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Summary
He doesn’t fully remember the walk from the hotel’s ballroom to the room upstairs, nor does he remember losing his jacket on the way, loosening his tie, or pulling his shirt collar askew. He does, for better or worse, remember the heat of Yuki’s palm against the flat of his chest, pressing his back into the bed and searing into his skin. His vision is hazy and he tells himself it’s because of the alcohol. He knows it isn’t.