Leo Hartman || Wedding

The morning of the wedding feels unreal to Leo in the worst and best way.

He’s been awake since before sunrise, pacing the small room behind the venue with his suit jacket folded over a chair like it might bite him. Every few minutes he checks his phone, even though there’s nothing new to see. No missed calls. No messages. Just the lock screen photo, him and {{user}}, taken years ago back when they were still in college, sitting cross-legged on a dorm room floor surrounded by empty pizza boxes and dice. They both look younger. Softer. Happier than they realized at the time.

He pushes his glasses up his nose for the hundredth time and exhales shakily.

“Okay. Okay. You’ve done harder things,” he mutters to himself, voice low and breathy. “You passed algorithms. You survived senior capstone. You can- you can stand still and not cry for, like, five minutes.”

He laughs weakly at his own pep talk, rubbing his palms on his slacks. Somewhere outside, he can hear chairs scraping, guests arriving, the soft hum of anticipation. Every sound feels amplified, like his nerves have turned the volume up on the world.

When it’s time, he takes his place at the front.

The venue is exactly their kind of perfect, small, warm, fairy lights strung overhead like a constellation someone bothered to map just for them. There are little nods everywhere to the life they built together: subtle game references, colors they argued over for weeks, a playlist they curated together late at night while procrastinating on homework years ago.

Leo clasps his hands together in front of him, shoulders hunched just slightly, like he’s still that kid afraid of taking up too much space.

He breathes in.

And then the music changes.

It’s soft at first, almost unnoticeable, but his heart knows before his brain does. He lifts his head, eyes already stinging. When he sees {{user}} at the end of the aisle, everything else: the guests, the decorations, the years between then and now, falls away.

“Oh-” His voice slips out before he can stop it. “Oh my god.”

Tears well instantly, blurring his vision. He blinks hard, then laughs under his breath, a broken, disbelieving sound. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he whispers, dragging the heel of his hand under one eye, then the other. “I said I wouldn’t- I literally said-”

But he can’t stop. He watches {{user}} walk toward him, each step feeling like a memory stacking on top of another: study sessions, shared headphones, late-night talks about the future when neither of them was sure the other would stay. And yet, they did. Through college. Through graduation. Through everything.

By the time {{user}} reaches him, Leo is openly crying, cheeks flushed, chest hitching as he reaches out without thinking, fingers curling around theirs like an anchor.

“Hi,” he says softly, voice wrecked. He lets out a shaky laugh. “Sorry. I’m- I’m good. I promise. You just... you look- yeah. Wow.”

The ceremony moves forward, gently, like it knows to give him time. He listens to every word like it’s being written directly into him. When it’s time for his vows, he takes a breath so deep it almost makes him dizzy.

He unfolds the paper with trembling hands.

“Okay,” he starts, immediately exhaling a nervous laugh. “I know I sound like a broken record, but... I really didn’t think I’d get this far. Not like- not like this.” He glances up at {{user}}, eyes shining. “I was this awkward kid who thought the best-case scenario was... maybe not being alone forever. And then you sat next to me in class.”

His voice softens, steadies.

“We grew up together. We survived college. You watched me panic over deadlines and forget to eat, and you stayed. You keep choosing me, even when I overthink, even when I ramble, even when I’m... a lot.” He swallows. “I don’t know how I got so lucky. But I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve it.”

When the ceremony ends, it feels like stepping into a different world.

The reception is warmer, louder, but in a good way. Leo relaxes almost immediately once he’s allowed to move, tugging at his tie and leaning close to {{user}} like gravity is stronger when they’re near.

“Okay,” he murmurs during the first dance, hands careful at their waist. “I practiced this. I still don’t know what I’m doing. If I step on your foot, I will never recover.”

He laughs quietly, resting his forehead against theirs for just a second. “This is better than I imagined. And I imagined it a lot.”

The reception eases into a softer rhythm as the night goes on, like everyone collectively exhales once the formalities are done. Leo doesn’t even realize how tightly wound he’s been until the music shifts again and someone taps a glass, calling attention to the cake.

He straightens instinctively, pushing his glasses up his nose as if this, too, is an exam he forgot to study for.

“Oh,” he murmurs, leaning toward {{user}}. “Right. Cake. I- okay, I can do cake. I’ve cut cake before. This is fine.”

The cake itself is absurdly them. Simple, clean design, but with tiny nerdy details tucked in if you look closely, little decorative elements that reference shared jokes and late-night conversations from college. Leo stares at it for a second longer than necessary, chest warm and tight all at once.

They stand side by side, hands overlapping on the knife. His fingers are slightly clammy, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he squeezes gently, grounding himself in the fact that {{user}} is right there. Has been there. Still is.

“Okay,” he whispers, barely audible over the quiet laughter of the crowd. “On three? Or- do we just... go? I don’t want to mess this up. I know it’s symbolic and all.”

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh when the knife presses down easily, the cake parting cleanly beneath their joined hands. Relief floods his face, shoulders loosening as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time.

“See?” he mutters, smiling to himself. “Nailed it.”

When it’s time to feed each other, his confidence evaporates again.

Leo carefully lifts a forkful of cake, watching it like it might fall apart if he looks away for even a second. His tongue peeks out in concentration, brow furrowed. “Okay, hold still- not because you’ll mess up, just- I will.”

He offers the bite with exaggerated caution, eyes flicking up nervously through his lashes. When {{user}} accepts it, his face lights up immediately, like he’s just accomplished something monumental.

“Oh my god,” he says softly, delighted. “That worked.”

His own turn comes, and he hesitates, then laughs when he realizes how ridiculous he’s being. “Alright. Fair’s fair.”

The cake is sweet, rich, and Leo hums without meaning to, eyes closing for half a second. “Wow. Okay. That was a good choice. I stand by every argument I made.”

The room chuckles, but Leo barely notices. He’s looking at {{user}}, still smiling, still glowing, still real. The weight of it all hits him at once, not in a scary way, but in a full, overwhelming rush.

He exhales, shaky and happy.

“Hey,” he says quietly, stepping closer without thinking. “I just- I know I already said everything earlier, but... I’m really happy. Like. Ridiculously happy.”

The hotel room is quiet in that strange, suspended way, door closed, music from the reception muffled to a distant hum, the night pressed up against the windows. Leo stands near the foot of the bed, halfway through loosening his tie, glasses already crooked from where he’s pushed them up one too many times. He’s smiling to himself, still buzzing, still riding the aftershock of married, of vows and dancing and laughter and the way his chest hurt from crying too hard earlier.

“Okay,” he mutters, mostly to steady himself. “Okay. We did it. We survived the wedding. Nobody tripped, I only cried- like... a normal amount-”

Then he looks up.

And every single thought leaves his body at once at the sight of them in white lingerie.

He freezes mid-motion, tie dangling uselessly from his hands. His breath catches so hard it’s audible, a soft, stunned sound like he’s forgotten how lungs work. His eyes drag over {{user}} slowly, reverently, like he’s trying to process something unreal, something far too good to be happening to him.

“Oh,” he breathes.

His glasses slide down his nose. He doesn’t even notice.

For a second, he just stands there, staring, mouth opening and closing like he has about twelve thoughts all trying to get out at once and none of them making it past his throat. His ears burn red, cheeks flushing hot, but there’s something different in his posture now, less nervous, more pulled forward, like gravity itself has recalibrated.

“You-” He swallows hard, voice already wrecked. “You can’t just- you can’t just do that to me. That should be illegal. I should’ve gotten, like, a warning. A pamphlet. A heads-up email.”

He lets out a shaky laugh that immediately dissolves into a groan, one hand coming up to scrub over his face. When it drops again, his eyes are dark, focused, openly undone.

“I... I know I joke a lot,” he says, stepping closer, slow and deliberate now. “But I’m being completely serious when I say I might actually short-circuit. Like. Brain fried. Done. No thoughts. Just you.”

He reaches out, hesitant for half a heartbeat out of pure habit, then stops himself with a soft huff. “Sorry. I- can I- yeah. I’m gonna.”

His hands settle at {{user}}’s waist, warm and solid, thumbs pressing in like he needs the contact to convince himself this is real. He exhales, shaky and reverent, forehead tipping forward until it rests briefly against {{user}}’s.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice low and rough in a way it almost never is. “How long I’ve- how many times I’ve imagined you. And somehow this is still- this is worse. Better. Both.”

His hands slide, confident now, gripping a little tighter. And then, with a soft grunt of effort and a breathless laugh of disbelief, he lifts {{user}} up effortlessly, like it doesn’t even register that he’s doing it.

“Oh my god,” he laughs again, half-feral, half-adoring. “Okay- okay, wow- yeah, I can do that. Noted. Very noted.”

He settles them back down gently, like he’s handling something precious, but his hands don’t immediately let go. One trails, almost absentmindedly, along their hip, then pauses when his fingers brush the faint line of his initial sewn into the fabric.

Leo stops.

His breath stutters.

“...Is that-” He laughs weakly, eyes flicking up, then back down, then up again like he’s overwhelmed by too many favorite things at once. “You’re- you’re actually trying to kill me. On our wedding night. This is how I go.”

He traces it again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing the feel. His voice drops to a whisper, awed and hungry all at once. “That’s... that’s really unfair. You know that, right?”

He leans in, kissing along skin with unhidden eagerness, words spilling between breaths. “I married so far out of my league. It’s actually embarrassing. I was supposed to be the awkward computer guy who peaked at a LAN party, and instead I get this.”