Saionji woke up lying on the floor of a hotel room that he remembered only hazily, body aching, head pounding. He crawled to the bathroom and threw up, half from the hangover and half out of disgust at the indistinct memories of the night before that were flitting across the backs of his eyelids. He stayed crouched in the corner of the too-bright bathroom, eyes squeezed shut, until the room stopped spinning. He stood up carefully, leaning against the wall, and staggered out to the sink. There was a note taped to the mirror.

Checkout is at 11. Everything's settled with the front desk, just let them know when you leave.

The note wasn't signed, but a signature wasn't necessary. Saionji pulled it down and stared at it. He knew that stationary it was written on. He set the note down beside the sink and went to go stand under the shower until he felt either more or less numb, whichever happened first.

The rose crest stationary. So. Touga had gone back to Ohtori. He should've known from the start, of course.

Getting dressed, traditional attire seemed like remarkably less of a good idea than it had when he'd made the decision. Was putting on the same clothes from the night before always this humiliating, or had Touga found some way to twist that knife further? Saionji didn't know, and his head still hurt too much to figure it out.

He grabbed the note from where he'd left it beside the sink on his way out. There was no reason whatsoever to stick around.