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When Minhyun booked a flight to Reykjavik, he did not expect to come out of it married—well, not married for real, but even just mock married. It's too bizarre, a thing—a horrific idea—that's entirely inconceivable in Minhyun's mind. Well, not until tonight.
But as he tries to comb through the past few days, backtracking site visits that were completely off his itinerary, tasting food that were never on his list, SD cards running full with immortalized memories, a tired body but a singing soul retiring to bed each day— Minhyun decides that, hm, it wasn't that bad.
It wasn't bad losing his pancakes for his first Reykjavik breakfast over a poorly traded sausage, over a promise of an intimate tour he never asked for, and being dragged by a self-proclaimed city native despite donning features of Minhyun's home onto the chilly, cobbled streets of the city.
Minhyun thinks, as he's presently dragged amidst throngs of bodies by the same hand which led him out under the welcoming Icelandic morning sun on his first day, that he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind spending his last night in the country in the same way he started: totally off-plan with spontaneous decisions he has long given up keeping count of, and too much alcohol in his system that's already borderline alarming.
The city square is packed with people waiting for the countdown. There's the buzz of laughter and indistinict chatter filling the air but Minhyun could not make any of it over the bubbles of laughter popping by his ears—the sound and vibrancy of it already familiar to Minhyun's ears much to his chagrin.
"Oh," They come to a halt, but the fingers encircling Minhyun's wrist remain a steady, warm hold. "Would you mind purchasing these flowers for me, husband-to-be? One of us will be needing a bouquet, you see."
Minhyun could not help but snort at the other batting his eye lashes at him, but nonetheless brings his wallet out of his bag with his free hand.
"You know when I decided to share my dream of marrying under the northern lights, I did not ask for its immediate execution, Seongwu, moreso with you."
Seongwu brings a hand over his chest, face morphing into faux indignation, "What an awful lie. Who wouldn't want to marry young, beautiful me?"
Minhyun easily spots the mischief in his eyes and laughs.
"Well," He pays and receives the bouquet from the vendor and thanks her in his pinched Norse, "not everyone as you might think."
It's pure motor reflex, perhaps also a momentary lapse of judgment, when he wrings his hand out of Seongwu's grip only to plant his palm against Seongwu's and slipping his fingers in between the spaces. It's him who finally leads them out of the crowd and tugs Seongwu on a jog in time to catch the last bus en route the outskirts of the city.
Seongwu huffs as he sits, a snide threading through his voice. "You say that yet you already have our rings warm inside your pocket." He says, placing the flowers down his lap before turning towards the window, a stance to end the conversation.
Minhyun only hums in response, the fondness in his smile unmistakable as his hand slips inside his coat, patting their rings securely before he too, trains his eyes outside the window.
The street lights flash like fireflies against the backdrop of the last night of the year.
"Quickly, quickly! I don't want anyone else snagging our spot!"
"Seongwu, I'm pretty sure everyone else are down the city square." Minhyun says, exasperated but suspiciously endeared, as he trails behind an overly energetic Seongwu towards the railings.
Below is a scenic view of the city: colorful rooftops, bustling lights and muted chaos. Overhead is the breathtaking aurora, blanketing the stardusted sky with its majestic green. The mere sight of it robbing Minhyun of his ability to breathe.
It has always been a dream. Had only been a dream. But now Minhyun is standing under it, under it's wonderful glory. It feels as though he's still dreaming.
"Minhyun."
He's brought out of his stupor, gaze landing on a pair of eyes mirroring everything up and below: the city lights, the stars—fireflies.
"Come, it's time to make your dream come true." Laughter bubbles inside of Minhyun again as he allows a grinning Seongwu lead him towards the center, takes both of his hands and encasing them in his own.
"Are you ready?" Seongwu asks, he's vibrating in mischief, and perhaps, in pure happiness. Minhyun can almost feel his glow.
"As ready as a man can be being married off to a person he's only met seven days ago." Minhyun pulls, squeezing on Seongwu's hands. It earns him an eye roll but a blinding smile follows it shortly.
Seongwu breathes in, closes his eyes as he does and begins, "I take thee," he pauses to stare intently at Minhyun, eyes deep and rich, "Mr. Hwang-fox over here, in all his bloated morning face glory and pancake sharing kindness," he wiggles his brows suggestively and Minhyun can't help but snicker.
"And also in his gentle voice, warm eyes and equally tender hands, in sickness and in health," he breathes, thumb coming to caress Minhyun's knuckles, "if fate would permit, for our roads to cross back at home."
Minhyun allows the silence to settle; a moment to soak on Seongwu's words, allow it to seep into his skin, etch on his bones. The words ring softly in his ears and he wonders, wonders if it is still motor reflex when his feet bring him closer to Seongwu, wonders if the thundering of his heart against his ribcage is brought by the supposed mischief behind this all or the apparent genuiness of Seongwu's words.
Minhyun breathes it all, tucking them all away and decides to live in the moment. Whatever this might bring him. Wherever this might bring them.
"I take thee," he starts just as playful, "Mr. Ong-seal, with his poor compromising skills and pancake stealing tendecies. In all his insufferable indicisiveness and spontaneity, and—"
"Hey, that's a lot! I only—"
"Hush, your husband is speaking." Minhyun cuts him off and Seongwu promptly shuts up, pursing his lips into a thin line, "In all his whinings and terrible, terrible stamina. But also take thee, the beauty of his eyes, the constellation dotted on his cheek, in sickness and in health," Minhyun smiles, warm, "if fate allows for us to meet again."
There's a cloak of serenity which settles with them just staring, smiling, warmth coursing through their palms and into their bodies. It's Seongwu who first breaks out in laughter and Minhyun follows easily, doubling over, but their hands remain in each other, the flowers caught in between.
It's easy. Like this. Minhyun never thought being fake married to practically a stranger would be an ease.
But Seongwu, Minhyun realizes, never felt like a stranger. He has an air around him which calls for walls and guards to be torn and laid down. His smile is disarming. Perhaps these are the very things which led to Minhyun's early surrender towards the relentless force that is Seongwu.
He never had the strength to fight against him, he figures.
"The rings," Seongwu chirps after a sniff, "quickly, or you'll be having a husband with a frozen nose by the end of the night."
Minhyun cackles but obliges, pulling their rings—tabs from the beer cans they have emptied from earlier. Really, it's far from ideal wedding rings but they're both giddy to care, it's for the funsies to begin with!
Minhyun slips the tab carefully on Seongwu's finger. They're a bit loose but it looks perfect on him—as perfect as aluminum can look wrapped around someone's finger. "I'd take whatever I can, be it a husband with a frozen nose, a rudolph nose or no nose at all."
Seongwu gasps dramatically while reaching for Minhyun's hand, "You'd marry Voldemort?" He asks with such brilliance in his eyes, deceiving in its facade innocence, as he slips the tab on Minhyun's finger. It's a tight fit.
"Would you let me?" Minhyun challenges. Seongwu smacks him on the chest for an answer.
"They're awful." Seongwu chortles as he looks at their hands, aluminum tabs circling their fingers, "Honestly, what were we thinking."
"What were you thinking." Minhyun presses and ducks just before Seongwu can land another smack on his chest.
"Still, this is fun."
"It is."
When the laughter dies down, they remain in each others warmth, staring ahead and with the wind tousling their hairs.
Down under, the crowd starts to count, ten to zero, until fireworks paint the skies. The noise breaks the peace, but a different sense of peace remains inside them, anchored by their hands still entwined.
"You're going home tomorrow." Seongwu says, barely above whisper.
Minhyun sighs, hand unconsciously tightening around Seongwu's, "I am."
A beat passes.
Minhyun does not want to acknowledge the dread that's starting to build inside him.
"Do you mean it?"
Minhyun twists to face Seongwu, confusion sparkling in his eyes. "Do I mean what?"
"If fate would allow." Seongwu explains, uncertainty curling in his voice. His smile is small and Minhyun wants nothing but to replace it, paint the usual vibrant smile he usually wears.
"If fate would allow," Minhyun echoes, he hopes the smile he breaks into carries the message he wants to convey. "Yes. Certainly."
Seongwu breaks into the smile Minhyun so adores and says, "Well then, I guess I'll have to hold off one thing until we meet again."
"What is it?"
"Our first dance," Seongwu beams, "let's meet again, shall we?"
Minhyun mirrors the smile and thinks, fate will just have to make a way for them.
( Weeks, months later, in a discreet cafe tucked beside a book store in Korea, a person slides into a seat across another, taps on the table to gain attention and is rewarded by surprised but infinitely waiting eyes.
They are as warm as he remembered them to be.
"Shall we have our first dance now, dear husband?"
It turns to be, that fate was always on their side.)