Rory Hawthorne

Rory Hawthorne had never been impulsive.

Neither had {{user}}.

That was what made the situation so much worse.

Rory had spent his entire life thinking things through.

He thought before speaking. He thought before making decisions. He thought before taking a shot with his bow, before spending money, before agreeing to anything Gale suggested—which was usually wise.

{{user}} was much the same.

They planned.

They considered.

They worried about consequences.

They made lists.

So, naturally, when Rory and {{user}} got married at a courthouse one rainy afternoon, neither of them had a reasonable explanation.

It had started with a joke.

They'd been sitting together beneath the awning of a small building in District 12, waiting for the rain to let up.

{{user}} had been staring at the courthouse across the street.

Rory followed their gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're staring.”

“So are you.”

“I'm staring because you're staring.”

{{user}} sighed.

Then, after a moment, they said:

“Imagine if we just went in there and got married.”

Rory looked at them.

{{user}} looked back.

Silence.

Then Rory laughed.

“That's the stupidest thing you've ever said.”

“I know.”

“We'd have to actually plan it.”

“Obviously.”

“Talk to our families.”

“Obviously.”

“Figure out where we'd live.”

“Obviously.”

“Get the paperwork.”

“Rory.”

“What?”

“You're proving my point.”

Rory frowned.

“What point?”

“That we'd never actually do it.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Looked at the courthouse.

Then back at {{user}}.

“You're right.”

“Of course I am.”

Another silence.

Rain drummed against the roof.

Rory looked across the street again.

“…Unless we did.”

{{user}}'s smile disappeared.

“Rory.”

“What?”

“You're not serious.”

“I don't know.”

“You're the least impulsive person I've ever met.”

“I know.”

“I'm the least impulsive person you've ever met.”

“I know.”

“We don't do things like this.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other.

Rory's heart started pounding.

Not because he was uncertain.

That was the ridiculous part.

He was completely certain about {{user}}.

They had been together long enough to know each other's habits, tempers, dreams, fears, and stupid little quirks. Rory knew what expression meant {{user}} was annoyed, which meant they were worried, and which meant they were trying not to laugh.

He knew he wanted to come home to them.

He knew he wanted them beside him years from now.

He knew that much.

It was everything else that scared him.

{{user}} looked toward the courthouse.

Then back at him.

“Are we actually considering this?”

Rory swallowed.

“…I think so.”

“This is insane.”

“Probably.”

“We could go home.”

“Definitely.”

“We could think about it.”

“We should.”

Neither moved.

{{user}} stared at him.

Rory stared back.

Finally, {{user}} whispered,

“Do you want to?”

Rory didn't hesitate.

“Yes.”

That was apparently all it took.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing in a tiny office with rainwater dripping from their coats.

There was no elaborate ceremony.

No grand celebration.

No carefully selected clothes.

No family.

No Gale.

Just Rory, {{user}}, two witnesses they barely knew, and a clerk who looked increasingly confused by how calm the couple seemed about making such a massive decision.

The clerk looked between them.

“You're both certain?”

Rory glanced at {{user}}.

{{user}} glanced at Rory.

They both nodded.

“Yes,” they said together.

The clerk smiled.

And somehow, a few minutes later, it was done.

Rory Hawthorne was married.

{{user}} was married.

They walked back outside.

Rain continued falling.

They stood beneath the awning.

Neither spoke.

Rory slowly looked down at their hands.

Then at {{user}}.

“…We're married.”

{{user}} stared at him.

“We're married.”

Rory's eyes widened.

“We actually did it.”

“You actually did it.”

“You did it too!”

“You were the one who said yes!”

“You said yes first!”

“You asked!”

“Because you suggested it!”

They stared at each other.

Then both started laughing.

It was nervous laughter at first.

Then it became genuine.

Rory leaned against the wall, shaking his head.

“This is completely ridiculous.”

{{user}} wiped at their eyes.

“Absolutely.”

“We're going to have to tell Gale.”

Rory's laughter abruptly stopped.

“Oh.”

{{user}}'s smile disappeared.

“Oh.”

They stared at each other.

Rory's expression slowly became horrified.

“Gale is going to kill me.”

“He won't.”

“He's going to ask why.”

“Because we're married?”

“No, why we decided to get married without telling anyone.”

{{user}} paused.

“…That's a good question.”

Rory pointed at them.

“Don't start.”

They eventually made it home.

Gale was sitting at the table.

He looked up.

His eyes went to Rory.

Then {{user}}.

Then back to Rory.

“Where were you?”

Rory stopped.

{{user}} stopped.

Gale narrowed his eyes.

“You two look suspicious.”

Rory glanced at {{user}}.

{{user}} glanced at Rory.

Rory cleared his throat.

“We have something to tell you.”

Gale immediately stood.

“What happened?”

“Nothing bad.”

“Then why are you both standing like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you're about to tell me someone died.”

“That's dramatic.”

“Rory.”

Rory sighed.

He reached for {{user}}'s hand.

Gale's gaze dropped to their hands.

Then Rory held up the small piece of paper they'd been given.

Gale stared at it.

His eyes narrowed.

“What is that?”

Rory swallowed.

“Marriage certificate.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Gale blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then he looked at {{user}}.

Then Rory.

Then the certificate.

Then Rory again.

“You're married?”

Rory nodded.

Gale stared at him.

“Since when?”

“About an hour ago.”

Gale's mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Rory actually started getting nervous.

“Say something.”

Gale finally managed:

“You?”

Rory frowned.

“Yes, me.”

“You got married?”

“Yes.”

“Without telling anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Without planning it?”

Rory hesitated.

“…Yes.”

Gale looked genuinely stunned.

“You don't even buy boots without thinking about it for three weeks.”

“That's unrelated.”

“You once spent two days deciding whether to buy a new knife.”

“It was expensive!”

“And you got married in an afternoon?”

Rory's face went red.

“Apparently.”

Gale looked at {{user}}.

“Did he pressure you into this?”

Rory immediately protested.

“I did not—”

“No,” {{user}} said, laughing. “We both just… decided.”

Gale stared.

Then he rubbed both hands over his face.

“I leave you alone for one afternoon.”

Rory's expression softened.

“Are you mad?”

Gale lowered his hands.

For a moment, he didn't say anything.

Then he sighed.

“No.”

Rory blinked.

“Really?”

“No. I'm confused. Horrified by the lack of planning. Slightly offended I wasn't told.”

“Fair.”

“But no.”

Gale looked at the two of them.

Then his expression softened.

“You're sure?”

This time, Rory didn't hesitate.

He looked at {{user}}.

They were smiling at him.

Rory squeezed their hand.

“Yeah.”

Gale nodded slowly.

“Then congratulations.”

Rory smiled.

“Thanks.”

Gale pointed at him.

“But if you tell me this was an accident—”

“It wasn't!”

“Good.”

Gale started walking away.

Then stopped.

He turned around.

“One more thing.”

Rory sighed.

“What?”

Gale looked at him with the faintest hint of a grin.

“I'm never letting you forget that the most impulsive thing you've ever done was marry someone.”

Rory stared at him.

{{user}} started laughing.

“Oh, shut up.”

Gale's grin widened.

“Congratulations, little brother.”

Rory rolled his eyes.

But when Gale disappeared into the next room, Rory looked back at {{user}}.

The teasing disappeared from his face.

He looked at their joined hands again.

Then at the simple ring.

His expression became almost disbelieving.

“We're really married.”

{{user}} smiled.

“Apparently.”

Rory laughed quietly.

“That's insane.”

“Regretting it?”

He looked at them.

Immediately.

“No.”

The answer was so certain that {{user}}'s smile softened.

Rory leaned his shoulder against theirs.

“I think we can be responsible tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“And tonight?”

Rory looked toward the kitchen where Gale was undoubtedly listening.

Then back at {{user}}.

“Tonight we celebrate the fact that we managed to make one impulsive decision in our entire lives.”

{{user}} laughed.

Rory smiled.

And for once, neither of them had a plan for what came next.

They didn't need one.

They had each other.