. Laughing, snickering, talking, and kissing as if they have all the time in the world. And to them, they probably do.
She can hear a loud trill now. The ancient church bell ringing as it slides back and forth within the belfry, right on schedule. The intensity of the sound, as it travels down the spires, shakes Hitoka out of her stupor and she swears before checking her watch.
Time's up.
Shoot, they were supposed to be ready to go and now they’re going to be late. Still, as she glances back at the couple once more, she can’t help the soft smile that spreads over her face. They still haven’t noticed the sound of the bell, the melody of the piano, Hitoka’s presence, too lost in their own sweet paradise that has room for no one else.
Hitoka sighs as she turns her back on them, decides to give them five more minutes of privacy before she returns, hopefully with more fortitude to move them along. But for now, she feels like it would be sacrilege to make them stop.
Five minutes is not nearly enough to achieve anything in her book. But for some people, it can mean a lifetime.