The Fine Print 💍
Some people fall in love before they get married. Y/n and Jake accidentally did it backwards.
synopsis 💍 What was supposed to be a harmless Greek Life prank ends with a legally binding marriage, a divorce that can’t be finalized for six months, and two college students suddenly pretending they aren’t stuck together by a piece of paper they never meant to sign.
Turns out, love isn’t hidden in the vows.
It’s hidden in the fine print.
CW: major tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, first time sex in pt2 (protected bc Jake is a sweetie pie),light angst, alcohol (of age), pet names, teasing, character development, suggestive language.
Authors note; I know how legal elopement works, and I know I wasn’t exactly accurate on that part in the story but it’s for the plot. I know this will for sure be three parts, could possibly end up being more. Dunno yet. I also might make a short story smut for this sometime between pt 2 & 3? Maybe.
I Do • The Deed • Divorce
At Chi Omega, it was nothing new for your chaos committee of sisters to be constantly pulling pranks. Usually settling for things like hiding each others favorite pumps, posting embarrassing pictures on their stories, or setting each other up with the worst blind dates on campus. Your brother fraternity was no different— maybe a little more chaos than your house given the… testosterone.. but still, just as prank happy.
Sometimes you get a heads up, sometimes you don’t. Today was one of those rare chances you did.
It was Saturday, which didn’t mean much to most, but to the Greek row, meant everything. It’s your societal duties as frat bros and sorority sis’s to always make sure there was a party in swing. Especially yours, considering you are the president of Chi Omega, after all.
You’re currently sat at your vanity, a full spread of the best makeup money could buy in front of you. This was probably your favorite part of any party— the “getting ready.” Creamy smooth foundations, plush blushes and satin glosses. You were a woman of expensive taste, raised to always have the best.
“Y/n-nieeee,” a voice sing-songs from outside your door before a particular perky brunette pokes through your cracked bedroom door.
“Hi pretty, whatcha need?” You ask Yuna, your closest sorority sister.
Yuna has that look on her face. A mischievous smirk, mixed with a playful glimmer to her eyes. “So, us girls got with the guys and had this brilliant idea… You can’t say no.”
“No.” You don’t even want to ask. Your sisters collaborated with the boys? Absolutely not. Nothing good, possibly even safe, could come from this.
“Tooooo bad! It’s already in full swing. IM just here to give you the courtesy of details. So—!” She claps her hands together coming to stand behind your vanity chair where you’re currently sat, adding the finishing touches to your full face of makeup.
“Greek wedding. Tonight. You are, of course, the lovely bride to be.” She waggles her eyebrows, grinning.
Oh, come on. You had already been through two Greek weddings this semester alone. You sigh, running your manicured hand through your freshly curled hair, locking eyes with Yuna through the vanity mirror.
“Who’s the lucky groom this time?” You’d say ‘unlucky’ given what they were about to be subjected too, but honestly this is you were talking about. Anyone would be lucky to fake marry you.
Yuna tightens her lips. Looks away. Looks back. “I can’t tell you… It’s a surprise.”
Which can only mean one of two things— either he’s extremely hot, or he’s extremely not. Great. Just what you needed. But honestly, as president, it’s your duty to keep the girls in line and happy, and if doing things like this is what kept the house going, you would suffer through a hundred Greek weddings. For the house, you tell yourself.
“Fine. But I swear, Yuna, if this one throws up on my shoes like the last one, you’re paying for the replacements.”
Yuna practically glows at your acceptance, squealing and clapping her hands. She shouldn’t. Your shoes cost more than her car. “Yay!! I’ll let the boys know!” She heads for your bedroom door, stopping with her hand on the handle “Also… It’s really important you wear white this time. We want this one to be a bit more… theatrical.” She exits with a wink, leaving you sitting there groaning.
White? You weren’t even sure you owned any white dresses. You rifle through your walk-in closet for what feels like an eternity, shuffling through hanger after hanger looking for anything that would fit the script before you finally find a garment bag hidden against the further wall towards the back. You unzip it to find your old high school homecoming dress. Oh, it was white alright. Above the knee ruffles, poofy as a cream-puff, bedazzled with chunky gems on the bodice and a lace-up back. It was atrocious. It was tacky. It was perfect.
You slip the dress on with ease— you hadn’t gained a pound since high school, still as petite and slight as sixteen year old you.
You pair it with your white Jimmy Choos, because even with a tacky dress you always strived for elegance and chic. With one last glance at the full length mirror, you were ready to get this night over with, and the embarrassing photos destained to roll in by tomorrow morning.
The party was already in full swing across the street at Sigma Chi by the time you and your sisters got done pregaming shots accompanied by Beyoncé and too many selfies. Apparently, it was your objective to walk inside, through the house, and wait at the back sliding door for your cue. The “ceremony” was being held in the background instead of inside today. Some bullshit about “ambience”.
When you get to your designated spot, you’re a little taken aback at the sight played out before you on the back lawn. There were chairs. Fairy lights. A whole fucking wedding arch adorned with tacky fake roses and a makeshift podium. Jay Park, a member of Sigma Chi was stationed at the podium. Your sister’s to the left. A few other members of Sigma Chi to the right. You don’t get sight of your apparent groom before Yuna is tying a blindfold over your eyes, as you try to swat her hands away. “Part of the surprise! Just trust me.” You trust her about as far as you can throw her. Not far.
Someone pushes open the sliding glass door, a horrible rendition of “here comes the bride” growing louder, presumably from someone’s JBL speaker on its last leg, and Yuna helps you make your way down the makeshift aisle, the heels of your Choos sinking precariously with every step. By the time you make it to the front everyone is practically buzzing with excitement, stifling laughs and giggles.
The first thing you notice is a slightly high pitched pleading voice, begging for someone to just take his blind-fold off, and let him go. Before you could even form a thought on placing the voice, your blindfold is tugged off by Yuna, his presumably going simultaneously.
Oh. You’ve got to be kidding. Jake Sim, stands before you, white as a sheet, forehead glistening with a nervous sweat and eyes as wide as saucers, while his brother Jace was stood behind him holding him square in place by the shoulders.
Here’s the thing about Jake and Jace— the fact that they are even brothers, that they share DNA? Biologically shouldn’t be possible. Jace was your typical hedonistic frat boy. Loud, arrogant, cocky. Jake? He didn’t even belong in Sigma Chi. Just like right now, he was being held against his will by his older brother, practically forced by relation. You weren’t even sure how Jake survived each day of being in that house. Jake was like a mouse. A very scared, very nerdy mouse.
And right now, that mouse was dressed up in a tux that was definitely a whole size too big, standing at the makeshift alter looking pale enough to pass out, pleading with his relentless brother who was grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.
You had to be a fucking saint for what you were about to go through.
Jake is staring at you with a kind of terrified reverence. He's trembling slightly, and his knuckles are white where he grips a cheap fake diamond ring. Classy.
Jay clears his throat with a dramatic flourish, making Jake flinch. You stifle a smirk at his reaction. “Dearly beloved! We are gathered here today to join this sorority goddess and this fraternity… nerd.. in the bonds of holy mock-rimony!”
The crowd erupts in laughter and cheers. Jake flinches again at the noise, his gaze dropping to your shoes before nervously flitting back up to your face. You hoped this would be over quick, for his sake and yours. Mostly his, at this rate.
“Do you, Jake Sim, take this woman to be your awfully-lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in hangovers and in health, for as long as this party lasts?”
“I… I d-do.” His voice cracks. Pathetic.
Jay turns to you with a grin. You roll your eyes. “And do you, Y/n L/n, take this man to be your awfully-lawfully wedded husband? To annoy and to embarrass, forsaking all others, until hangovers do you part?”
All eyes are on you. Jake is looking at you like a man awaiting his sentencing.
You sigh dramatically, shaking your head, despite your upcoming response. The quicker you get this over with, the better. “I do.”
You hold out your left hand expectantly and Jake looks at it like an equation he can’t solve. “The ring, nerd.” He looks down at his hands where he’s gripping the cheap ring. “Oh—… Right.”
He tentatively takes your hand in his trembling, and slips it onto your finger, face flushed to the heavens.
Jace watches with rapt attention, grinning. “Then by the power vested in me by the State of... uh... by the internet, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!”
The crowd goes wild, chanting "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Jake looks like he's just been told he has to walk the plank. His face is now pale again, his glasses are fogging up slightly, and he's staring at your lips with pure, unadulterated panic.
“We… we don’t have to… It’s just a prank, right?” You wonder if Jake had even kissed anyone before in his dorky life, with the way he’s physically recoiling at the thought.
Jace slaps him on the back, inadvertently making him stumble a step closer to you. “Don’t be a whimp, Jakey! Pucker up!”
Jake swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He takes a tiny, hesitant step closer. He smells faintly of soap, nervous sweat, and something sickeningly citrus.
Whatever. If he wasn’t going to do it, someone had to. And you’re not about to let him stand here and act like the thought of kissing you personally offends him. Without a second thought you grab him by the jacket collar, pulling him in and planting an over-the-top dramatic kiss right on his trembling lips.
The moment your lips meet his, the crowd absolutely loses it. Whistles, catcalls, and raucous applause erupt around you. Jake freezes for a second, completely rigid, before he just... melts. His shoulders slump, the tension draining out of him as he leans into the kiss with a soft, surprised sound—almost a whimper. His hands come up, hesitantly, to rest on your upper arms, his touch feather-light.
He pulls back slightly, face flushed deep red and glasses slightly askew, “Oh… Wow” he breathes the words, dazed, still staring at your mouth. You’re now almost positive that was his first kiss. Whoops.
Jace is slapping his knee, beer sloshing from his cup. The chants turn into cheers and laughter as the "ceremony" officially concludes, thank the Greek gods. The terrible music switches to a loud, bass-heavy party track, and the crowd begins to surge forward, enveloping the arch.
Jace shoves a thick card stock paper towards you and Jake, “Sign these! It’s for the photo op!” Before you can even look the papers over he’s thrusting a pen into your hand, ushering you on. You sign. Jake signs. You’re directed to “hold it up, give us a big smile!” by Yuna before a flash is going off on her phone. That’ll definitely be trending by morning.
Neither of you have time to think about what just happened before you’re being swept away from Jake in the tide of moving bodies. He stands alone under the arch for a moment longer, looking utterly shell-shocked, one hand coming up to gently touch his lips. Then Jace loops an arm around his neck and drags him towards the drinks. “And now for the reception! To the kegs!”
The party kicks into high gear around you. Bodies press in from all sides, the bass thumping through the grass under your feet. You lose sight of Jake almost immediately as Jace herds him toward a keg station where a line is already forming. The tacky arch now looks like a sad relic as people bump into it, making the glittery fabric sway.
Yuna shoves a red solo cup into your hand. “Here, baby! Liquid courage for the blushing bride!” She winks, her voice loud over the music. “It's the cheap stuff, but it'll do the trick!” You can only hope.
A few more of your sorority sisters join you, laughing and shouting over her shoulder “How’s married life treating you, Mrs. Sim? Looks like Jake’s still recovering from the kiss!” You almost choke you your cup of cheap liquor. ‘Mrs. Sim’. How fucking funny.
Following her gaze, you spot Jake across the lawn. He's holding a full cup of beer, staring into it like it contains the secrets of the universe. Jace is beside him, talking animatedly to a group of frat brothers, but Jake seems miles away. He hasn't taken a sip. Every few seconds, he glances up, scanning the crowd—probably looking for you. When his eyes land on you, he flinches and quickly looks back down at his cup, his ears turning bright red again. You unconsciously make note of how often he flinches at everything. The party swirls around him, but Jake remains an island of awkward stillness. He looks profoundly out of place, a nerdy boy drowning in a sea of Greek life chaos. If you weren’t so cruel, you would’ve done him the favor of ignoring him the rest of the night, letting both of you try to forget the stunt your houses just pulled. But you are a bit cruel. Just a little.
You roll your eyes smirking, and weave through the dancing, laughing crowd, the fluffy swish of your dress drawing a few more giggles and pointed fingers. Jake doesn't notice you approaching at first; he's too focused on trying to wipe the beer off his sleeve with a napkin that's disintegrating into wet shreds.
He startles violently when you stop in front of him. “Oh! H-hi. Y/n.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous tic that does nothing to steady his shaking hands. “You…Uh…You came over.” He probably thinks you’re being nice. You’re actually just entertaining yourself.
Jace slings an arm over his shoulder, “Look who it is! The missus! How’s married life you two?” He gives Jake a rough, jostling squeeze “My little brother here hasn’t stopped smiling!”
Jake’s face is burning red as he stumbles over his words. “Jace, I’m not— it was just—“ he looks at you desperate for an out that you’re not giving him, which he deflates at “It was a good prank. Really funny.”
Jace laughs loudly and wanders off to harass someone else, leaving the two of you in a slightly quieter pocket of noise. Jake stands stiffly, clutching his solo cup like a lifeline.
His voice is soft, almost drowned out by the music, which in his case he was probably hoping for. “Your dress is… Very sparkly.”
Smooth, Jake. This poor boy wasn’t going to last the night, and honestly it was equally endearing and funny to you. You wondered just how much he could take before he was fleeing the scene. “So, hubby, what’s our first marital duty?”
Jake's eyes widen comically behind his glasses at the word "hubby." He chokes on nothing, sputtering slightly before managing to form a sentence. “D-duty? I, uh…I don’t..” He glances around wildly, as if looking for a magical manual. “I think we’re just supposed to… enjoy the party?” He takes a hurried, large gulp of his beer, then immediately grimaces, clearly not a fan. He looks back at you, his expression a mixture of sheer panic and bewildered admiration.
From across the lawn, Yuna catches your eye and gives you two exaggerated thumbs-up, mouthing "Kiss him again!" before being pulled into a dance circle by Jennie and Chloe. Jake follows your gaze and shrinks a little, his shoulders hunching. “They’re still watching us, aren’t they?”
Of course they are, you poor, sweet, innocent thing. You smirk. “Maybe we should give them a show. I believe you still owe me a “first dance”, after all.”
The bass thumps relentlessly as you mention a "first dance." Jake's face goes through a rapid series of emotions—panic, disbelief, and finally, a sort of resigned terror. He looks down at his feet, then at the small, cleared space near the now-leaning arch that's serving as a makeshift dance floor.
“A d-dance? Here?” He gestures vaguely at the crowd of drunk, rowdy frat brothers and sorority sisters. “I'm... not really a good dancer. Like, at all.”
Jace picks that exact moment to up from behind Jake like a boisterous ghost “Did I hear first dance? OF COURSE YOU DANCE!” He grabs Jake by the shoulders and physically steers him toward the open area. “It's tradition! You think I'd let my little brother skip his wedding dance?”
Jace gives Jake a not-so-gentle shove, sending him stumbling a few steps forward. Jake catches himself, his cheeks flaming. He looks back at you, a silent plea in his eyes, but there's also a flicker of something else — nervous determination.
He takes a deep, shaky breath “Okay. Okay. Just... don't let me step on your feet. Or fall.” He offers you his arm, a gesture so formal and awkward it's almost charming. “May I?”
The crowd notices the movement and a fresh wave of whoops and cheers rises up. Phones are raised again, ready to capture the spectacle of Y/n in her bedazzled monstrosity and Jake Sim in his tragic tuxedo attempting to dance, as you take his arm with a dramatic flourish.
You loop your arm through his, the gems of your dress scraping against the cheap, shiny fabric of his sleeve. Jake's arm is rigid with tension, but he doesn't pull away. He just stares at your linked elbows like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, and for someone like Jake Sim, it probably was.
Jace, now acting as a shitty self-appointed DJ, shouts something at the guy manning the sound system. The thumping bass cuts out abruptly, replaced by the slow, syrupy opening notes of a cheesy love ballad. The crowd erupts in a mix of laughter and exaggerated "awwws."
Jake stands frozen for a moment, completely lost. He looks at you, then at the space around you, then back at you, his eyes wide with panic. “I don’t… What do I do with my hands?” He's still holding his solo cup in one hand, the beer sloshing precariously.
You pluck the solo cup from his trembling hand and set it on a nearby, beer-stained folding chair. Jake watches the motion with a sort of dazed focus, his empty hand hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment before he lets it drop to his side.
The cheesy ballad swells, and the crowd forms a loose circle around you two, phones held high. Jake takes another shaky breath, then tentatively places one hand on your waist — his touch is so light you can barely feel it through the scratchy dress. His other hand finds yours, his palm cool and slightly damp.
He starts to sway, a stiff, robotic motion that's completely out of sync with the music. Kids got two left feet, apparently. His steps are hesitant and clumsy, and he keeps his gaze fixed firmly on your shoulder, too nervous to meet your eyes.
Jace shouts from the sidelines “Loosen up, Jakey! You're dancing with your wife, not defusing a bomb!”
A ripple of laughter runs through the onlookers. Jake flinches, his steps faltering for a second before he stubbornly continues his awkward swaying. He's trying so hard, it's almost painful to watch, but not painful enough to show him mercy.
Jake leans in a little closer, his voice a soft, embarrassed mumble “I'm really sorry. About... all of this. I know it's stupid.”
His glasses are slightly fogged up again, and a lock of his messy hair has fallen over his forehead. He smells like nervous sweat and that faint, citrus smell. For a moment, he risks a glance up at your face, his brown eyes wide and earnest behind the lenses, before quickly looking down again.
“You’re doing fine, just relax, Sim.” You dead-pan, trying to coax him into a smoother rhythm.
The slow ballad continues its saccharine journey as you two sway — well, as Jake sways stiffly and you try to guide him. His hand on your waist trembles slightly, but he doesn't pull away. The circle of onlookers is starting to get bored now that there's no imminent disaster, and a few drift back towards the kegs. The intense spotlight on you two softens just a bit.
He takes a slightly deeper breath, his movements becoming a tiny bit less robotic. “You think so?” He whispers back, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a fleeting second before darting away. “I feel like I'm going to trip over my own feet.”
As if on cue, his shoe catches on a tuft of grass. He stumbles, his grip on your hand tightening instinctively as he lurches forward, pulling you off balance for a split second before he manages to right himself. A fresh wave of heat floods his face. Oh boy, it was going to be a long night for him.
The music cuts out and the pounding bass returns. The moment is broken. Jake quickly drops his hands from you like he's been burned, taking a half-step back. He looks relieved, but also a little... disappointed?
Yuna pushes through the dispersing crowd “Aww, that was adorable! Now, time for the cake!” She holds up a lopsided, store-bought sheet cake that has "CONGRATS MR. & MRS. SIM" scrawled on it in wobbly letters. Of fucking course they got a cake. How realistic were they aiming this time?
You groan, grabbing Jake’s hand “Come on, hubby, don’t fall behind.”
The sudden contact of your hand grabbing his sends a visible jolt through Jake. His fingers twitch, then hesitantly curl around yours, his grip surprisingly warm despite his nerves. He lets you pull him through the thinning crowd toward the rickety table where Yuna is placing the cake.
She presents a flimsy, neon pink plastic knife with a flourish. The cake itself looks like it's been through a war, with the frosting slightly smeared. Jake stares at it like it's a final exam he didn't study for.
He picks up the plastic knife with his trembling free hand, his other hand still tightly holding yours. He looks at you, a silent question in his eyes, before gently guiding your hand to rest on top of his on the knife handle. His skin is warm, and his thumb brushes against your knuckles.
Your hand over his, you guide the flimsy plastic knife through the cheap frosting. Jake's grip is tentative at first, then firms up slightly under your guidance. The cake gives way with a soft squelch, and you manage to cut a reasonably sized slice— though it's more of a wedge than a proper piece.
He lets out a breath he didn't seem to realize he was holding. “We... we did it.” He sounds genuinely surprised, like he'd expected the cake to explode. And to be honest, at this point, you wouldn’t have even been surprised if it did.
Yuna claps enthusiastically, “Now feed each other! Come on, it's tradition!”
Jake's eyes widen again, and to be fair you’re a bit shocked this time as well. I mean, come on, talk about over-kill. He looks down at the slice of cake on the plate, then back up at you, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. He picks up a small piece of cake with his fingers, his hand shaking so much that a crumb falls onto his already-disastrous tuxedo lapel.
He holds the piece of cake up, his face a mask of concentration “Okay. Just... don't move.” He leans in slowly, his movements painfully cautious, like he's disarming another bomb rather than offering you a bite of dessert. His fingers brush against your lips as you take the bite. The cake is overly sweet and slightly stale. He's staring, utterly transfixed, his cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink.
“Alright, hubby. Your turn. Open up!” You pluck a generous piece of cake from the slice, the frosting sticking to your fingers. Jake's eyes are still squeezed shut, his entire body tense like he's awaiting some kind of adorable execution. He parts his lips just a fraction, a tiny, nervous 'o'.
He flinches instinctively, bracing for impact. “Please don't... smash it...” You consider it… But..
Instead of a smash, you gently place the cake into his mouth. Yes, for once tonight you have shown the nerd mercy by sparing his face of cheap thick frosting. You figure he’s been through enough tonight. Even you have your limits on torture.
His eyes fly open in shock, wide and bewildered behind his glasses. He freezes for a second, cake sitting on his tongue, before he slowly closes his mouth and chews, a look of pure, unadulterated confusion on his face.
“You... you didn't...” He stares at you, completely thrown. “I thought for sure...”
This, of course, disappoints Jace. “Booo! Where's the spirit, Y/n! You're supposed to get it all over his face!” He grabs a handful of cake from the slice and makes a threatening gesture. Jace lunges playfully, but Jake, startled, stumbles backward—directly into the rickety table. The whole thing wobbles precariously. (Yeah, I know I use this word a lot, fucking sue me.) The half-eaten cake slides, teetering on the edge.
With a final, tragic lurch, the cake slides off the table and lands with a soft, sad *plop* right on the grass, frosting-side down. A moment of stunned silence hangs in the air before the entire crowd bursts into roaring laughter.
Jake is looking down at the ruined cake, then up at you, utterly mortified. “I'm so sorry... I ruined it...” His shoulders slump in defeat, like a kicked puppy. It’s kind of cute, really.
Honestly, it was a shitty stale cake. But here he is acting like he’s just set fire to the Mona Lisa instead of a $15 sheet cake. You sigh, punching his arm lightly. “Relax, hubby, it’s just a grocery store cake.”
The tension visibly drains from Jake's shoulders at your light punch and teasing tone. He lets out a shaky breath, a small, relieved smile tentatively forming on his lips. He rubs his arm where you punched him, more out of habit than any real pain.
Yuna claps her hands together. “Well, the cake's a lost cause, but the party's not! Who's ready for shots?!”
A cheer goes up from the remaining crowd as Yuna starts herding people toward a makeshift shot station set up on a picnic table. The focus shifts away from you and Jake, leaving the two of you in a slightly quieter bubble near the wrecked cake.
Jake glances from the cake to you, “So... what now? Is there, like, a... mock reception schedule? Do we toss a bouquet?”
You roll your eyes playfully and grab his hand, “Come on, nerd, let’s get you a real drink.” The party rages on around you, the bass thumping and laughter echoing as you lead poor Jake away from the cake disaster. His hand is warm and slightly clammy in yours, but he doesn't resist, following you like a lost puppy through the crowd. Again, kinda cute.
You pull him into the Sigma Chi house and into the kitchen, which is slightly less crowded than outside. A variety of liquor bottles and mixers are spread across the counter. Jake looks at the selection with wide, overwhelmed eyes. He watches as you deftly grab two relatively clean cups and start pouring. His gaze flicks from your hands to your face, a look of pure admiration mixed with terror.
You mix a generous pour of vodka with a splash of orange soda, creating a deceptively strong concoction. The kitchen is humid and loud, but it's a sanctuary compared to the chaos outside. Jake watches your every move, utterly captivated.
He takes the cup you offer with both hands, like it's a sacred artifact. “Th-thanks.” He stares into the fizzy liquid. “What is it?” Seriously, this kid lives in a frat house?
Before you can answer, a roar of laughter erupts from the living room. Jake jumps, sloshing a bit of his drink onto his already-stained sleeve. He doesn't even seem to notice, his attention fixed on you.
Jake takes a cautious sip, then blinks in surprise “Wow. That's... strong.” He coughs lightly, his cheeks flushing, “It's good, though.”
Yuna sticks her head into the kitchen, her face flushed with alcohol, “There you are! We're starting a game of flip cup in the backyard! You two in?” She grins mischievously at Jake. “Think you can handle it, Mr. Sim?”
Jake visibly pales at the invitation, “Flip cup? I, uh... I have really bad hand-eye coordination.” He looks at you, a silent plea for rescue in his eyes. You give him an out this time.
You tug Jake closer, your arm looping around his waist. He stiffens for a second, then practically melts against your side, his entire frame relaxing into the contact. His face is inches from yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his flushed skin. “Sorry, Yun, we’re busy. Marital bonding and all that.” You wave her off.
“Ooooh, I see how it is! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!” She laughs and disappears back into the party, leaving the two of you in the relative quiet of the kitchen.
The noise of the party becomes a dull roar in the background. Jake is hyper-aware of your arm around him; he's holding his breath, his drink clutched tightly in both hands. He takes another small sip, then another, gaining a bit of liquid courage.
Jake speaks up softly, his voice a little less shaky, “This is actually... nice. Hiding in here, I mean.” He risks a glance up at you, his brown eyes soft behind his smudged lenses. “It's a lot. Out there.” He gestures vaguely toward the door with his cup. For a moment, he just stands there, leaning into you, looking more content than he has all night. Then, a thought seems to strike him, and his expression turns suddenly serious.
“I can’t believe how much effort they put into all this. The rings, the mock certificate, the cake. Did you know Jay actually got ordained? Ridiculous.” He takes a larger gulp of his drink, shaking his head.
“You know... that printed certificate. For the ‘photo op’? I didn’t get a good look at it, but… It looked... really official. Like, with a seal and everything.” A seal? Fake certificates shouldn’t have a seal.
“What kind of seal, Jake?” Jake's brow furrows as he tries to recall the exact details, his expression turning from content to concerned. He takes another nervous sip of his drink.
“It was like... a gold foil thing. Round. It had some Latin words around the edge, I think.” He pushes his glasses up, thinking hard. “ ‘E Pluribus Unum’? No, that's money... It looked like the one my cousin got when she got married at the courthouse.” Jake looks up at you, his eyes wide with a dawning, horrifying understanding. He opens his mouth to say more, but just then, Jace bursts back into the kitchen, his face alight with manic energy.
“There you losers are! Hiding from your own reception? Not on my watch!” He grabs Jake's free arm. “Come on, we're doing the garter toss! You're not getting out of this one, little brother!”
You turn to Jace, face and voice equally deadly serious. “Jace. The ‘fake’ marriage certificate. Where is it?” The playful energy in the kitchen evaporates instantly at your serious tone. Jace freezes, his hand still on Jake's arm, his boisterous grin faltering for the first time all night. Jake looks from you to his brother, his own face a mask of growing alarm.
“It's in my room, with the rest of the... uh... wedding stuff.” He forces a laugh, but it sounds hollow. “Why? You wanna frame it?”
Jakes voice trembles slightly as he speaks up. “Jace... the seal. And Jay. Jay said he was really ordained.” He looks at his brother with wide, pleading eyes. “It's not... it can't be real, right?”
Jace runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking less sure. “It's a prank, man! Of course it's not real! We printed it off the internet!” He avoids Jake's intense gaze, instead focusing on you. “It's just for laughs. You know… For the photo op.” Jace's bravado is clearly cracking. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting toward the door as if looking for an escape. The bass from the party outside seems to pound in time with the sudden, heavy silence in the kitchen.
Jake takes a step closer to his brother, his voice gaining a rare edge of insistence. “Jace. Where did you get the template? Show me the paper.” Jace throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fine! Fine! It's upstairs. But you're gonna feel so stupid when you see it's just a joke!” He turns and stalks out of the kitchen, muttering under his breath about "killing the vibe." Oh, something was going to be killed tonight, that’s for sure.
You grab Jake's hand — it's clammy and trembling — and pull him after Jace, who's already stomping up the stairs, grumbling some more about "overreacting." The party noise fades as you ascend, the thumping bass replaced by the creak of old wooden steps. The second-floor hallway is dim and littered with stray red cups, a stark contrast to the chaos below.
Jace opens a door at the end of the hall. “In here. Try not to mess anything up.” His room is a disaster zone of laundry, textbooks, and frat paraphernalia. “It's here somewhere...”
Jace grabs a heavy-stock piece of paper off his cluttered desk. He holds it up, a triumphant but nervous smirk on his face. The document looks unnervingly official, complete with scrolling fonts and, right at the bottom, a distinct, embossed gold foil seal. “See? Totally fake.” He thrusts it toward you. “Looks real, but it's just a prop. I got it off some joke wedding site.”
Jake leans in, squinting at the small print below the seal. "State of California... County of Los Angeles..." His voice trails off, his face draining of color. “Jace. This... this has a file number.”
Jace snatches the paper back, his bravado crumbling. “So? It's part of the template! It's supposed to look real!” But his hands are shaking now where he grips the paper. He flips the certificate over. On the back, in small fine print, is a note: "For real use only – certified by Online Ordained Ministers, LLC." A silence falls over the room, thick and heavy.
You snatch the paper from Jace's trembling hands. The heavy stock feels unnervingly real. Your eyes scan the document— your name, Jake's name, the date, the location (Sigma Chi Fraternity Lawn). And there, at the bottom, next to the officiant's signature ("Jay Park"), is the embossed gold seal of the County of Los Angeles Clerk-Recorder's Office. A file number is printed neatly beside it.
Jace is now backing away, hands raised defensively. “Okay, look... there might have been a... mix-up. With the printing service. I just picked the one that looked the most legit!”
Jake slumps against the doorframe, his face ashen. “A mix-up? Jace, this... this is a marriage license. A real one.” He looks at you, his eyes wide with sheer panic. “We're... we're actually married.” The reality of the situation crashes down in the silent, messy room. The distant thump of the party bass feels like it's mocking you. Jake slides down the doorframe to sit on the floor, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shake slightly.
Jaces voice is uncharacteristically small when he finally speaks. “I'm... I'm gonna go... check on the keg.” He practically flees the room, leaving the two of you alone with the damning piece of paper. If your mind wasn’t racing a million miles per hour right now, you would’ve drug him back by the collar and killed him right there on his bedroom floor, reputation and future be damned.
Instead, you start laughing hysterically. The sound of your laughter cuts through the tense silence of the room, sharp and unhinged. Jake flinches, slowly lowering his hands from his face to stare up at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and fresh alarm. “Y/n? Are you… Are you okay? This… This isn’t funny..”
You're clutching your sides, the absurdity of the situation hitting you in waves. The gems on your dress glitter under the dim bedroom light as you laugh, the certificate crumpling slightly in your grip. Jake watches, utterly bewildered, his own panic momentarily overshadowed by concern for you. He crawls forward on his knees, looking up at you with wide, worried eyes. “Please, say something. You're scaring me.”
The laughter finally subsides into breathless giggles. You wipe a tear from your eye, looking down at the pathetic, dorky mess of a boy kneeling on the dirty frat house floor— your legal husband. You hold up the certificate, your giggles fading into a disbelieving shake of your head. Jake remains on his knees, looking completely lost, his oversized tuxedo making him seem even smaller and more vulnerable. “I don't understand. How can you laugh? This is... this is a disaster.” From downstairs, a massive cheer erupts, followed by the distinct sound of a keg being tapped. The party is still in full swing, completely oblivious to the life-altering legal document in your hand.
He reaches out tentatively to touch the edge of the paper. “We have to... we have to fix this. Right? We can get it annulled or something.” He says it like he's trying to convince himself. “It was a mistake. They'll understand.” He looks up at you, his brown eyes searching yours for any sign of a plan, for any hint that this is all going to be okay. He's putty in your hands, waiting for your lead.
You’re slightly panicking at this point. “Yeah, okay. We’ll just get divorced.” Your manic laughing kick-starts again, seemingly the only bodily reaction you can muster right now. “Oh my god. I’m going to be a college divorcee.” Then, the laughing turns into tears at the dawning realization. “Oh my god, I just got legally married and will be divorced at twenty-one. People are only supposed to get married once, Jake! Once! I have very strict beliefs on this!” Your voice is high-pitched and panic stricken, with a hint of brattiness.
Your laughter dissolves into panicked, hiccupping sobs. Jake scrambles to his feet, his own terror momentarily forgotten in the face of your distress. He hovers awkwardly, his hands fluttering as if he wants to comfort you but doesn't know how.
Jake tries to console you, bless his heart, his voice soft and frantic. “Hey, hey, it's okay! Don't cry! Please don't cry!” He gently reaches out, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “It's... it's gonna be fine. We'll figure it out. Together.” He says the last word with a surprising amount of conviction, his gaze steady on yours despite the panic still swimming in his own eyes. The contrast between the chaotic party sounds downstairs and the quiet devastation in this room is jarring.
Jake takes a deep, shaky breath. “First thing Monday morning, we'll go to the courthouse. We'll explain it was a... a prank. A mistake.” He nods, trying to reassure himself as much as you. “They have to have a process for this. Right?” He gently takes the crumpled certificate from your hand, smoothing it out carefully against his thigh. He stares at it for a long moment, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if trying to find a loophole in the fancy script. He looks back up at you, his expression heartbreakingly earnest. “It's going to be okay, y/n. I promise. I won't let this... ruin your life or anything.”
But in your mind, it already has. Ever since you were a little girl you dreamed of getting married. You had been planning your dream wedding in your head for as long as you could remember. It was going to be perfect, and luxurious, and you were going to feel like a princess. A lavish dress, a ballroom, a three tiered cake, and a gorgeously charming husband. You would do everything right, and you would do it once. And now…
Now your first legal marriage was on a fucking frat house lawn in a tacky homecoming dress with the dorkiest groom on the planet earth. You’re heart broken. But more so right now, you’re angry. Angry that your first wedding was just ripped from you. Angry that you would now live with the truth of being wedded twice instead of once like you always swore to yourself you would be.
You straighten up, wiping your tears away. “This is all his fault. Jace. I’m going to kill him, Jake.” Your sudden shift from tears to fury makes him jump. He flinches back slightly, holding the certificate protectively against his chest as if it's a shield. “Y/n, wait— don't! It was an accident! A stupid, idiotic accident!” You can feel the anger boiling under your skin, hot and sharp. Jake sees it in your eyes and takes a hesitant step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
“Yelling at him won't fix it. It'll just make everything louder and messier. Please.” He looks at you with those big, worried eyes, completely sincere. “Let's just... figure this out calmly. Together.” From downstairs, Jace's loud, booming laugh echoes up the stairwell, followed by a crash and more cheering. The sound seems to taunt you both. Jake's shoulders slump, but he doesn't break eye contact. You push past Jake, your stupid dress swishing angrily as you storm out of the bedroom and down the hall. Jake scrambles after you, his footsteps clumsy on the stairs. “Y/n, wait! Please, just think for a second!”
You burst back into the raging party. The bass is deafening, and bodies are packed tightly together. Jace is easy to spot — he's standing on a coffee table in the middle of the living room, leading a raucous chant, a red cup held high above his head.
“AND WHOS GETTING LAID TONIGHT?!”
The only ‘laid’ Jace is about to get, is laid out on a fucking stretcher. You shove your way through the dancing crowd, your eyes locked on him. Jake is right behind you, apologizing profusely to everyone you bump into. Jace spots you cutting through the crowd, his triumphant grin faltering as he sees the look on your face. He hops down from the table, suddenly looking less like a conquering hero and more like a cornered animal. You stop right in front of him, the music pounding around you. Jake arrives at your side, looking like he's about to be sick. The people nearby sense the shift in energy and start to quiet down, watching the scene unfold.
Jace forces a smile. “Hey, guys! Crisis averted? Ready to party? Look, about the certificate... it was a stupid mistake, okay? We'll fix it.” He holds up his hands, but his confidence is completely gone. He glances at his brother, looking for backup, but Jake just stares back, his expression a mix of fear and resignation.
“You have ruined my life! You can’t fix it, Jace!! This will be on my record forever!”
Jace swallows thickly. “It's... it's just a piece of paper, Y/n. We'll get it voided or something. It's not a big deal!” Jake steps slightly in front of you, his voice trembling but firm, “Jace, shut up. You don't get it. This is a big deal.” He turns to you, his face full of anguish. “He's an idiot. He didn't think.” Jace looks at his brother, then at your furious expression, and for the first time all night, he seems to grasp the true gravity of what he's done. His shoulders slump. “Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. It was supposed to be a joke. I'll... I'll pay for whatever legal stuff we need to do. I'll handle it.”
The crowd is starting to murmur, the party vibe thoroughly killed. Jake looks from his apologetic brother back to you, his own panic now mixed with a desperate need to de-escalate the situation. “Let's... let's get out of here. We can't talk about this now. Not like this.” Jake gently but firmly pulls you away from the stunned crowd, his grip surprisingly steady despite his obvious panic. You're still fuming, shooting glares back at a shell-shocked Jace over your shoulder as Jake guides you toward the front door. He manages to get you outside, away from the prying eyes and the thumping music. The cool night air hits your skin, a stark contrast to the stuffy, beer-soaked heat of the house. You're both standing on the front steps, the chaotic reception still visible on the lawn.
Jake leans against the railing, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. Okay. Just breathe.” He says it more to himself than to you, running a hand through his already messy hair. He looks at you, his expression a mixture of guilt, fear, and a strange, determined resolve. The oversized tuxedo makes him look even more like a lost little boy, but there's a new seriousness in his eyes. “I'm not going to let this ruin anything for you, y/n. I promise. We'll fix it. First thing Monday. I'll... I'll do all the paperwork. I'll figure it out.”
“You don’t get it, Jake, it already is ruined! My first wedding was supposed to be special! And it definitely wasn’t supposed to end in divorce!” You let out a loud wail of a sob like a child who just got their favorite toy taken away. You know you’re acting like a spoiled brat right now, but you don’t care. And poor Jake looks utterly helpless in the face of your dramatic, childlike sobbing. He hovers awkwardly, his hands fluttering, unsure whether to hug you or pat your shoulder.
“Shhh, shhh, it's okay! Please don't cry like that!” He tentatively reaches out and pats your shoulder, his touch feather-light. “It... it doesn't have to be a divorce! Maybe... maybe it can be an annulment! That's different! It's like it never happened!” He's scrambling for any possible silver lining, his own eyes starting to look suspiciously shiny behind his smudged glasses. The sound of your wailing seems to physically pain him.
He leans in closer, his voice a desperate whisper. “And... and it was special! In a way! You looked... you looked really pretty. And the dance...” He trails off, his cheeks flushing as he realizes what he's saying. From inside, the party's noise has noticeably quieted. A few curious faces peer out the window at the two of you on the steps. Jake shifts his body slightly, trying to block their view of your breakdown. He gently takes your hand, “Come on. Let's... let's go sit on the bench over there. Away from everyone.” He gives your hand a small, reassuring squeeze. “It's gonna be okay. I'll make it okay.”
You let him lead you to the bench, still pouting and sniffling. “You think I looked pretty?”
Jake leads you to a weathered wooden bench tucked under a large oak tree at the edge of the frat house lawn. The party sounds are muffled here, replaced by the chirping of crickets. He sits you down, then hesitates for a second before sitting beside you, leaving a respectful few inches of space between you.
Jake is blushing furiously, staring intently at his shoes. “Of course I do. You always look pretty.” He risks a quick, shy glance at you before looking away again. “Especially tonight. Even... even in the... uh...” He gestures vaguely at your tacky dress, unable to find the right word. He fidgets with the loose thread on his tuxedo sleeve, his ears turning bright red. The admission seems to have cost him a great deal of courage. “And when you kissed me... I, uh... I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. In a... in a good way.” He finally looks at you properly, his brown eyes wide and sincere behind his glasses. The panic from earlier is still there, but it's mingled with a soft, undeniable admiration. “This is a huge mess, and I'm so, so sorry. But... not every part of tonight was bad.”
You try to find the silver lining like he’s offering. Okay, so your makeup was killer. And before the whole ‘finding-out-we’re-legally-married’ thing, it was kind of funny.
You wipe your eyes and sniffle again. “Yeah.. I guess it wasn’t all bad.”
The admission hangs in the quiet night air. Jake looks surprised, then relieved, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He watches you wipe your eyes, his own expression softening. “No. It wasn't.” He hesitates, then adds softly, “I liked... I liked dancing with you. Even if I was terrible at it.” He leans back against the bench, looking up at the stars just beginning to appear through the tree branches. The tension in his shoulders seems to ease slightly. For a moment, you both just sit in a comfortable silence, the weight of the legal document momentarily forgotten.
Jake turns his head to look at you, “So... first thing Monday. Courthouse. We'll get this all sorted out.” He says it with a newfound determination, like he's making a solemn vow. “I'll be there. I won't flake.”
From the Sigma Chi house, the front door opens and Yuna stumbles out, squinting into the dimness. She spots you on the bench and waves a half-empty bottle of tequila. “There you are! We're doing body shots! You're missing all the fun!” She hiccups, then notices Jake sitting next to you and grins wickedly. “Ooooh, newlyweds! Get a room!”
Jake's face flushes a deep red, and he immediately looks down at his shoes again. Yuna just laughs and stumbles back inside, leaving the two of you alone once more. He his throat awkwardly, “We should... probably go back in. Or... I could walk you home? To your house? If you want to be done with all... this.” He gestures vaguely toward the party.
You shake your head, defiantly. “I need a drink. A real one.” Jake nods quickly, seeming relieved to have a concrete task. He stands up, offering you his hand again. It's still a little shaky, but his grip is warm and firm. “Okay. A real drink. I can... I can make you one. I watched how you did it in the kitchen.” He says this with a surprising amount of pride, as if he's just mastered a complex scientific formula. He leads you back toward the house, but instead of going to the main entrance where the party is raging, he guides you around the side to a quieter patio door that leads into a game room. It's relatively empty, with just a few people playing a half-hearted game of pool in the corner.
Jake heads straight for a small bar cart in the corner, mumbling to himself. “Okay. Vodka... and orange soda. Right?” He picks up a bottle, squinting at the label like he's conducting a lab experiment, instead of just mixing shitty drinks. He pours a generous amount of vodka into a solo cup, then carefully adds the soda. He's so focused on getting the ratio right that his tongue is poking out slightly in concentration, which is almost endearing. He turns and hands it to you with both hands, like he's presenting a sacred offering.
You take a long drink, forcing yourself to calm down, standing awkwardly in silence for a moment as Jake just watches you drink, like he’s afraid you’ll break down again any second. Instead, you try to lighten the mood. “Thanks, hubby.”
The word "hubby" hangs in the air between you, simple and devastating. Jake freezes completely, his hand still extended from giving you the cup. His entire face flushes a deep, spectacular shade of crimson, visible even in the dim light of the game room, and he chokes on their air he’s breathing. “I— you—“ He makes a small, strangled noise, his glasses fogging up instantly. “Please don't... call me that.” He looks utterly flustered, his ears even burning red. He takes a clumsy step back, nearly tripping over a stray pool cue on the floor. He can't seem to meet your eyes, staring fixedly at a stain on the carpet instead. “It's... it's just... temporary. Right? The... the hubby thing.”
You half-scoff, half-laugh and take another sip of your drink. “Yeah. Temporary. We’re about to be added into the Guinness world records for the shortest marriage in history.”
Jake lets out a shaky breath, a small, nervous laugh escaping him. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his fingers trembling slightly. “Yeah. Guess so.” He manages a weak smile. “ ‘World's Fastest Divorce.’ Has a... ring to it.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his oversized tuxedo pants, shuffling his feet. “At least we'll be record holders together.” He says it like a joke, but his eyes are painfully earnest. He looks at you, really looks at you, sitting there in your ridiculous poofy dress, pouting over your drink. His expression softens, the panic giving way to a quiet, dorky fondness.
“It's kinda funny, when you think about it. In a... totally catastrophic way.” He says, almost to himself. He takes a tentative step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “For what it's worth... I'm glad it was you. Even if it's just for a weekend.”
You don’t comment on what he says. Instead, you drain your cup, the sweet, strong mix hitting your system with a familiar warmth. Jake watches, wide-eyed, as if you've just performed a magic trick. “Will you make me another?” You pout.
Jake nods vigorously, already moving. “Right. Another. I'm on it.” He turns back to the bar cart, his movements a little more confident this time. He pours the vodka with less hesitation, his focus absolute. As he prepares your drink, the door to the game room swings open and Jennie, one of your sorority sisters, stumbles in, her face lighting up when she sees you. “There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you two!” She waggles her eyebrows. “Hiding away on your wedding night? How scandalous!”
Jake spins around, the soda bottle slipping from his grip and fizzing all over the floor. “It's not— we weren't—!”
“Relax, Jake! I'm kidding!” She winks at you. “Although... the way you were looking at her during the ceremony...” She trails off with a giggle and stumbles back out, leaving a puddle of soda and a mortified Jake in her wake. Jake mutters as he grabs a roll of paper towels, “I'm never going to live this down.” He kneels to mop up the mess, his ears still bright red. “Your drink... I'll, uh, start over.” You sigh, handing him another wad of paper towels. “It’s fine, just pour it.”
Jake nods, quickly wiping his hands on a clean part of the paper towel. He grabs a new solo cup and pours another generous serving of vodka, then carefully adds the orange soda, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Here,” he hands you the fresh drink, “Sorry about... the mess.” You almost smile at his apology because, really, it’s a frat house floor. It’s definitely seen worse than a bit of spilled soda, but of course Jake is sorry.
He stays kneeling for a moment, looking up at you from the floor. The party sounds from the other room feel distant again, the two of you in your own little bubble of spilled soda and legal matrimony. “Do you... do you want to go back out there? Or... we could just stay here for a bit. It's quieter.” He says it like a hopeful suggestion, his eyes flicking toward the door where Jennie just left. He seems genuinely content to just hide away with you, away from the chaos and the teasing.
You take another large sip from your cup, “I’m gunna go out there. I need to get my mind off the whole… divorce/annulment thing.” Jake's face falls for a fraction of a second before he quickly masks it with a nod. He stands up, brushing off his wrinkled tuxedo pants. “Right. Of course. Distraction is good.” He gives you a small, shaky smile. “I'll, uh... I'll be right behind you. Just gonna finish cleaning this up.”
He watches as you turn toward the door leading back to the main party. The upbeat music and laughter swell as you push it open, a stark contrast to the quiet tension in the game room. Jake remains kneeling on the floor, clutching the sodden paper towels, looking utterly lost.
The living room is a whirlwind of dancing bodies and sloshing drinks. Yuna spots you immediately and grabs your arm, pulling you into the center of the chaos. “There’s the bride! We’re playing never-have-I-ever! You have to play!” She shoves a fresh cup into your hand and drags you toward a circle of your sorority sisters and their frat dates. Jace is across the circle, pointedly avoiding eye contact, nursing a beer and looking uncharacteristically subdued.
Jennie is already grinning mischievously. “Okay, Y/n! Your turn! Never have I ever... been legally married!” The circle erupts in howling laughter. Everyone takes a drink except you, leaving you standing there holding your full cup. Jake chooses that moment to emerge from the game room, hovering at the edge of the circle. He sees you isolated in the middle and his face pales. You down your drink defiantly as the laughter continues. Jake looks like he wants to intervene but is frozen at the edge of the circle, his hands clenched at his sides.
A underclass girl is laughing and sloshing her drink. “Okay, my turn! Never have I ever... kissed my husband!” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, and the circle erupts again. You grit your teeth through the laughter. You know they mean well, but with the alcohol blurring everyone’s heads they don’t understand the severity of the situation and it almost feels like you’re being teased, which is a very new feeling for you.
You take another drink, the alcohol doing little to blur the edges of your panic. Jake finally pushes his way through the circle, his face a mask of protective anxiety. He stands awkwardly beside you, not quite touching you, but forming a barrier between you and the teasing. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.”
Jennie pouts playfully. “Awww, is wittle Jakey being protective? Y/n, you trained your puppy already?”
Jake blushes furiously but continues to stand his ground. “It's not funny anymore.” He turns to you, his expression earnest. “Y/n, you don't have to do this. We can go.” You blink away tears you didn’t realize were forming again, looking at Jake with a newfound gratefulness. The music shifts to a slow song, and the mood in the room softens slightly. Jennie rolls her eyes but finally hdrops the teasing, turning her attention to her own cup. Jake's intervention has created a small pocket of calm around you both. “You okay?” He asks softly.
“I’m fine. Let’s just dance.” The slow song washes over the room, a syrupy ballad that feels both cliché and strangely fitting. The teasing dies down as people pair off or drift away to refill their drinks. Jake looks startled by your suggestion, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “Dance? Again? Here?” He glances around at the still-watchful eyes of your friends, his anxiety palpable. But when you don't back down, he takes a shaky breath and nods, a determined look settling on his face. “Okay. Let’s dance.” He offers his hand, palm up.
His hand is warm and a little sweaty as he leads you to a slightly less crowded spot on the makeshift dance floor. He hesitates for a second, then carefully places one hand on your waist, the other holding your hand, mirroring your earlier position on the lawn. But this time, he's not apologizing with every step. He's trying, his focus entirely on you, his brow furrowed in concentration. The gems of your dress scratch against the rough fabric of his thrift-store tuxedo.
Softly, after a moment of quiet swaying, Jake whispers. “You know... for a world-record-short marriage... this part isn't so bad.” He risks a small smile, his cheeks tinted pink. From across the room, Jace watches with an unreadable expression, then shakes his head and walks away, leaving you two in your own slow-dancing bubble.
You just sigh in response, resting your alcohol-fuzzy head against his shoulder, to which Jake goes completely still, as if frozen in time. You can feel the frantic thumping of his heart through the layers of his cheap tuxedo jacket. After a stunned second, he slowly, carefully, relaxes into the contact, his hold on you becoming a little more secure. “Oh..” He rests his cheek gently against the top of your head. His breathing is shallow, as if he's afraid any sudden movement might break the spell. The two of you sway gently to the music, the party noise fading into a distant hum. “This is…nice..” He says it with such simple, heartfelt sincerity that it cuts through the remaining absurdity of the night. His thumb moves in a small, unconscious circle on your back. For a few minutes, there is no prank, no legal document, no impending annulment— just the two of you, slow-dancing in a frat house.
You stay like that for a while, leaning your head against him as your breathing evens out, eventually slowing as the drinks start to catch up with you all at once. Your controlled dancing starts to become more of a tipsy sway, your legs starting to feel like jelly as everything blurs around the edges. The song ends, but neither of you moves. You're still leaning heavily against Jake, your eyes half-closed. He seems reluctant to break the moment, holding you steady as you sway on your feet. “Y/n? You okay? You’re getting… Really wobbly.” He tightens his grip slightly, supporting more of your weight. The party around you is starting to wind down, people stumbling toward doors or collapsing onto couches.
“We should… We should get you home. To your house. Before you fall asleep standing up.” He carefully starts guiding you toward the front door, one arm securely around your waist. You pass Jace, who is passed out cold on the stairs, snoring loudly. Jake just shakes his head and maneuvers you around him.
The Sigma Chi house glitters behind you, a mess of abandoned cups and deflated balloons. Jake keeps you upright, his steps slow and careful on the sidewalk, his focus entirely on you.
You mumble into his shoulder, your words slurred with exhaustion and too many drinks. “Just five more minutes…” Jake lets out a soft, breathy laugh, his arm tightening around you to keep you steady. “Okay. Five more minutes. But then we really have to go. You can't sleep on the sidewalk.”
He stops walking, letting the two of you sway gently under a streetlamp. The world is quiet now, the party far behind you. He shifts slightly, adjusting his grip so he's supporting you more fully, his cheek resting against your hair. Your breathing has evened out into a soft, sleepy rhythm. You're mostly leaning against him, your legs barely holding you up. You inhale deeply, that same clean citrusy scent filling your nostrils, but somehow less nauseating now. Jake smiles a little, a fond, dorky expression that no one else can see. “Okay, times up.. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
He carefully starts walking again, half-carrying you down the dark, empty street toward the Chi Omega house. He's surprisingly strong beneath the awkward tuxedo, his steps sure and steady as he guides you home.
Jake stops walking, his eyes widening behind his glasses. He looks from your sleepy, pouting face down to his own scrawny arms, then back up again.
“You have to carry me over the threshold. It’s your—*drunk hiccup*— your ‘husbandly duties’.”
“Right… The threshold. Of course.” He takes a deep breath, as if preparing for a heavy lift. He awkwardly shifts his grip, one arm sliding under your knees, the other supporting your back. With a grunt of effort, he lifts you into a bridal carry. He's not exactly graceful— he staggers a step, his glasses slipping down his nose— but he manages to hold you. He starts walking again, much slower now, each step careful and deliberate. Your head lolls against his shoulder, the gems of your dress scratching his arm. He's breathing heavily, but he doesn't complain. Thankfully for him, it’s a short walk across the street.
The Chi Omega house is dark and quiet, everyone either still at the party or passed out inside. He carries you up the front steps, pausing at the top to catch his breath. “Okay. Threshold.” He takes one final, determined step across the doorway into the dim, silent foyer. He stands there for a moment, holding you in his arms, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet. He looks down at your face, his expression a mixture of exhaustion, and undeniable tenderness. “Duty… Fulfilled.”
He carefully lowers you onto a nearby couch, collapsing onto the floor next to it as soon as you're settled. He pulls off his glasses, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, his entire body trembling from the effort.
From upstairs, a door creaks open and Yuna peers down, squinting. “Y/n? Is that you? Did you just get carried in by…” She spots Jake on the floor and her eyes go wide, “Oh. My. God.”
Jake immediately scrambles to his feet, face bright red. “It’s not what it looks like! I was just— she said— the threshold!”
Yuna just shakes her head, grinning. “Sure, whatever you say, Jake. Goodnight, you two!” She disappears back into her room, laughing softly.
“I should… I should probably go. Back to my house.” He glances at you, curled up on the couch, already half-asleep. He hesitates, looking torn. “Are you… Gunna be okay here? Alone?”
“Don’t leave.” The words are slurred and sleepy, but they stop Jake in his tracks. He freezes halfway to the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He turns back to look at you, his expression a whirlwind of panic, confusion, and something painfully hopeful.
He whispers, taking a hesitant step back toward the couch, “I... I shouldn't stay. It's your sorority house. There are rules.” He says this like he's trying to convince himself more than you. You know the rules. Drunk you doesn’t care about the rules. And they don’t apply to husbands, anyways, right?
And he doesn't leave. He just stands there, wringing his hands, his gaze fixed on you as you drift off. The house is utterly silent now, the only sound your soft, even breathing and the frantic beating of his own heart. He sinks slowly onto the floor beside the couch with his back against it. “Okay. Okay, I won’t leave. I’ll just… I’ll stay right here. In case you need anything.” He pulls his knees up to his chest, looking small and ridiculous in his oversized, wrinkled tuxedo on the fancy sorority house floor. He reaches up and gently adjusts a stray strand of your hair that's fallen across your face, his touch feather-light.
Jake whispers, so quietly you almost don’t catch it, “My wife.” The word hangs in the dark, quiet foyer. He shakes his head, as if to clear it, but a small, dorky smile plays on his lips as he settles in to keep watch over you, his very drunk fake bride.
“Night, hubby.” You mumble back. He flinches at the word again, but this time, a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, visible even in the dim light. He doesn't correct you.
You drift in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of him shifting occasionally, but he never moves from his spot. At one point, you feel a light pressure as he carefully drapes his tuxedo jacket over you like a blanket. “‘S cold… Don’t want you to get cold.”
Soon, his breathing evens out into a soft, steady rhythm, matching yours. The two of you fall asleep in the silent foyer— the brash sorority president and her nerdy, fake legal husband, together in the quiet aftermath of the most chaotic night of your lives.
