Chapter Text
The chapel looked like someone had taken every bad idea in Las Vegas and glued it to one building. There was pink neon in the shape of a heart that kept flickering, plastic roses melting slightly under the desert heat, and a cardboard Elvis cut-out in the corner pointing at a sign that said “Love Me Tender, Sign Here.”
Yoongi stared at the sign for a long moment, then turned to Jimin, whose cheeks were flushed pink from alcohol and laughter.
“This is a scam,” Yoongi said solemnly, wobbling just slightly.
“Everything in Vegas is a scam,” Jimin replied, leaning against him for balance. “That’s the point. C’mon, we’re already here!”
They’d been drinking for hours, too much soju, too many bright cocktails in souvenir cups shaped like guitars. Somewhere between the last bar and the blinding glow of the strip, Jimin had joked about getting married. Yoongi had snorted. Then Jimin had bet him fifty dollars he wouldn’t.
And Yoongi, who never backed down from Jimin’s bets, had said, “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Now here they were, standing in a chapel that smelled like cheap air freshener and popcorn, holding plastic flowers, while a bored Elvis impersonator in gold sunglasses shuffled papers behind the counter.
“You boys ready?” the man asked in a deep drawl that might once have sounded like Elvis if you squinted hard enough.
Jimin giggled so hard he hiccuped. “We are so ready, Mr. Presley, sir.”
Yoongi pressed a hand to his face. “Don’t call him that.”
“Why not? He’s wearing the jumpsuit. It’s respectful.”
Jimin’s scent, honey and citrus, bright and dizzying, hung around them like the aftertaste of laughter. Yoongi’s was steadier, smoky coffee threaded with something rainy and clean that didn’t belong in the desert. Together, they smelled like a terrible idea that somehow worked.
Elvis clapped his hands once. “Alright, lovebirds, step right up. Gonna make it official.”
They stumbled forward. Jimin tripped on the carpet; Yoongi caught him by the elbow, and they both started laughing again, unable to stop.
“You’re drunk,” Yoongi murmured.
“You’re drunker,” Jimin shot back, eyes bright. “You’re the one marrying me.”
“That’s—” Yoongi squinted. “That’s your fault.”
He could feel Jimin’s laughter shaking through him where their shoulders touched. He didn’t pull away.
The officiant, Elvis, or at least a man who refused to break character, handed Yoongi a plastic ring still in its packaging.
“Symbol of eternal love, straight from the gift shop,” he declared.
Jimin snorted so loudly he almost dropped his bouquet.
Yoongi tore the packaging open with his teeth, muttering, “This is so stupid,” and promptly dropped the ring.
It bounced once, rolled toward a plastic potted plant, and vanished underneath it.
The three of them stared at the plant in silence.
Elvis sighed, fished a spare ring from his pocket, and said, “Good thing I keep extras, hunka hunka burnin’ love.”
Jimin was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. “We’re already bad at marriage.”
“You started it,” Yoongi said, trying to sound serious, which only made Jimin laugh harder.
Elvis positioned them under a glittery arch and cleared his throat. “Alright, now hold hands.”
They did. Their fingers fit together too easily, something that felt familiar even through the fog of alcohol. Jimin’s hand was warm and a little sticky from spilled cocktail sugar; Yoongi’s was steady, calloused, grounding.
“Do you, Alpha Min Yoongi, take this Omega Park Jimin—”
Jimin snorted again. “He said Alpha.”
Yoongi squeezed his hand. “Don’t start.”
“—to be your lawfully wedded spouse?” Elvis continued, undeterred.
Yoongi looked at Jimin, flushed, sparkling, ridiculous and said, “Sure. Why not.”
Elvis turned. “And do you, Omega Park Jimin, take this Alpha—”
“Yes,” Jimin said instantly. “Obviously.”
“Maybe wait for me to finish the sentence, sugar.”
Jimin grinned. “Sorry. Still yes.”
Their scents tangled in the still air: sweet honey and citrus fizzing against dark coffee and rain. It didn’t smell like a wedding; it smelled like laughter, like energy bottled too long.
“Alright then,” Elvis announced. “Exchange the rings.”
Yoongi tried to slide the cheap band onto Jimin’s finger and missed twice. Jimin was no better; his hands shook from giggling. When he finally managed it, he raised Yoongi’s hand like a trophy. “Success!”
“Y’all are adorable,” Elvis said flatly, then added, “Now the vows.”
Jimin blinked. “We have to make them?”
Elvis pointed to laminated cards. “Pick your favorite package: romantic, rock ’n’ roll, or freestyle.”
“Freestyle,” Yoongi said before Jimin could answer.
“Oh no,” Jimin whispered dramatically.
Elvis handed them each a microphone that wasn’t plugged into anything.
Yoongi cleared his throat. “Uh… I vow not to throw you out of bed when you steal the covers.”
Jimin gasped. “I do not, okay maybe once. Fine. Then I vow to let you pick the late-night takeout at least half the time.”
“That’s not how vows work.”
“Neither is this wedding, Yoongi.”
Elvis wiped his eyes, either laughing or crying; it was hard to tell. “I’ve seen some things, but this right here’s pure gold.”
Jimin looked at Yoongi, still smiling, but something softened in it, something that wobbled just under the drunken glee. “I vow,” he said quietly, “to keep you laughing. Even when you pretend you don’t want to.”
For a second, Yoongi forgot to breathe. Then he said, softer, “I vow to try.”
Elvis sniffed. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” He shuffled his papers dramatically. “By the power vested in me by the State of Nevada and the spirit of rock ’n’ roll…”
Yoongi and Jimin glanced at each other, half-laughing, half-holding their breath.
“...I now pronounce you married.”
For one dizzy second nothing happened.
Then Elvis clapped his hands. “You may seal it with a kiss, darlin’s!”
Jimin’s eyes went huge. “We have to kiss?”
Yoongi blinked. “Apparently.”
They both burst out laughing at exactly the same time.
The room tilted a little. Jimin was still giggling when he reached up and smushed a hand against Yoongi’s cheek. “Okay, married man,” he said, voice bright with tequila and sugar. “Let’s be professional about this.”
“Professional,” Yoongi echoed. “Right.”
They leaned in. It wasn’t really a kiss, more of a bump, a half-laughing brush that smelled like lime from Jimin’s drink and the faint bitterness of Yoongi’s coffee-and-rain scent. Their noses knocked together, Jimin giggled again, and Yoongi muttered, “We’re terrible at this,” against his skin.
“Good thing it’s practice,” Jimin said, cheeks pink.
Elvis struck a pose worthy of a closing curtain. “Ladies, gentlemen, and whoever’s still sober enough to care, give it up for the new couple!”
A canned instrumental of Can’t Help Falling in Love crackled through a speaker. Someone, probably the clerk, tossed a handful of paper confetti that missed entirely and landed on the floor.
Jimin threw his arms in the air. “We did it!”
Yoongi bowed. “Thank you, thank you. We’ll be here all week.”
They staggered toward the exit, tripping over the velvet rope. Outside, the Vegas night hit them, dry heat, the smell of fries from the diner next door, lights bright enough to make the stars look shy.
Jimin clutched his bouquet like a victory trophy. “I can’t believe we’re married.”
Yoongi squinted at the certificate Elvis had shoved at them. “Technically, yes. Legally…” He waved it. “Probably.”
“Do we get, like, a discount on anything?”
“Maybe popcorn.”
They laughed until Jimin had to lean against him for balance, forehead pressed to Yoongi’s shoulder. The sound of their laughter mingled with the distant slot-machine bells and the faint scent of rain-and-coffee meeting honey-and-citrus under the neon glare.
For a heartbeat it felt warm. Too warm.
Jimin looked up at him, eyes still bright but softer now. “Hey,” he murmured. “We actually did it.”
Yoongi huffed, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. We really did.”
A limousine honked somewhere down the strip. The moment broke; they both started laughing again, dizzy with exhaustion and disbelief.
“Let’s go find food before we pass out,” Yoongi said.
“Married life sounds delicious already,” Jimin answered.
They stumbled off into the lights, hand in hand because it was easier that way, laughter trailing behind them like confetti in the desert wind, two best friends, drunk, ridiculous, and newly wed by Elvi's standards..
The hotel room door slammed shut behind them with a hollow thunk. The noise startled them both into another round of laughter, soft, breathless, the kind that hurt their ribs.
Jimin stumbled toward the bed first, tossing the bouquet onto the nightstand, missing completely. It landed on the carpet with a thud. “Married life,” he said, slurring the words, “so glamorous.”
Yoongi snorted, pressing his palms to his face. “We’re gonna regret this in the morning.”
“Probably.” Jimin kicked off his shoes and nearly fell over. Yoongi caught him, and that simple contact, hand on waist, laughter fading, seemed to still the air.
They stood too close. The hotel’s air-conditioning hummed softly; outside, the city’s neon light leaked through the curtains in pink stripes. Jimin’s scent, warm honey and citrus, lingered in the small space, bright against the faint trace of Yoongi’s smoke-and-rain calm.
Jimin looked up at him, smile still curved but smaller now. “Hey, Yoongi,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“This is crazy.”
“Definitely.”
Something about the way he said it, steady, no laughter now, made Jimin’s breath catch. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair off Yoongi’s forehead. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Jimin leaned forward, just enough that his forehead rested against Yoongi’s. Not a kiss, not yet, just warmth and proximity, the dizzy closeness of everything unsaid.
“You smell nice,” Jimin murmured, almost teasing but softer than usual.
“You’re drunk,” Yoongi replied, voice low. “So are you,” Jimin said.
Yoongi exhaled, the breath brushing Jimin’s skin. The world outside went on spinning, sirens, laughter, slot machines, but in that tiny hotel room everything felt suspended, balanced on a breath.
They stayed there a moment longer, smiling in the silence, until Jimin’s knees wobbled and he half-collapsed against him. Yoongi caught him again, muttering, “You really can’t stand up straight, can you?”
Jimin grinned against his shoulder. “Good thing I’ve got my husband, then.”
Yoongi groaned, but his hand stayed where it was, steady at Jimin’s back. “Don’t call me that.”
“You are, though.”
“Only on Elvis's paper.”
Jimin yawned. “Paper smells nice.”
Yoongi laughed, quiet, helpless, and guided him toward the bed. Jimin fell face-first onto it, shoes somehow still on, giggling into the blanket. Yoongi sat beside him, watching him fade between laughter and sleep, eyes turning soft in the low light.
He didn’t touch him again, just sat there listening to the hum of the city and Jimin’s even breathing. The air smelled faintly of citrus and rain.
“Crazy night,” Yoongi murmured.
From somewhere half-asleep, Jimin mumbled, “Best wedding ever.”
Yoongi shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”
The neon glow outside flickered once, painting the room pink and gold. The laughter from downstairs faded into the background. And for the first time all night, the silence between them felt easy.
The air in the hotel room felt heavy with the kind of quiet that follows too much laughter, soft, shaky, threaded through with something neither of them wanted to name.
Yoongi was still half-smiling when Jimin looked up at him, cheeks flushed, hair a messy halo of gold in the lamplight. There was no music now, just the hum of the air conditioner and the pulse of the city somewhere far below.
“You’re staring,” Jimin said, voice light but uncertain.
“Because you won’t stop swaying,” Yoongi answered, though he didn’t step back.
Jimin tilted his head, grin returning in a slow curve. “Then hold me still.”
It was supposed to be another joke, like everything tonight had been, but Yoongi didn’t laugh. He reached out, steadied Jimin by the shoulders, and for one long moment they just breathed in the same space.
Jimin’s scent, warm honey and citrus, filled the air; Yoongi’s, soft rain and smoke, wrapped around it. The combination felt oddly right, like something that had always been waiting to happen.
When Jimin leaned closer, Yoongi didn’t move away.
It wasn’t dramatic. No sudden music, no spinning lights. Just a quiet, clumsy brush of mouths, barely pressure, more breath than touch, but it stole the air between them all the same.
Jimin’s laugh faltered halfway through, turning into a tiny sound of surprise. Yoongi’s hand tightened reflexively at his back.
Then, as quickly as it began, they pulled apart, still close enough to share the same breath.
Jimin blinked, dazed. “That was—”
“Yeah,” Yoongi said softly, cutting him off.
A heartbeat passed. Then Jimin laughed again, small and breathless, like he didn’t know what else to do. “Guess we’re really married now.”
Yoongi groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm, but you kissed me.”
“You kissed me.”
“Details,” Jimin said, grinning again.
Their laughter returned, softer now, curling at the edges like warmth after a storm. Yoongi reached out, nudged his forehead gently against Jimin’s, and the air seemed to ease, no longer something to fight, just something to feel. Jimin pulled him down and connected their lips again. And this time, it wasn't giggly or light. but heave with want and longing.
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