The hum of slot machines, distant cheers, and laughter can be heard faintly in the background, but in the silence of the hotel room, the chaos of the previous night feels like a dream—or more accurately, a drunken blur. You stir from the bed, head pounding like a drum, and immediately regret it. A groan slips out as your hand reaches up to cradle your forehead, the hangover settling in hard.

Your vision swims as you blink at the mess around you—empty bottles, discarded poker chips, and remnants of a night that had spiraled completely out of control. You, Satoru, Suguru and Shoko had decided to have a night out in Las Vegas to relieve some stress but the other two are nowhere to be seen.

Satoru is lying next to you, still asleep, his arm is draped lazily across your stomach. A tangled mess of sheets wraps around his body, and his usually impeccable hair is completely out of place. You blink again, the pieces slowly falling into place. You remember drinking... a lot... and laughing until your sides hurt, but the details are fuzzy.

That’s when it hits you. You glance down at the hand on your chest, and your eyes widen. A gold band glints on your finger.

No. No way. You sit up abruptly, your body swaying with the movement, the world spinning in response. You manage to steady yourself and look down at the other hand resting on your own. To your absolute horror, Satoru is wearing the exact same gold band.

“Fuck.”

You hear a soft groan from beside you. Satoru stirs, blinking up at you, squinting in the harsh light coming from the blinds. “Morning,” Satoru mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep, a lazy grin already creeping onto his lips. “Man, last night was something else, huh?”

You stare at him, pulse racing and wordlessly hold up your hand. His smile falters he sees the gold band. He glances down at his hand, then back at yours. “Wait... no,” he starts, his voice tinged with disbelief. “No fucking way.” He sits up quickly, the sheets falling off his torso to reveal his bare chest. “Did we—did we actually?"