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It was Souda’s idea to go to Vegas. The invite got passed around, and quickly made its way to Komaeda through Nanami. Everyone seemed to want him there because of how useful his luck could be for gambling. He accepted, although he knew all too well how his luck could come back to bite him later.
So ultimately, he isn’t too surprised when he wakes up out on the terrace of a high-rise hotel suite, half-naked and covered in glitter.
His head is pounding, his mouth is dry, and he can’t remember anything about the previous night after they arrived in the city. Komaeda usually doesn’t drink, and when he does it’s never this much—so he doesn’t quite know how to handle a blackout scenario.
He settles for going into the suite and searching for his phone. When he walks into the living area, he finds something else entirely. Or rather, someone.
“Kamukura-kun?” Komaeda blurts out, because that is definitely Kamukura sitting on the couch, even if he looks more disheveled than Komaeda has ever seen him.
Kamukura blinks at him, wide-eyed. His trademark suit is nowhere to be seen and for some inexplicable reason he’s wearing some sort of makeshift toga instead, a white sheet that hangs off his shoulder on one side. His exposed neck looks to be bruised. His hair is in disarray, and actually looks like it’s been chopped off in a few places. The last thing Komaeda notices is the bright orange band on Kamukura’s wrist.
“Komaeda,” Kamukura says. Despite being alarmed by his presence, his voice comes out as calm as usual.
That’s right, Kamukura had come with them to Vegas. He doesn’t usually come along on these trips, but Komaeda invited him as per usual, and he surprisingly accepted. Komaeda remembers he was glad, because he wasn’t particularly close to anyone else there.
It doesn’t look like any of the others are here. Maybe Kamukura can shed some light on the situation.
“Do you,” Komaeda starts, and then swallows becauses his throat really is dry. “Do you happen to remember anything about last night?”
It’s an embarrassing question, but Kamukura looks to be in no less an embarrassing state than Komaeda.
Kamukura’s eyes are roaming up and down, and he looks like he wants to ask about Komaeda’s attire, or lack thereof. Instead he says, “No, unfortunately I don’t. I assume you don’t, either.”
Komaeda scratches the back of his neck and offers a sheepish grin. “No, sorry.”
“However,” Kamukura continues. “I have been deducing what could have happened based on my condition and surroundings. Would you like to help me?”
“Ah! That’s a good idea, Kamukura-kun. And maybe we can jog our memories in the process.” Komaeda sits down on the seat across from Kamukura. He feels rather exposed standing up.
“It appears,” Kamukura starts carefully, “that we got separated from the others at some point, and one of us—probably you—won a great deal of money, judging by the approximate cost of this hotel room.”
Komaeda nods and casts his gaze around. “It does look expensive! I guess the good luck of me winning all that money was balanced out by the bad luck of our current situation, huh?”
Kamukura shrugs. “Perhaps. I’m also guessing we were at a club or party or something of the sort. That would explain the glitter. And perhaps my own attire.”
“That part is probably obvious, at least,” Komaeda says. “Where else would we have gotten so much alcohol from? It doesn’t really explain why my clothes are gone, though.”
“They must be in the hotel room somewhere,” Kamukura reasons. “I don’t think you could’ve gotten here in such a state of undress. Someone would’ve noticed.”
Embarrassed, Komaeda tries to shift the conversation to Kamukura’s condition. “Well, I noticed you have a hospital bracelet on—I guess we were there at some point, or at least you were. Are you alright?”
Kamukura lifts a hand to pat at the uneven chunk of his hair. “It appears I have stitches on my head.”
“Stitches?” Well that would explain the odd hairstyle. “That’s horrible, Kamukura-kun! I’m so sorry for dragging you into my bad luck—”
“It’s fine,” Kamukura cuts in dismissively. His fingers are still rubbing at his head, presumably where the stitches are. “I’m not in pain now, and I don’t remember anything.”
“Still.” Komaeda frowns. “This is my fault, after all. At least let me check them and make sure they look alright.”
He’s been around Tsumiki enough, and had his own bad-luck-induced injuries enough, that he knows some rudimentary first aid. He’d be able to tell, for instance, if Kamukura’s injury looked infected. And he knows Kamukura can’t really look himself.
Komaeda reaches out to Kamukura in order to examine his head. As he does so, Kamukura stiffens and moves backward. Komaeda retracts his hand quickly, as if burned.
“Ah—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be so brazen—”
“No, it’s not that,” Kamukura says brusquely. He’s not looking at Komaeda’s face. “I just noticed something else. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before.”
He’s looking down at Komaeda’s hand, where it now rests limply by his side. Komaeda follows his gaze. He doesn’t know how he failed to notice it before, but his left hand is sporting a rather gorgeous diamond ring.
It’s beautiful, and looks very expensive, but Komaeda doesn’t entirely know why Kamukura is pointing it out. It’s probably just something else he carelessly spent his money on while drunk.
The pieces start to clink, slowly but surely, into place as Kamukura raises his own left hand. It, too, is sporting a rather gorgeous and expensive-looking ring.
“I’ve deduced something else,” Kamukura says calmly. “Don’t panic, but I think we may have accidentally gotten married.”
His own voice sounds so flat and monotonous, it’s the exact opposite of panicking. Komaeda, on the other hand, finds himself gaping and feels color rapidly rising to his face.
“I mean—maybe—” he flounders. “Maybe we just bought matching rings?”
“And wore them on our left ring fingers?” Kamukura examines his own ring as he speaks. “It’s possible. But we are in Vegas, and we did get drunk enough to black out—it’s not unlikely that something like that happened.”
Komaeda isn’t really sure how to respond. There’s no real proof that they got married, of course, but a nagging little voice in his head is telling him that his drunk self may just have taken advantage of that sort of opportunity, due to the secret crush he’s had on Kamukura for months now.
Blushing, he tries to dispel the thought of that from his mind, as though Kamukura could read his thoughts. He looks over at Kamukura, and his eyes inadvertently trail to the bruising on his neck.
Now that you mention it, those look less like bruises and more like—
Komaeda hurriedly tries to annihilate any further line of thought. A dawning sense of horrified realization comes upon him regardless.
“I suppose we could look around for a marriage certificate,” Kamukura is saying. “Oh, you seem alarmed. Is everything alright?”
It’s nigh impossible to hide anything from Kamukura, but Komaeda doesn’t think he can possibly divulge what he’s thinking.
“Are you starting to panic now?” Kamukura asks, his brow pinching together. “There’s no need, we can easily fix this. All we have to do is go get the marriage annulled.”
“Right, of course,” Komaeda says, trying to regulate his breathing and fight the blush on his face. “It’s an easy enough thing to reverse. I’m sure it’s horrifying being married to someone like me, after all!”
“I think it’s a bit too early for marriage,” Kamukura responds smoothly.
Komaeda really doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.
“You still seem flustered. Is something else wrong?”
“Ah—do I? I’m sorry, Kamukura-kun…”
“If you’ve remembered something, please tell me, even if it is uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s just—well—” Komaeda sputters. “I just noticed… your neck…”
Thankfully he’s saved from having to finish this sentence when Kamukura slaps a hand around the marks on his neck and says, “Oh, that,” rather knowingly.
“I looked in the mirror earlier, so I noticed,” Kamukura continues. He seems rather unperturbed but he’s avoiding direct eye contact, implying that he might actually be embarrassed. “It is another reason why I think we might have gotten married.”
Komaeda laughs nervously. “Maybe you could say that. But there’s no guarantee that I was the one who—ah—you know.”
Kamukura tilts his head as though perplexed. “It would have to be you. No matter how drunk, I know I wouldn’t allow anyone else to do that.”
“Is that so…” Komaeda thinks his face might burst into flames. The words come tumbling out in spite of his shock that Kamukura actually said something like that. “So you mean, you…”
“All of this is just speculation, of course,” Kamukura breaks in suddenly, looking away from him. It seems as though he realized what he said and feels somewhat embarrassed by it, as well. “We’ll have to meet up with the others and explore our territory a bit more in order to verify any of this. But I appreciate your help.”
“Right,” Komaeda says, still flustered. “I’m glad to help, Kamukura-kun, although I don’t think I did much.”
Kamukura shrugs and rises from the couch, dusting himself off. “For now, I suggest we look for our clothes and cell phones. Then we can meet up with the others, and do something about our apparent marriage.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Komaeda agrees, standing as well. “But before we meet up with them—aren’t you hungry, Kamukura-kun? Would you like to go out to eat somewhere? I’ll be paying, of course.”
He isn’t really sure if that sounds like a date, or if he intended for it to sound like one. Kamukura stares silently at him for a few moments, so maybe he took it as one.
It’s probably a bit backwards to go out on a date with someone after marrying them, but nothing about this situation is exactly normal to begin with.
Kamukura nods. “Let’s do that,” he says curtly, and then sweeps out of the room, presumably in search of his clothes.
Komaeda smiles as he leaves. His words sound abrupt, but he thinks Kamukura is probably still embarrassed. It makes Komaeda feel less awkward and flustered, himself, to know he’s not the only one.
He hears rustling from the other room. He knows he should follow after Kamukura, but he takes a moment to look down at himself—his half-naked, glittering self—and the ring on his hand. He raises his hand to his face, tilting it back and forth, watching the light dance off of the diamond.
He’s sure that he won a lot of money at the casinos last night, due to his good luck. And if this is the bad luck that accompanies it—well, it could certainly be much worse.