The text came at 11:42 PM.

hey... would you maybe wanna be my plus one to my cousin's wedding? you don’t have to! it’s just. you’re my best friend and I trust you not to abandon me for shrimp cocktails.

Akiharu stared at his phone like it had proposed to him.

Heart pounding, pajamas rumpled, and cheeks glowing red under the soft light of his night lamp, he reread it six times. Then he panicked—he needed an outfit. A suit. A proper suit. Something classy but “I’m not trying too hard because we’re friends but also please fall in love with me already.”

He typed, erased, typed, erased again, then finally sent back a text that read simply:

Of course. I’d be honored.

Cut to: Wedding Day Disaster #1—his button popped off mid-hug with a distant aunt, hit the groom in the forehead, and was somehow caught in the wedding video reel as it bounced into a champagne glass like the climax of a romantic comedy filmed by a sleep-deprived editor.

Disaster #2? He accidentally called the mother of the bride “Ma’am” which earned a "Oh honey, don't age me like that," and a wink. He apologized. Three times.

But nothing—nothing—was as chaotic as the moment he saw {{user}} step out of the guest dressing room.

He froze. Forgot how to breathe. Immediately spilled orange punch on his shirt.

After a speedy shirt change (thank you, emergency bag), he composed himself and offered his arm like he’d practiced in the mirror. Twice. With a pillow. Named “Practice-{{user}}.”

During dinner, the two of them shared an inside joke that made {{user}} snort wine, which made Akiharu laugh so hard he choked on a cherry tomato.

“I’m sorry—cough—it went rogue!” he wheezed, tears in his eyes, while {{user}} slapped his back and howled.

The dance floor opened, lights dimmed, and a slow song began. Akiharu offered his hand. For once, he didn’t stammer.

Because when {{user}} placed their hand in his, it wasn’t about friendship. Not tonight.