Chapter Text
You had always dreamed of a white Christmas.
When you woke up to a too-pale light, just faintly illuminating your bedroom, you squinted, then almost leapt out of bed in a rush to throw your curtains open and see it for yourself. The whole world was quiet and covered in smooth lumps of whiteness, blanketing the yards and rooftops and trees as far as the eye could see. The sky was a frigid grey, and from it thousands of little moth-like snowflakes fell in perfect silence. It was more wonderful than anything you’d ever seen. You had waited your whole life for this. Happiness bubbled up in you fiercely enough to make tears prick at your eyes.
“____?”
The low, creamy voice lilted to your ears, and you eagerly turned to your… house guest, trying to blink away the tears before he noticed. Not that there was any point in doing that – he never missed any detail, no matter how insignificant. Perks of being a vampire.
“Merry Christmas, Yoongi,” you beamed, smiling so widely it hurt your cheeks. You could feel the chill already biting into your nose and fingers, but it didn’t bother you at all. “Good morning. It snowed.”
Amused at your innocent statement, the odd boy laughed lightly.
“I see that.”
He crossed the room in three smooth steps to stand at the window beside you, his sudden proximity causing your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure you could ever get used to his inhuman grace and ethereal qualities – if his elegant stride was too much to handle sometimes, then there was surely no hope for his other qualities. Objectively, Yoongi was so beautiful it physically hurt. He didn’t need to be tall or chiseled or anything like that – he was radiant with only his perpetual blonde bed-head, dark, tired eyes, and the subtle flex of muscle under his skin that was only a few shades warmer than the ice outside. He could have worn a clown suit and still looked like an angel.
An angel that didn’t sleep and drank blood to survive and had no beating heart, but, well, everyone had their quirks, didn’t they?
“Merry Christmas,” he said after a moment. His gaze was unreadable, but when he looked back at you he smiled faintly and you felt your chest constrict. Gosh, he needed to tone it down. It was too early for you to handle him being so… so… much.
Both of you remained there in silence for what could have been an hour. You wanted to memorize this moment, just in case you never saw it again.
Yoongi couldn’t understand why you were so emotional. He had to force himself not to break down the door when he caught the scent of salt and heard your heart rate skyrocket, but now, observing you look out the window so wistfully without knowing why was almost worse. But he didn’t want to interrupt you; as long as you were distracted, it meant he could glance at you sidelong and study the way the light hit your skin, made your eyes glassy and cheeks rosy past your tousled hair.
His lovely, wretched little human.
“Are you alright?” he finally asked after fifteen minutes and forty-three seconds. His question startled you back into reality, but he restrained his smirk as he politely reached out and moved a stray strand behind your ear gingerly.
“I-I-I’m f-fine,” you answered sincerely. Swallowing down your emotions, you wiped at your eyes and added, “I-I’ve j-j-j-just always w-w-wanted a wh-white Christm-mas.”
At the sudden recognition of your chattering, anxiety gripped him and he swore under his breath.
You didn’t have time to process his actions – one second you were admiring the landscape, ignoring the numbness in your limbs, and the next you were lifted in the air and being carried back to bed.
“Wh-what are you d-d-doing?!”
He didn’t reply – only swiftly tucked you back under your sheets, making you feel an instant, melting relief in your skin fr the lingering warmth in the bedding.
“You’re freezing half to death,” he snapped, a sharp contrast to his gentle hands wrapping your sheets around you. His brow was creased and his mouth was a hard line, something you didn’t see often, and left you feeling much worse than the oncoming hypothermia. “What were you going to do if I wasn’t here? Get frostbite in your own bedroom on Christmas?”
His words were thick with needles, but it was all dismantled by the concern that slowly but steadily seeped through his eyes. It took a moment for his words to register, and you had no real answer to them.
“Please,” he murmured, “let me turn the heat on for you.”
Heat was a precious luxury that cost money you didn’t have. Your space heaters weren’t cutting it, obviously, but you just couldn’t bear the cost of turning the heat on.
He sighed, reading your expression before you could give him a response. This was all quite silly, and horrible. Christmas morning, and you were shaking like a leaf and Yoongi was in a foul mood.
“I was s-s-supposed to make b-breakfast,” you stammered, throat tight at the prospect of all your plans being ruined.
“I can make you breakfast,” he offered, trying not to startle you again. “I know how to use a stove. You bought ham and eggs and sausage and cinnamon-raisin bread. The cocoa mix is in the cabinet.”
For a moment, you forgot where you were and who you were – the broken tone underlying his words had your heart cracking and you moved to get out of the sheets and comfort him, do something, anything for him, but he was faster and carefully pushed you back down.
“Don’t you dare move from this spot. I’m going to get more blankets.” You saw something in his gaze harden, and he withdrew stiffly. “I’m going to keep you warm.”
A little flustered, you weakly snuggled into the sheets and nodded, acquiescing. There was no arguing with him, and his heartfelt desire to take care of you made him more stubborn than anyone else you’d met. He moved in and out of the room silently, procuring more quilts and comforters than you’d known you’d had stashed away and adding them to your makeshift nest. Once you were feasibly unable to move, he disappeared, and you tried to keep your eyes open, but the snow was a lullaby and you were so cozy you couldn’t think straight. Slowly, you dozed off, and only woke up once you heard the kettle go off in the kitchen. You were immediately bombarded with the rich, toasty aroma of honey ham and a greasy frying pan, tinged with the sweetness of toast and cocoa.
And then there he was, carrying a tray piled up with enough food for three people, and wearing the Santa hat you’d put on top of your refrigerator.
It was overwhelming in every way, and you laughed and smiled and felt your insides twist with something that distinctly felt like Christmas cheer and love. Balancing everything perfectly, he placed himself in front of you on your bed and put the tray to the side. Yoongi glanced up at you unsurely, and when he saw your grin and heard your now much-safer heartbeat, allowed himself to relax once more.
“Stop worrying so much,” he ordered quietly without meeting your gaze, cutting up a sausage and stabbing a fork into it to hold up to your mouth. “You… We still have all day to celebrate. We’ll do everything in this bed if we have to.”
The sausage was delicious and mouthwatering, until the unintended double-meaning of his words hit you, and the blood rushed to your face as you swallowed and tried not to choke.
“Y-yeah!” Your agreement came out in somewhat of a squeaking voice, and you bit your lip, absolutely not thinking about anything inappropriate involving your house guest. “I’d like that. That sounds nice.”
Yoongi did that thing again where he looked at you longer than necessary – unbeknownst to you, his eyes lingered longingly on the lovely flush that had filled your cheeks. He tore himself away from it quickly, berating himself and flicking the point of a fang with the tip of his tongue as he tried to quiet his own unruly thoughts.
“Yeah,” he breathed back, and this time he didn’t look at you at all as he speared the next bite. “It does, doesn’t it.”