Harry began to stir. The familiar, skull splitting throb of a hangover was his first conscious thought. He scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, clearing the haze just enough to notice the warm body beside him. His eyes snapped open.

You were there, cocooned in the tangled white sheets, and then he saw it: the thin, gold band glinting on your left ring finger.

Oh, shit.

He bolted upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. Moving slowly, as if not to wake the evidence of his mistake, he stumbled to the bathroom.

Cold water splashed over his face, clearing the last of the sleep-and then he stared.

A matching golden band was on his finger.

He tried desperately to piece together the last twelve hours until the memory burst through the haze:

"I declare you, husband and wife. You may kiss."

Harry stared at his reflection, horrified. He'd married you last night. Signed a legal document. Married a total stranger, in Las Vegas.

"What did you do, Harry?" He dragged a hand across his jaw before freezing. He heard a rustle from the other side of the door.

Drying his face with a clean towel, he snatched his trousers and stepped out. Your eyes met his instantly. Your knuckles were white where you clutched the sheets to your chest.

"Um... I don't... I don't remember much from last night," he managed, fumbling with his clothes.

Neither of you knew what to say. Memories of neon lights and cheap champagne flashed as he got dressed. He finally sat down at the small table in the suite and his eyes fell on the marriage license. It was real. It was legal. He'd actually married a stranger.

"Fuck," he whispered.