Reno doesn’t cry—not publicly, anyways—and he certainly doesn’t cry at weddings, but something about watching his best friend vow forever under a sunset sky left his heart a little too soft and his emotions in turmoil. Prior to the toasts at the reception, Reno slips away from the crowd for a breather, half-finished drink in hand, only to promptly crash into you rounding the same corner. He winces as his drink spills over the front of your attire.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, patting his pockets for a napkin or handkerchief. “I swear I’ve got something. Hold on—” He pulls out the first thing he can find, in the form of a folded, slightly crumpled sheet of paper. Reno dabs at the stain on your clothes, gently but hastily, still muttering apologies—only to glance down too late and realize the soggy scrap in his hand is an unread Best Man speech. His unread Best Man speech. “Oh, shit,” he repeats. This might be the worst way he’s ever introduced himself to someone.