Chapter Text
The first thing Seungho sees upon waking up is fuchsia wallpaper and a crooked portrait of Elvis Presley.
The second thing he sees is the angelic face of a stranger, his pouted lips swollen as he drools onto a red silk pillowcase, soft wisps of black hair brushing against closed eyes.
He takes several moments to admire the slope of the stranger’s cupid’s bow and the endearing way his hand stays tucked neatly underneath his chin, though he has no recollection of ever meeting this man, nor bringing him to bed.
Disoriented, Seungho sits up and winces at the stabbing pain in his head. Once the pain lessens from a sharp pang to a dull throb, he reopens his eyes and takes in the foreign surroundings.
His legs are tangled in a sea of red silk sheets as he lies atop a gaudy, heart-shaped mattress. Articles of clothing litter the pink shag carpet of the floor, accompanied by empty champagne bottles and glasses, and the dizzying scene does nothing to jog his memory of the night before and everything to worsen his hangover.
His tongue feeling thick in his dry mouth, he rolls out of bed with a groan in search of water. He searches high and low for an exuberantly priced water bottle nestled in a mini fridge, but eventually settles for tap water in a dented plastic cup. Quickly chugging the contents in one go, he refills a second before returning to the bed, where the stranger sits awake.
The beautiful man rubs at his eyes and scratches at the mess of hair on his head, squinting at the sliver of sunlight cutting through the curtains. He groans as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, unaware of the curious gaze fixed upon him from across the room.
Seungho watches for several moments before clearing his throat, making his presence known to the oblivious man sitting on the heart-shaped bed. The stranger jumps, hands flying from his eyes to look over at Seungho, and freezes. Tired olive eyes widen briefly before slowly trailing lower, moving from Seungho’s face to his naked upper half.
Those large, drowsy eyes linger too long on the contours of his abs and Seungho chuckles before wincing at the stabbing pain in his head.
Broken from his trance, the stranger is the first to speak.
“W-who are you?” His voice is thick with sleep and cracks on the first word, but the tone is pleasant to Seungho’s ears.
“Well, good morning to you too,” Seungho says, smirking as he brings his dented cup to his lips. “I believe I should be asking you the same question.”
The beautiful stranger tucks his knees inward towards his chest and wraps his arms securely around them. “I-I asked you first.”
Seungho’s brow quirks up in amusement as he bites along the plastic rim of his cup.
“Seungho,” he answers. “Now I believe you owe me something in return.”
The nameless stranger peels his gaze away from the half-naked man in the center of the room to observe the obnoxiously pink environment. He scrunches his nose at the sight. “Nakyum.”
Seungho asks the question that weighs heavily on both of their minds.
“Do you remember anything from last night, Nakyum?”
His eyes still panning the room, he slowly shakes his head, struggling to piece together the moments that led him here.
“I guess that makes two of us then,” Seungho sighs, hand running through his hair before scratching at the back of his head. “And what the hell is this room?”
The blurry outline of a memory threatens to float to the surface of his mind and just when it begins to take shape, it dissipates when he hears a sharp gasp.
Seungho’s eyes fly over to the source of the noise and finds the beautiful stranger with terror in his eyes and two hands hovering over his mouth.
“You’re married.”
Seungho blinks.
“Oh my god, you’re married,” Nakyum’s eyes continue to widen as they stare at the cup in Seungho’s hand. “Oh my god, I’m a home-wrecker.”
Tears spring up in Nakyum’s eyes, his lower lashes dampening. “How am I supposed to live with myself knowing I’ve helped ruin a marriage—"
“Whoa, take it easy, I have no idea—”
“And you!” Nakyum’s voice is raspy with sleep and anger when he points a shaky finger at the adulterer across the hotel room. “I don’t care how drunk you were last night; how can you cheat on your spouse like that? Oh dear, oh god—”
“Hey, slow down, I’m not married!” Seungho waves his hands in front of him wildly in protest.
He is a notorious bachelor, never committing to one person for longer than a night. The mere thought of marriage has always sent shudders down his—
“Then explain that ring on your finger.”
Seungho’s waving hands pause in mid-air. He glances down at his left hand and sure enough, a simple gold wedding band sits snuggly around his ring finger.
His mind goes blank.
“See! How dare you lie to me.”
Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, Nakyum uses the sheets to cover himself as he bends lower to grab a stray shirt from the floor. The sudden movement sends a bolt of pain flashing through his temple, and his hand flies up to grab at his head.
The movement does not go unnoticed by Seungho.
“And what about you, huh? You’re the married one, and here you are, accusing me of adultery,” he sneers, arms coming up to cross over his chest.
“What are you talking about?” Nakyum continues to clutch at his head as his brows furrow together in confusion. “I’m not married.”
“So that wedding band on your left hand is just a bold fashion statement?”
Nakyum brings his hand down from his temple and stares at the golden ring situated between his middle and pinky fingers. He pales.
Before Nakyum has a chance to open his mouth, the hotel room phone interrupts him.
The two men look at each other for a moment before Seungho turns around to shuffle over to the phone.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Mr. Yoon. I hope we did not wake you with our phone call,” the voice of the man on the other end of the line oozes perfected customer service. “We are calling to apologize because the Newlyweds Breakfast Special that you ordered last night is going to be a little late, as there was an accident in the kitchen. To apologize for the delay, we would like to compensate half of the price.”
Seungho struggles to respond as his brain latches onto one word.
Newlyweds.
“Mr. Yoon?”
“Uh—yeah, sorry. Just go ahead and cancel it.”
“Cancel it? Are you sure, sir? We have no problem—”
“Yes, I am sure. Thank you.” Before the man on the other end can utter another word, Seungho places the phone back onto the receiver with a soft click.
The reality of the situation hits Seungho like a Mack truck.
Pressing his fists into the wooden grooves of the table, he attempts to steady himself on his feet and regain his composure before facing the man—his husband—in the bed behind him.
“Who was that?” A small voice peeps up from the other end of the room.
“The front desk,” Seungho answers without turning around.
“Was it important?”
It takes several moments before Seungho finally pivots, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.
“. . .They were calling to apologize to us because our—uh,” Seungho swallows harshly when he hesitates, the words lodging themselves in the back of his throat, “our Newlyweds Breakfast Special was running late.”
Nakyum blanches.
Only three heartbeats pass, but they stretch too long for Seungho’s liking.
“Our what?”
Seungho worries on his lower lip, toying with the wedding band wrapped around his finger.
“I think we might’ve done something stupid last night.”
Eyes following the fidgety man’s hands, the reality of the situation crashes down around Nakyum.
“. . .You mean like, ‘get-drunk-and-marry-a-stranger-in-Vegas’ stupid?”
“Yeah, like ‘get-drunk-and-marry-a-stranger-in-Vegas’ stupid.”
There is a long silence that hangs between the newlyweds, questions forming and then failing on their lips. Having only exchanged names minutes prior, neither expected their hungover introductions to be the first words spoken to their spouse. Both men attempt to scrounge up even the slightest memory of the previous night—their wedding night—before coming up empty-handed, the night before erased from their memory, or rather, it never having been recorded in the first place.
“. . . So, you don’t remember how we—”
“Nope, nothing,” Seungho shakes his head, staring vacantly at the shag carpet.
The situation, coupled with the atrociously pink room, only serves to worsen his hangover, nausea twisting at the pit of his stomach the longer he stares.
The air around him growing hotter and bile building in the back of his throat, he grabs his crumpled button down and jeans off the floor. Once he has dressed himself, he runs a quick hand along the wrinkles of his clothes in a vain attempt to smooth them before sitting on the bed to lace his dress shoes.
“Wait, where do you think you’re going?”
“Out,” Seungho says as he tightens the last knot. “If I spend another minute in this room, I’m going to be sick. I need fresh air.”
“But we need to figure this out!” Nakyum hurriedly grabs his shirt from the floor and begins dressing himself, rushing to keep up with the man only moments away from stepping out the door. He almost stumbles as he puts on his jeans, hopping while he tugs them up his legs. “You can’t just leave!”
“You’re welcome to join me,” Seungho suggests, looking back to watch Nakyum fumble with the buttons on his mauve shirt. “I don’t care where we go, so long as it isn’t here.”
His new husband’s stomach growls in response.
The diner across the street is reminiscent of the 60s, with glittery red vinyl booth seats, and black-and-white checkered tiles lining the floor. Seungho is just thankful it isn’t pink.
Upon entering the establishment, he requested they be seated in the darkest corner of the restaurant, the sunlight beaming in through the surrounding windows worsening the throbbing behind his eyes. Nakyum adamantly agreed.
The two men are a rumpled pair as they sit across from each other in the booth, both sporting their clothes from the night before and their hair sitting disheveled on their heads. Neither seem to mind their outward appearances, caring more about how quickly they can get a hot cup of coffee into their hands than their unkept states.
Even in the dim florescent diner lights, Seungho marvels at his new husband, appreciating the subtle upturn of his pointed nose and the precious way in which he yawns as he looks over the menu. He mentally commends his past, drunk self for his fine selection of a husband.
In contrast with his petite appearance, Seungho quickly learns that his new husband also has the appetite of a 350-lbs wrestler when a waitress comes by to take their order.
“Can I please have an order of waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream, with a side of bacon and scrambled eggs? Oh! And I’d also like biscuits and gravy, as well as your spicy breakfast sandwich on a croissant, please.” Nakyum smiles sweetly at the waitress when he hands over the menu.
Seungho gawks at the thin man sitting across from him.
“You’re—you’re going to eat all of that?”
Nakyum looks over at him with a confused look on his face. “Yes?”
“And for you, sir?”
Seungho peels his eyes away from his ravenous husband to address the waitress.
“I’ll just have the southwestern omelet.”
Once he passes the menu over with a nod, he returns his hands back to the hot coffee mug sitting on the table to warm his palms. He is about to open his mouth to speak when Nakyum hears a chime from his back pocket.
Swiping across the screen to unlock his phone, Nakyum’s eyes widen immediately.
“Is something wrong?”
“N-no, it was just a text from my sister.”
“Is she that scary?”
“N—yes, but that’s not what I’m looking at right now,” Nakyum refuses to remove his eyes from the phone in his hand, continuing to slowly swipe. “Apparently, I uh—documented some of last night with my phone.”
Curiosity piquing, Seungho leans forward in his seat. “Oh? Well, don’t leave me in the dark, I want to see too.”
Nakyum places his phone sideways on the table so that both can see the contents on the small screen.
The first image illuminated on the screen is a blurry photograph of the two seated at a bar, Seungho’s arm slung around Nakyum’s shoulder as he licks the side of his face. He chuckles, but Nakyum doesn’t find it as amusing, flushing slightly as he swipes to the second photograph.
The second photograph is Seungho taking a selfie with Nakyum’s phone, giving a cheeky smile and thumbs up as the bartender pours a shot directly into Nakyum’s mouth behind him.
The third image is a snapshot of Nakyum dangling off a light pole, head bent back in a fit of laughter. Seungho thinks the photograph is quite endearing. Nakyum does not share the same sentiment. He swipes again.
The fourth photo makes both of their jaws go slack once it fills the screen.
Situated next to a shoddy Elvis Presley impersonator, they are clumsily hanging off one another, goofy smiles plastered on their faces, left hands extended to showcase their matching gold wedding bands.
“We got married by Elvis?” Nakyum looks up with wide, incredulous eyes.
“Oh my god, on the sign behind us it says there’s a live stream on their website,” Seungho observes, unable to tear his eyes away. “Should we watch it?”
“No!”
Nakyum immediately swipes to the left and the next in his camera roll is a video, the thumbnail a blur of flesh tones. Before he debates whether they should watch it, Seungho has already pressed play, eager to see what they recorded.
The video begins shakily; the camera drifts in and out of focus as a hand cuts into the frame to perch the phone against an object. Once the phone is stable and not at risk of falling, Seungho’s half-naked form comes into view as he slowly stumbles backwards.
He grabs an arm from outside the frame and pulls, bringing a scantily clad Nakyum into the picture. Nakyum giggles as he falls into Seungho’s arms, struggling to keep his legs upright underneath him. Seungho smiles when he sloppily captures Nakyum’s mouth with his own, pulling him backwards towards the bed without ever breaking from their kiss, their hands wildly grabbing at bare skin.
Once the backs of Seungho’s knees meet the bed, he sits and tugs Nakyum on top of him to straddle his lap. He greedily grabs a handful of Nakyum’s ass before bringing it back to smack—
Nakyum immediately grabs the phone off the table, the blush on his face stretching down to the crinkled edges of his collared shirt.
“Aw c’mon,” Seungho complains, wishing to see more of their amateur video. “We were just getting to the good parts.”
His protest only deepens the flush on Nakyum’s cheeks as he clutches the phone tightly to his chest.
“If getting married to you while drunk wasn’t bad enough, now I’ve starred in my first at-home porn video,” Nakyum whispers, mortified.
“If it makes you feel any better, it was my first time too,” Seungho says in an attempt to console him. He fails.
“It doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Well, at least you looked pretty damn good in it,” he smirks, enjoying the flustered reaction he receives.
Attempting to get their lewd video from his mind, Nakyum swiftly changes topics.
“When should we get the divorce?”
“Whoa, who said anything about a divorce?”
Nakyum stares, appalled, at the smug man across the table.
“Uh—me! I hardly know you! I’m not planning to stay married to you,” Nakyum crosses his arms on his chest. “I intended to marry someone I love, not some strange man I met at a casino bar in Vegas.”
“You think I’m strange?”
“You had us making a sex tape on our wedding night!”
Several heads turn in their direction and Nakyum hunches over in embarrassment, hand coming up to shield his face from the adjacent tables.
“We are getting a divorce,” Nakyum says, measuring out each word slowly and carefully.
Seungho finally resigns. “Okay, okay. We’ll get a divorce.”
“Good.”
“But why don’t we have some fun with it first?” Seungho offers, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. “I mean, how often does something like this happen? Let’s make the most of the situation. There are a few people I want to fuck with first before we sign the divorce papers, and I’m sure there is something for you to gain from it as well.”
Nakyum is hesitant when he nods his head, still considering Seungho’s proposal.
“How about we stay married until the weekend is done? You do this for me, and I’ll do something for you in return. Surely you can manage staying married to me for just two days?”
“. . . And then once the weekend’s done, we get divorced?”
“Once the weekend’s done, we’ll get divorced, and you’ll never have to see me again. Deal?” Seungho extends his right hand across the table.
Nakyum shyly accepts and shakes the extended hand.
“. . . Deal.”