Wedding Vow Woes
02:15 – San Marco, Florence – A week before the wedding
It's long past midnight and just a week away from the most important day in his life, but there Yukihira Soma is – wide awake, hunched over the dining table in Nakiri's Florentian apartment and nursing his sixth cup of coffee of the night. Seated across the table from him, Hayama Akira and Kurokiba Ryo are both slouched back, the former poring over catering details for the reception and the latter delegated to stag's night arrangements.
Alice and Hisako had whisked Nakiri away to Paris for the weekend for her final gown fitting, so they have the space to themselves. It's barely been eight hours since she'd gotten on that flight, but he already misses her.
The hastily-scribbled letters, written, re-written, crossed-out and penned-over before him say about as much. He lets out a sigh, tosses down his pen, then leans back and covers his eyes with his hands. "Oh, fuck it. I'm going to speak from the heart."
"No, you're not." By the sound of the typing filling the air, he surmises that Hayama hasn't even bothered to look up. "There's going to be a video team there. Do you really want to ramble on for twenty minutes, and then pay for it years down the road each time you and Nakiri watch the recording?"
"Who the hell even invented wedding vows? It's such bullshit. I bet she hasn't written hers."
"Nakiri makes at least three speeches every month, so I'm pretty sure she's got it down by now," comes Kurokiba's tired drawl. "It really isn't that hard. Just tell her you love her."
"I do."
"Good." The typing stops for a brief moment; then Hayama picks up once again, evidently irritated. "Now add on every promise you think she'd want you to make. Love her, honour her, cherish her, respect her – all that stuff."
"How would you know? You literally drove through Vegas to get married."
The silence that fills the air is defeaning. He instantly knows he's done fucked up – and the expression on Hayama's face when he straightens is proof enough of it. On the other end of the table, Ryo is wearing an equally disgusted face, one eyebrow raised and his glass of bourbon halfway to an open mouth.
The apology comes quickly, and genuinely. "I'm sorry. Sorry, Hayama; It's late, I'm cranky and I'm an asshole."
"You are," Hayama sighs. His deep green eyes narrow briefly – but then the man shrugs and returns to his typing, his voice tight and controlled. "I've known you were a piece of shit since high school."
"Just make him pay for all the drinks tomorrow night," Ryo supplies, and he's relieved to see it brings a smile to Hayama's face.
"I was going to anyway." Yukihira stretches out, then leans back again. A quiet silence settles upon them, with Hayama and Ryo occasionally exchanging remarks on this and that. The background noice, occasionally punctuated with the former's typing, is comfortably familiar – he thinks back to the days they'd spent together in the Elite 10, bogged down with paperwork and so very sheltered from the harsh realities of the world.
The thought of his own innocence makes him smile. We're all changed.
"What did you promise Alice?" He glances up.
Ryo considers this for a moment. "Patience and excitement. She made me promise to never bore her, and I reminded her that I haven't, yet. Then she promised to obey me, and I promised to never take advantage of her devotion. It was all very sappy."
"It was," He agrees, then glances aside to Hayama. The man has been married all of a year, but the cracks in that relationship are clear as day. Deep down, he knows it's because the man himself has never quite gotten over Arato, and isn't exactly looking forward to a weekend with her and her new beau. He lowers his voice. "And you, Hayama? What would you have promised Arato?"
Hayama rolls his eyes, but there's a darkness in his gaze that suggests he's thought of this more times than he'd care to admit. A pregnant pause follows; Ryo, happily married and settled into the domestic life, pours another measure of gin and slides it down the table to Hayama, who simply downs the shot before responding: "Everything."
"Shit," He manages to get out. "For what it's worth – I don't think she'll ever really be over you, neither."
Hayama shrugs a shoulder, then quirks a smile. It tugs at his heart, where Nakiri resides, and not for the first time that night, he's reminded of just how much he misses his fiance. "Write your damn vows, Yukihira. Arato will most likely nag us to death for failing to keep you on track if you mess them up."
"I'm sure you'd find a way to endure that," He tells his friend, and is rewarded with a laugh.
Two days later, he walks through the door to find Nakiri on the couch, eating risotto and drinking red wine. She glances up as he sits by her side, then passes him the half-eaten bowl. "Hungry?"
"A little," He tells her, taking the bowl and setting it down on the table. "So Hayama and Kurokiba both think my vows are shit."
Nakiri scoffs, looking amused. "I'm sure as hell not marrying you for your speechmaking skills."
"No," He agrees, grinning. "But I still do want to make my promises to you."
"Oh?"
"I promise to always accept your Shokugeki challenges," He tells her, taking her hands. "And I promise to be a gracious loser. I promise to wash up after you cook, and I promise to let you use the sink and shower first in the morning. I promise to protect you from all the roaches and spiders, and I promise to always take out the trash. I promise I'll love you even when we're fighting, and I promise to always consider your advice – even if I ultimately don't take it. Anything else and more that you might want, I'll promise in advance, because I love you, Nakiri."
She watches him for a moment. Then, lips curled: "Write this down."
"What?"
"Write it down!" She shoves a pen and a notepad at him, laughing. "Those are good vows, and I want witnesses for all those promises in case you try to back out of loading the dishwasher."
He snickers, and kisses her on the cheek. "You really are something else, Nakiri."
"I am," She tells him. "But you love me."
And he does.
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