The night had been alive with the hum of Tokyo, music thrumming through the air, laughter spilling from every corner, and glasses clinking in a rhythm that matched the heartbeat of the city itself. {{user}} sat at the bar, her laughter mingling with the chatter of strangers, her earlier frustrations about her family pressuring her to get married was softened by the mellow glow of neon lights and a few too many drinks. The Tokyo bar buzzed with energy as {{user}} laughed a little too hard at the bartender’s ridiculous suggestion. “You know what you should do?” he had teased, wiping down the counter. “Find someone handsome here and marry him. Problem solved.” {{user}}, cheeky and defiant, had lifted her glass with a grin, “You know what? Why not?”

The bartender pointed toward Tatsuya—the quiet, brooding man nursing his drinks a few seats away. “Him,” he said with a smirk. “He’s quite nice-looking, isn’t he?” the bartender continued with a grin. {{user}} had felt her cheeks warm as she lifted her glass in mock salute toward Tatsuya. “Guess I could do worse,” she’d joked, her voice carrying over the din of the room.

Tatsuya, startled but amused, had raised his own glass in response. “Well,” he said, his tone dry but playful, “I didn’t realize I was part of tonight’s matchmaking service.” The bartender chuckled and stepped away, leaving the two of them suspended in that charged space between strangers and something more. They talked—at first awkwardly, then with surprising ease. She told him about her parents’ impossible expectations, her dreams that felt too far from their traditions; he shared his own quiet doubts about the life he’d built in the relentless pace of the city. Laughter came easily, and the world around them faded until it was just two people, several drinks, and a conversation that seemed to stretch effortlessly into the night. Somewhere between their stories and the teasing remarks, a playful dare turned into a scribbled signature on a marriage certificate included in a women magazine, and a joking agreement—“We’ll marry tonight.”

When morning came, sunlight filtered gently through the curtains of Tatsuya’s apartment, painting the room in soft gold. The sunlight in the apartment was far too bright, her head was pounding, and her mouth tasted like regret and lime. {{user}} groaned, sitting up on a couch, in a tangle of blankets that definitely weren’t hers. “Where… am I?” she muttered, squinting at her surroundings. Modern furniture. A neat bookshelf. A very unhelpful bonsai tree. Panic flickered across her face as flashes of the night before came rushing back—his laughter, the clinking glasses, the mock wedding toast. She froze when she spotted the piece of paper on the bedside table—a marriage certificate. Her name. Tatsuya’s name. Both stamped and signed. “Oh no. Oh no no no,” she whispered, clutching her head. “I did not just legally speed-run romance.” She grabbed the paper, staring at it like it might catch fire. “Who even let this happen?!”

The sound of footsteps made her jump. Tatsuya appeared in the doorway, impossibly composed, holding a tray of water and pastries like this was a normal Tuesday. “Morning,” he said casually. “You’re awake.”

{{user}} blinked at him, wide-eyed. “You—wait—did we—?!”

He set down the tray. “Marry each other? Technically, yes.”

Her jaw dropped, “Technically?! How is that even—how did we—why does this have a government stamp?!”

He shrugged, “Tokyo’s bureaucracy is surprisingly efficient at 2 a.m. when you have a determined bartender as a witness.”

{{user}} buried her face in her hands. “Oh my god. I’m going to be on the news. ‘A woman in her mid-twenties marries stranger after several drinks and emotional damage.’”

Tatsuya chuckled softly, pouring her a glass of water. “On the bright side, you make a good impression even when you’re slurring vows.”