Archive of Our Own

1.

“No, I already told you, I’m not getting those ungrateful brats anything for Christmas.” Minho shifted and pressed his phone more securely between his shoulder and his rapidly oiling cheek.

“...”

“..Yes, I’m paying my bills alright-” He flipped the lid of a round, peeling red kettle with one hand and brought it to the sink while he gripped a bag of coffee grounds in the other hand. Outside, snow piled stories and stories down into the ever-bustling streets of Seoul.

“..?”

“-I told you, I’ve got a steady job.” He used his elbow to coax the faucet into action and stuck the opening of the kettle under the stream. 

“..?!”

“The convenience store job is just until my book gets published! This draft will get approved, I’m sure of it.” Minho grit his teeth. The weight of the water filling the kettle was beginning to strain on his forearm. He took it out from under the faucet and pushed the handle with his elbow again to turn it off, but the motion sent cold water splashing out of the kettle and all over his right sleeve.

"Shi-" Minho cursed and then clamped his mouth shut. 

"...!?"

"Yes, I'm fine over here, geez-" Minho dropped the kettle onto his electric stove with a loud bang and cranked the heat up to the highest setting. The stove glowed to life, red like a patch of skin that had been struck.

"...?"

"No, I just spilled some water, okay- ..No! I'm not getting the brats presents." He yanked open the drawer next to the stove and retrieved a spoon from it. He slapped the bag of coffee down next to a vaguely sticky looking coffee machine and stabbed into the bag with the spoon.

"..."

"It has nothing to do with my choice of profession! They’re just brats!" Minho piled two generous tablespoons into the machine, paused, thought, and dumped a third in.

"..."

"Yeah, fine, I’ll be there. I got it, Christmas dinner at seven." Dusting the soot-like coffee residue off his hands, Minho retrieved his phone from between his face and shoulder and jabbed at the screen to hang up with a huff of annoyance. A call from his mother at seven am was the last thing he needed today, on a Monday no less. He paced restlessly for a few moments, stopping at the point where his kitchen bled into his sparsely furnished living room and returning to the stove, giving the kettle an accusatory glare every time he returned and it still wasn’t boiling. His fingers itched for a cigarette until he remembered he threw out all of his packs three months ago. Addiction wasn’t good for the creative mind. Sighing, he forced himself into the single chair at his dining table, drawing a creak of protest from it. A watched pot never boiled.

  Instead, he cast a glance out his apartment’s fogged window towards the streets a dozen stories below. Already pedestrians skittered along in the wavering winter sun like ants, leaving vestigial trails of footsteps that intersected and blurred into obscurity on the sidewalk. So many people, Minho mused with a certain sardonic weariness, with so many places they believed they needed to go. They were carried by societal tides that ran deeper than the winter currents of the ocean. From early on in life, Minho knew that he would not allow himself to be washed away so easily.

Minho was a writer. It was something he took very seriously; it permeated into all areas of his life. Or perhaps his writing served as the ultimate distillation of his life. All twenty one years of it. With his writing, he sought to express some part of himself to the world. He was irreplaceable, after all. There was only one of him. Well, there was only one of everyone in this world, but there were few so well equipped to share their value in such a universally communicative artform as Minho, hence it was imperative that he should become a writer.

His parents were very disappointed when Minho chose not to attend college, instead taking a job at a convenience store while he worked on getting his writing career off the ground. Of course, his parents had mourned the loss of a prestigious university on the family name (as if Minho had the scores to get into one in the first place,) but more than that, they had feared for the example Minho set for his two younger brothers, Hyunjin and Jeongin.

Hyunjin was about to enter high school at the time Minho made his decision. In a reactionary move their parents had sent Hyunjin to an expensive and prestigious private school, but that had only served to drive him further away from what they wanted. He’d become straight up delinquent, and worse, their parents still caved to his every desire, no matter how bratty. With Jeongin, he was in middle school, so it was still too early to tell, but Minho was fairly optimistic that he would turn out a “disappointment” as well. His younger brothers were both just brats.

The shrill cry of the kettle broke Minho from his thoughts. He whisked it off the stove and poured it directly into the filter of his coffee machine. It was a hand-me-down from one of his many middle aged cousins on his mother’s side, and it soon became apparent exactly why it had been handed down: it broke within a couple months of use. At this point, it was just a glorified filter holder. Minho watched the brown liquid trickle into his mug (sporting The Beatles Rubber Soul cover art) and regulated his pour with a practiced automation so that the filter wouldn’t overflow.

Today he’d need as strong of a cup as he could get. He was paying a visit to his publisher’s office.

Minho gulped down his coffee black and piping hot and left the mug in the sink. He gathered his notebooks and laptop from the dining table where he had been working on some edits the night before and stuffed them into his messenger bag (another hand-me-down). He yanked the biggest scarf he had off the head of the armchair where his entire collection of winter accessories were draped and wrapped himself in the mirror several times until he was satisfied with both his warmth and appearance. Taking one last backward glance into his apartment and checking his pocket for his phone- wait, it was still on the counter- Minho at last grabbed his coat off the kitchen chair and, shrugging it on, went out to face the chilly morning.

Immediately his face wrinkled up. Minho hated the cold. He drew his coat into himself- it was also a hand-me-down, technically a hand-me-up, because it came from Hyunjin when he outgrew it and left Minho eight centimeters in his wake. It was a nice Acne Studios one, which Hyunjin had begged their parents for as a high school entry gift. It still hadn’t sweetened him into actually behaving in high school though.

Stepping onto the packed subway, Minho switched on a voice memo app on his phone. He liked recording the conversations and even white noise that he found on the subway. He felt that it helped his writing. No matter where he looked, people were out and about together. The winter chill had a funny way of bringing the warm feelings in people’s hearts to the forefront. Minho blew on his fingers. It seemed like he was the only one in the entire country who was alone. It was poetic. Something to write about.

The commute to his publisher’s office was fairly quick and soon Minho was blustering into the doors of a rundown looking office building.

“CB Publishing, please.” He said to the clerk in the lobby.

“I’ll send you up.”

Minho adjusted his scarf restlessly as he waited for the elevator. He’d sent the draft a couple weeks ago, which was usually more than enough time for his publisher to give feedback. He hoped that the delayed response was actually a good omen, for once.

The elevator creaked all the way up to the seventh floor and opened on a modest office that probably hadn’t been refurbished since the 90’s.

“Oh, hello Minho.”

“Hello,” Minho greeted the office’s receptionist. She functioned not only as the receptionist, but also as the typesetter, marketer, and an editor in a pinch. The publishing house was not especially large. She had a feathered bob of hair that had been bleached once and was constantly resisting any kind of cool toned dye she tried to implant in it. There was a patch of hair at the front of her forehead that hovered ambiguously in the vacuum between bangs and baby hair. Minho assumed a home haircut gone wrong. She was also, in Minho’s opinion, the only person even remotely interesting to talk to in the entire office.

“Chan and Woojin are in a meeting at the moment, but I’ll let them know you’re here. Hear anything interesting on the subway?”

“There were a bunch of college students arguing over whether one of them had a compatible MBTI type with her boyfriend.” Minho grunted as he unwrapped himself from his winter layers.

“Oh, Myer’s Briggs.” The receptionist perked up. “What were their types?”

“INTP and ISFJ.” Minho replied, a little disgusted with himself that he had remembered.

The receptionist sucked wind in through her teeth. “Hm. Well, you know, it could be worse. He could be an ESFJ.”

Minho wrinkled his brow. He remembered taking the MBTI test a couple years ago, before it had become a craze in Korea. He had this sneaking suspicion that he had gotten ESFJ.

“So,” the receptionist continued on, “What is the most important letter for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean out of the four letters in MBTI. For me, it’s ‘S’ and ‘N’. I think I have a hard time communicating with Sensing types. I just don’t think they’re very conceptual. Based on your writing, I’d think you must be an ‘N’.”

“Huh,” Minho said, feeling his hackles start to rise. “Well for me... I don’t think ‘S’ and ‘N’ matter much. It’s just a way to process information, isn’t it? It’s the way you put that into action that matters, ‘J’ and ‘P’.” He actually had a pretty shallow knowledge of MBTI types, but what he said made sense to him, at least.

The receptionist thought for a bit. “Sure, but I think that the mode of processing- how you take in and interpret the world around you- ends up having a greater impact on how you act. I don’t know, I just think- the ‘S’s that I’ve met tend to take things as they are on the surface. I like to dig deeper.”

“So do I,” Minho replied quickly and defensively.

“So we agree,” the receptionist said.

“Not necessarily.” Minho said.

“Well, what’s your type? Have you taken it recently?”

Minho was about to open his mouth to drop the bomb on her when a door at the end of the office opened. A short, solid looking young man with a pronounced nose and an awful bleach job stepped out.

“Minho, sorry for the wait, we can see you now!” He called out across the office.

“Thanks, Chan.” Minho gave the receptionist a polite nod and took off.

Chan and Woojin’s office was the only windowed private office on the floor. It was a modest sized affair, especially for two people to share, but it felt expansive compared to the rest of the company’s working quarters.

When Minho entered through the door, Chan was leaning on his desk to Minho’s left. His side of the room was minimal, mostly furnished with black or brushed steel. A pair of Beats headphones rested next to a Macbook plastered with all kinds of stickers and a sugary cream colored drink in a Starbucks cup sweated onto one of the many stacks of paper nearly obscuring the surface of his desk. To his right, Woojin was situated in a cozy looking wooden desk. Paper organizers sandwiched his seat and a file cabinet sat tucked under the desk next to his feet. His desk was spotless save for his closed laptop and well-used mug with a tea tag dangling from the rim.

In the middle of the master office sat a generic looking IKEA desk with two plush rolling chairs facing Minho. Clearly it represented a compromise between the two of them.

“Take a seat,” Chan said. “It’s good to see you again.” He took his place in the chair on the left.

“Tea?” Woojin asked, sinking into the chair on the right.

“No thanks,” Minho replied. He pulled out the chair facing the two publishers. It was a stiff backed, four-legged metal formation. About as prison-like as you could get without shattering the already bipolar persona of the office completely. Minho assumed that it was to make whoever they were meeting with uncomfortable- literally, physically. That way meetings never dragged on too long because people were always eager to get out of their seat.

“So, got news for me?” Minho said. He restrained his voice to a monotone. It was never good to betray hopefulness.

“One moment while Woojin brings up the draft.” Chan said. Chan was the creative side of the operation. He scouted talent, edited manuscripts, and had the final say in publishing.

“Just getting there,” Woojin muttered, pushing his wire-frame glasses up his spade-shaped nose.  He handled the business side. Sales, promotional events, accounts, you name it.

Minho thought they were both awful. Chan had the most basic, pandering taste while Woojin had no taste at all.

“Here we go,” Woojin said, positioning his laptop right in front of Minho and swiveling it around.

Staring Minho in the face was his beloved draft, riddled with edits. Woojin started scrolling through the document while Chan commenced his customary lukewarm drivel of feedback. As words flew up the page, the highlighted passages and side notes seemed to multiply endlessly. Obviously, the only news for Minho was changes, changes, and changes.

However tempting it was to tune them both out, Minho knew from experience that it was important to pay attention so that he could properly defend his work. 

---

“-But it’s the only logical conclusion,” Minho argued. “Her inner world is the lens through which she sees the outside world. Not just that- it gives existence- her inner world gives meaning to her surroundings. How could the novel not end in introspection, in limbo between reality and unreality, where the psyche becomes the physical and vice versa? If the reader can’t understand that, maybe this isn’t the book for them.”

Woojin raised his eyebrows. “Are you implying something?”

“Nothing at all,” Minho said.

Chan sighed. His rectangular fingers folded in on themselves on the desk. “We’re not asking for a lot of rewrites, Minho. We just need you to tweak some spots so that the story reaches an emotional resolution.”

Minho opened his mouth to protest.

“Not that it needs to be a concrete ending,” Chan added quickly. “It just needs to come to a place where it can rest. Maybe temporarily- maybe not- maybe just a space for the narrative to percolate into the reader until it becomes a gushing river flowing out in all directions in their mind...” Chan trailed off, thumb and forefinger finding his chin, obviously engaged in some sort of masturbatory philosophical mental gymnastics.

Minho’s mouth set a terse line. There he went again, trying to appropriate the intellectual spaces inhabited by the work he published. At least Woojin knew his place.

Speaking of Woojin. “You’ve written such a psychological tour de force,” Woojin picked up where Chan left off, no doubt about to speak about the business side. They worked well together in this way. Chan would go off on his artistic tangent and Woojin would seamlessly slide the conversation towards money matters, and at first Minho had unsuspectingly continued on talking, believing that the conversation was still about the content of his book and not the number of copies it would sell. Of course, Minho was no longer a fool. “It will start conversations, no doubt. It needs a resolution that will give the readers something to talk about. That’s when you know you’ve got a story that flies off the shelf.”

Minho rolled his eyes blatantly and both of his publishers looked unimpressed at his show of insolence. “I’ll think about it. But if you think I’m giving the thesis of my book to you straight, think again.” He rose to his feet and pushed his chair back into place.

Chan and Woojin looked at each other. Woojin shrugged and Chan ran a hand through his hair. “Meeting adjourned,” he declared wearily.

“Minho,” Woojin called as Minho opened the door to leave. Minho had just enough courtesy left to turn and give Woojin his attention. “We didn’t go over the small notes, but you know well enough by now how to take care of those, don’t you?”

It was a pathetic attempt to sound threatening, Minho thought. “I will, if that’s what gets you off at night,” he replied. Then he tipped his imaginary hat and was out the door.

Minho made his way towards the elevator, picking up pace as he grew more and more heated.

“They want more changes, I assume?” The receptionist said as Minho stuffed himself into his (Hyunjin’s) coat.

“How did you guess?” Minho said darkly into his scarf.

The receptionist frowned, although Minho wasn’t turned around to see it. “I like the writing Minho. Stay true to yourself. Chan and Woojin have got to let you publish at some point.”

Minho was facing the elevator doors as he let his shoulders fall. The mechanical bell dinged and the doors slid open.

“Thanks.”

And then he pushed inside the elevator and back into the real world.

Minho worked a long night shift on Mondays, meaning he still had hours to kill before he had to check into the convenience store. First, he took the subway to the neighborhood near his apartment building and workplace. Even being in the vicinity his publisher’s office left him feeling off-center and unable to work.

There was a little hole in the wall cafe a couple blocks from his building that Minho liked to frequent. It was devoid of any of the polished wood or potted plants or plastic, instagram worthy lighting fixtures found in swankier neighborhoods in Seoul and smelled like a constant struggle between dust and laundry detergent. Minho commandeered the table in the corner, the only one with a charging outlet, and ordered lunch.

He flipped open his laptop and his manuscript document stared back at him in accusation. Exhaling, he downloaded the pdf of edits Chan and Woojin had sent him. He really thought that this was the version that would be approved. Scanning over the edits, the direction seemed just as dull and uninspiring as the morning’s meeting had suggested. He slumped over the table and put his head to the wood, drawing his finger over the maze of whorls on its surface. He peeked over his forearm at the screen and lifted one hand to half-heartedly plunk letters into his document. Let his head drop back down.

Okay, it was time to wake up and smell the shit. He straightened up in his seat again. He’d find a way to work around the edits and see his vision through. He placed his fingers in proper typing position. He drummed them against the keys. Read the inane lines of feedback Chan and Woojin collaborated on. Scratched behind his left ear.

Fuck, this was hopeless.

“Your coffee?”

Minho jerked his head up. “Oh, thank you.”

As soon as his server set the cup down, he grabbed it and gulped it down, ignoring the burn. He was starting to turn to compulsive caffeine consumption as a form of stress relief.

Soon his food arrived and he demolished that as well, rather angrily, as he read the same line of feedback over and over again.

It was unfortunate how fast he finished his food, because that left him with no excuse or distraction from work.

Minho leaned his cheek into his hand. Despite all of the caffeine, he was thinking himself into drowsiness. His stomach was full and warm. Closing his eyes for a moment wouldn’t be so bad...

“Excuse me, excuse me sir?”

The world slowly swam into focus around Minho. He’d dozed off in the cafe.

“Sorry, we’re closing up until dinner hours.” His server looked at him apologetically.

“Ah.. I’m sorry,” Minho said, voice fuzzy with sleep. “I’ll clear out, just give me a minute.”

“Sure, take your time.”

Minho groaned and rubbed his eyes. He checked the time. His shift was starting in fifteen minutes. So much for getting any work done. After packing up and dumping a handful of small bills on the table, he ejected himself into the cold once again.

He walked quickly to the 7/11 even though he wasn’t particularly keen on reaching his job. He just wanted to be inside a building with heating.

Putting on his uniform on autopilot, Minho's thoughts wandered again. He was twenty one. What direction was he going? The few classmates he still bothered to keep in contact with (not for lack of social inclination but for lack of quality options) were well on their way to degrees, chomping after whichever aspirational carrot they'd plucked from the soil of society and chosen to dangle in front of their noses. In a way, Minho envied them. Their goal, their path to success, their route to fulfillment was all laid out before them. 

In the field of writing, there were also marks of excellence. Sometimes Minho was forced to entertain his parent's friends and explain to them what he did, and they'd always perk up and exclaim, "I bet you'd love to have your book on the New York Times bestsellers list!" At first he tried to explain how that wasn't his goal. Whether or not he became a best-selling author, it was just a potential outcome that followed what he really was after: perfect self-expression. 

Those achievements were not the be all end all, and if they weren't, then what was? Minho was stumbling through the darkness, his only light the elusive words of his literary heroes glittering above like heavenly balls of fire, their brightness diminished by millions of miles of distance. Alone under their foreboding gaze, Minho tried again and again to breath life into his own guiding light, but his words spluttered out and he was directionless in the inky black again.

Minho opened his eyes and blinked blearily at the florescent lighting panels beating down on him. Outside, the streets had been plunged into darkness and reignited by the buzz of nightlife. He was slouched over the register. He had no idea how long he'd spaced out, but when he checked the clock his late shift was almost over.

His reflection hovered across from him in the windows of the convenience store, broken into shards by the texture of the glass. The shattered apparition in his likeness was drained. Dark circles crawled upwards until they became shadows cast into the hollows of his eyes. An obfuscating crease of dark ran across his face in place of a mouth, tugging down insistently at both ends.

Minho stared past himself, thinking.

From somewhere in the outside world a car flashed by and a beam of light cut in the store.

For an instant the light shone on Minho, filling in the spaces between sunken flesh and bone, and the figure in the mirror was whole.

Epiphany struck Minho at the speed of thought and he straightened violently. His co-worker hadn't arrived to relieve him of duty but he gathered his bag and hurried out the door, steps carried by the ephemeral urgency of creation. He needed to write, now. 

2.

“Nice shoes, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin felt his mouth curl into a grin as he trotted towards the group of guys lingering in the hallway long after the school bell had chimed and he put a little extra swagger in his stride. “You like em?” Upon reaching the group, he stuck his feet out for the boys to admire.

On his feet were brand-spanking-new Doc Martin’s, the classic kind with yellow stitching around the soles and buttery black leather that glowed softly no matter what kind of light you stuck them in.

“Nice, dude.” Changbin appraised them with admiration.

“Sick,” Jisung said.

Sunwoo clucked his tongue. “Greedy boy, asking for new shoes when Christmas is just around the corner.” He happened to be wearing Docs today as well, not that it had anything to do with anything. Hyunjin could practically smell Sunwoo’s gel heel lifts off-gassing from inside the boots.

A smile plastered itself across Hyunjin’s face. “That way I can ask for the Balenciagas for Christmas,” he sing-songed in a voice that felt superior enough to him.

Beside him, Eric shook his head in disbelief. “Hwang Hyunjin, you’re something else.”

“So, what do we feel like doing today?” Jisung asked. This was their usual thing. Hyunjin and the boys would ditch after lunch most days, and they (mostly Changbin,) were too adored by the faculty to see any consequences.

“For me? I’ll do Nancy.” Sunwoo snickered. The rest burst into laughter and whistles. “Dibs on Gowon,” Changbin said. They nodded their heads in approval. Everyone had a thing for Gowon.

“I think I’ll go for Nako,” Eric chimed in.

“Damn you’ll go for a Japanese girl? Think about the political climate, man,” Jisung said.

“He’s from America, it doesn’t matter to him,” Changbin laughed.

“Nah,” Sunwoo said with a nasty white smile, “If he fucks Nako, it’ll count as Korea making a conquest of Japan.”

Everyone burst into cacophony while Eric struggled to produce a weak laugh from his red face. Hyunjin had a feeling that Eric was actually friends with Nako, or something.

Changbin turned to Hyunjin. “What about you?”

“Hmmmm,” Hyunjin pretended to think. There were no girls at school that he was particularly attracted to. “You know, no one here is good enough for me. I think I’ll go for a college girl today,” he said, stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. It sent the whole group laughing.

“Alright, so PC bang?” Changbin nudged Hyunjin. “You know there’s a university near the one in Hongdae.”

“Nah dude, I don’t feel like walking.” Hyunjin replied. The others agreed. It was still snowing a bit outside. “Let’s just shit around inside today.”

“That’s a good point,” Changbin said.

“Anyways, I gotta piss,” Hyunjin said. “Meet you in the west wing?”

“Sure dude, go do your thing.” Sunwoo waved Hyunjin off and turned to crack another dirty joke about Korean and Japanese relations.

Hyunjin slipped away from the chatter headed towards the bathrooms. The halls of his high school, lined with spanking new linoleum from the spring before, were now coated with a thin film of brown-ish water: melted slush tracked in by students too lazy or late to classes or delinquent to wipe their shoes off properly on the doormats. Hyunjin’s newly christened Docs slapped-then-squeaked, slapped-then-squeaked down the hall noisily. He let his heels fall first and brought his forefeet down leisurely, concentrating on the satisfying way his steps rolled with the soles of the Docs and ignoring the pain that came with breaking in a new pair.

Hyunjin turned the first corner and the voices of his friends faded. He kept up his loud footsteps for a couple paces before he stopped abruptly, turned, and headed with featherlight treads in the opposite direction. He hurried down a staircase (the bathrooms were upstairs) and across campus, footfalls becoming faster and less self-conscious with every step he took away from his group of friends, certain they wouldn’t hear his deviation from the beaten path at such a distance. He came to his destination slightly out of breath, exertion from running and the perpetual chill of the halls mixing into a faint pink on his cheeks. He had arrived at the library.

The school library was a stately installment in the middle of the campus complex, surrounded by halls on all sides, but extending vertically so that the ceilings reached the height of the second floor classrooms. The furnishing was nondescript except for the towering shelves that spanned the floor to ceiling, acting as pillars as well as vessels for books. Titles lined bottom shelves according to the Dewey Decimal System and later displayed themselves covers facing out as they ascended microscopically towards the stratosphere. Rolling ladders like you would find in old European colleges clung to the shelves but only reached about a story and a half up, rendering the uppermost shelves completely inaccessible. Regardless, books still adorned every shelf right up to the brim. Hyunjin never gave much thought to how they got there. In his world, a book simply came into existence in its exact resting position on a shelf, either to terrorize his academic existence or to be ignored. The rarified novels at the library fell blissfully into the second category. Stepping inside, Hyunjin felt at once chastised into silence and itchy to move and disrupt the place.

He entered the forest of shelves, counting his way in lest he become lost inside and unable to trace his steps back. 000–099, general works; 100–199, philosophy and psychology; 200–299, religion; 300–399, social sciences...

The rows of shelves broke into a clearing with a couple of study tables. The last of this first grove of shelves ended at 440: Romance Languages . The classification displayed itself proudly on a metal plate mounted on the shelf at eye level. It was an image on its way to being burned into Hyunjin’s retinas. A couple students sat at the tables, studying either in quiet groups or on their own. In the corner of the clearing, facing away from everything else, sat the average looking back of an average looking boy. Hyunjin approached quietly, conscious of other students seeing him in a setting like this, and then decided he was above caring what others thought, and then reverting back to fear of judgement, and back and forth, right foot, left foot, until he was standing across from the boy who was scratching away at his note paper. His handwriting fell across the page neatly, almost as if machine printed. The smell of ink, old pages, and new highlighters perfumed the air.

Hyunjin shuffled in place and licked his chapped lips, searching for something to start the conversation. 

The boy looked up. His mouth curved up for just one moment and something sparkled in his eye before his expression fell silent in order to eject: “Hey Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin blinked. “Hey Seungmin.” He didn’t know what to look at. He looked at the desk. The army of hangul ants marching across Seungmin’s notes made his head hurt. He looked up and to the right of Seungmin’s head. 440: Romance Languages stared back at him proudly. He made a face of contempt, mostly directed at himself, and then made a scene of seating himself in the chair across from Seungmin, taking care to bump the table with his knee in the process. A couple pens jumped and tumbled onto the floor.

“Hey-!” Seungmin exclaimed, bending himself in half to pick them up. “Watch it!”

Hyunjin sprawled out with his calculated false bravado. “Whatcha doing..?” He drawled. He settled into his chair and his usual facade purposed for school, feeling much more comfortable.

“Studying,” Seungmin said shortly, “Or at least trying to, now that you’re here.”

Hyunjin had made something of a routine coming to visit the library when Seungmin had prep period. He couldn’t attempt to explain it, but something drew him to the boy who had nothing more interesting to do in his free time than study in the school’s oppressive library.

The first time Hyunjin had met Seungmin had just been innocent curiosity. His usual group hadn’t gotten together to fuck around that day for whatever reason, so Hyunjin was roaming the halls and cutting class by himself. Venturing into the library was an assertion of his boredom: he’d never even been inside before that. Seungmin had been the only student studying in his little section on that day, the first one that you come across once you enter the shelves. He was situated at that same desk, a bit further away from everything else. 

If Hyunjin was with his group of friends, Seungmin probably would have ended up the butt of a mal-intended joke. Hyunjin found it quite easy to torment other students when he stood shoulder to shoulder with like-minded allies, but the words seemed to evaporate off his tongue when he was alone. So instead, he had approached the lone student gingerly, the same way he did today, and initiated a roundabout method of harassment. The first time Hyunjin had opened his mouth, Seungmin looked at him like he was crazy. His expression seemed to say, ‘what twisted logic of the universe mandated that someone like you would talk to someone like me? Hyunjin would pitch throwaway questions and comments and it seemed that Seungmin had only two emotions: annoyance or dismissiveness. Hyunjin thrived on producing them both.

After enough visits though, even Hyunjin could begin to tell that Seungmin enjoyed his presence too, in some convoluted way. Even nerds needed some distractions from studying, Hyunjin smiled to himself.

“Any plans for Christmas?” Hyunjin spread himself over the desk, disrupting the notes Seungmin had laid out precisely for studying.

“Hyunjin-!” Seungmin exclaimed, tugging the sheets of paper out from under his arms.

“Spending it at hagwon, I bet.” Hyunjin gave a wry grin. He touched a finger to his tongue and then stuck it on Seungmin’s notes.

“That’s gross- don’t touch tha- jesus, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin giggled. By the time he lifted his finger, detaching it with a wet smeck from Seungmin’s notes, the handwriting in that spot had turned into an amorphous ink blot.

Seungmin gave an exasperated sigh. “If you must know,” he folded his arms, “My parents let me have the day off. No hagwon this year.”

“This year,” Hyunjin repeated. “Meaning that you’ve gone to hagwon on Christmas before” he surmised triumphantly.

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Congrats Sherlock, the kid who spends his prep period studying at the library is studious, no shit.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re studying right now.” Hyunjin proceeded to wet his finger again, to which Seungmin hastily gathered all of his notes and held them to his chest.

“I wonder whose fault that is.”

“So,” Hyunjin continued, “You got this year off, why’s that?”

Seungmin shrugged. “I can’t believe it either. I guess my parents wanted to reward me for ranking #1 this semester.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin made a face. He got the sense that Seungmin was smart, but he didn’t know he was that smart. “Congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Seungmin replied shortly. His notes were back on the table again. He was studying.

Hyunjin persisted. “So whatcha gonna do this year? Spending Christmas with Kevin?” (1)

Seungmin exhaled deeply. “No, my family is gonna be at home too. We’ll play board games or something.”

“Not even PC bang?” Hyunjin asked. “Wait, do you even play computer games?”

“My sister handed me down a Sims 3 disc, if that’s what you’re talking about,” Seungmin said dryly. The corner of his mouth arched up, betraying that even he was capable of a sense of humor.

“Not into it,” Hyunjin said. “Damn, you’re so nerdy that you’re staying at home to study even though your parents got you out of hagwon!”

“It’s not like my parents force me to go to hagwon, you know. I go because studying and doing well is just the right thing to do.”

“Wrong.” Hyunjin put his head down in his arms. His voice trickled out through the gaps they made against the table as he continued, “You’re even nerdier than I thought.”

“If I’m so nerdy, then enlighten me to what a cool kid does on Christmas.”

Hyunjin frowned. Running a hand through his hair, he replied, “I don’t know, my friends haven’t made plans yet. But I’ll do whatever I feel like,” he said, sounding sure of himself.

“Ah, going out with friends,” Seungmin said. “You know, I think that societally, the most trendy thing to do on Christmas Day is to spend it with your significant other. But it sounds like you’ll be alone on Christmas too.”

Hyunjin rose to the bait. “Better with friends than books!”

Just then the librarian came around to tell them to quiet down, otherwise they would have to move. Seungmin offered Hyunjin a glare of annoyance.

“Whatever,” Hyunjin grumbled, slumping back into his seat once more. “Christmas isn’t even that big of a deal.”

“That’s true,” Seungmin replied simply. He was writing again, unbothered to spare Hyunjin a glance.

“Probably that old librarian doesn’t have anyone to spend it with either.” Hyunjin grouched.

Even Seungmin had to laugh at that. “I think that’s the first thing you’ve been right about today.”

“Anyways,” Hyunjin said, “Whatcha working on today?” He always tended to ask about Seungmin’s work at some point. Seungmin took explaining his subjects surprisingly seriously, especially considering the fact that Hyunjin would interrupt with cheeky remarks or jokes every two sentences. It was a knee-jerk reaction every time Hyunjin felt too close to being impressed by Seungmin’s seemingly absolute, comprehensive, infallible knowledge.

Regardless of the extremely stunted progress that both boys made in their respective conversational agendas, they seemed to enjoy the ritual, and the prep period passed relatively harmlessly after that.

Hyunjin kept steady track of the time. With ten minutes until the next bell rang, he stood up abruptly.

“What is it now?” Seungmin asked.

“Got bored of listening to you talk,” Hyunjin said.

“And yet you’re always the one distracting me,” Seungmin pointed out.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Hyunjin said. “Anyways, I’m going. Cya, Seungmin.”

“Generous of you to leave me with ten whole minutes of peace,” Seungmin said, but waved goodbye anyways.

When Hyunjin arrived in the west wing, hands hanging casually off his belt loops, the rest of the guys were gathered watching Jisung try to b-boy. Hyunjin snorted as he approached.

“Yo dude, where the hell have you been?” Eric asked.

“Yeah, something got you hung up in the bathroom?”

Hyunjin curled his lip up. “Something like that,” he said in a voice that definitely implied something .

“Oh, was it someone ?” Sunwoo said in a vulgar voice.

Hyunjin shrugged. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Ooooooh,” Eric whistled. “Who is she?”

Changbin rolled his eyes. “You’re full of shit, Hyunjin. Hey, try to do this move that Jisung’s been fucking up for the past fifteen minutes.”

Hyunjin just laughed and got down on the floor and tried to copy the stupid shit Jisung was doing. Business went on as usual.

It wasn’t until after dinner that night that Hyunjin received a message request. It was from Seungmin: Hyunjin realized they hadn’t even added each other on KakaoTalk.

I changed my mind, I think I’m going to go out on Christmas Day after all. If your friends don’t make plans anytime soon, we could hang out.

Hyunjin stared at the message for awhile, reading and re-reading it for any signs of suspicion. Well... alright with him.

3.

Jeongin opened his eyes into the gloom of the tiny bedroom he shared with Hyunjin. He turned his head towards the window. The blinds were open and the sun had barely started to peer into the foggy metropolitan skyline. The clock on Hyunjin’s desk displayed 6:13 in red digital numerals. At some point in the night, he had turned himself upside down in the top bunk. It used to happen a lot more when he was in elementary school, but he’d started to grow out of it. Still, especially when he went to bed excited about something, he tended to move a lot in his sleep.

Oh, right. The reason he was excited. Today was Christmas Day! Jeongin sprang out of bed, banging his head into the ceiling hard.

“OUCH!” He clutched at the top of his head. Sometimes when he was too excited about something, he forgot how low the ceilings were as well.

The noise of sheets shifting came from below. “Shut up Jeongin,” a voice grumbled from the mound of blankets.

“Hyung, it’s Christmas!” Jeongin whisper-yelled from the top bunk, hands still on his head.

“Mmmrhgh- I know- now shut the fuck up,” Hyunjin slurred.

“Mom and Dad won’t be happy when I tell them you used that word,” Jeongin sang. He climbed down the ladder and spared Hyunjin’s pathetic prone form a single glance before skipped out the door.

“Close the door! The heat’s getting out!” Hyunjin called after him.

“The whole house is the same temperature!” Jeongin called back, and left the door hanging ajar.

He scampered into the living room. This year, he’d convinced his parents to bring back the stockings that they used to hang when all three of the boys had been kids. It was kind of one of the weirder western holiday traditions, in his opinion, but he liked it because it always gave him something to do while he waited for the rest of his family to get up on Christmas morning.

He plucked all five of the stockings off their coat hooks (all of the displaced coats sat piled on the armchair in the living room) and sat down on the carpet with them arranged around him like petals of a flower. He started with his Dad’s. It was the blue one. His mom’s stocking was yellow. Minho’s was mint colored, he had been very specific about it.  Hyunjin’s was black, and Jeongin’s was hot pink. Jeongin appraised the arrangement and found the colors to have aged well. Each family member was perfectly represented.

Enough of looking, it was time for the good part. Jeongin reached into his Dad’s stocking and pulled out the first item. It was a pack of disposable razors. That’s right, Mom had been complaining lately about how their Dad was starting to get lazy about his whiskers. And she hated it when they kissed. That part was gross and it had made Jeongin retch at the time of hearing it, and it still did this morning.

Jeongin continued, stocking by stocking, in age order. Mom got some new rollers, skin toner, and a new spatula since their old one got melted after Dad left it on a hot pan by accident. The kids’ stockings had the customary candy that their parents would never allow them to touch normally, along with mandarin oranges. The bounty of his harvest lay strewn across the floor and Jeongin sat at the nexus, surveying everything with a discerning eye.

He separated the candies and snacks into two piles: the ones he liked and the ones he didn’t. Then he separated the second pile in two again. The first pile of candies was clearly almost twice the size of the other two and Jeongin tasked himself with the difficult chore of culling the first pile so that no one would be suspicious. After some deep soul-searching, he finally came up with a distribution that he was satisfied with. Then he scooped the pile that he liked into his stocking, and put the other two into Minho and Hyunjin’s.

Dusting his hands off with a pleased smile, Jeongin returned everything else to the stockings and then went back to his room, tip-toeing so as not to disturb Hyunjin, and returned with a bag of candy canes that he’d bought after school last week for this purpose. He dropped a candy cane into each of the stockings. Then he went around the living room, hanging them wherever he could. When the entire bag was done, he stood back to admire his handiwork. A smile spread across his face and a warm feeling bubbled up in his chest.

Satisfied, he turned his back and ran into his parent’s bedroom, precocious footfalls echoing down the hall. “MOM,  DAD, WAKE UP! MERRY CHRISTMASSSSSSSS!”

---

“Hyunjin get up, it’s CHRISTMAS!”

Hyunjin peeled his face from where he’d be drooling into his pillow. He’d been dozing in and out of consciousness since Jeongin had woken up. A glance at the clock read 8 am. Why was Jeongin so excited anyways? Their parents probably wouldn’t even let him do anything fun today.

“Coming!” He yelled, and felt around for his phone in his bed. Had it fallen in the crack between the frame and the wall again? Hyunjin was starting to fear the worst when something near his foot started buzzing.

He retrieved the phone from under his blankets and unlocked it. He had a call coming from Jisung. He hit answer and turned on speaker phone.

“Hey man,” Hyunjin said.

“Hyunjin! Did you hear about our big Christmas day?” Jisung chirped down the phone, sounding way too alive for a teenager in the AM.

“Nah, what’s up?” Hyunjin draped a hand over his eyes to block the light out. Something niggled at him in the back of his mind.

“Play some games and go to noraebang, like usual,” Jisung said nonchalantly. “And... wait for it...”

“What.”

“You gotta guess!”

“Just tell me,” Hyunjin grunted. That thing was still prodding him.

“Fine, be like that.” Jisung paused dramatically. “Clubbing! This year Sunwoo’s brother came through with the fake IDs.” He clicked his tongue over the line and Hyunjin could imagine the ‘bottoms up’ gesture he was making with his hand. “We’re getting drank babyyy!”

Hyunjin lit up at the sound of that. “Sweet, dude. I can already imagine it.”

“Right! It’s gonna be liiiiit,” Jisung sang. “I think the rest of the guys are meeting for lunch at our usual place around noon. You’re good to come, right?”

Hyunjin hesitated for some reason. He definitely had something important to do...

Oh , he remembered. He was supposed to hang out with Seungmin today!

“Um...” Hyunjin trailed off.

“What is it?”

Hyunjin was torn. He knew that he shouldn’t ghost Seungmin. Somehow he knew that, unlike his friends, Seungmin would really be hurt if he did.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed again. A message from Seungmin.

Let’s meet at the subway stop near school at 10?

“What’s the problem, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin cleared his throat. “You know what, I don’t think I can make it today.”

“What!?” Jisung said in disbelief. “You’re kidding!”

“Nah, I’m not,” Hyunjin said. “I’ll see you later dude.”

“Yo- at least sound sorry-” Jisung was cut off by Hyunjin hanging up.

10 am. Hyunjin shoved down the weird fluttering feeling in his chest and got out of bed.

---

Attending Christmas mass was a well-worn family tradition. To their parent’s dismay, their children began peeling off, one by one, as they got older and older. Both Minho and Hyunjin had attended up until their first year of high school before ditching, although their reasons were different. Minho, because his entry into high school came with the denouncement of everything establishment, including religion, and Hyunjin because he’d rather hang out with his friends melting his eyeballs at a PC bang. 

Jeongin was keenly aware of his parent’s desperation to keep him in the faith; for Jeongin to build the habits of a pious Catholic. So far, he had been a model son in that respect, going to church even on the days when it felt like the most boring thing in the world. He was in his final year of middle school now, so he anticipated that next year would be the truly decisive year for him.

For now, their church always served delicious dduk and other candies to the Children’s Ministry, so he was content to continue his attendance.

“Jeonginnie!”

“Jeongin I love your sweater!”

“Thanks Dahyun unnie...” Jeongin looked down at his Christmas-themed sweater and cringed as the sisters in the High School Ministry swarmed around him. Their fixation with him was the bane of his existence.

“It’s so cuuuuute!” Chaeyoung exclaimed. She poked the red puffball sewn onto Rudolph’s nose. She made an exaggerated sighing noise. “I can’t believe you’re gonna be in high school next year. I wish you would just stay young and cute forever~” The sisters around her nodded in approval. 

“Sorry I have to go and-” Jeongin craned his head to look for a way out. He spotted a tall head of hair approaching.

“Merry Christmas, Jeongin.”

“Merry Christmas, Samuel!” Jeongin returned with relief. Samuel was a friend his age who recently started coming to their church. His mom was Korean, and rumors from the High School Ministry said that his father was a druglord in Mexico and his mother had divorced him and moved back to South Korea. Anyhow, he was tall, handsome, and friendly, although he did seem to be reserved in everything he did. Jeongin was just happy to meet someone new and his age at church. And escape the unwanted attention he received from the high school sisters.

He and Samuel got seated on the bench as the head pastor took to the pew. Jeongin basically knew the Christmas morning sermon inside out, so his mind wandered from the opening passage to the Benediction. 

After the sermon was finally over, Jeongin was grateful to stand and stretch his legs. The rest of the church was mingling and fellowshipping over the traditional soup and rice meal that was served after service. 

“Hey Jae hyung!” Jae was in the college ministry, real nice, cool, and well liked by everyone from kids to elders.

“Hey Jeongin.” Jae tilted his head way down in order to make eye contact with him.

“What are you doing after service? Got any Christmas plans?” Jeongin chirped.

Jae lit up. “I’m gonna see one of my friends.”

“Oh, who?”

“His name’s Brian.”

“Brian? Is he a foreigner?”

“Nah, he was born here, he just lived abroad for a bit. I’m more of a foreigner than him, for sure. I just like calling him Brian.”

“Hey, didn’t you bring him to church once? You wanted him to join you on Praise Team.” Jeongin did remember Jae bringing another musical friend to their church that one time. Handsome guy.

“Yeah! That’s him. I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course! You’re a cool guy on Praise Team, so of course I’d remember if you brought another cool friend. Why haven’t you brought him again?”

Jae frowned at that. “Brian doesn’t like church much. Actually, he’s not religious.”

“Oh...” Jeongin trailed off. Suddenly he was curious. “Was Brian born into a religious family?”

“Yeah, actually, he was.” Jae’s eyebrows drew up until they were hidden underneath his fringe. Jeongin could tell without Jae saying anything that he was worried for his friend’s salvation. It was just the way Jae hyung was.

“Then...” Jeongin wasn’t sure how to phrase his question. “How did Brian hyung know that he wasn’t a believer?”

“He, well... he realized that his beliefs and the teachings of the Bible didn’t line up. And after that... I guess he chose his own ideology. He always tells me, it’s hard to believe in something that rejects who you are. And I guess he’s got a point there. It’s just, for me, I can’t change who I am, but at least I can do the best with what I’ve got, and ask for His forgiveness for the rest.” Jae looked lost in thought. “Jeongin, are you having questioning thoughts?” He asked suddenly.

Jeongin looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling naked and ashamed. “No but- I guess- Minho hyung doesn’t go to church anymore, you know. I just wonder what he’s thinking. And if I’m thinking the same thing.” Here he was in front of the golden boy of the college ministry, confessing that after thirteen years in Church, he still didn’t have total faith in Christ.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to question.”

Jeongin peered up at Jae, feeling the shame crawl over his cheeks. “That’s not what Pastor Kim tells us.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t actually say that, does he?”

“No,” Jeongin admitted, “But that’s what it sounds like. Whenever he says anything.”

Jae looked conflicted. “I think questioning is a healthy part of faith. It means that you’re thinking about it. How can you believe and understand something you don't think critically about?" He peered up into the rafters as he went on, "Especially at a time when everything is changing in your life. I'd be shocked if you didn't have doubts!" Jae grinned. "You'll be in high school next year, right?"

Jeongin nodded. "Yeah."

"Man, enjoy yourself while you can."

"What do you mean," Jeongin whined, "Freedom doesn't start until high school!"

"Did Hyunjin teach you that?" Jae asked dryly.

"Yeah, but he learned it from Minho hyung,"

"I miss those two..." Jae rolled his eyes. "Hey- the next step in life might seem exciting and all but you're gonna miss what you have right now too, for sure."

Jeongin screwed his face up. "Like being the only one who listens to our parents?"

Jae laughed. "You'll see what I mean," he said, clapping Jeongin on the shoulder. "For now, just cherish the present."

Jeongin opened his mouth to respond but he was cut off by his Mom's voice calling for him.

"Jeongin, you'll be late to hagwon!"

Jeongin made a face and Jae smiled apologetically. "Bad timing for my advice, huh?"

"You can say that again."

"Alright, well, I won't hold you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your Christmas Day."

"I'll try my best." Jeongin said glumly. 

“Oh, and could you say hi to Minho for me? Tell him I finally read Norwegian Wood, it blew my mind. He and I should get a meal and talk about it. No preaching, just books. I promise.”

Jeongin brightened a little more. “Sure, Jae hyung.”

Jae smiled that innocent smile of his and disappeared into the throngs of Christmas church goers.

Uncertainty settled over Jeongin once again. The expectations of his parents still weighed on him and he raised his eyes to search for a point of distraction.

His eyes fell on the spread of candies resting at the feet of the beat-up old Santa cut out that the Children’s Ministry reused year after year. Maybe he could pay Santa just one more visit before hagwon. The responsibilities of tomorrow were meant to be dealt with tomorrow. And the candy in front of him today was meant to be dealt with today.

---

“Wait, Hyunjin, stay just like that!”

Hyunjin froze in his tracks and fixed Seungmin with a deer in the headlights look. Several meters away from him, Seungmin brought a film camera to his eyes and clicked the shutter.

“Nice!” Seungmin said, surveying the scene in front of him for a beat before walking on.

Hyunjin turned around to see what Seungmin had taken a picture of. A pristine flow of white stretched across his vision, the gush of the Han River frozen in time by a sudden cold snap. Flecks of snow drifted in the atmosphere, pushed to and fro by the wakes of pedestrians enjoying Christmas Day. Cars danced their daytime headlights over the crest of Hannam Bridge, carrying happy couples to make holiday memories. Beyond the river, Lotte Tower ascended like a pillar of light, reflecting the spotlessly white winter sky with a blinding iciness. It was the postcard definition of a winter day in Seoul. Hyunjin wondered what was so special about this picture in specific. Just in case, he snapped a picture of it on his phone.

On this side of the river, Hannam’s friendly countenance smiled at him through the snowdrifts. Seungmin had insisted that they come to the old side of the city in order to take pictures on Christmas Day. “There’s a certain charm,” he’d said. This side of the Han River certainly didn’t feel exciting to Hyunjin, but deep inside, it filled him with a strange warmth. And it was Seungmin’s choice anyways.

“Hwang Hyunjin, hurry up!” Seungmin’s voice floated over. Hyunjin turned away from the scenery and realized Seungmin was growing smaller and smaller on the path ahead of them.

Hyunjin ran to catch up. “You never told me you were into photography.”

Seungmin’s brow wrinkled in concentration and he brought his camera up to snap the shutter right in front of Hyunjin’s face. Hyunjin blinked in surprise at the sound.

Seungmin smiled with satisfaction at the picture, again. “It never really came up, you know.”

“That’s true.” Feeling obligated, Hyunjin brought his phone camera up to take a symmetrical picture of Seungmin. Then he noticed a cool looking tree in the background and zoomed in to take a picture of that too.

“How come you take so few pictures?” Hyunjin asked. He could only recall Seungmin clicking the shutter today five or six times so far.

Seungmin rolled his eyes and Hyunjin felt warmth on his face, the embarrassment of being lightly admonished. “Because it’s a film camera,” He said as if it was obvious.

Hyunjin raised his eyebrows. “So?”

“So I’ve only got thirty-six shots on this roll! I’ve got to pick my shots carefully.” Seungmin brought the viewfinder to his eye and fiddled with the settings again.

Hyunjin noticed that Seungmin had taken his gloves off long ago in order to operate the camera settings properly. The tips of his fingers were bitten red by cold but the other boy didn’t seem to care. Hyunjin thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. He could never do that. He hated the cold. It ran in the family.

“So,” Hyunjin began when it looked as if Seungmin wasn’t going to offer more. “How did you get into it?”

Seungmin grinned. “This used to be my dad’s.” He held the film camera up proudly. “My dad is a bit of an artistic soul, and he passed it down to me. Or at least that’s what he always says. It definitely didn’t come from Mom.” Seungmin chuckled a bit.

“When I was younger he would take me out for the day with the camera and a roll of film and he’d show me how to use the camera. We’d use the roll up and then get it developed at the end of the day.” Seungmin’s gaze rested on the keepsake in his hands. He was wearing a big parka and the fur lining around the hood framed his fond expression like a fluttering halo.

“That sounds cool,” Hyunjin said. He couldn’t remember any times when his parents would just take him out to spend a day like that.

“Later today, let’s take this roll to get developed.”

“That’s cool with me.” Hyunjin fixed his gaze on the ring of white around Seungmin’s face and felt the corners of his mouth tug up.

“Hey, do you want to try taking some pictures too?” Hyunjin refocused on Seungmin’s face and saw that his friend was smiling widely.

“Uh, are you sure I can do it?”

“Sure, I’ll show you everything!” Seungmin thrust the camera into Hyunjin’s hands.

Hyunjin received it hesitantly. “Um.”

Seungmin stood by Hyunjin’s side and proceeded to point to different dials and buttons. “This is the aperture, it controls the depth of field. And this is the light meter. You adjust these dials and the shutter speed until it matches. Oh- yeah, just look into the viewfinder like that.. you see? ...And that’s how you get it to focus! Yeah, you got it!”

Hyunjin tried his best to follow Seungmin’s earnest tutoring. “AH! My head hurts.”

Seungmin laughed. “It’s okay, just remember to make the meter line up and focus properly and it should work.”

“Meter... focus...” Hyunjin mumbled to himself. His hands were starting to sweat in his gloves.

“You can just go and take pictures of anything. I won’t watch you, so there’s no pressure. Sometimes my Dad did that for me. He says that when you feel somebody else’s expectations on you, you can’t make anything authentic.” Seungmin said. “I’ll just be here, I’ll look for a place to eat lunch.” He gave an encouraging nod to Hyunjin.

“Okay... sure.” Hyunjin said slowly.

“Just don’t use up the whole roll!” Seungmin replied cheerfully.

And like that, Hyunjin was left to his own devices. Cautiously, he began to observe his surroundings for something he might like to take a picture of. He risked a glance back at Seungmin, but true to his word, Seungmin was scrolling on his phone, not sparing him a single glance.

Hyunjin was not a particularly observant person, nor was he very aware of his surroundings. He tended to take in his surroundings in relation to how it concerned him. If he saw a cool looking jacket, he’d pay no attention to the stitching details, instead he would imagine how it would look on him. And now that he was tasked with capturing the qualities of the outside world as they were, especially with the weight of a limited number of images, he felt lost. 

After muddling around, raising the viewfinder to his eyes half heartedly and returning it to his chest over and over again, Hyunjin looked back to Seungmin again, seeking reassurance or guidance of some kind. 

Seungmin was looking down at his phone. He looked a lot like he did whenever Hyunjin caught him at the library, totally concentrated on the task at hand. Only today, the wind carded through his hair and his average looking shoulders were swaddled inside his white parka. On instinct, Hyunjin lifted the camera to his eyes and snapped a picture. He paused and looked at Seungmin just a little more before heading towards him.

Seungmin looked up as he approached. “Hey, I found this chicken place. It looks good.” He turned the phone for Hyunjin to see. “Did you take some pictures?”

Hyunjin nodded. “Just one.”

Seungmin smiled. “Stingy. I wouldn’t have expected that from you. So do you think it’ll come out nice?”

Hyunjin thought about it. “We’ll see.”

“Man, I can’t wait to get this roll developed.” Seungmin accepted the camera back from Hyunjin.

“Me neither,” Hyunjin said, meaning it. “So, chicken?”

---

Clack .

It was the sound of Minho hitting send on his new draft. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon. He stared blankly at his inbox, basking in the aftermath of finishing. His entire week was spent working day and night on his book. He'd been writing feverishly since nine the morning before, almost as if possessed. The result was a bit of a different story, but something that he felt absolutely sure about. Never had he felt so certain that his work had come from him. 

Relaxing the shoulders he hadn’t even realized were hunched, he slowly closed his laptop. Rose from his chair. Groaned at his unwilling joints. Trudged off to bed. If he fell asleep right this instant, he could at least catch five hours of sleep before he was obligated to show for Christmas dinner.

---

“Change the station.”

“Jeongin, I’m listening to this news story.”

“But Mooooom,” Jeongin whined from the backseat. “I want to listen to the radio.”

His dad turned around in the driver’s seat. “But you are listening to the radio right now,” he joked.

Jeongin groaned. “Dad, I meant music. ” He was complaining about the radio, but he really wanted to complain about something else instead: the fact that he was on his way to hagwon on Christmas Day. The very least his parents could do in exchange for his compliance was let him listen to music on the way to impending doom.

“Hey Dad,” Jeongin began slyly. “Let’s listen to some trot music..!”

“Great idea Jeongin!”

His mom groaned. “Boys, you know I can’t stand trot.”

“Why not?” His dad grinned and switched the station. His mom sighed.

“Yesssssss,” Jeongin cheered.

By the time they'd reached Jeongin's hagwon, he stepped out of the back seat feeling considerably more rejuvenated. (The same could not be said for his mom.) 

Although he'd much rather be playing on his Switch at home, going to hagwon on Christmas wasn't the worst thing in the world. It certainly beat going to hagwon on any other day. None of the kids in class really felt like studying, and honestly, most of the teachers didn't really feel like teaching either. 

Jeongin got inside and plopped down in his seat.  His hagwon was on the second floor of a mini-mall squashed into the corner of an intersection. The classroom he was tutored in had only two windows, all the way in the back, and they were hotly contested seats. When he got there, the group of mean girls who drew their aegyo-sal shadows in and always carried a CC cushion in their pencil cases had already staked out the area. He chose a seat in the middle and chit-chatted with other complaining students until their tutor came in and shushed everyone. As soon as the lesson started, that was Jeongin’s cue to thread his earbuds up through his hoodie and fasten them into his ears. He put on his favorite ASMR channel and gazed smilingly up at the board as the tutor introduced today’s lesson.

“...and we’ll take a break and come back to this afterwards.” The tutor finished an hour later. Funny how when the word “break” was involved, Jeongin could suddenly hear past the wall of sound coming from his earbuds.

The air filled with sounds of chair legs scraping the floor as everyone got out of their seats and started talking again. Jeongin bounced over to his best friend in his hagwon class.

“Merry Christmas Felix!”

“Merry Christmas Jeongin!” Felix’s freckles stretched across his face as he smiled and returned the greeting.

“Wanna get bread?”

Felix stood up. “Lets go!”

They headed to the bakery that was on the first floor of their shopping complex.

“You worried about high school next year?” Felix asked.

Jeongin frowned. “Kinda. My hyungs both changed a lot in high school, you know. What about you?”

“Hmmm, not so much. I mean, I know I gotta keep working on my grades, but it’s already like that in middle school, so.”

“True.” Jeongin agreed. “I guess it just feels weird, being about to start high school.”

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno. It just feels kinda like... I’m in limbo?” Jeongin faltered.

“I feel you man,” Felix said, his accent bleeding into his Korean pronunciation. “We’re not kids, but everyone treats us like it. And we’re not even in high school yet, but adults still expect us to study like we’re already in university!”

“Yeah, exactly!” Jeongin said. “I mean, usually I don’t worry about it, but I guess it’s been bothering me a bit lately.”

Felix gave a sympathetic smile. “Let’s not worry about it on Christmas though. It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

“And yet here we are at hagwon.”

“Touche.”

“So, what are you gonna do for Christmas after hagwon?” Jeongin asked.

Felix shrugged. “Nothing much. My mom is gonna cook dinner like usual and we’ll open gifts.”

“Me too,” Jeongin said. “Probably watch Music Bank’s Christmas special, if our parents let us.”

The two boys ordered their bread and boxed milk and sat at one of the tables.

“Man, wouldn’t it be cool if we were on a music show’s Christmas Special?” Felix mused.

“Sick dude! That would be the best Christmas ever! ...And we wouldn’t have to go to hagwon for sure!” Jeongin exclaimed.

“You’d really suit it I think, I can see you dressed up in a holiday outfit doing something goofy to one of those old cheesy Christmas songs from twenty years ago.” Felix grinned.

“Yeah, I would totally do a trot version! Auntie fans would love me! And you would cover an English song like.. what’s it called again..?” Jeongin hummed a couple bars of the foreign Christmas classic whose title was barely escaping him.

Felix snapped his fingers. “Last Christmas! Laaaast Christmas, I gave you my heart,” he sang.

“That’s the one! You gotta do a rap version though.” Jeongin laughed.

“Oh, right, let me drop some bars real quick-” Felix began, deepening his voice, and Jeongin doubled over laughing. He was glad to have Felix in the same hagwon class as him.

With warm bread in their hands and holiday spirit in their hearts, the two boys chattered on and the voices of youth carried on the wind far beyond the plaza’s shops.

---

The shop that Seungmin got his film developed at was a little closer to where they both lived, so they took the bus there. Hyunjin learned that Seungmin usually took the bus to school. He’d never done that before. Usually his Dad drove him before heading to work.

A hand painted sign out front declared the presence of the shop. Seungmin grabbed the door and went right in, jingling bells announcing his presence as a gust of hot air welcomed the two boys. 

“Hi Uncle,” Seungmin greeted the man at the counter. “Glad you’re open on Christmas.”

“Seungmin!” The man at the counter was well into middle-age, some brown spots coloring the barren top of his head, and he looked to be missing a tooth as well. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been awhile since you or your father has visited.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with school. Studying for exams, you know.”

The man’s face crinkled up in a smile. “I have no doubt you’re an excellent student.”

Seungmin beamed. “I’m just trying my best.” He set his camera out on the counter and popped the film compartment open. “Anyways, I’ve just got one roll today.”

“Oh, you went on another one of your photo outings, hm?”

“Yep, finally. I’ve been wanting to but I just don’t have the time.”

“But I don’t see your father with you today.”

“I went with my friend today,” Seungmin said, gesturing to Hyunjin. “This is Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Mr. Oh.”

Hyunjin shuffled forward at being acknowledged for the first time since entering the shop. “Hi Mr. Oh,” he said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Hyunjin.” Mr. Oh said, making warm eye contact. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful young man, being that you’re friends with Seungmin.”

Hyunjin opened his mouth, unsure how to respond to that, while Seungmin stifled a laugh.

“Well, I’ll just get these cooking for you Seungmin. It will take about an hour, so feel free to walk around or wait inside. You’re always welcome to look into the archives, as usual.” Mr. Oh took the roll and shuffled into the back.

Seungmin and Hyunjin looked at each other, and then Seungmin burst into giggles. “Hyunjin, you’re a wonderful young man,” Seungmin imitated.

Hyunjin felt himself going red. “Shut up, Seungmin.” He stuffed his fists into his pockets and groveled.

“Alright, but I won’t forget it.” Seungmin said. “The next time the librarian comes around to tell you to shut up, I’ll defend your honor as a ‘wonderful young man’.”

Hyunjin had nothing to say to that but cursing at the ground.

“Let me show you the archive here, I think it’s pretty cool.”

The archive was in the back of the shop. Under the dim incandescent bulbs, Seungmin showed Hyunjin old photos left by customers from decades past. Hyunjin learned that Mr. Oh had been running the shop for over thirty years now. Time passed quickly huddled on the wooden bench flipping through albums and soon Mr. Oh emerged from the backroom and called the two boys to the counter.

“I took the liberty of making two prints of each exposure,” Mr. Oh said with a warm smile. “It’s on the house.” He patted two crisp, fat, white envelopes. 

Seungmin glowed. “Thanks so much, Uncle.” He beamed towards Hyunjin with child-like enthusiasm. "Let's take a look."

Carefully, Seungmin pulled the stack of photos out of the envelope. The photo at the top of the stack was a picture of Hyunjin disembarking the subway. Hyunjin realized it had been taken at the stop where they'd met today, unbeknownst to him. The film print rendered the scene wet with moody blue hues. Hyunjin's figure was framed by pillars slightly out of focus. He was frozen mid-stride, both diminutive and striking under the harsh overhead lights.

"Wow," Hyunjin breathed. It was stunning. "Seungmin, this is amazing."

Seungmin shrugged, gnawing on his lip. "Thanks."

They kept flipping through. Some of the shots were a bit over or underexposed, but they were clearly considered and well composed.

Hyunjin remembered earlier in the day when Seungmin had been so adamant that Hyunjin stay put to take a picture and once again became curious at what his friend had been so keen on taking a picture of.

"This one came out really well."

Seungmin had finally flipped to the picture, but Hyunjin didn't even register it at first. Sure, the idyllic scene on the banks of the Han River hovered obscurely in the background, but the subject of the photo was undeniably Hyunjin, standing large in the frame and reflecting the crystal sky with serene, luminous eyes. 

"Oh," Hyunjin said softly. Seungmin hadn't been taking a picture of the scenery.

"What?" Seungmin said.

"I.. Um.." Hyunjin stumbled over his tongue trying to figure out a way to say it. "I thought you were taking a picture of the Han River. But. "

Seungmin blinked at Hyunjin and his mouth parted slightly. His eyes crawled up the right wall of the shop as if he was searching for a response to Hyunjin's non-question. "I.. I like taking pictures of people."

"Oh," Hyunjin said again. 

"Yeah," Seungmin replied, hastily tucking the photo in at the bottom of the stack.

The next photo was a close up portrait of Hyunjin. He also remembered Seungmin taking this one. He almost didn't recognise himself, he looked too.. angelic. His eyes crinkled and glistened imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned; he hadn't even realized at the time that he was smiling.

Before Hyunjin could look at the picture properly, Seungmin made to move on to the next one.

"Hey, let me look at this one longer, this is a good picture of me-!" Hyunjin's hand darted out with a half-hearted attempt to stop Seungmin from moving on. 

"Every picture is a good picture of you," Seungmin grumbled off-handedly, looking embarrassed. He batted Hyunjin's hand away and put the picture under the stack.

"Oh, this is the one that you took."

Hyunjin got a good look at the photo. It was way overexposed. The only things that weren't blown out in brilliant whiteness were Seungmin's face and little hands that peeked out of his white parka to clutch his phone. He hovered in the lower right like an other-wordly vision.

"Oh.." Hyunjin said regretfully, "it's ruined."

Seungmin didn't reply, looking at the photo with a complicated expression on his face. 

“I like it,” He declared at last. “There’s some kind of feeling in it.” He turned to Hyunjin. “You’re a natural!”

“It’s because you’re such a good teacher,” Hyunjin said, feeling flustered for no reason. “Maybe you could teach me other things too.”

Seungmin looked surprised. “Like what?”

“Math,” Hyunjin blurted, “I suck at math. And other stuff too.”

Slowly, a smile spread across Seungmin’s face. “Sure, okay... Okay, I can do that.”

---

Jeongin sucked in and breathed out. Fog spread out on the window pane like a drop of ink into water. He drew one circle on top of another and a face on the top one. He completed his snowman with a pointy nose. In the snowy streets below, a figure passed through the transparent lines Jeongin had drawn. Quickly, he erased all of the fog to get a better look.

He turned excitedly to Hyunjin and his parents in the living room. “Hyung is here!”

“Finally,” their mom said, rising to fuss again with the dining table. Five places were already perfectly set. Food was on the table. Presents sat under a tiny fake tree in the living room, and in a Christmas miracle, even Hyunjin had returned home for dinner.

Jeongin noticed that the middle brother looked happier. He had a smile on his face, not like the cruel one when he’s taunting his friends over voice chat when he played his computer games, or the smug, self-satisfied one that he fixed in the mirror before school, but an innocently happy one. Jeongin would be familiar with the feeling, out of anyone in this household.

Before long Minho was bustling into their apartment, sporting a grouchy crease on his forehead and looking appropriately reddened by the cold.

“Hyung, did you bring presents!?” Jeongin screeched. And then he remembered to add, “Merry Christmas!”

“I didn’t,” Minho replied, yawning. “Is my presence not enough?”

“Aw man,” Jeongin and Hyunjin both groaned.

Meanwhile, their mom buzzed around relieving Minho of his outerwear while their dad took his seat at the dining table.

“Sit down, everyone, the food is getting cold!”

“But I want to open presents!” Jeongin whined.

“Dinner and then presents,” their dad said.

“Fine...”

When the whole family was seated, their mom clasped her hands and smiled sweetly. “Now your father will pray for us on this Christmas day, and we can enjoy a family dinner together.”

She reached out and held hands with their dad. Their dad reached for Jeongin’s hand. Jeongin reached for Hyunjin on his other side, and when his brother didn’t react, gave him a hard pinch.

“Jesus Jeongin-” Hyunjin yelped, and retaliated by grabbing Jeongin’s hand in a crushing grip.

“Ow, Hyunjin hyung, that hurrrrrrrrrts-” Jeongin cried.

“Boys,” their Mom said threateningly.

Jeongin and Hyunjin settled down and the whole family was left to stare at Minho, whose arms were steadfastly crossed.

“What?” he said.

Their mom held her hand out insistently. No words had to be said to sense the conflict between the oldest brother and their parents.

“...Fine.” Minho said, uncoiling himself and taking both Hyunjin and their mom’s hands haphazardly.

Their mom smiled once again and nodded to their dad to start prayer.

Jeongin closed his eyes.

“Dear God, we give thanks for this time when we can all be together. We give thanks for this food which is bountiful and delicious. We give thanks-”

Their dad was interrupted by a phone going off somewhere to Jeongin’s left. He cracked an eye open and swiveled it towards Hyunjin. He was met with Hyunjin’s guilty expression.

“Hyunjin, I thought we said no phones at the dinner table.” Their mom dropped Minho’s hand and held hers out expectantly.

“But Mommmm,” Hyunjin drawled.

“Give it here.”

“Hey Mom, I’ll keep his phone while we eat dinner,” Jeongin volunteered. “Can I? Please??”

“I don’t know about that Jeongin, and besides, where is your phone?”

“My phone is in my room! Think of it as a chance for me to be more responsible,” he pleaded. Across the table, Minho rolled his eyes. Jeongin laid it on thick. “Responsibility will definitely help me when I enter high school next year...”

“Okay Jeongin,” their mom ceded, “Just remember that it is a big responsibility.”

“Yesssss,” Jeongin cheered. He made a grabby gesture towards his two older brothers. “Gimme~”

Minho sighed and handed his phone over. Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “But no looking at my messages, otherwise I’ll end you,” he threatened.

Jeongin hummed in response, stashing one phone in each back pocket. “Whatever you say, hyung!”

“Now if you’d let your father finish our prayer-”

Dinner passed uneventfully after that. Later, they opened presents as promised. Jeongin got the new Legend of Zelda game that he'd been wanting. Hyunjin got Balenciaga Triple S sneakers, or so he thought, until he double checked and realized that the logo emblazoned on the pair was spelled "Balanceaga". Minho got a 120-piece tool set because his apartment ‘looked like he would have a lot to fix’, according to their dad. He looked reasonably put-out at the gift.

And each member of the family got their own personalized pair of weird socks, courtesy of Jeongin.

Eventually the family found themselves playing cards together in the living room, everyone wearing their weird socks per Jeongin’s insistence. Like every year, their parents sat on the couch together and the kids made a semi-circle facing towards them on the floor, even though Minho was technically an adult by this point.

Their dad was taking his time on his turn, as usual. The older he got, the longer he liked to pretend to consider his strategy before making his move. (Regardless, his turn length did not correspond to a better win record.)

“So,” their mom began, filling the anticipatory silence, “Minho, how is your story coming along?”

“Novel,” Minho corrected. “I just sent the newest version this morning.” His forehead creased deeper.

Jeongin was sure that he would follow with his customary ‘This is the draft that will get approved, I’m sure of it!’, but Minho ended there. Usually his hyung was almost recklessly confident in his ideas.

“Hyung, read us something from your book!” Jeongin said. “It’s been so long since I heard any of your writing.” Indeed, when Jeongin was in elementary school and Minho was ‘discovering himself’, so to speak in high school, he’d often read his writing to Jeongin and Hyunjin in their room during bedtime. Jeongin hadn’t understood one bit of it at the time, sometimes going as far as to find his hyung annoying, but he’d been comforted by Minho’s rhythmic cadence lulling him to sleep.

“Do I have to..?” Minho said. Jeongin knew that the edge in his voice was just hesitance.

“Cmon hyung,” Hyunjin said, “It’s the least you can do. Since you didn’t bring gifts this year.”

“Brats,” Minho grumbled. Jeongin fixed him with his best puppy eyes. Their parents stayed uncharacteristically silent through the whole process.

Minho stared back at Jeongin, his lip curling up in disgust, until eventually he broke: “Fine, fine, I’ll just read a small excerpt.” He didn’t sound very excited, but his actions betrayed him as he leapt off the ground to retrieve his laptop and trotted back to their informal circle quite quickly.

Looking at Minho now, hunched over his laptop (that’s why he was the shortest brother), scanning the screen tensely, Jeongin understood the high schooler who insisted on preaching to his younger brothers. He couldn’t share his work with his parents. His refusal to conform to a system that valued grades and testing had burned any potential of a teacher being a confidant, even as early as high school. By now, Jeongin knew enough about how vicious kids could be to realize that Minho couldn’t turn to his classmates either. So he confided in the only people he knew lacked the power to judge him: his younger brothers.

“Read, read, read!” Jeongin chimed. Secretly, Minho must have wanted to share his work.

“Shut up,” Minho grouched, “I can’t read if you’re talking over me.”

“Then hurry up and read,” Hyunjin said lazily.

“Fine.” Minho snapped. “A disclaimer: this is a conceptual work about identity, it defies genre. This is one of the more challenging passages, at the very end of the book. So don’t feel bad if you can’t understand it.” A preemptive defense of the work. Jeongin couldn’t help but smile.

“Just get to it,” Hyunjin said.

Minho cleared his throat. “Alright.” He turned towards Jeongin and Hyunjin. He was only reading to the inhabitants of the floor. He opened his mouth.

“The engines roared and the hunk of hollow metal rose to kiss the steely sky.

She sat in her seat and gazed out the window; an oval in which cars crawled until they became ants, where the greatest ocean wave flattened into a pristine sheet of blue. Within her, a strange clarity bubbled. The world was a set of mirrors that converged on her inner truth. She stepped into the void and bore herself to its power.

The mirrors reflected the cold winter sun and the light ricocheted and bent and twisted and howled until it was spun gold into the warm caress of a spring breath. In the tempest of images she saw herself and all of her fragments heating, thawing, coaxed into coalescence. Blistering threads converged on a glimpse of a tapestry, soaring light-headed into the sky and miles and miles into the horizon glowing hallucinatory pink. In the brief snatches of her vision, the chance of her future flickered mirage-like. One day the white heat of the coals would wizen into the whiteness of ash to be spread like snow in the winter wind once more. But today glistened with the perspiration of all the churning potential of life. In limbo between yesterday and tomorrow, she danced and burned, danced and burned. Spring was coming.”

The living room was quiet, as if a spell had been cast. Minho was still looking intensely at his laptop. Hyunjin was staring into space. Jeongin saw his parents looking at each other, doing that thing where they communicated with their eyes. His dad put a hand over his mom’s and a ghost of a smile crept onto both of their stoic faces. In limbo between yesterday and tomorrow. The line echoed inside of Jeongin’s chest with alarming urgency.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin finally broke the silence. “When the book comes out, could you get me a copy?”

Minho’s face folded into this strange amalgamation of confusion, aloofness, and amusement, and underneath it all he looked pleased. He stuffed his fist under his chin and leaned forward on it. “You planning on reading it?”

“No,” Hyunjin said, pink finding its way to the bridge of his nose. “But I know someone who I think will like it.”

Minho cocked an eyebrow and he grinned. “Hey, who’s this? Someone special? You know you can’t hide anything from hyung’s intuition.”

“Oooooooh,” Jeongin squealed, “It’s probably whoever’s been blowing up his phone all night, I bet you all of my jellies!”

“Jeongin, you can’t eat those, you’ve got braces.” Their dad interposed. He was ignored.

“Shut up, it’s just a friend,” Hyunjin said, violently waving his hand in front of his face. (“At least make sure you floss afterwards,” their Dad grumbled into the void.) “Face it, I’m popular, alright?” He folded his arms and puffed out his chest. “Has hyung gotten even a single notification tonight?”

“Nope!” Jeongin screeched.

Hyunjin smirked. “Hear that hyung? Don’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk.”

A vibration in Jeongin’s left pocket called attention to itself. Oh, that was Minho’s phone.

“Hey, Minho hyung, you finally got a text! Maybe you’re not as alone on Christmas as we all thought!”

“Get over here brat-” Minho snarled and pulled Jeongin into a ferocious nuggie.

“Ah- AGH hyung stopppp-” Jeongin wailed.

“Hey, that looks fun, let me try,” Hyunjin grinned, and jumped onto the dog pile. After that, the brothers quickly devolved into tangle of arms and legs on the carpet floor.

“Boys, cut that out,” their mother insisted. “Honey, do something.”

Their dad laughed. “Let them be, they’re still boys at heart.”

Jeongin could feel Hyunjin’s foot digging into his lower back demonically as Minho continued to drive his knuckles into Jeongin’s scalp. There was no getting out of an armlock from Minho- desperate times called for desperate measures.

“AACK- Jeongin, what the fuck?” Minho exclaimed, ignoring their mom’s pleas of ‘no swearing in this household’, “I thought we banned biting after the time you almost bit Hyunjin’s hand off!”

“Mmph!” Jeongin said.

“Jesus,” Minho replied, extricating himself from their human knot and mercifully releasing Jeongin from his hold. In return, Jeongin released Minho’s arm from his mouth.

While Minho wiped Jeongin’s spit from his arm, preening like a wet cat, and Hyunjin cackled in the background, Jeongin slid Minho’s phone out of his pocket to check the message.

Pride for another person was a strange emotion. Usually, it was pride in an achievement of theirs. It meant that you were so attached to their well-being and success that it gave you nearly the same satisfaction as your own. Oftentimes that person was someone you helped along the way: a junior, a pupil, or child. And being the youngest in the family, it only made sense that Jeongin wasn’t very familiar with the feeling.

But today, Jeongin felt a foreign sense of pride spread out across his chest.

He held the phone out to Minho. Quietly, “Merry Christmas hyung.”

Minho took the phone, his sour puss expression already replaced with the same anxious crease that had been weighing down his brow since he came to dinner. He unlocked his phone. Slowly, under the family’s watchful gaze, the storm clouds cleared from Minho’s face and light shone on the promise of a spring day.

From: Bang Chan (BC Publishing)

Everything looks good Minho. Congrats. We're gonna publish.

End.