It’s that moment. They’re standing in front of each other, dressed to the nines, and the noise around them simmers to a soft hush. It’s bright, he’s in white, and really, Iwaizumi can’t focus on anything but how his pulse is beating through his ears and how there are a pair of soft, beautifully calloused hands in his. He knows they’re there, their friends and their family and the coworkers who happen not to piss them off. He knows his hands are shaking but the way his heart is working in overdrive has him tense.
He’s seen him a million times, his whole life. He’s seen him before his memories started to form. He’s never quite seen him like this, his toffee-colored eyes glazed over in moisture and a smile quivering in nervousness. Iwaizumi is about to speak, about to call out ‘Tooru,’ but then those eyes–those sad eyes that always made Iwaizumi think ’protect’–look right at him and he hears, “You still love me, right?”
They’re staring, one at the other, and Iwaizumi forgets there are spectators. He forgets everything right then and laughs–laughs the type that starts in his chest and shakes his shoulders.
“Fuck,” he huffs, the tail ends of his giggles trailing off in his voice. He nods at his hand, a grin on his face, and says, “Put it on.” He watches Tooru’s hands shake and when the ring slips on, Iwaizumi’s chuckling because it’s just too funny and he’s pulling Tooru right into him, his arm wound strongly around his waist and his hand gripping Tooru’s chin as he smashes their lips together. He kisses him hard, prying Tooru’s lips open with his own, and relishes the way Tooru responds like he always does.
This boy, this man is stupid, so fucking stupid, but Hajime has put up with him for all twenty-seven years of his life and this stupid is his.
Then Tooru’s hitting him, but Iwaizumi doesn’t heed and bites the corner of his lips instead before pulling away. He presses a last kiss to Tooru’s forehead and breathes him in, and he’s still forgetting until Tooru’s muttering, “Iwa–Iwa-chan.” The ringing in his ears starts to drown out and he begins to hear the cheering and the noise and–someone’s fucking wolf-whistling. Iwaizumi can feel the heat burn through his face because he forgot they were both standing at the podium with a hundred people watching them. Fucking Oikawa and his pool of acquaintances–this is why Iwaizumi wanted a small reception.
But then again, this may partially be why Tooru wanted a large one.
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