The day after Alex's twenty-first birthday. February 1st 2020. It's too bright, and it's way too early. He's in Vegas, what a mistake.
His head throbs as he looks at the clock. It's almost eleven in the morning. That is still way too early. He doesn't remember what time they got in last night. He just remembers that he drank way too much.
It had started off with the bottle of champagne that they had in the room, which was way too expensive but James had insisted on opening, getting cracked open at four in the afternoon after they'd rolled in from a day of sight-seeing while the rest of their friends were still out, doing something or other.
They'd drunk that over the next few hours and while Alex wasn't tipsy, per se, he'd had alcohol flowing in his veins and so by the time they went to dinner, meeting up with the rest of the group, he wound up having a couple of glasses of wine, he wasn't really thinking about that, because wine isn't really that strong and he hadn't been planning on partying, just a nice dinner with James and his friends.
They'd traveled with George, Will, Fraser, Erling, and Hannah, Alex having invited all of them to celebrate with him that birthday, and they'd all fallen in together fairly easily, getting along and laughing at each other, no fractures or stresses from uncomfortable relationships, and George and Will had been the ones to suggest going out to a nightclub.
That's where the real trouble had started. Because they'd all insisted on buying Alex a shot of something for his birthday, so that was six shots from his six friends over the next several hours.
Plus he'd bought a couple drinks of his own. He was toasted. He was sloshed. He couldn't walk straight. He could barely keep his eyes open. He'd been drinking on and off since four in the afternoon and by then, it was probably eleven at night.
He thinks that's where his memory drifts away from him. He faintly remembers something that has to be hours later - the sky was just starting to turn a shade lighter than black, at least, he thinks he remembers, when he and James made it back to their room.
He remembers laughing. They were in their group of seven, laughing hysterically. Erling the loudest. Fraser perhaps the least, as if sombered by something.
That's about all he remembers. Alex groans and rolls. He feels James next to him, strange he was almost sure he was going to sleep on the couch on the other side of the room.
But then again having been utterly pissed meant they had both probably just fallen into the bed. They'd only gotten two rooms and with four beds, it was inevitable that people shared beds. Hanna and Erling, George and Will, Alex and James. Fraser had lounged luxuriously in his own bed, grinning at them about how well he'd sleep.
They'd been there three days, arrived a couple days before Alex's birthday, had enjoyed themselves immensely. Today is their last day - they leave at five. Which means they really don't have a lot of time for anything besides packing and one last quick viewing of whatever they might want to see before they have to head to the airport.
Alex's head throbs. He feels like fucking death. It's all bloody Erling's fault - he was the one who insisted on buying Alex a shot. He was also the one who insisted everybody else buy Alex a shot.
Alex finally pries open his eyes for good, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth and grimacing at the taste. Had he even bothered to fucking brush his teeth before he went to bed? He doubts it. He glances at his clothes. He didn't even bother to change before he went to bed, so yeah, he really doubts he brushed his teeth.
James's next to him taking up most of the bed, also wearing what he went out in the night before. James was nearly as drunk as Alex, and his tolerance is ridiculous so it wasn't much of a suprise. Alex thinks he remembers James insisting on having to take a shot of whatever round that his friends bought Alex as well, because they're best mates like they were in primary school.
Alex has to pee. Really badly. He climbs out of bed, the world swinging dizzily for a few seconds. He's not sure if he's just that hungover or if there's still liquor coursing his veins. It might be a mixture of both, to be honest. He's surprised he didn't get alcohol poisoning.
Never again, he thinks. Also, he might just murder Erling.
He stumbles, exhausted, to the bathroom and leans his head against the wall as he focuses on aiming at the toilet and then washes his hands and it's then that he notices something.
He's got lime-citrus and cucumber-melon scented soap in his hands and he looks down and notices a silver ring on his finger. His left ring finger.
Which, that might not be so bad. He could have just drunkenly decided he should start wearing jewelry and bought it and not remembered. But he thinks he remembers something else, Will jabbing his index finger at two silver rings sitting side by side in a jewelry shop and saying something about him and James and then something else, papers being signed, the neon pink glow of a sign that reads "OPEN 24 HOURS", a white chapel, Erling laughing hysterically as he encourages them to go in, oh god -
- Alex goes still, hands running under the water until the tap turns from warm to hot, scalding him, and he gets jerked out of his trance, and he turns it off hastily, shakes them off, wiping them dry on his clothes even as he walks as quickly as he can manage back into the room to see James still asleep.
And yeah, James's got a matching silver ring on his own left ring finger. There's a piece of paper on the bedside table next to them. Alex reaches for it with shaky fingers.
It's exactly what he's dreading. It's a certificate that proclaims in garish, elegant script that he and James were married at exactly 1:34 AM in that tiny white chapel in Las Vegas.
He thinks his blood goes cold. His body gets hit with a chill and his breath sort of stutters to a stop inside of him as his legs turn to jelly.
He married James. While extremely drunk and apparently under the encouragement of Erling and Will, he married James. He stares at the words that refuse to come together in his brain, despite knowing what they say, what they mean. He's married to James.
He's definitely going to murder Erling.
"You're up."
Alex turns slowly to face George, who is sitting there, face decidedly nervous.
"How much do you remember?" George asks. Alex shrugs wordlessly, picking up the paper. "Do you remember anything?"
"I 'member getting to the chapel and that's it." Alex mumbles. He doesn't want to know what happened. He doesn't want to think about it. He's so fucked. Maybe marriage in Vegas doesn't count in the UK, maybe it's only valid in the US and they can have a laugh about this later.
"Erling n' Will are a dangerous combination," George says quietly. "I think me and Hannah and Fraser didn' think you'd really go through with it. Tyler and Chris laughing and tellin' you two to get licenses - you got there at just past eleven and they said they closed at midnight, and Erling rushed you through it, then screamed for a cab to take you to the nearest chapel."
"It's not valid right?," Alex gasps out finally, as his brain finally signals to start breathing regularly again. His brain thrums over that fact. It can't be valid it can't be valid it's okay it's just a hilarious in hindsight thing you did.
"Actually," George goes tense. "It is. I mean there's paperwork and stuff you have to fill out when you get back to the UK but if you're married in Vegas, you're married. I, um. I couldn't really sleep. Wasn't sure how to take all this in so I just did some research. Still gonna be valid when we get back home."
Alex needs a shower. He feels disgusting and dirty and confused. He wants to throw up. He probably will. His stomach churns uncomfortably, empty with nothing but the too much alcohol in it.
"I need to use the bathroom." He mutters. James snores on beside him. Might as well let him sleep for a few more minutes before he has to wake him up and announce the news.
How the hell is he going to tell this to James? He doesn't even remember it himself. George," Alex says, "Wake him up in a couple of minutes. Tell him what happened since I don't bloody remember enough to explain. At leas' you remember it."
Something hits him. "We had to kiss. They always tell you that you can now kiss your partner. You may now kiss the bride and whatever. Did we?"
Will grins slyly, voicing his thoughts finally. "It was the most bloody disapotin' kiss ever. Barely more than a peck, you were blushing so 'ard and stood still as a rock, an then James was wasted couldn' aim proper so he was leaning down and almos' missed your mouth. After, we just walked around. Don't think anybody really knew what was going on - too drunk or fucking confused." He sounds completely unapologetic. Alex hates him at that moment.
Chapels should have a no-drunk marriages policy. Alex wants to undo the last fifteen hours, stopping after they went out to dinner.
He stumbles to the bathroom and cranks on the shower and leans his head against the wall for a minute as he waits for the water to heat up.
He's married. He's married to James and James is straight and it's fucking valid marriage.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
He scrubs his body twice. He feels it hit him all at once and stands under the shower, ice-cold even though warm water is streaming over him, crying
and shaking, and he can't handle this.
He recollects himself once he's done having a panic attack. His stomach twists and his body shakes, muscles taut from trembling.
When he finishes showering, he doesn't feel any more clear-headed. He stays in the shower longer than he needs to, waiting as long as he can until he can all but ensure that James is awake and been informed of their situation.
Alex finally twists the handle of the shower and lets the water dribble to a stop, shaking his head to rid the water from his face.
Bad idea. Still not totally put together from the alcohol the prior night. His head spins. He's tired from his anxiety attack not even fifteen minutes ago in the shower.
He wraps a towel around himself and walks into the main room. James is sitting there, looking dumbly at his feet dark hair cascading Infront of his eyes, while George and Will sit, looking uncomfortable and like they have no idea what to say.
They all look at Alex as he emerges from the bathroom. He is very suddenly aware that he's naked under the towel and James is staring at him.
James looks just slightly this side of petrified.
"George tell you what 'appened?" Asks asks. Stupid question - no doubt he has if James has that stupid expression on his face.
"Ehm, no." George pipes up. "He woke up and I was about to tell him when he got a look on his face like he just saw a murder and looked a' me an-"
James interrupts. "He didn't need to remind me. I remember." His voice is tremulous and gravely.
Alex walks on shaky legs over to his suitcase and rifles through it, finding the last clean outfit. He stares at it. Somehow it seems just too darkly appropriate that what he has is actually James' old shirt that he appropriated a while ago and a pair of his own jeans and boxers.
But it just fits too perfectly in this trainwreck that he's going to be wearing James's oversized sweater today. They're married. It's all just like a bad joke, and it tastes rotten in his mouth.
He mutely grabs the clothing and returns to the bathroom and dresses, resolutely not looking in the mirror as he brushes his teeth and spits and brushes his hair which is going to end up being a mess anyway he can't bear to look at himself.
It works. It just adds to the shittiness of today.
"Bafroom's free," he states plainly as he leaves it again. "I'm goin' for breakfast." There's no invitation for anybody to follow him. Nobody does.
He goes downstairs and loads up his plate with waffles even though he's not the least bit hungry. He drenches them with syrup and eats until he's so full it hurts and then he keeps eating, every last bite. He feels like he's going to throw up for how full he is.
And then, just because he can, he has one more waffle, thinking he very well might rupture, and thinks about what's waiting for him upstairs.
When he returns upstairs, James is showered and dressed. They don't talk about it. Not with George and Will in the room. The conversation will wait until they get home and are alone. Or maybe they can never discuss it at all, just Alex can say, "we can get it annulled," and James will say, "Yea, okay," and they'll never talk about it again and sign those papers too.
They pack and make sure everything is ready for them when it's time to leave. They have three hours before they have to be at the airport but, funnily enough, Alex doesn't feel like sight-seeing.
He thinks he's seen enough of Vegas to last a lifetime.
James says he's going to walk the strip and George says he's going with. He seems to be something akin to a mixture of sympathetic and trepidatious, unsure of what to say but not wanting to leave James alone.
Which leaves Alex with Will. It's awkward because Will is a fan of saying innuendo and toying with people and right now Alex thinks he might snap if Will says anything to tease him.
He leaves the room and goes to where Hannah, Fraser and Erling are and knocks. Fraser answers and when she sees his face, which he tries to keep passively blank, he murmurs quietly.
"It's going to be okay, Alex." His arms are soft and warm around his shoulders and he kind of numbly steps forward and half leans on him.
Hannah looks just as lost to what she might say as George so she throws Alex a look of torn confusion and focuses on her phone.
Erling has the decency, when Alex meets his eyes, to look apologetic.
"I can't believe you talked me into getting married to James." Alex says stupidly. He thinks he should feel angry. Right now he just feels flat. His stomach churns from too much food. He feels so sick to his stomach. He really can taste the bile in the back of his throat, too much syrup, the sickly-sweet taste of it.
"I'm never drinking again," Erling states. Alex knows that's a lie but he understands the sentiment. "I make really dumb choices like encouraging two straight guys to get married."
"We're not talking about it," Fraser interrupts. "There's nothing we can do right now. So let's not stress Alex any more than he already is."
His vision wobbles a bit as panic washes over him again. He refuses to let it on. He can't panic in front of them.
"I need the bathroom," he announces. His hair is drying and probably looks like a mess and it brushes his skin and he knows he looks like trash. James' shirt is massive on him, he probably looks homeless the waffles are still piled at the back of his throat.
His food's not going to stay down.
Fraser gets out of the way and Alex rushes into the bathroom, shoving the door behind him, and he's barely got the toilet seat up when his stomach twists one final time, he hiccups and then burps and tastes acidic sugary spit and hunches over, heaving, and it all comes up in a mess of brown mush, and he can taste it in the back of his throat until it goes from syrup to stomach acid, alcoholic remnants, and he heaves again, throws up a thin stream of spittle dribbling from his lips, stomach aching.
He leans forward against the toilet, mouth burning, tasting like the worst fucking thing ever. He spits a couple of times to get what's left out of his mouth and stands, shaking. His fingers tremble. When he looks in the mirror, his left eye is bloodshot on the bottom half.
He's popped blood vessels in his eye from how hard he just vomited. Great. He's going to look amazing at the airport today.
He rinses his mouth out, twice, three times, washes his hands, flushes the mess down the toilet.
Hannah gently pulls him back to her it feels awkward and mildly strained, but he lets her hold him and rub his back. "Feel better now that it's out of you?" she asks soothingly.
He presses his face into her soft hair. Honestly, he does. He's empty of all of his stomach contents and honestly, he feels better, no longer queasy. His head doesn't hurt anymore. His body feels calm. It's like he threw up all his physical ailments with it.
"Where's James?" Hannah asks him gently. "Is he okay?"
"Dunno. He's walkin' the strip with George. Don't wanna talk about him." Alex says. He doesn't want to talk about anything. He just wants to stare in silence at a fucking wall until it's time to get on the plane. He wants to get on the plane, stare at the movie on the flight, eat the crappy meal, go home, and then get this all fixed.
He doesn't want to think about this.
He can't think about this.
He is not going to be married to James for any longer than he can help it; this was all one horrendous drunken mistake that he's never going to forgive Erling or Will for.
3141 words
Not sure whether to continue like this took a week and I can't be bothered but hey I might.