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The alarm on Zhenya’s phone is trilling.
“Make it stop,” Dima’s voice says from way too close to him. Zhenya’s too hungover for Dima’s voice to be that loud, and for the phone to be trilling and - oh, they’re supposed to be getting on a bus to go to the airport aren’t they?
“I don’t know where it is,” Zhenya says desperately, and in the process of sliding his body parts out from beneath Dima’s body parts, he ends up falling out of the bed and onto the floor.
He’s naked, sticky - with champagne and hmm, well, that might be - actually, don’t think too hard about it - and he’s sitting on someone’s shoe, which is hurting his ass. The alarm is louder on the floor and it makes him want to scream, except if he screamed it would definitely make his head explode. He has specific reasons why he doesn’t drink normally, sure, but being hungover is rocketing up the list.
His phone is halfway across the room in the pocket of his discarded pants from the night before, and he smacks his fingers across the screen ineffectively until it finally swipes off.
“Hey Dima,” he says, sitting naked on a hotel floor, a Stanley Cup Champion, epicly hung over.
Dima grunts from the bed.
“Dima,” Zhenya repeats. He pulls himself back up onto the bed. Dima is face down in the pillows. Zhenya knows that he’s not asleep. “Did I get married? Did we get married?”
Dima finally turns his head. “What?”
“I’m wearing a wedding band,” Zhenya says.
“No,” Dima says, and rolls onto his side. Then he sits up abruptly. “Oh fuck.” Then he has to close his eyes and steady himself. There’s a gold band around his ring finger, and it matches the one around Zhenya’s.
“Fuck,” Zhenya says.
They don’t say anything to anyone about it. Dima’s still drunk, and Zhenya’s pretty sure there’s not enough water in the world to make him feel better about how much alcohol he had the night before. At least he’s showered off all the champagne and - well, it’s pretty clear that he and Dima have consummated their drunken Vegas marriage.
Zhenya’s not sure who knows about it, but he assumes someone does. Maybe not Ovi, because he knows that Ovi was focused on one thing and one thing only. They manage to get themselves dressed and fed and caffeinated before making their way down to the bus.
“Congratulations,” Vrana bellows in his ear, and Zhenya feels like every fiber of his being is going to come apart at a cellular level. He loves Jakub. Truly. But the kid is fucking loud. Too close, too loud.
Dima pushes Vrana away with a full hand in his face, actually coming up off his seat on the bus to push Vrana back down into his own seat, in spite of Vrana’s sputtering protests. Zhenya levers himself up to look over the back of his seat.
“Who let us get married?” he asks. He asks it in Russian. Vrana frowns at him, and yes, Zhenya knows that Vrana doesn’t actually speak Russian, but Zhenya knows that Vrana knows exactly what he just asked.
Vrana says something back in Czech, which Zhenya is pretty sure is something that is only absolving Jakub himself of guilt, so he gives Jakub the finger and turns back around, slumping back down into his seat. Dima slumps down next to him, leaning his head over against Zhenya’s shoulder.
Zhenya pauses for a second, then reaches out and takes hold of Dima’s hand, squeezing it. Dima sighs.
“You wanna get divorce?” Zhenya asks him.
“Hmm?” Dima asks, and lifts his head up, looking at Zhenya. “We’ve been married 12 hours and you want a divorce?”
“I’m asking you,” Zhenya says. Dima shrugs.
“You’re not so bad,” Dima says.
“Fuck off,” Zhenya says, and laughs. Dima grins, then leans over and kisses him. Zhenya’s a little surprised, but leans into it.
“Money on the board!” Burky yells, because Burky is also still drunk, apparently. “PDA is money!”
“Stop yelling,” Nicke says. “They’re newlyweds. Let them PDA.”
“Okay,” Dima says, and stands up. “Everybody know about this?”
“Yes,” say several voices.
“Who let this happen?” Zhenya asks.
“You're grown,” Nicke says.
“We drunk,” Dima says.
“Oh, babe, we all drunk,” Ovi says, heaving himself into a seat near them, along with the cup. “But you so insistent that you want to get married, we say, who are we to stand in way of true love?”
“I hate you,” Zhenya says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.
“But you love Dima,” Ovi says.
Zhenya hums, but opens his eyes and looks over at Dima, sitting next to him. Dima’s still drunk, his hair is sticking up, and he desperately needs a shave. Zhenya imagines he doesn’t look much better. Then he smiles.
“Yeah,” he says.
Dima grins at him.