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Jimin wakes up with a headache so vicious she wonders if someone performed a drum solo inside her skull. Her tongue feels like sandpaper, her mouth tastes like tequila, and the room looks too clean to belong to her. Hotel room. Vegas. That part checks out.

The part that doesn’t check out is the ring on her finger.

At first, she thinks it’s one of those bachelorette gag gifts, a neon plastic thing meant to glow under backlight. But this one has weight. Shine. Commitment. 

“Oh no,” she mutters, dragging her hand over her face. The ring gleams back at her like it knows something she doesn’t.

A shift in the sheets makes her freeze. Slowly, she turns her head.

There is someone else in the bed. A woman. Not just any woman, but the woman. The kind whose face she has seen on billboards, perfume ads, and Vogue covers at the airport The New York Times.

Kim Minjeong.

Jimin’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Minjeong groans and buries her face deeper into the pillow. Her hair, perfectly glossy even in the wreckage of morning, spills across the sheets like the world’s most expensive shampoo commercial. 

Jimin sits up, staring at the ring again, then at Minjeong, then back at the ring. “No way. No actual way.”

“Too loud,” Minjeong mumbles, her voice muffled by the pillow.

Jimin blinks at her. “You—you’re awake?”

“Unfortunately.”

There’s a beat of silence where Jimin tries to figure out if she’s hallucinating. Minjeong finally rolls onto her back and squints up at her. Her eyeliner is smudged, but somehow she still looks like she could walk a runway in ten minutes.

“Why are you screaming?” Minjeong asks, her voice hoarse.

“I am not screaming, I am whisper-yelling,” Jimin hisses. She waves her hand in the air. “Do you see this?”

Minjeong squints at the ring, then at her own hand, where an identical band rests neatly on her finger. Her brows pull together as she studies it.

“Oh my god,” she says flatly.

“Yeah. That's my line.” 

Minjeong sits up, wincing, and drags a hand through her hair. “Please tell me this is some kind of prank show. Like Ashton Kutcher is about to walk in and say ‘Gotcha.’”

“I think you’re dating yourself with that reference,” Jimin mutters.

Minjeong lifts her hand to her face, staring at the ring as if it might sprout legs and walk away. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be real.”

“It’s real,” Jimin says grimly, pulling something from the nightstand. A folded slip of paper. An official-looking one. She stares at the bold header. “Marriage certificate. With our names on it.”

Minjeong blinks at her. “We got married?”

“Apparently.”

“To each other?”

Jimin gives her a look. “I don’t see anyone else here, do you?”

Minjeong groans and flops back onto the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I was supposed to get married to someone else this weekend.”

“Well, congratulations,” Jimin says, voice sharp. “You still did.”

Minjeong peeks out from under her arm, unimpressed. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I’m not funny,” Jimin fires back. “That’s how I know this is real. I couldn’t invent something this ridiculous.”

Silence falls. The two of them stare at the ceiling like it might cough up answers.

Finally, Jimin lets out a long sigh. “Okay. Logic. At what point last night did we decide lifelong commitment was the move?”

Minjeong shifts onto her side, lips twitching like she can’t decide between laughing or crying. “I don’t remember.”

“Me neither,” Jimin admits, her voice tight.

She drops her face into her hands. Behind her eyelids, fragments begin to spark. The blur of neon. A row of empty shot glasses. The sound of laughter that might have been hers, or Minjeong’s, or both. An Elvis in a rhinestone jumpsuit leaning on his mic stand, smirk loaded like he had seen this coming.

Jimin groans. “Oh god. I think I’m starting to remember.”

And just like that, the events begin to unspool.

The memories come crashing back and it started with the moment they arrived in Last Vegas. In front of the hotel they’re about to stay in.

The thing about staying at Caesars Palace, Jimin decides, is that you can either lean into the grandeur or let it eat you alive. The ceilings are painted to look like the sky, the statues stare at you like you owe them money, and everything smells faintly of too much perfume layered over too much money.

Ryujin and Yuna, being cousins and genetically engineered for chaos, are already treating the lobby like a personal playground. They stand under the marble columns pointing at chandeliers as if they were rare birds, making grand pronouncements about Roman architecture despite clearly knowing nothing about it.

Aeri, who is getting married in a week, just shakes her head and swipes the room key. “You two need supervision.”

“You love us,” Yuna sings, spinning in a circle with her suitcase trailing behind her like a reluctant dog.

By the time they entered their suite, the sun was sinking. The Strip outside glows like a living neon monster. Inside, the girls get ready like they are about to conquer the city.

A few hours later, they have already worked their way through a dangerous amount of liquor. Ryujin and Yuna are laughing so hard they can barely breathe, egging each other on like children who have discovered gasoline and matches.

It starts with Yuna daring Ryujin to dance to “baby shark” in the middle of the floor. Ryujin does it without hesitation, pulling in strangers until half the dance floor is singing “doo doo doo doo doo doo.” Then Ryujin dares Yuna to grab a drink from the bar without paying. Yuna succeeds, though the bartender catches on immediately, laughing and waving her away like he has seen this routine a hundred times.

The dares keep piling up. Loud. Ridiculous. Perfectly on brand for them.

Eventually the spotlight turns on Jimin.

Aeri smirks. “Okay. Your turn. You have to approach someone and make them buy us drinks.”

“Yeah,” Yuna added, eyes sparkling. “Seduce someone with your charm, Jimin. Use that face.”

“I don’t have charm,” Jimin protests, already regretting every life choice that led her here.

Ryujin leans across the table. “Exactly why this will be fun.”

They all nod in unison, which is unfair because Jimin can’t fight three people at once.

She sighs, scans the club. Everyone is glowing with sweat and neon, strangers pressed together in the haze of alcohol and bass. She is about to pick someone at random just to get it over with when she sees her.

A woman sitting alone at a table meant for six. Her lipstick smudged, her mascara streaked, her laugh wobbling between comedy and tragedy. There are too many bottles on the table for one person, and she seems determined to prove that isn’t a problem. She laughs, then chokes, then laughs again, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Something about her looks like hell breaking loose in real time.

And Jimin, in her infinite drunken wisdom, thinks, Perfect. I can charm my way through this.

She pushes back her chair and ignores the squeals from her friends behind her. She straightens her shoulders, and smooths her hair, and heads toward the woman.

She has no idea that this is the start of the biggest mistake of her life. Or maybe the best one.

“Hi,” Jimin says, sliding into the empty seat across from the woman before she can think better of it. Her shin knocks into the table leg, and she almost topples over, but she manages to recover by grabbing the edge with both hands. Smooth. Very smooth.

The woman doesn’t even flinch. She lifts her glass with the kind of elegance that should be studied in textbooks. “I’m a little busy entertaining myself tonight,” she says. “No pictures or autographs, please.”

Jimin frowns. “What?” 

Then it clicks. She stares, blinking, until recognition slams into her. Kim Minjeong. Better known as Winter. The most famous model in the world right now. Vogue spreads. Runways. Perfume ads that made even Jimin’s straight friends reconsider.

And Jimin just threw herself into her table like a drunk fan.

“I don’t want your autograph,” Jimin blurts, sitting up straighter. “Or a picture. I just… saw you sitting here. You looked like you could use some company.”

That makes Minjeong pause. She tilts her head, studies Jimin for a long moment, then sets her glass down. “Do you drink?”

Jimin gestures vaguely. “I dabble.”

Minjeong smirks, then waves toward the bottles lined up on her table like fallen soldiers. “Drink with me, then.”

Jimin clears her throat. “Actually… if you’d like, you could join my friends and me. We have a table. And a lot of terrible dares happening.” Her eyes slide to the liquor in front of Minjeong. “And, uh, maybe we could bring some of these along?”

She expects laughter. A polite dismissal. Maybe a cutting remark that she’ll remember at two in the morning for the rest of her life.

Instead, Minjeong says, “Okay.”

Just like that.

Jimin blinks. “Okay?”

Minjeong is already standing, gathering bottles in her arms. “Lead the way.”

When Jimin returns to their table, she is carrying three bottles, Minjeong trailing behind her with two more. Her friends’ jaws drop. Yuna nearly drops her phone. Ryujin’s glass slips in her hand, spilling onto the table. Aeri’s mouth forms a perfect O.

Jimin winks at them like this is all part of the plan. They are too busy staring at Minjeong to notice.

Realizing how intense the stares have gotten, Jimin clears her throat. “Guys. She’s just a person. Treat her like one, please.”

To her relief, they do. Within minutes, Yuna and Ryujin are back to their antics, cracking jokes and shoving dares at one another, and for the first time all night Minjeong actually laughs. Not the brittle laugh she had at her empty table, but a genuine one, shoulders shaking, hand over her mouth as if she forgot it was possible.

The dares escalate again. This time Minjeong plays too. She downs shots without flinching, accepts dares with the cool defiance of someone who has survived fashion week, and even dares Ryujin to try eating a lime whole. The table howls.

Hours blur. Bottles empty. At one point they are running down the Strip, no idea why, only that Minjeong is giggling so hard she has kicked off her heels and is carrying them in her hands. Yuna shouts something about needing tacos, so they stop at a food stall and crowd onto a bench with greasy paper plates. They talk nonsense that makes perfect sense at the time, the kind of conversations no one remembers in the morning but somehow feel important in the moment.

Later, they find themselves inside a casino. Minjeong sits down at a poker table, gathers her cards, and starts winning. Not just once. Hand after hand, raking in chips while the others cheer like she is about to be knighted.

When she finally cashes out, Ryujin sprays champagne across the group in celebration. Nearby tables complain, voices rising, but the four of them are too busy laughing. Security shows up. They get kicked out of the club, champagne-sticky and breathless, stumbling into the night with the Strip glowing around them.

It is reckless. It is too much. It is perfect.

Until it’s not. 

It happens suddenly. One second Minjeong is laughing at something Yuna said about Ryujin’s dancing, the next her face crumples. Tears spill fast and without warning.

The group sobers immediately.

“What did we do?” Ryujin blurts, her voice sharp with panic. “Is this about the tacos? Because if it is, I swear I will Venmo you right now.”

“Or the champagne?” Yuna adds, eyes wide. “Do you regret buying the champagne?”

Aeri smacks both their shoulders. Jimin shoots them both a glare that could kill.

They look ridiculous, five women on the side of the Strip. Three standing awkwardly, two crouched on the pavement, one of them crying with mascara streaks down her face.

Aeri crouches beside Minjeong, her voice soft. “What’s wrong?”

Minjeong pulls something from her clutch. A small box. She opens it to reveal a pair of wedding bands. Her fingers tremble.

“I was supposed to get married,” she whispers.

Before she can explain, Yuna gasps so dramatically it nearly breaks the night in half. “You didn’t miss it because you came with us, right?”

Minjeong shakes her head, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Ryujin leans closer. “Then what happened?”

Minjeong swallows hard. “He called me this afternoon. Said he got someone pregnant. Said he was calling everything off. For two years I thought we were fine. And then… just like that.”

No one speaks for a beat. The Strip is loud, but the silence between them is louder.

Finally Aeri says, “That’s impressive. We didn’t even know you were dating someone. And you were already planning a Vegas wedding?”

“Only family and close friends knew,” Minjeong says, her voice breaking. “He wanted to keep it private. Said people wouldn’t understand. Said it was better if no one knew.”

Yuna frowns. “But why are you here alone? Why didn’t you come with him?”

“He told me he had work papers to finish first. That I should fly out ahead, so people wouldn’t get suspicious if they saw us together.”

Jimin’s stomach twists.

Yuna keeps going. “And you didn’t invite anyone else? No friends? No family?”

Minjeong shakes her head. “He said we would have the private ceremony first. Just the two of us. Then a proper wedding later, once we were ready to announce.”

Ryujin lets out a low whistle. “Sounds like bad news to me.”

Minjeong presses her hands over her face and cries harder.

“And he made you buy the rings?” Aeri asks gently. “Damn. That guy really sucks.”

Minjeong laughs through her tears, messy and broken. “What am I supposed to do with these now?”

Ryujin grins suddenly, eyes gleaming. “Well. No worries. You can marry her.” She shoves Jimin toward Minjeong. “She’s rich, she has zero social media presence, and she has no idea how to talk to girls. No chance of cheating.”

Yuna jumps in immediately. “And no dick. Which means no surprise babies.”

That’s the only moment Jimin snaps, her voice sharp. “What the hell are you two thinking? Do we even know if the ring fits?”

Aeri groans, burying her face in her palm. “You two are the worst.” She reaches for the ring box. “May I?”

Minjeong nods, handing it over.

Aeri presses the band into Jimin’s palm. “Try it. Worst case, we resize later.”

Jimin rolls her eyes but slides it on. The ring slips neatly into place. Perfect fit.

Ryujin whistles. “Well, that’s fate.”

Aeri lifts her brows, her grin tugging wide. “Then I think we need to drink first. Then find a chapel.”

Minjeong laughs wetly, shaking her head. “You’re joking.”

They are not joking.

After more rounds of shots, Jimin finds herself standing at the front of a tiny chapel with velvet curtains and twinkle lights. Minjeong has an improvised veil made out of someone’s shawl, walking slowly down the short aisle while Ryujin and Yuna film the whole thing like overexcited paparazzi.

Aeri hums the wedding march under her breath.

Jimin’s heart pounds in her ears. She catches Minjeong’s eyes and feels something flutter low in her chest.

The officiant, Elvis impersonator in rhinestones, grins at them both.

Minutes later, they are saying “I do.”

And when Minjeong leans in, laughter still caught in her throat, Jimin kisses her.

Now back at the hotel room with some details of what happened the night before. Minjeong sits up, hair a wild halo, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She squints at Jimin. “I don’t even remember your friends’ names. I remember their faces. I think one of them was very tall. That’s all I’ve got.”

Jimin starts pacing across the room like she’s training for a marathon. “Great. Perfect. We’re married and you think my best friend’s defining feature is height.”

As she walks, Minjeong’s gaze drops to herself. Her eyes widen. She is not in last night’s clothes anymore. She is in a baggy T-shirt with bold letters across the front that say: hot girls do cry sometimes. Paired with nothing but her red lace underwear.

She lets out a shriek.

Jimin freezes mid-step. “What? What are you screaming about?”

Minjeong points at herself, horrified. “Why am I not wearing my clothes? Did we… oh my god. Did we have sex? I don’t remember anything.”

Jimin’s brain flashes back to the hallway. Their friends, equally drunk, stumbling over each other as they escorted the two of them down endless beige carpet. The way Ryujin knocked into a plant. Yuna trying to arm wrestle a doorknob. And then all of them tossing her and Minjeong into the room before staggering off, cackling.

Inside, Minjeong had run straight to the bed, collapsing in a heap. Jimin followed awkwardly, perching against the headboard, staring at the bland hotel art on the wall while Minjeong sprawled on the opposite side.

She remembers Minjeong’s voice cutting through the silence. “What do married couples usually do after they get married?”

Jimin had choked out, “I don’t know. This is my first marriage.”

Minjeong had rolled onto her side, eyes glassy but mischievous. “I think they make out. Should we try that? Just be normal married people?”

Jimin had blinked. “You think so?”

That was how she ended up with Minjeong climbing into her lap, kissing her like the world had shrunk down to just the two of them. It was messy and heated and entirely too much.

At one point, Jimin had tugged at Minjeong’s top. “You look fab in this. But it has to go.” She pulled it off, leaving Minjeong in her bra. Minjeong had only giggled.

“And this too,” Jimin had said, fumbling at the skirt. “How do you even remove this thing?”

“The zipper on the side, hon,” Minjeong had teased, guiding her hand. “See? If you pull it all the way down, it just comes off.”

When it finally slid free, Jimin had laughed breathlessly. “Okay, I’ll take note of that.”

“You should,” Minjeong had replied, still giggling, before kissing her again.

They hadn’t known if it was a joke, if they were playing at being married, or if they were really in it. Minjeong’s mouth on her neck had short-circuited every coherent thought Jimin had left.

Until suddenly, Minjeong stopped moving.

“Hello?” Jimin had whispered, tapping her shoulder. No response. Minjeong had fallen asleep.

Jimin had groaned, pushed her gently to the other side of the bed, dug a random oversized T-shirt from the closet, and tugged it over her. Then she lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what on earth just happened.

Now, in the bright glare of morning, Minjeong is staring at her like she’s waiting for an explanation. Jimin keeps her mouth shut. No way she is sharing that memory right now.

Before either of them can speak, there is a knock at the door.

They both froze, looking at the door like it personally insulted them.

The knock comes again, louder this time. Jimin exchanges a look with Minjeong, who still has her head in her hands, then trudges to the door.

The second she cracks it open, Aeri, Ryujin, and Yuna spill into the room like they own it.

“You’re alive,” Yuna says, as though it is the most shocking revelation of the morning.

“Barely,” Jimin mutters.

Aeri does not waste time. She waves her phone in the air. “We have a problem.”

“No,” Minjeong says flatly. “I have a problem. You three just have hangovers.”

“Correction,” Ryujin says, dropping onto the bed like her skull weighs twenty pounds. “We all have a problem.” She holds her phone up. “You’re viral.”

Jimin squints. “What do you mean, viral?”

Aeri shoves her phone at Jimin’s face. On the screen is a blurry but unmistakable photo of Jimin and Minjeong kissing in the middle of a dance floor, surrounded by cheering strangers.

Jimin’s heart stutters. “No. No, no, no.”

“It gets worse,” Aeri says grimly. She swipes to Twitter. A screenshot of Minjeong’s account fills the screen. A tweet from a few hours ago. And a fan connecting the dots, like they always do, that Minjeong’s tweet came in first before the photo of them on the dance floor.

“@runwayrascal: Just got mermaid in Vegas 💍💙”

Below it, a photo of two hands, each wearing a wedding band.

Minjeong gasps and lunges for her own phone. She scrolls frantically. “Oh my god. I actually tweeted that.”

“Yes,” Aeri says. “Yes, you did.”

Jimin sinks onto the edge of the bed, stunned. “Did you just… typo your way into a life-altering situation?”

Minjeong’s face is pale. “It was supposed to say married. My thumbs betrayed me.”

Yuna tries, and fails, to stifle a laugh. “Mermaid. That’s kind of cute though.”

“Not helping,” Jimin hisses.

Aeri’s phone starts buzzing violently in her pocket. She glances at the screen and groans. “Yizhuo. Again. She thinks I married her, Jimin, because apparently you and I share the same haircut in bad lighting.”

Ryujin lifts her head just enough to squint. “To be fair, that picture could be you.”

“It is not me,” Aeri snaps.

“Okay, but if you think about it, Yizhuo is not entirely wrong,” Yuna says. “But since you paid for all of these it does look like you. And me. And Ryujin. Honestly it looks like all of us were there, because we were.”

“That is the point,” Aeri says, glaring. “We were there. Which is why I am now getting spammed with calls and messages asking what the hell happened.”

Before Jimin can respond, Ryujin waves her hand weakly. “Speaking of what the hell. Yuna, you forgot the part.”

Yuna perks up. “Oh right. So, we went to breakfast earlier because you two were obviously… busy. And I was starving. Like, evaporating levels of starving.”

“Yuna,” Jimin warns.

Ryujin cuts in, groaning. “She means we heard people asking about Minjeong at the reception desk. Fans or staff or reporters. Not sure. But they definitely know she is here.”

Minjeong’s phone starts vibrating. She flips it over and winces. The screen is lit up with missed calls and texts. Manager. Family. Friends. Even her ex-fiancé.

Her ex-fiancé.

“Oh my god,” she mutters. “This is a nightmare.”

Yuna, unhelpfully: “On the bright side, no one is talking about you having a secret relationship for two years and got dumped cause he somehow impregnated someone else.”

Ryujin nods sagely. “Now they are talking about how you secretly got mermaid in Vegas.”

“Stop saying mermaid,” Minjeong snaps. “How do you even have recollections of last night, I don’t.”

“Sorry,” Ryujin says, not sorry at all. “We’re on this game for far too long that we manage to recall things even if we blackout.”

“She’s not for real,” Aeri says. “We just somehow spam each other messages or videos or photos so we can look at it the next morning and figure out whatever happened.”

They all start talking at once. Yuna suggests faking amnesia and claiming alien abduction. Ryujin insists they could spin it into a publicity stunt for a nonexistent joint tequila brand. Aeri suggests shutting up.

Finally, Aeri turns to Jimin and Minjeong with the steely calm of someone who has dealt with this group too many times. “Okay. Enough. You two are the married ones. You decide what to do. We will be in our room.”

Yuna gasps. “What if they consummate while deciding?”

Ryujin claps her hands once. “Respect. Power move.”

Aeri grabs both cousins by the wrists and hauls them toward the door. “Goodbye.”

The door slams. Silence fills the room.

Minjeong drops her head into her hands again. Jimin stares at the ring on her finger.

Neither of them moves.

Jimin breaks the silence first. “Okay. Here is the plan. We march downstairs, find someone with a notary stamp, and get this annulled before brunch.”

Minjeong lifts her head slowly, like she has aged forty years in the last five minutes. “We cannot do that.”

Jimin blinks. “Why not? People get drunk-married in Vegas all the time. It is practically the city’s official slogan.”

Minjeong unlocks her phone and shoves the screen in Jimin’s face. “Because I already tweeted about it.”

Jimin squints at the tweet again. Just got mermaid in Vegas 💍💙. Underneath it, hundreds of thousands of likes, retweets, and comments.

“Right.” Jimin drops back onto the bed. “Why did you even tweet that?”

“I don’t remember but knowing me it’s probably because I had to,” Minjeong says, defensive. “My ex was supposed to announce our breakup to our families and friends today. If I beat him to it and make it look like I moved on, I win. He looks pathetic. I look powerful.”

Jimin gestures wildly. “Powerful married to me? I wore socks with sandals yesterday.”

Minjeong leans back against the headboard, expression smug. “I am the most famous model in the world. You will look cooler by association.”

Jimin glares at her, about to argue, but then something clicks. The thought of her father’s face if this hits the business press. His carefully curated image of perfection, torpedoed by his daughter’s impulsive Vegas marriage to a woman he cannot spin as a strategic alliance.

She feels a small, wicked smile tug at her mouth.

“Oh no,” Minjeong says, narrowing her eyes. “What is that face?”

“Nothing,” Jimin says too quickly. Then, with a shrug: “Just… maybe this could work. For a little while.”

Minjeong perks up instantly. “So you are saying you will stay married to me?”

“Temporarily,” Jimin clarifies. “And only because it will drive my dad absolutely insane.”

Minjeong grins, victorious. “Then it is settled. We stay married.”

Jimin throws her hands up. “This is the worst idea I have ever agreed to.”

“You will not regret it,” Minjeong says, snatching a pillow and hugging it like she just won a prize.

“I regret it already,” Jimin mutters, but she is smiling too.

Minjeong has confiscated a hotel notepad and pen. She sits cross-legged on the bed like she is running a board meeting.

“If we are doing this,” she says, “we need to be convincing. Married people know things about each other.”

Jimin groans. “Like what?”

“Like favorites. Families. Inside jokes. Weaknesses we can exploit later.”

Jimin flops onto her back. “You sound terrifying.”

Minjeong ignores her, writing The Marriage Bubble across the top of the page in neat block letters. “I will go first. Favorite color?”

“Blue,” Jimin says automatically. “Yours?”

“Green. But not a boring green. The exact shade of a Heineken bottle in sunlight.”

Jimin squints. “That is disturbingly specific.”

“Specificity is attractive.” Minjeong smirks. “Your turn.”

Jimin thinks for a second. “Dislikes?”

“Men who lie,” Minjeong says immediately. Then, softer: “And pickles.”

Jimin laughs. “Pickles?”

“They squeak on your teeth. It is unnatural.”

Jimin is grinning now, propping herself on her elbow. “Okay. Me. Dislike: my father.”

Minjeong looks up, studying her. “That sounded personal.”

“It is.” Jimin tries for casual, but her chest feels tight. “He cares more about image than actual people. Which makes this entire situation hilarious.”

For once, Minjeong does not joke. “Then we should make it count.”

The silence stretches, but it is not uncomfortable. It is charged.

Jimin clears her throat. “Next question. Family? Friends?”

Minjeong sighs. “Parents still together, somehow. They love my brother more. He is an accountant. Very stable. Very beloved. And some model friends that you probably saw on billboards.”

“Sibling rivalry,” Jimin says. “Noted.”

“And you?”

“I have none. Just my dad. And you met my friends, which is more than enough.”

Minjeong taps the pen against the notepad. “So we are both tragic in different ways.”

“Exactly. That is our inside joke. Two tragic girls walk into a Vegas chapel…”

Minjeong laughs, head falling back. It is the kind of laugh that makes Jimin’s stomach twist, because it feels like something she wants to hear again.

They keep going. Favorite drinks, secret talents, worst fears. By the time they finish, the notepad is filled with scribbles and doodles. Jimin has drawn a lopsided cat in the margin. Minjeong labeled it our child.

Jimin snorts when she sees it. “You are ridiculous.”

“You married me,” Minjeong says, grinning.

And somehow, against all reason, Jimin grins back.

🍻

If there is a handbook for fake marriages, it definitely does not cover how to dodge paparazzi in the Caesars Palace lobby while wearing matching novelty sunglasses.

“Walk faster,” Jimin hisses, tugging her hat lower.

“I cannot walk faster,” Minjeong replies, wobbling slightly in the platform heels she insisted on wearing. “Do you want me to sprain my ankle and give them a headline that says tragic newlywed mishap?”

Yuna, trailing behind with a breakfast burrito the size of her head, adds helpfully, “That would actually trend.”

“Shut up,” Jimin and Minjeong say in unison.

They both crack up. Their laughter ricochets off the polished marble, and for a second the paparazzi’s flashbulbs outside might as well not exist.

By the time they finally make it to the elevator, Yuna has salsa on her sleeve and Ryujin is trying to steal bites of her burrito. Aeri presses the button for their floor with the poise of someone who has become a babysitter by force, not choice.

“Remember,” Aeri says, shooting a glare at all of them, “we are lying low today.”

“We always lie low,” Ryujin argues, which is objectively untrue.

Later that afternoon, the group sneaks into the casino, their disguises doing a half-decent job. Jimin is feeding the slot machines quarters like she is paying off a debt. Minjeong is at the blackjack table, playing with the calm intensity of someone who has survived Fashion Week and once walked in heels for eight hours straight.

Ryujin and Yuna keep daring each other into increasingly reckless bets until Aeri smacks them both on the head and confiscates their chips.

Jimin watches Minjeong pull in another win and cannot stop smiling. “You are kind of scary when you win.”

“Winning is the point,” Minjeong says, stacking her chips neatly. She slides a small pile across the table toward Jimin like it is nothing. “This is our honeymoon fund.”

Jimin sputters. “We are not actually—”

“Shh,” Minjeong interrupts, pressing a finger lightly to her lips without looking away from her cards. “Do not ruin the mood.”

It is maddening. It is distracting. Jimin does not even realize she is smiling until Minjeong grins at her like she has won something far more dangerous than chips.

By two in the morning, the group is standing outside a pizza place that smells like melted cheese and regret. Yuna drops her slice cheese-side down on the sidewalk and lets out a noise that sounds like a wounded animal.

“My life is over,” Yuna announces, staring at the ruined slice like it was her firstborn child.

Without hesitation, Minjeong tears her own slice in half and hands it over. “You can have mine.”

Yuna looks at her like she just discovered God. Ryujin immediately tries to steal a bite of the replacement slice and gets smacked. Aeri mutters something about needing a leash for both cousins.

Jimin says nothing. She just watches Minjeong with her soft, tired smile and tries not to think too hard about why the gesture makes her chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with tequila.

By the next day, the group has evolved into a tiny chaotic ecosystem. Aeri and Jimin naturally fall into the role of reluctant parents, while Ryujin and Yuna prove themselves committed to becoming the reason casinos create new rules. Minjeong, to Jimin’s absolute dismay, chooses to side with the cousins at every turn.

“Shot for shot?” Ryujin asks, holding out two tiny glasses filled with something neon.

“Count me in,” Minjeong says immediately, snatching one.

Jimin steps forward, alarmed. “You do not need to keep up with them. They are professionals at this.”

“Yes, I do,” Minjeong says, clinking her glass against Ryujin’s with a grin. “I am a team player.”

Yuna throws her fist into the air like they just won Olympic gold. Aeri mutters something about adoption papers and checks her phone like she is calculating how much bail will cost.

The cousins cheer Minjeong on, and soon the table is cluttered with shot glasses and lime wedges. Jimin tries to pace herself, sipping water between rounds. Minjeong ignores her advice completely. When she laughs, her head tilts back, and for a second Jimin forgets she is supposed to be monitoring her.

Hours later, Jimin is carrying Minjeong piggyback down the hotel hallway. Minjeong clings to her like a very chatty koala, heels dangling from her hand.

“You are drunk,” Jimin says, adjusting her grip.

“I am motivated,” Minjeong insists, her chin resting comfortably on Jimin’s shoulder. “Motivated to annoy you.”

Yuna trots ahead of them with a bag of fries, narrating the whole thing like a sports commentator. “And here we see the dedicated wife carrying her beautiful spouse across the finish line. True love. Inspiring stuff.”

Ryujin whistles dramatically, and Aeri snaps at them both to shut up before security throws them out again.

Jimin tries to roll her eyes, but she ends up laughing instead. Minjeong hears it and whispers triumphantly in her ear, “See? Motivated.”

Back in the room, everyone collapses into piles of laughter and food wrappers. Yuna falls asleep sitting upright, a fry still clutched in her hand. Ryujin documents it with at least twenty photos. Aeri groans and orders water bottles for everyone like she has a sixth sense for oncoming hangovers. And let Yuna sleep for a moment before they leave the married couple on their own and go back to their hotel room.

When they left, and Jimin can finally crawl into bed, she expects Minjeong to crash on her own side. Instead, Minjeong curls against her without hesitation, stealing her pillow and sighing like she has every right to it. Jimin lies stiffly for a moment, wide awake, until sleep sneaks up on her anyway.

She wakes in the morning with her arm pinned under Minjeong’s head, their legs tangled. Minjeong’s hand rests casually over her stomach like it has always been there.

Jimin’s first thought is not what have I done. It is this feels alarmingly normal.

And that might be the most dangerous thought of all.

The next day, they decide to explore the Strip in the daylight, disguises half-hearted this time. Baseball caps, sunglasses, holding hands like it is second nature.

“Do not let go,” Minjeong murmurs under her breath as two girls squeal and point in their direction.

Jimin squeezes tighter without thinking. “You are using me as a human shield.”

“You are very good at it,” Minjeong says, ducking her head as if that will make her six feet tall instead of eye-catching in every possible way.

They buy matching keychains at a gift shop, the kind that look like they came straight from a clearance bin. Jimin picks one shaped like a tiny slot machine. Minjeong chooses a plastic flamingo with glitter sealed inside its belly.

“Do not lose this,” Minjeong says gravely, handing hers over to Jimin.

“I am honored by the trust you have placed in me,” Jimin replies, pocketing it like it is a diamond.

They dare each other to try the worst cocktails they can find. Jimin orders something bright blue that tastes like melted candy. Minjeong orders one in a fishbowl glass that requires three straws.

“This is gasoline,” Jimin coughs, pushing hers across the table.

“This is delicious,” Minjeong insists, slurping from the fishbowl. She smirks. “I read somewhere that marriage is about compromise, so you drink half.”

Somehow, that ends with both of them slightly tipsy and screaming their lungs out on a roller coaster, captured forever in a photo that shows Jimin gripping the safety bar with white knuckles while Minjeong looks like she is performing an exorcism.

When they collapse onto a bench outside afterward, Jimin is still laughing so hard she cannot breathe. “You scream like a dying seagull.”

Minjeong swats her arm. “You look like you were having a religious experience.”

“Marriage is holy,” Jimin says solemnly.

That does it. Minjeong bursts into loud, unrestrained laughter, the kind that makes strangers glance over. Jimin watches her for too long, trying not to think about how easily this is becoming her new favorite sound.

Every few minutes, Minjeong pulls out her phone. She scrolls furiously, her eyes darting across the screen. Her thumbs hover over the keyboard before she tosses the phone back into her bag like it burned her.

“What now?” Jimin asks the third time she catches her.

“They are still tweeting about us,” Minjeong admits. “There is a compilation of our so-called couple moments with background music. Someone made an edit with the Titanic theme song.”

Jimin snorts. “We have been married for three days and already have fan edits. That is efficiency.”

“I cannot reply,” Minjeong mutters, chewing her lip. “It would make things worse. But I cannot look away either.”

“So you are lurking.”

“I am curating my downfall,” Minjeong corrects. “It is performance art.”

That evening, back at the hotel, they run into a group of fans who squeal the second they recognize Minjeong. Cameras click, phones rise like a tide. Without missing a beat, Minjeong threads her arm through Jimin’s and presses a kiss to her cheek. Jimin nearly forgets how to breathe.

The fans scream. Cameras flash. Jimin smiles through her panic, holding Minjeong’s hand so tightly her knuckles ache.

Later, after Minjeong signed everything her fans shoved in front of her, in the quiet of their room, Jimin mutters, “You did not have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” Minjeong says softly, fiddling with the ring on her finger like it is suddenly too heavy. “It makes it real.”

Jimin should argue. She should tell her this is spiraling. Instead, she leans in and kisses her properly this time. Not because anyone is watching. Just because she wants to.

They end up in bed again, neither of them willing to talk about what it means. Not defining anything, not daring to. They fall asleep tangled together, Minjeong tucked against Jimin’s chest, Jimin’s arm wrapped around her waist like it belongs there.

At some point in the middle of the night, Minjeong stirs, mumbles something about checking Twitter, and then drops her phone when Jimin steals it out of her hand.

“No more Titanic edits,” Jimin whispers sleepily. “Go to sleep.”

Minjeong laughs against her collarbone and lets her.

By the morning of the fourth day, their bubble feels indestructible. Pancakes in bed, syrup dripping onto hotel sheets they pretend they will not be charged for. Yuna insists the pancakes are “mid” and immediately steals half of Ryujin’s bacon. Ryujin retaliates by pouring syrup into Yuna’s orange juice. Aeri confiscates both of their forks and tells them to eat with their hands like the children they are.

It is chaos, but it is their chaos.

By noon, Yuna has come up with her big pitch of the day. “We should rent the limo shaped like a hot dog.”

“No,” Aeri says immediately.

“Yes,” Yuna counters, stretching out on the carpet like a martyr. “Think about it. The photos. The legacy. Minjeong hanging out of the window of a hot dog, waving like a queen.”

“I have never felt more strongly about anything in my life,” Ryujin adds, nodding solemnly.

Minjeong, lounging against the headboard with Jimin’s sunglasses on, tilts her head. “Honestly? That sounds iconic.”

Jimin groans. “Please do not encourage them.”

“Too late,” Minjeong says sweetly, scrolling through her phone. She is pretending to check her email, but Jimin catches the familiar blue app glow. Twitter again. Every few hours she peeks. Never replies, never likes anything, just lurks like a phantom haunting her own trending hashtag.

“Do we have another edit?” Jimin asks dryly.

Minjeong grins. “Someone put our kiss to Taylor Swift. Slow motion. Very moving.”

Jimin rolls her eyes, but the smile sneaks out anyway.

By mid-afternoon, they are at the pool, Ryujin and Yuna cannonballing into the deep end until hotel staff beg them to stop. Aeri sits in a lounge chair with sunglasses and the aura of a long-suffering mother. Jimin floats lazily, trying not to get splashed. Minjeong perches on the pool’s edge, legs dangling in the water, phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline.

“Put it down,” Jimin calls from the water.

“I am multitasking,” Minjeong says, pretending to kick water at her.

“You are spiraling,” Jimin corrects. She swims over, plucks the phone from Minjeong’s hand, and tucks it under her own towel. “No edits for two hours.”

Minjeong gasps like she has been robbed. “You cannot just take my phone.”

“I can and I did,” Jimin says smugly. “If you want it back, you have to come in.”

Minjeong narrows her eyes. “You would like that, would you not?”

Before Jimin can reply, Minjeong slips into the water anyway, cool and graceful until Ryujin’s cannonball sends a tidal wave over her head. She surfaces, sputtering, eyeliner smudged, and bursts into laughter so bright Jimin forgets to breathe for a second.

Evening arrives with the cousins dragging everyone to karaoke. The room is dark, sticky, and smells like beer, which is to say perfect.

Yuna opens with a violent rendition of Britney Spears that has the machine begging for mercy. Ryujin follows it up with “Bohemian Rhapsody,” complete with interpretive dance. Aeri attempts to sing something respectable, but the cousins drown her out with backup vocals so loud dogs three blocks away probably start howling.

When it is Minjeong’s turn, she passes the mic to Jimin. “I will only sing if my wife sings with me.”

Jimin chokes on her drink. “I am not doing that.”

“Yes, you are,” Minjeong insists, eyes sparkling.

Five minutes later, the two of them are butchering a duet, off-key but laughing so hard the cousins collapse on the floor. Minjeong leans into Jimin’s shoulder mid-song, clutching the mic like a pop star, and Jimin thinks, ridiculously, that if their marriage was real this would be the part she would want to remember forever.

The night ends the way all their nights seem to. Running through the Strip barefoot, greasy late-night food in hand, paparazzi dodged like some kind of sport. Ryujin tries to steal fries, Yuna gets distracted by a street magician, Aeri threatens to leave them all behind.

Minjeong eats a taco while holding Jimin’s hand, as casual as if they have been doing this for years. When Jimin teases her for getting sauce on her shirt, Minjeong smears a bit on Jimin’s chin just to watch her squawk.

By the time they collapse back into the hotel, everyone is sunburned, tipsy, and glowing with that last-night energy that feels like summer camp. Tomorrow is goodbye, but tonight, they are untouchable.

They all decided to sleep in the same room tonight since the cousins insisted that Minjeong and Jimin are missing all the fun inside their hotel room every time they decide to part ways from them and retreat to their own room which is originally Minjeong’s. But for some reason Jimin made it her own too.

In the middle of it all, Jimin and Minjeong keep stealing glances across the room, private little smiles only they seem to understand.

When they finally crawl into bed, the noise of the cousins echoing faintly through the wall, Jimin feels Minjeong shift against her, pressing closer.

“You are warm,” Minjeong murmurs sleepily.

“Thanks,” Jimin says. “I try.”

Minjeong makes Jimin’s arm her pillow again, sighing with contentment.

And Jimin, staring at the ceiling, thinks that for something fake, this feels dangerously real.

🍻

Jimin wakes to the kind of silence that feels rare in Vegas. Minjeong is still asleep, curled under the sheets with one hand clutching Jimin’s pillow like it belongs to her. For a moment, Jimin just watches her breathe, chest rising and falling steady as a tide. She almost reaches out to tuck the loose strands of hair off Minjeong’s cheek, but stops herself.

Instead, she slips out of bed carefully, moving slow so the mattress barely shifts. The urge to pack is practical and distracting. If she folds her clothes neatly, she won’t have to think about how right it feels to have Minjeong’s hair on her pillow.

When she steps into the suite’s living room, chaos greets her immediately. Yuna and Ryujin are hunched over the room service menu like generals planning an invasion. Aeri sits stiffly on the couch, typing furiously into her phone with the expression of someone trying not to commit a crime via text.

“Order for me and Minjeong too,” Jimin says, rubbing her eyes.

“Got it,” Yuna replies, before she and Ryujin erupt into heated debate over whether three pancakes each is excessive.

Once they finally place the order, silence falls. It is almost uncomfortable. Jimin is bracing for more nonsense when Ryujin leans forward, unusually serious.

“So,” Ryujin says. “What is your plan?”

Jimin blinks. “Plan?”

“With Minjeong,” Yuna clarifies, equally serious, which is somehow worse. “The marriage. Are you staying married? Are you divorcing? Are you going to, I don’t know, go on a reality show?”

Jimin stares. “Reality show?”

“Do not get distracted,” Ryujin says. “We are asking because this is not just Vegas. You two are everywhere online. If you are staying married, cool. If not, that is cool too. But what do you actually want?”

For a moment, Jimin has no answer. Aeri puts her phone down and joins the interrogation, eyes sharp.

“They are right,” Aeri says. “You have to figure this out. This is not just about Minjeong’s career or your rebellion against your dad. This is about whether you actually want to keep her in your life.”

The words land heavier than Jimin expects. She looks down at her hands, picking at the hem of her shirt. What does she want?

She thinks of Minjeong’s laugh at the roller coaster. The way she gives Yuna half her food without hesitation. How natural it felt when she curled against Jimin at night, using her arm as a pillow like it had always been hers.

She thinks of the way Minjeong says “we” instead of “I” when she talks about little things, like drinks or chips or plans. How it has never once felt forced.

“I like her,” Jimin admits quietly, surprising herself. “It feels… easy with her. Natural. Like she just fits.”

The cousins exchange a look that is both smug and satisfied. Aeri leans forward, her voice gentler this time.

“Then you have to stand your ground. Tell her what you want. It takes two hands to clap, Jimin. Marriage is not a one way thing. You both have to be on the same page.”

The room service knock breaks the moment, but the words stay with Jimin.

She realizes love has nothing to do with time. Sometimes it is just the feeling someone gives you, the way the world tilts slightly when they smile at you. And that, she thinks, is what she feels every time Minjeong is near.

“Do not touch our food,” Jimin warns the three of them as the cart is rolled in. Yuna already has her fork hovering suspiciously close to the pancakes. “I mean it. I will wake her up. If you so much as breathe near the hash browns, I will end you.”

Ryujin salutes with her juice glass. Aeri just rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone.

Jimin marches toward the bedroom like a soldier on a mission. She cracks the door open quietly and slips inside. Minjeong is still curled on her side, her back to the door, hair spilling across the pillow like a careless halo.

Something soft tugs in Jimin’s chest. She climbs carefully onto the mattress, sinking down beside her, and before she can stop herself, she leans forward and presses a kiss to Minjeong’s bare shoulder.

“Wake up,” Jimin whispers. “We got food.”

Minjeong stirs with a soft whine that sounds more like a complaint than acknowledgment. Jimin grins and kisses her shoulder again, then the top of her head, trailing tiny pecks until Minjeong flops onto her back with a groan.

And suddenly Jimin has the full view of her face. Unfiltered, without makeup, still flushed from sleep. She thinks whoever scouted Minjeong for modeling deserves a lifetime achievement award. Because this, she decides, is unfair. This is a face meant to ruin people.

Before she can overthink, Minjeong’s arms loop around her neck. Still half asleep, still whining, she drags Jimin closer until their noses almost touch.

“Come on,” Jimin laughs, voice caught somewhere between affection and disbelief. “Let’s eat with them.”

Minjeong whines again, a muffled sound against Jimin’s shoulder.

“I never pegged you to be this whiny in the morning,” Jimin teases.

That is when Minjeong opens her eyes. Her gaze is sleepy, soft around the edges, and she greets Jimin with a tiny, crooked smile. “Hi.”

Something in Jimin’s brain decides it is the most reasonable thing in the world to kiss her. So she does.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that belongs to mornings and unmade beds. Minjeong responds after a beat, lips moving against Jimin’s with the same drowsy rhythm, like neither of them is in a rush to be anywhere else. It feels less like strangers kissing and more like a quiet promise. Divorce feels galaxies away.

When they finally pull apart, Minjeong whispers, “Good morning,” before stretching, arms sliding beneath Jimin as if she plans to keep her there.

Jimin retaliates by tickling her side.

The noise that escapes Minjeong could probably split the earth in two. A high-pitched squeal followed by her batting at Jimin’s hands, laughing so hard she can barely catch her breath.

“Stop! Stop!” she gasps between fits of laughter, smacking at Jimin’s shoulder. “Get out, go, go!”

Jimin collapses beside her, laughing too, her cheeks hurting. For a moment, it feels less like they are faking anything and more like they are already exactly where they are supposed to be.

By the time Jimin and Minjeong emerge from the bedroom, the cousins are halfway through their first round of pancakes despite Jimin’s earlier death threat.

“I said not to touch anything,” Jimin announces, glaring at Yuna who has syrup on her chin like a five-year-old caught with stolen candy.

“You took too long,” Yuna says through a mouthful, completely unapologetic.

Ryujin shrugs, fork already spearing a piece of bacon. “We were saving you some. Look.” She gestures vaguely at the plate that is decidedly not full.

Minjeong stifles a laugh behind her hand as she slides into a chair. “I feel like I just walked into a daycare.”

“Accurate,” Aeri mutters, finally putting down her phone.

Jimin sits beside Minjeong and starts piling food on both their plates, ignoring the cousins’ protests. She sets a glass of orange juice in front of Minjeong without asking, then casually steals a piece of toast for herself. The gesture is small, thoughtless, and yet the entire table goes still for a beat.

Ryujin raises her brows, slow and deliberate. “Since when are you the type to share food?”

“I’m not,” Jimin says flatly, buttering her toast.

Minjeong takes a sip of her juice and leans toward Jimin, her smile curling like she knows exactly how that sounded. “Guess I’m special.”

Yuna nearly chokes on her coffee. “Oh my god. Did she just… did she just say that?”

Aeri presses her fingers to her temple like she is physically restraining herself from throwing her napkin at someone. “Please behave for one meal.”

But the cousins are vibrating with excitement, watching like they are front row at a romcom they never asked to be cast in.

“You two seem… cozy,” Ryujin says, dragging out the word until it practically winks.

Jimin doesn’t rise to the bait. She just cuts into her pancakes, slides half the stack onto Minjeong’s plate, and says, “Eat before Yuna steals the rest.”

Minjeong grins down at her plate like someone just gave her the keys to a kingdom. “Thanks, you could actually pass as a sweet wife.”

That does it. Yuna drops her fork with a clang, eyes wide. “She called you wife!”

The cousins dissolve into chaos, Ryujin banging on the table in mock celebration. Aeri groans so loudly it drowns out half of their cheering.

Meanwhile, Jimin just takes another bite of toast and says, “If you spill syrup on my lap, I will file for divorce immediately.”

Minjeong laughs, bright and genuine, and Jimin feels the corners of her own mouth twitch despite herself.

It is subtle, but something has shifted. Breakfast feels less like an awkward morning-after and more like a family meal. A weird, chaotic, pancake-sticky family, but a family all the same.

🍻

Jimin folds another shirt into a neat square and tucks it into the suitcase. She is determined to get her packing finished early, because the idea of running through McCarran with a half-zipped bag is not how she wants to end her first and only marriage.

“You need help?” Minjeong asks from the bed, where she is sprawled across the duvet with her phone hovering above her face.

“Nope,” Jimin says, shaking her head. “I have a system. Interference is forbidden.”

Minjeong props herself up on one elbow, watching. “I fold things too, you know. I was not born allergic to luggage.”

Jimin glances at her and smirks. “You should relax. You’re a model. Your job is to sit there and look good.”

Minjeong gasps dramatically. “Wow. Misogyny alive and well in the twenty-first century.”

“Don’t twist my words.” Jimin tosses a pair of jeans into the suitcase, then looks back. “I just meant you don’t have to do anything. Let me pack. You can… narrate Twitter. Keep me entertained.”

Minjeong narrows her eyes like she knows Jimin is distracting her, but she scrolls anyway. “Fine. You asked for it.”

Jimin zips up one side of her bag while Minjeong clears her throat with mock ceremony. “Tweet number one: ‘Minjeong got married in Vegas and it wasn’t me. This is my villain origin story.’ Two thousand likes.”

Jimin laughs despite herself. “Poor soul.”

“Tweet number two,” Minjeong continues, voice pitched like she is on stage at an awards show. “‘If this is a stunt I will still support them. If this is real I will support them harder. Either way I am feral.’ Retweets: six thousand.”

“People are unwell,” Jimin mutters, shoving her shoes into the side pocket.

Minjeong hums in agreement, scrolling again. “Oh, here’s a hate one. Want it?”

“Give me the worst you got.”

“Okay.” Minjeong clears her throat again, then reads with relish. “‘Imagine being dumb enough to marry a stranger in Vegas. Couldn’t be me.’” She lowers the phone with a grin. “It got fifty-seven likes. Not even ratio material. Weak.”

Jimin snorts, bending over her suitcase. “They are not entirely wrong, though.”

“You wound me,” Minjeong says, clutching her chest like she is about to collapse on the duvet. “Here I thought I was the catch of the century.”

“You’re alright,” Jimin says casually, though her smile betrays her.

Minjeong flops back against the pillows, scrolling again, restless. Every few seconds she peeks at Jimin like she wants to say something more, then swallows it back and reads another tweet instead.

“Listen to this one,” she says finally. “‘Minjeong has never looked happier. Whoever she married better not mess it up.’” She pauses, eyes flicking to Jimin. “Twenty thousand likes.”

Jimin’s hands still on the zipper of her suitcase. She feels the weight in Minjeong’s voice, heavier than the playful tone she used before. When she looks up, Minjeong’s eyes are back on her screen, pretending to scroll.

Jimin forces herself to smile. “That’s a lot of pressure for a fake wife.”

“Maybe.” Minjeong’s voice is light again, though her fingers tighten around her phone. “But you’re doing a decent job.”

The room is quiet except for the sound of the suitcase zipping shut.

Jimin presses down the suitcase zipper one last time, but her eyes are on Minjeong, still scrolling, still pretending she has nothing on her mind. The silence hums too loud. Finally, Jimin leaves the suitcase and crosses the room, sinking onto the bed beside her.

“Alright,” she says, leaning back on her palms. “Give me another tweet. Make it good.”

Minjeong glances at her, wary, then rolls her eyes and reads in a mock-dramatic voice, “‘If Minjeong’s new wife breaks her heart I will personally storm Vegas with a pitchfork.’ Thousands of likes. You’re already on thin ice, apparently.”

Jimin chuckles, nudging her knee against Minjeong’s. “Good to know people care.”

The laugh fades quickly, though. Jimin turns her head to look at her. “Okay. Enough tweets. What’s actually going on in your head? Because you’re restless enough to wear a hole through the mattress.”

“I’m fine.” Minjeong’s voice is too quick, too practiced.

“You don’t seem fine.”

A pause. Then Minjeong exhales, tipping her head back against the headboard. “I just keep thinking. About what this is. About how ridiculous it all sounds when you say it out loud. Married drunk in Vegas because of a dare? It’s not exactly the origin story people write fairy tales about.”

Jimin tilts her head. “I don’t know. Fairy tales can be weird. A girl loses a shoe and somehow that’s a lifelong bond.”

Minjeong cracks a smile, but it fades almost immediately. “Even if there’s something real happening, it feels like it’s already tainted. Like we started wrong. Maybe that ruins it before it even begins.”

Jimin picks at a loose thread on the comforter, her voice low. “I get that. For me, this was supposed to be nothing. Just a way to piss off my dad. I didn’t think it would feel like…” She hesitates, searching for the words. “Like something I’d want to keep.”

The air shifts. Minjeong looks at her carefully, as if weighing whether to believe her. “And what if it’s just because we’re trapped in this little Vegas bubble? Bright lights, free champagne, everyone cheering for us like it’s a joke. What if we get home and it all collapses?”

“Then we figure it out,” Jimin says simply. “Or… maybe we don’t wait for it to collapse. Maybe we try to do it differently.”

Minjeong frowns. “Differently how?”

“Like we start over.” Jimin sits up straighter, braver now. “Not as a fake marriage, not as a rebellion, not as damage control for your ex. Just… as us. Me and you. Meeting for the first time, figuring out if we even like each other without all the noise. Okay so. My name is Yu Jimin. I’m here to celebrate with my friends before our best friend’s wedding next week. And maybe you’d like to be my plus one?”

Minjeong snorts softly, trying to cover the crack in her composure. “That fast? Do you usually ask strangers to give you a second chance at the same time they’re still technically your wife?”

“Only if she’s…” Jimin lets out a small laugh, nervous but steady. “Only if she’s the kind of person who can cry on the curb and still laugh five minutes later. Who can outdrink my friends and somehow make them adore her in one night. Who keeps reading me terrible tweets because she knows I hate packing but she also knows I’d never ask her to stop. Only if she’s someone who makes this feel less like a mistake and more like—” She stops herself, but her eyes hold steady on Minjeong. “More like the start of something.”

Minjeong studies her, lips pressed together, like she wants to call her out but can’t quite bring herself to. Then, finally, she shakes her head with a quiet laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” Jimin admits, smiling despite the knot in her stomach. “But I think I’d rather be ridiculous with you than sensible without you.”

The silence that follows is softer now. Not heavy, not sharp. Just the weight of two people realizing they don’t really want this bubble to pop.

The silence stretches, warm and unhurried. Jimin is still watching her, still waiting, when Minjeong finally says, “You make it sound so easy.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard,” Jimin says. Her voice is steady, but her heart is tripping over itself.

Minjeong tilts her head, eyes flicking to Jimin’s mouth for just a second too long. “You really think we can just… start over?”

“Why not?” Jimin murmurs.

The question hangs there, daring, and then Minjeong closes the space between them. Her lips press against Jimin’s, soft at first, a test, a spark. Jimin exhales into it, relief and hunger twisting together, and the kiss deepens like it has been waiting to happen all week.

Minjeong shifts closer, one hand sliding up to Jimin’s jaw, her thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. Jimin feels herself melt and ignite at the same time. She kisses back harder, tasting the laughter still clinging to Minjeong’s lips, the restless energy finally finding somewhere to land.

Minjeong breaks away just long enough to whisper, “This doesn’t feel fake.”

“Good,” Jimin says, and pulls her back in.

The kiss turns hot quickly, the kind that leaves no space between them. Jimin’s hands find Minjeong’s waist, tugging her onto her lap without even thinking. Minjeong laughs against her mouth, then gasps when Jimin nips at her bottom lip.

Her fingers tangle in Jimin’s hair, pulling her closer, and suddenly it is all heat and gravity. Jimin trails kisses down her neck, slow but hungry, and Minjeong tips her head back with a sigh that sends Jimin spinning.

For a moment, there is no Vegas, no paparazzi, no fake tweets to keep up with. Just the sharp pull of wanting someone who feels like they might want you back.

Minjeong pulls back, breathless, her forehead resting against Jimin’s. “If we keep this up, we’ll never make it to the airport.”

Jimin grins, lips brushing hers again. “I’m okay with that.”

The first kiss had been a spark. This one is a wildfire.

Jimin is half lying back against the pillows before she even realizes she’s moved, Minjeong straddling her lap like it is the most natural thing in the world. Their mouths crash together again, teeth clicking in their eagerness, and then slow, syncing into something that feels deliberate.

Minjeong pulls back just far enough to smile, her lips swollen, eyes dark with mischief. “You kiss like you’re trying to prove something.”

“Maybe I am,” Jimin breathes, sliding her hands up Minjeong’s back, fingers catching in the fabric of her shirt. “Maybe I’m trying to prove I’m a good partner, you know?”

Minjeong lets out a soft laugh, then leans in until her nose brushes Jimin’s. “So far, you’re passing.”

Her lips are on Jimin’s again before the words can even settle, her hands pressing into Jimin’s shoulders, then sliding down to her waist, tugging her closer, closer, like there is no such thing as enough. Jimin kisses back harder, one hand splayed across Minjeong’s hip, the other threading into her hair, tugging gently until Minjeong sighs against her mouth.

The sigh turns into a gasp when Jimin trails her lips along her jaw, down the curve of her neck, lingering just long enough to draw another sharp inhale. Minjeong tilts her head, giving her more, fingers curling in Jimin’s hair.

“God,” Minjeong murmurs, breath hitching. “You’re… better at this than I expected.”

Jimin pulls back, grinning, her lips grazing Minjeong’s skin. “What did you expect?”

“Someone stiff,” Minjeong teases, though her voice wavers as Jimin’s mouth finds her collarbone. “Someone who doesn’t know what to do with her hands.”

“I know what to do with my hands,” Jimin mutters, sliding them along Minjeong’s waist to prove her point.

Minjeong laughs, low and warm, then kisses her again, deeper this time, until neither of them is laughing anymore. The kiss is hungry, greedy, all-consuming. Jimin loses track of where she ends and Minjeong begins.

At one point Minjeong pulls back, breathless, her forehead pressed to Jimin’s. “This doesn’t feel like starting over.”

Jimin brushes her thumb along Minjeong’s cheek, her own chest rising and falling unevenly. “Maybe it feels like catching up.”

For a long beat, they just look at each other, flushed and disheveled and breathless. Then Minjeong kisses her again, softer this time, but with the kind of certainty that feels like the beginning of something neither of them can pretend is fake anymore.

🍻

The airport is chaos, but of course it is.

Ryujin is convinced Yuna lost their boarding passes, Yuna is loudly denying it while digging through a tote bag the size of a small country, and Aeri looks like she might actually call off her own wedding if these two cousins do not learn how to whisper in public.

“You’d think after one weekend they’d have matured,” Aeri mutters, typing furiously on her phone while dragging her suitcase with the other hand.

“Or at least sobered up,” Jimin says.

“Or stopped breathing altogether,” Aeri sighs, then shoots her a look. “Not you. Them.”

Minjeong snickers beside her, the brim of her cap pulled low to shield her face from strangers who keep sneaking glances their way. She tucks her hand into Jimin’s elbow like it is second nature, like they have been doing this for years.

“You’re really calm for someone whose friends might get us banned from commercial flights forever,” she says, nodding toward the cousins who are now arguing about whether or not they should buy pretzels before boarding.

“I’m conserving my energy,” Jimin replies. “For New York. For whatever fresh disasters wait for us there.”

Minjeong hums, pulling her phone out. “Speaking of disasters.”

She turns the screen so Jimin can see it. Twitter is still a circus, hashtags about their wedding climbing the charts. Strangers debating whether the rings are real, dissecting blurry photos of them at the chapel, speculating if it is a publicity stunt. Jimin winces, but Minjeong just scrolls through, calm.

Then, without hesitation, she opens the app, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Jimin leans in. “You’re not seriously going to—”

“Oh, I am,” Minjeong says, grinning like she has already decided and there is no stopping her.

She types, deliberate and unhurried.

“@runwayrascal: Yes. I got married in Vegas. Stop asking 💋”

She hits post before Jimin can object.

“There,” Minjeong says, sliding her phone back into her bag with a kind of finality that makes Jimin’s heart stutter. “Mystery solved.”

Jimin stares at her, half exasperated, half in awe, and entirely undone. The woman can break the internet with six words and a couple emojis, and then stand in line for airport security like nothing happened.

Yuna and Ryujin come barreling back, each clutching a pretzel like a trophy. “We got snacks!” Yuna announces.

“You were supposed to get napkins too,” Aeri groans.

The cousins start bickering again, their voices rising above the crowd. Aeri mutters something about divorce lawyers before the wedding even happens. Jimin presses her lips together to keep from laughing.

Beside her, Minjeong slips her hand into hers, their fingers threading together easily, quietly. Like they both know this is just the beginning.