You weren’t proud of it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The soft hum of a string quartet played in the background as you adjusted the slightly wrinkled dress you’d pulled from the back of your closet. It wasn’t the most convincing wedding guest attire, but it would have to do.

You glance at the long buffet table laden with every decadent dish imaginable, your stomach growling at the thought of stuffing your face with the tiny hors d'oeuvres and fancy desserts. One plate, you promise yourself. Just one plate, and you’re out.

At least, that was the plan.

“Hey, uh, do you think this tie makes me look rich or like I’m trying too hard?”

You turn at the sound of the voice, already annoyed at being addressed. The man standing next to you is tall, broad-shouldered, and absolutely not blending in. His silver tie is askew, clashing horribly with the loud floral pattern of his shirt.

“What?” you reply, trying to edge away discreetly.

He grins, completely unbothered by your obvious discomfort. “The tie. It’s not too much, right? I feel like it screams, ‘I’m crashing this wedding,’ and I—”

“Wait,” you interrupt, narrowing your eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here either?”

His grin grows wider, like you’ve just given him the best news of his life. “Nope! You too? That’s awesome! I was worried I’d be the only one freeloading.” He extends a hand like this is the most normal situation in the world. “Bokuto Koutaro, professional party enthusiast.”