The sense of déjà vu is almost as crippling as the waves of nausea rolling around inside his stomach. There’s a fire burning at the back of his eyelids and a desert in his mouth where his tongue sits, a dry lump of muscle blocking the entrance to his throat.

The first thing Neil does is cough before he has a chance to choke. The second thing he does is slap himself in the face in a poorly coordinated attempt to shield his eyes from the searing light. Pain immediately spiderwebs over the top of his skull, making him aware of a very familiar, very dangerous headache. One that’s felt in a particularly sharp rise of stomach acid that does wonders for fully waking him up as he tries to quickly swallow it back down.

Slowly and carefully, he drags himself up into a sitting position. At least, he notes, he doesn’t feel as terrible as he did the last time. Although, that doesn’t mean he’s going to jinx himself by moving too fast and acting carelessly.

Having moved away from the onslaught of the early morning sun, Neil tries opening his eyes. Taking stock of himself and where he is is made harder by the full body aches that he can feel prickling at his very bones. Which leads him to the first discovery, that being that he’s on the floor.

It’s hardwood and… covered in magazine clippings. His eyes trail over the mess, skimming over bits of colored paper, markers, and a bottle of glue before settling on the large poster board lying innocently beside him. It holds a collage of badly cut out pictures and words put in random places. Neil finds himself staring an extra second too long at the large, blocky letters pasted in yellow paper with an explosion of glitter streaking across it that reads ‘Honmon.’

Right. Bits and pieces of the night before begin to register in his mind in time for him to realize there’s a body on the other side of the poster. Fully clothed, they both are- thank goodness- and despite the odd angle and blurred vision, the figure looks familiar enough that Neil doesn’t feel the need to panic. It’s the guy he went home with, Al is his name if he recalls correctly. Which, at this point, he doubts every single thing his head has to say.

He vaguely recalls getting a little too heated when talking to Dinah and losing track of his drinks. He also remembers coming here and taking part in the little arts and crafts project that sits completed between them before he must’ve passed out. Unfortunately, he also remembers the entire conversation about getting married-

DINAH.

All of his pain and misery is forgotten as he scrambles for his phone, pulling his pockets inside out in search of the device. When he finds it dead, a memory flicking through his head of it dying mid-conversation, he launches himself over the poster to shake Al awake. It barely takes one or two good jerks of the shoulders for Al to squint his eyes open, face pinched and a soft groan slipping past chapped lips.

“Wha-”

“Charger. Where is your phone charger?” Neil urges, face close enough to catch a sour whiff of Al’s morning breath. Blearily, not quite awake enough to process anything properly, Al waves in the direction of a side room.

“Table… bed…” Al doesn’t get a chance to finish before Neil drops him back to the floor and wobbles onto his feet, making a beeline for the open doorway.

He acts in a daze once he spots the white cord plugged into the wall. Shaky fingers fumble trying to plug in his phone, briefly succumbing to the relief bubbling up his chest when the screen flickers, an image of a battery appearing. He almost forgot to consider that they might not even have the same model.

Waiting impatiently for the phone to blink back to life, Neil ignores the muffled sound of vomiting that echoes from somewhere else in the apartment. He squeezes the phone to where the hard edges of the case bite into the flesh of his hand. 

An eternity passes before he’s finally able to access the contents of his phone. The only image in his mind is of Dinah standing by herself at the Bar and Grill, worrying over where he is. There’s no way she’s not genuinely upset about him disappearing out from under her nose like that.

He pulls up her contact and goes to press the call button. However, before the pad of his thumb reaches the screen he hesitates. The red bubble indicating the number of calls and texts he’s received leaves an ominous feeling stirring in his belly. Of course he wants Dinah to know he’s okay… but he also has a healthy fear of her rage that he guarantees she will unleash upon him the first chance she gets.

So he settles for a well typed out explanation of the situation. He includes a lopsided selfie for evidence that he hasn’t been murdered and the killer isn’t texting her through his phone for good measure.

With that done, he tentatively leaves the phone on the nightstand and heads back into the living room.

Al is draped over the couch, pale faced and mouth hanging slightly open. Judging by the faint stain on his shirt collar and the sweat beading across the man’s forehead, Neil has a good guess as to how bad he must be feeling right now. Quietly, he walks over to the couch and sits on the floor in front of it, making sure to keep a decent distance away from Al’s head in case he decides to throw up again without taking the time to actually get to the bathroom.

“We really need to stop drinking,” Neil rasps softly, mindful of his own headache and the gnarly one Al’s probably rocking. A gargled chuckle bubbles out of the man behind him at that.

“You’d think- ugh- we’d learn.” For a voice that sounds gritty and destroyed, he seems awfully upbeat.

“Well, we didn’t…” Neil rests the back of his head on the couch cushion. “Do you remember anything from yesterday?”

“Mnn. Yeah. I remembered this time. You?”

“Pretty much.”

Now that he’s calmed down, the sensations from earlier are returning to him. Namely the nausea and the seizing pain in every single one of his muscles. He almost laughs, but stamps it down when he feels the threatening rise of bile up his throat.

“You alive?”

“Barely.”

“Sounds about right.” Neil snickers. “Since I’m probably doing the best out of the both of us, I can get us some water and maybe something to eat. If you don’t mind me rummaging.”

“Ugh- please. Have at it. I can’t move.” Al groans. It makes sense he’s a little worse off, considering the number of shots the guy downed the night before. Alpha’s naturally have a higher alcohol tolerance, but the number of glasses on that bar counter definitely far exceeded the limit.

Neil takes pride in his strength and constitution. Even for a beta, his level of tolerance for a plethora of things could almost be considered on par with an alpha’s. Despite how nasty his last hangover was, he still managed to navigate an entire trip to the airport and across the country on a plane while dealing with it. So he pushes down the way his entire body feels like it's been on tumble dry in a machine, to hunt through the refrigerator and cabinets.

During this time, he also takes a minute to admire just how nice Al’s apartment is. Everything looks new, the type of modern that only really well-off people can afford in this day and age. Although, looks are proving to be deceiving with the lack of food in this kitchen.

He fills two bowls with cereal and tucks two water bottles under his arm before making his way back to the living room. Al still hasn’t moved but now has an arm slung over his eyes, shielding it from the light beaming in through the gap in the curtains.

“Can you sit up?” Neil asks once he’s in front of the couch.

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” With his arms full, Neil can only watch as Al forces himself into a sitting position with his back pressed against the armrest.

Once he’s situated, Neil holds out one of the bowls, the spoon inside it clinking as it swings around from the movement.

“Cereal alright?”

“Cereal perfect.”

Neil snorts while Al takes the bowl from his hands. He sits back down on the floor, setting the two water bottles beside him. The cereal is soggy, and not the best brand out there, but right now it tastes like magic on his tongue. His day gets that much better with each bite, although he makes sure to pace himself. The rolling waves in his stomach are still a looming threat after all.

“So… are we gonna talk about the whole marriage thing or…” Neil scrapes the last bits of milk and cereal from the bottom of his bowl.

“Happy anniversary?” Al’s shoulders curl inward a bit when Neil twists his head around to give him a blank look. “Sorry. I don’t remember much of it either, but I definitely have proof that it happened.”

“Oh yeah, you mentioned something about a certificate, right?” He lets his ear press against the edge of the couch, maintaining eye contact with Al. A bit of color touches his face, his previous pasty complexion gradually melting away now that he’s eaten something.

Al nods. “And photos.”

“Huh.”

“Yep. I had no clue until I got back home from Vegas and saw the package. We really went wild.” A chuckle falls out, followed by a low groan. “I feel awful now too, but at least it’s nothing like that monster hangover from that night.”

Neil chuckles, shoulders bouncing against the couch cushion. “Tell me about it.”

Al sends a small smile his way that Neil can’t help but return. At least the puzzle pieces are finally slotting together. And although what they ended up doing was insane, it seems like he’s in good company. The last thing he needs is another trashy, bullheaded alpha on his case.

“I’ve still got the photo album, if you want to see it. The certificate too.” He’s already pushing himself up and off the couch before Neil has a chance to respond.

Neil watches from his spot on the floor as Al ambles back to the entryway and pulls open a little side closet. He rummages around before pulling out a medium sized album. His steps falter for a moment and he stops moving altogether, likely waiting for his head or stomach to settle, then returns to the couch.

Al flops down onto the floor beside Neil and hands him the book, a plush cream cover wrapping around it. Neil gently takes it from him and begins to flip through the pages as Al starts nursing the water bottle he’d forgotten about.

The first thing he notices is that there are way more people in the pictures than he expected. Looking at the different angles, poses, and expressions, it’s made immediately clear that not a single person was sober. As his finger glides along the edge of a page, he pauses when he sees a familiar garment of pink tulle around his waist.

“Any doubt I had about this is gone now,” Neil mumbles, catching Al’s attention who peeks over at him.

“Hm?”

“That tutu. I still have it.” He pokes a finger at said tutu and Al almost spits out his next sip of water.

“For real?” Al gapes, water dribbling down his chin from the corner of his lip. Instead of providing any sort of response, Neil resumes turning the pages.

Finally, he gets to the end of the album where, tucked securely into the back cover, is a certificate. The paper is soft and yellowed with intricate details imprinted into the edges, the way that official institutes do. There’s even a gold wax seal stamped into the lower corner that has, what looks to be, the church’s insignia on it. And scrawled on the two lines beneath the text, noting the sanctity of union, are Al’s name and… Neil’s name. That is his signature done in his own hand.

“Wow.”

“Fancy, right? It’s got a seal and everything.” Al points over at the certificate. Neil is still processing the full weight of what this means for the two of them and the only thing he can get himself to say is,

“Your name is Alfred?”

There’s a beat of silence. Neil hooks onto the distraction immediately and turns his gaze up at Al- no- Alfred.

“Listen- Al just sounds better so-” He hops to defend himself, a pink hue blooming across his cheeks that makes him look more alive than someone hungover to his degree should.

“Alfred?”

“It’s a normal name!”

“You need to be a butler. You have to, it’s the only way to satisfy the system.”

“I’m not gonna be a- what system?! I’m built for cooler things than- than- than- than- butlering!”

“Butlering?”

Al sputters out words while Neil tilts into the couch, dissolving into a fit of laughter. Everything makes his headache rage, pounding against the back of his brain with no remorse. Yet he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when he squints his eyes open to see Alfred returning a burning grin, fighting back a bout of his own laughter.