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It's the oldest cliché in the book.
You get drunk in Vegas, you wake up married. Rusty's seen enough weddings to know the kind of shit that leads people down that road. He's officiated plenty of weddings too, for people too drunk to even say their names. One memorable time, a woman got halfway through unzipping her dress on the altar before one of the priests stopped her.
All of this filters through his mind as Rusty stares uncomprehendingly at the ring on his fourth finger. It's a nice ring, all things considered. Solid, classy, gold.
The kind of ring Rusty never wanted to buy for anyone else.
The ring by itself may have been easier to handle. But there's also Danny. Who's snoring, face smushed against his arm, hair mussed. The sight shouldn't stir up so much warmth in Rusty's chest, but god help him, it does.
Okay, Rusty thinks, staring at the ring, then Danny. They'll fix this. It'll all be fine.
"Hey," he says, reaching out to jostle Danny's bare shoulder. His skin is warm, and smooth under Rusty's hand.
Danny comes awake slowly, like he always does, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He seems to notice his own matching ring when he pulls his hands away, staring down at it. His eyes dart to Rusty's own hand, comprehension dawning on his face as he starts to piece it all together.
"Okay," Danny says, in that drawn out way of his. "We got married."
"Mhm."
"It'll be fine," Danny says, pushing himself up so that he's sitting, sheets pooled around his stomach. Rusty pulls his eyes away to look back down at his ring. It really is a nice ring. Hopefully he'll get to keep it.
Danny speaks again, his voice devastatingly low. "There's always-"
"Yeah."
Rusty's stomach growls. He's suddenly starving, and he climbs out of bed to grab one of the room service menus, calling quickly for a burger and some fries. After a thought, he throws in a steak too. Danny always likes steak after a hangover.
When he crawls back in bed, Danny is staring at him, this look on his face. It's the kind of look that would normally make Rusty uncomfortable, except this is Danny, and this is them, so he isn't. It's a sort of smirk, except for how Danny's eyes aren't glinting the way they usually are. They're soft now, almost warm.
"You know," Danny says, picking off like the conversation never ended, "We could always keep it."
"Keep it."
"Yeah," Danny says, shrugging a shoulder. "Could be useful."
Rusty feels something solidify in his throat. He doesn't want it to be useful. He wants it to mean something. He's not sure what, but he wants it to mean something.
"That's it?" Rusty can't help the way it comes out, scraping against his throat. He can't bring himself to look at Danny and his eyes, either, so he stares up at the ceiling.
Suddenly, Danny pulls at his shoulder, tugging him on his side, so that they're looking at each other.
"Well, you know. We can always figure something out."
Rusty feels the smile stretch across his face, wider and wider. There's a knock at the door, then the sound of someone setting food down, just like he asked.
"Yeah," Rusty says, still smiling. Danny's eyes crinkle, warm and happy. "We can figure something out."