Vegas lights (1/2)
Title: Vegas lights
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Kai (EXO), Taemin (SHINee), Timoteo (HOTSHOT), Ravi (VIXX), mentions of Ten and Taeyong (NCT)
Pairings: Taemin/Kai; blink-and-it’s-gone!Ten/Taeyong
AU: none
Rating: pg
Word count: 7.868
Genre: comedy, fluff, little bit of angst?
Warnings/notes: Bffery all over the place. Angsty Jongin is angsty (not too angsty, though). Bad decisions made while inebriated. Italics everywhere. (Title from the P!ATD song, which has absolutely nothing to do with the topic.) This was originally posted to the second round of the Pretty Boys fic exchange/fest, and prompted by matchynishi.
Summary: Jongin wakes up with only one shoe, a ring on his finger and one hell of a headache.
“We’re getting married! This November! You’re all invited!”
________________________________________________
The first thing Jongin notices upon waking up is that he seems to have misplaced his will to ever do anything aside from entombing his face in the depths of his pillow. He is also convinced somebody has managed to embed an entire construction site in the place his brain should have been, for only this would explain, if unsatisfactorily, the loud thumping that threatens to drive him insane.
The second thing he notices is the weight of an arm across his back. This, however, throws him off: the sensation isn’t pleasant as it should be; instead, a pointy elbow jabs his ribs and the back of a hand rests on the back of Jongin’s head. The figure beside him is all but sprawled across three quarters of the bed. Jongin’s arm hangs from the side of it, and his head rests precariously on the very edge of the mattress.
With a lazy kick, he gets rid of the one shoe he, for some reason, still has on. Then, with great effort, he sits up, and it’s only when he folds his bedmate’s arm into their chest when he notices the third thing.
It is not, for a fact, the first time Jongin has woken up in a bed that isn’t his with someone he can’t recall.
It is, nonetheless, the first time this person happens to be his best friend and secret crush since middle school.
In the span of three seconds, Jongin has gone from lying-half-dead to up-and-about, picking clothes up from the floor and wrapping himself in the bedsheet he found on the carpet, disregarded and crinkled. None of this makes much sense, considering that his current state in the clothing department isn’t much different from being in a swimsuit, but it’s the situation as a whole that distresses him and leads him to think it’s probably best not to be mostly naked when Taemin gains consciousness.
Though after a few minutes, Jongin realizes his friend is not about to wake up on his own. He allows himself to drop the bedsheet and pull on the black jeans he found on the floor, presumably the ones he does recall wearing the previous night. And just as he’s about to calm down, deeming this situation an accident and resolving, if anything, to leave the room and never mention the incident again, his attention gets caught by something he doesn’t grasp right away.
He stares at his own hands, and it takes him a few seconds longer than it should to notice the thin, golden band that encircles his ring finger. And, with a second inspection of his surroundings, he notes maybe a few more dozen flowers than strictly necessary for a regular hotel room.
“Oh, no. Oh no no no no.”
Jongin jumps onto the bed and, without a second thought, pushes Taemin out of it. The boy lands on the carpeted floor with a soft thump, pillow and all. Jongin kicks him on the thigh with a bare foot, and then several more times, until Taemin glowers at him from below.
“Why,” he complains more than asks, his face puffy from sleep and his hair disarrayed.
“Well,” Jongin says, “if you had properly woken up the first time I kicked you I wouldn’t have had to do it four more times.”
Taemin rolls onto his back, his arms crossed before his eyes, protecting them from the sunlight that seeps through the pale pink curtains. “What time is it?”
“Honeymoon time, apparently.”
Jongin watches Taemin uncover his face, confused at first. Then, he sees him glance at Jongin’s ring, then at his own hands, then the room, and then realization, gaze landing, finally, on Jongin’s ring once again.
“Did we-”
“It sure as fuck looks like we did.”
Almost unconsciously, Taemin drags the pillow onto his lap in the first display of modesty Jongin recalls. “Did we- uh... are you-”
“No,” cuts him Jongin. “No. Are you-”
“No. No, I’m… I’m fine.” Taemin nods, more tranquil. Tranquil! “I’m fine.” And, when Jongin nods, he adds: “Moonkyu.”
Jongin snorts. “Do you even think he’ll be awake?”
“I’ll wake him up,” insists Taemin, striding to the opposite corner of the room where his jeans lay in a crumpled pile and crouching to look through his pockets. Jongin, sat on the floor, back rested against the bed, watches him dial intently and stare at the wall while he waits for their trainwreck of a friend to pick up.
“Put it on speaker,” he asks quietly, because even his own voice makes his brain want to commit suicide.
From the other side of the line, Moonkyu hums the Wedding March, but if Jongin recognizes it it’s only because he’d been expecting it. Even without words, it sounds slurred and drunken. “Congratulaaationnns!” he squeals, and then a hiccup; “how was the wedding night? Magical, eh? Was it everything you’ve always imagined?”
“Why did you do this?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. This was all on you, and before you say anything, I have proof.”
Taemin’s brow furrows, skeptical. “What do you mean ‘proof’?
Moonkyu chuckles. “Come back when you’re done bangin’ and I’ll show you.”
“We aren’t-”
“Bye~”
Jongin watches Taemin stare down at his phone, the device beeping loudly when the call ends. “What does he mean ‘come back’? As in, to the room?” He pulls his jeans on and walks hesitantly toward the door. He opens it and peeks out, then steps back in. “Uh. Jongin?”
“…This is not the hotel we were registered at, is it?” Taemin shakes his head, and Jongin joins him at the hallway. This is absolutely not the hotel they were staying at, and Jongin has no idea of who paid for this, because he sure didn’t. “I’m never drinking again.”
***
Moonkyu opens the door in a burgundy bathrobe and a towel on his head, looking far fresher than he sounded over the phone. “The lovebirds have returned to the nest.”
“I want you to know that I paid the taxi with your debit card.” Taemin pushes past him and into the room, going directly to the minibar.
“You don’t have my debit ca-” starts the blonde, but his voice comes to a halt when he sees the golden plastic card in Taemin’s hand. “I guess I deserve it.”
“You certainly do.”
Jongin follows Taemin into the room and eases himself down onto the bed, hoping that the two Advils he took before taking off kick in as quickly as possible, because he doubts he can fix this issue if he doesn’t stop feeling like his brain is about to implode.
“Now,” he hears Taemin from a few feet at his right, along with the hiss of a bottle of soda; “we are going to find out how to nullify this, and then we’re going to-”
“Are you sure you want to nullify it, tho? You two seemed pretty convinced last night.”
Jongin glances at Moonkyu, sitting smugly on a blue velvet armchair, a half empty bottle of beer in his hand. “What are you even talking about, Moonkyu?”
The corner of the blonde’s mouth draws up in a smirk. “May I bring up the evidence I previously mentioned?” Taemin looks down at Jongin with a clear sense of misgiving. “I am both intrigued and terrified.”
“Wonsik! Bring my phone when you come out, will you?”
There’s only silence until the boy enters the room, raven hair dripping onto his shoulders, tossing Moonkyu’s phone onto his lap. “Hey guys! Congrats!”
Jongin stops him: “Don’t.”
“Let’s all watch this together, shall we?” Moonkyu accommodates himself in the very center of the bed, close enough to Jongin that he can prop himself on his shoulder just so that his chin rests atop the blonde’s shoulder. He soon feels the bed budge under Taemin’s weight, on the other side of Moonkyu, while Wonsik chooses to stay in the spot Taemin was moments ago, towel-drying his hair. Jongin doesn’t want to think about the number of times he has watched this already.
“Ready to revive your big night?”
Taemin’s fist flies to the blonde’s shoulder. “Shut up and play it, Moonkyu.”
***
What at first seems to be a knot of limbs enclosed in a variety of different types of fabric happens to be, in fact, two humans in a fairly compromising situation. Jongin’s legs are firmly settled on each side of Taemin’s, arms hidden to the sight from the viewer’s perspective. Taemin’s on the other hand, are mostly visible, or at least noticeable under the cloth of Jongin’s semi-open dress shirt.
Moonkyu isn’t very sober himself, but he isn’t drunk enough to jump onto Wonsik either. Of course, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be drunk enough for that.
The frame slides to the right of the booth, where their friend stands on the seat, a glass of champagne in his right hand, and the bottle in his left. He hands Moonkyu the glass and takes a sip from the bottle, lets out a laugh and jumps off the seat. “These two have been going at it for hours!” he shouts over the blasting EDM. “I’m surprised they’re still dressed!”
Moonkyu watches him approach the pair and spray them with the champagne. It’s probably the cold droplets against the feverish skin what makes Jongin jolt, hair tousled and clothes rumpled, and a frown on his face. “The hell are you doing!?”
“Get a room! This is a public space!” There’s laughter in Moonkyu’s voice, but he can’t really help it. It was about time, and if he had known alcohol was the solution he would have planned this trip as soon as all of them were of age.
Taemin’s voice, caged under Jongin’s body, almost doesn’t reach them. “We’re getting married! This November! You’re all invited!”
“Congratulations! Let’s celebrate! I’ll go for more champagne!”
Moonkyu watches Wonsik dodge dancing bodies on his way to the bar, then turns back to his friends, still in the same position. “Why wait?” he asks, raising his glass. We’re in Vegas! Let’s go now!”
Jongin turns so that he’s sitting sideways on Taemin’s lap; so that he can look back at Moonkyu. “That seems very rushed and unplanned. We haven’t even chosen the color scheme yet!”
“And we don’t have the plane tickets to Bora Bora!”
Just as Wonsik is back with another bottle and three extra glasses, Moonkyu turns to him. “Isn’t it a waste to wait another five months when we can just do it now? Can’t we get the tickets tomorrow? You’ll be in Bora Bora in no time, enjoying a margarita on the beach with your husband. This Monday. You’ll be on your honeymoon by Monday.”
Jongin’s eyes fly upwards, as if painting himself the image. “When you put it like that…”
“Then it’s done! We’re getting married right now!”
“Yeah!”
Wonsik serves another round, and the screen fades to black.
***
Jongin wouldn’t exactly consider himself a shy person, but this single video is making him want to crawl under the bed and never come out. The headache that had started to cease comes back in full force. He manages to peek at Taemin, and he notices his head hangs in a passable impression of shame.
Wonsik goes to the desk and pulls one of the drawers open; then he turns around holding up a piece of paper Jongin would burn to ashes if given the chance. “I kept the certificate, since I didn’t trust you two to keep it safe.” It seems unprofessional for a wedding certificate to display so much pink, but Jongin don’t deem this important at the moment. He does not, he will not see the footage he knows Moonkyu has from the ceremony. Not in this life.
He gets up, ignoring the pulsing pain, and strides to the door. “I need some air.”
Fortunately, nobody tries to stop him as he walks down the corridor toward the common hall, stopping at the coffee vending machine. He hasn’t had breakfast, despite Taemin’s initiative to blow Moonkyu’s card on the way back, and he needs some caffeine desperately.
He looks through his pockets until he finds a crumpled dollar bill he tries to flatten against his knee. The machine, however, refuses to accept it. He left his wallet in the room, and he isn’t about to get back to retrieve it.
Jongin has great trouble admitting defeat to a coffee machine.
He’s resting his forehead against the cold metal when he hears the rumble of the working machinery. Jongin looks up to find Moonkyu, of course Moonkyu, this time dressed in jeans and a decently ironed T-shirt, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.
“Rough night, aye?” He asks mischievously, if, Jongin knows, not viciously mannered. He gets the steaming cup and offers it to Jongin.
“Yeah, thanks for nothing.”
Moonkyu’s weight is rested sideways against the wall, and the beverage is way too intense and way too hot, and it burns down Jongin’s throat, but it fails to wash down the lump he can’t seem to swallow. Years of effort. Years of denial, of anger, of sadness and acceptance. Years of acknowledging he wanted something he couldn’t have. All gone to waste.
“I know you feel like it’s the end of the world.” Moonkyu’s voice draws Jongin’s attention from the rim of his cup, though not his gaze. “I know you feel like that, but it really isn’t. This kind of thing -it doesn’t happen on one person’s will only. You’re not any guiltier than he is. And I know you’re upset at yourself and at me and don’t want to talk about it, so I’m going to leave you be for now.” He peels himself from the wall, taking two steps away from the machine, from Jongin, from the steam that dampens the tip of his nose. “I just want you to know something.” For a moment, it almost seems like he isn’t going to say anything at all. He then comes closer to him again, and, in a tone both mellow and pointed, he mentions: “None of this was casual. You know who are the only people who can’t lie? The children, and the drunk.”
Jongin watches him walk back to the room, his shoulders squared and his strut confident. He wishes he was half as self-assured as Moonkyu seems.
***
“If I find the answer on Google in less than three seconds, can I have the last nugget?”
Jongin is willing to make sacrifices. “If you find the answer on Google, Wonsik, I will personally buy you another order of nuggets.”
It’s probably more three seconds, but definitely less than thirty, before Wonsik slides his phone at the side of the table where Jongin sits.
Taemin catches it instead. “I could have done it for free,” he mutters, picking up the device and scanning the screen.
“But you didn’t,” Jongin retorts, taking the phone from him and getting ready to read out loud. “You need more than just mere regret to annul your marriage in Las Vegas. The state will annul your marriage if your spouse is a close blood relative; your marriage required the consent of a parent, guardian, or court, and consent was never given; one spouse fraudulently obtained consent to marry from the other spouse; one spouse was mentally incompetent or unable to understand what he or she was consenting to; or at the time the marriage took place, one spouse was legally married to another person.”
When he looks up, Taemin appears to be more at peace than hours before, although he had always remained much calmer than Jongin. Jongin, who has a tendency to panicking that Taemin, cold-minded thinker Taemin, has never had. “I’m guessing the clause about being mentally incompetent or unable to give consent would include intoxication?”
“It certainly does,” clarifies Jongin around the straw of his smoothie. “So we have to fill some papers and pay for the annulment, and there won’t be any kind of hearing or anything like that. It’ll be as if nothing had ever happened.”
“Exactly what we wanted.” Taemin pops a fry into his mouth. “When do we start?”
***
Paperwork is boring, but it isn’t hard. It takes them a little over half an hour to fill the online forms and submit them, and only because they’re being careful in order to avoid messing up. Moonkyu offers to pay for the almost eight hundred dollars annulment fee, but they refuse: Taemin and Jongin split the bill, as if this were just a very expensive lunch they both agreed to have.
This is the first moment alone they have had since they woke up mostly nude and hungover in a room they couldn’t recognize. It’s also probably the first time that Jongin has ever felt uncomfortable around Taemin.
“You know,” the boy starts, fingers fidgeting; “we’ll laugh at this in a couple years. Maybe months, even.”
Whose idea was it to give Jongin a clicker pen? Click, click, click, click.
“What are you talking about?” he mutters, although his eyes remain fixed on the form. “I’m just upset I won’t get to drink margaritas in Bora Bora.” Click, click, click, click.
Taemin chuckles. “Maybe we’ll still go to Bora Bora.”
Click, click, click, click.
“Just, you know. Not many margaritas. Just in case.”
Click, click, click, click.
“Can you please say something?”
Jongin looks up at an uneasy Taemin; a Taemin that’s testing his boundaries. A Taemin that knows Jongin feels uneasy himself; a Taemin that knows him well enough to recognize the click, click, click, click. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. I’m done with my form.”
He gets up, dropping the pen onto the desk. It marks a deep blue spot where it falls on the papers, right above the title.
“Don’t you think we should talk about this?”
“The marriage issue? We did, we solved it. Points to us, great anecdote, let’s never do it again.”
Taemin can’t help a chuckle. He laughs at the most unexpected times. “Not that,” he responds, his own hand rising to curl around Jongin’s, partially covered by his sleeve.
Jongin steps away, and Taemin only grasps fabric. “No, I don’t.”
As he leaves the room, he tries to convince himself he doesn’t sound upset, or at least, not as upset as he feels. It doesn’t really matter; truth is, Taemin can read him whether or not he allows him. And, deep down, he knows no matter how much he tries to fool himself, he can’t fool his best friend.
***
The next week goes by in between mostly sober parties, missed lunches and a deep sense of regret on Jongin’s part. Two days after The Worst Night Ever™, they get a notary and sign the forms, and less than a week later the annulment gets granted. It’s such a quick process, it makes Jongin wonder exactly how many couples marry in the city, and under what circumstances, only to void it days later.
In this period, it becomes easier for Jongin to empty his mind from The Worst Night Ever™ on demand, as, he figures, this doesn’t really change the nature of their relationship much. Taemin will remain his best friend and the pictures (they were as embarrassing as Jongin imagined and worse) will be kept in a box in the back of his closet, because he doesn’t have the heart to throw them away -after all, chances are they will make a great anecdote at some point-, but he also doesn’t wish to see them every day of his life.
They make acquaintances that won’t become friends, and once, they get mistaken for a couple. Jongin blames it on the fact that other people have no reason to remain sober, but he keeps the affection at a minimum, just in case.
Jongin has come to peace with what happened. Wonsik, during a casual past-noon breakfast while the others were still asleep, had pointed out tackling inhibitions is exactly the reason why people drink in the first place, and in this city specifically, this whole issue is commonplace.
The marriage bit wasn’t quite of Jongin’s concern. Yes, it had been troublesome. They’d lost some time in paperwork that was supposed to be spent having fun, and Jongin can’t possibly picture anything less fun than nullifying a marriage, no matter how ephemeral.
What does worry Jongin, however, is the fact that he did something he had wanted to do for years upon years; a desire that was both unrequited and out of place. And he doesn’t know whether it is for the better or for the worse that he can’t evoke any of it.
It doesn’t help that, at times, he thinks he might remember.
It’s odd, really, because it’s broken, splintered, as if scattered all over the place, and Jongin cannot, for the love of him, figure out whether or not what he recalls has actually happened. There’s always a chance (more likely than Jongin would ever admit, even to himself, because it’s embarrassing) that it might be just a mash up of things he’s accidentally dreamed and accidentally thought in his wake, that his subconscious refuses to let go, no matter how desperately he tries to will it to. It’s always been displeasing for him to wake up with the idea of a dream but without really remembering it, and now, of all times, it’s all he’s got. And, quite frankly, he would like to know whether or not Taemin was really beneath him, with his hair sprawled on the mattress and his eyes sparkly and his lips that Jongin thinks he (maybe?) couldn’t get enough of. He has a distinct memory, or something, whatever, of Taemin rolling him over, and it would be shocking for it to have been a dream because he doesn’t think his brain could ever make up so many details. He doesn’t think it could make up the lighting, blue moonlight and pink curtains and the purple shadow of Taemin’s eyelashes on the top of his cheekbones as he hovers over him, all gentle and rough at once and everything Jongin has ever wanted. He doesn’t think it could make up his skin glistening with what might be sweat, but might also be leftover champagne. Jongin wouldn’t bet on it, but if you asked him whether he can recall the taste, he would probably (maybe?) say yes. He’d also say that he’s pretty sure champagne isn’t supposed to be salty, and that he doesn’t really care for the taste of champagne, or sweat, for the matter (though each to their own); but he’d make sure to clarify that he’d probably give up chicken nuggets forever in exchange of tasting Taemin like that again. (Except he wouldn’t, because that’s embarrassing.)
He would like to know if he remembers correctly; if he was, in fact, responsible for Taemin’s clothes getting dispersed around the floor, and the missing button of his dress shirt that he would have liked to keep as a souvenir. Thanks for choosing Las Vegas to make all your wet dreams come true, come back soon.
It’s frustrating, however, because Taemin has a tendency to undress when inebriated, and Jongin never found the button to check and it could be anywhere, and all he has are his stupid embarrassing pseudo-memories, and when he closes his eyes he thinks he can see it all over again. This is even more inconvenient than one would think at first for various reasons; the first of them being the fact that Taemin is his Very Best Friend Since Diapers, which automatically makes him absolutely, one hundred percent unattainable: because Very Best Friends Since Diapers are for dragging to the movies even though they don’t really want to watch it, and for road trips and mischief, and yes, for Vegas; but not for VIP-booth-grinding and out-making in the moonlight. Definitely not for grinding and out-making, ever. Unfortunately, for Jongin.
The second reason is deeply related with his internal organs suddenly deciding to give up, because it’s not only too much for Jongin’s spirit, but for his body, too. This results in a series of physical reactions that assault him each and every time Taemin, accidentally or purposefully, brushes his knee against Jongin’s, or rests his palm flat on Jongin’s lower back to catch his attention, or laces his fingers with Jongin’s just because he can, because he’s Taemin, because he does whatever the actual heck he wants. These reactions range between blushing furiously to the point his face feels hot, and his neck feels hot, and he feels hot all over and he has to leave right now immediately; and some sort of stomach twist thing that Jongin hasn’t identified yet, because these are not butterflies. Butterflies are soft and sweet and they make you giggle, and what Jongin feels, he’s pretty sure, is much, much closer to claws, and all they make him want to do is vomit. He doesn’t plan on identifying it anytime soon, because he’s waiting, hoping (praying) that it’ll simply go away and leave him to suffer quietly, like he has for the past years, ever since that one time he accidentally caught himself watching Taemin sleep before realizing how creepy that really was, and way before realizing what that even meant in the big scheme of things.
But the main reason why this whole incident is torture runs deeper, and it’s both simple and complex: it’s Jongin wishing so badly that the one time he got his way with it, he hadn’t been more gone than not.
He knows, the same way he knows water is wet, that he would have never, ever, in a thousand years, done something so reckless when sober. He also knows with the same certainty that he will never get this drunk again. Heck, he doesn’t even like alcohol. But he likes dancing, and he doesn’t like people, and all he really wanted was to not feel self-conscious about the fact that he didn’t like alcohol or people in Vegas.
Let loose. That’s what they call it, Jongin knows. But Jongin got a little too loose, and he ended up straddling his best friend and trying to find his lost dignity in the very back of his throat. With his tongue. (He couldn’t find it. He thinks there are chances he might also have lost his mental sanity while attempting.)
But the worst part -the worst part of it all- is that he missed his one chance. He could have even played drunk. (Except he wouldn’t, because he’s honorable and not evil, and because, wet dreams aside, he really does respect Taemin a whole lot.)
It is true that, if he did remember, it might just make everything worse. His body is already reacting peculiarly to things it shouldn’t, and his brain has gone places Jongin refuses to acknowledge. But, although Jongin made bad decisions, he isn’t stupid. Deep down, he knows things can’t possibly get worse.
On one side, he thinks that, if he remembered, he would at least have that. He could tell himself that it was a milestone; that it was done and over, and now that he’d gotten it out of his system he could finally move on. He could convince himself that this isn’t love but a strong friendship that got mixed with attraction, and everything got confusing, and they could really look back at it and laugh, and in thirty years maybe Jongin would say “You know, back then, when we were young, I thought I had a crush on you, isn’t that crazy?”, and maybe his laughter would be genuine.
On the other side, nevertheless, maybe not. Maybe in thirty years Taemin would look back at it and laugh, and Jongin’s smile would be strained. Maybe he’d be thinking that, even after all that time, even after Taemin has settled and found someone he wants to wake up next to every morning, he’s still trying to find Taemin in every pair of hands that touches him.
And the truth is Jongin can think about it as much as he likes, but that doesn’t change what happened. And how badly he had wanted it to happen, and for so long, but not like this. Never in a way in which Jongin couldn’t bask in the glory of Taemin, and Taemin under his touch, and seeing in Taemin’s eyes that he wants Jongin as much as Jongin has wanted Taemin for so long.
And Jongin might think he remembers, but he can’t know for sure.
Jongin is never drinking again.
part 2
a/n: //throws confetti!!!! we'll discuss this on part 2, see ya there!!