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Jongin popped a forkful of cake into his mouth and took his time chewing. A beautiful harmony of flavors and textures danced on his tongue: the sweetness of peaches, the silkiness of cream, the fluffiness of the chiffon. He relished the cake a moment longer then gave a hum of approval.

“I like this peaches and cream cake,” Jongin remarked, smiling at the person seated across of him. “It’s not overbearingly sweet. It makes me want to eat more after the first bite. Kyungsoo-hyung, I’m calling it now: this will be a huge hit with your customers. They won’t be able to forget about this cake after having a slice.”

Kyungsoo expelled a big sigh. The tension in his body seemed to leave, face and shoulders showing visible relaxation. “That’s a total relief. I wanted to add a new item to the Christmas menu and chose this. It was a little difficult to put together during its early stages I almost entirely gave up. ”

“Didn’t Jongdae-hyung give the okay for this? He has the raging sweet tooth among us.”

“I needed a third opinion. I value Jongdae’s input, but he doesn’t exactly give objective feedback when it comes to food.”

“I told you already”—Jongdae suddenly popped up by their table, arms akimbo, an edge of fake annoyance to his words—“anything you cook and bake will be a big hit.”

“Not everyone who cooks can bake,” Kyungsoo said, though a smile began forming on his lips.

“Good thing you excel in both,” Jongdae countered, mirroring Kyungsoo’s smile. He looked at Jongin and gestured to the half-eaten cake slice. “It’s delicious, right? I told Kyungsoo it would be a hit, but no; he still had to doubt my words.”

“I think Kyungsoo-hyung is just worried about the outcome,” Jongin said gently. “It isn’t a bad thing to seek more opinions and listen to offered advice. You won’t hear the latter from me, that’s for sure. I’m not one for sweet things or dessert, but I can see myself consuming a whole slice by myself.”

Kyungsoo’s smile widened, a twinkle in his eyes. Jongdae let out a hoot, looking pleased by Jongin’s answer, like he baked the cake himself.

“I’ll pack the remaining slices in the kitchen for you to take home,” Kyungsoo said, already standing up. “Consider it as thanks for assuring me my baking endeavors aren’t entirely fruitless.”

“Oh, good idea,” Jongdae agreed. “Sehun gets to taste and offer insight, too. He’s got the bigger sweet tooth between you. Sometimes I think it’s even bigger than mine. I predict this cake will be right up his alley.”

Jongin’s smile faltered a bit. “Is that so?” His gaze dropped to the half-eaten cake on the saucer. “Does he like fruit on his cake? It won’t be his first time eating Kyungsoo-hyung’s pastries, right?”

Silence weighed heavy for a moment, long enough for Jongdae and Kyungsoo to trade sympathetic looks.

Jongin had encountered similar situations in the past—the telling pause, the sudden shift of mood, the nervous and hopeful glances directed his way. Awkwardness struck frequently when he asked questions, shared thoughts; scrambled to apologize far too many times in situations he couldn’t help and sometimes lost sleep overthinking if he should’ve said or done something else. He understood Jongdae and Kyungsoo’s reactions; understood that, unlike others, they weren’t patronizing, wouldn’t treat him too fragilely. Jongin repeated this to himself in the seconds he waited for their next move.

“He’s never had an issue with fruits on his cake,” Jongdae answered, breaking the silence. “He’ll eat anything Kyungsoo cooks or bakes. Even if it’s something as outrageous as watermelon-flavored gomtang.”

The slow unfurling of a grimace on Kyungsoo’s face was comical. “First of all, why in the world would I mix beef and fruit together? That sounds neither appealing nor edible.”

Jongdae burst out laughing, further diffusing the strained atmosphere. “But you get my drift, right?” He clapped Kyungsoo on the shoulder.

Kyungsoo’s grimace deepened and looked to Jongin for help. “Jongin, kindly talk some sense into your brother. I’m not sure if I can continue dating a man who thinks beef in watermelon broth would taste nice,” he teased.

The bell above the main door jangled as it opened. Jongdae gave a loud and jolly “Welcome!” and was about to hurry off to the counter but stopped. His face broke into a huge grin. “Hey, Sehun, over here!” He glimpsed at the wall clock and let out an amazed sound. “You’re early today.”

Sehun raked fingers through his windblown hair as he strode toward the table. “I finished off all my reports so I could leave early.” He flashed Jongin a smile and approached his side. “Did you wait long?”

“It wasn’t too long a wait,” Jongin assured. “Kyungsoo-hyung kept me company and let me taste his new pastry.” He took a generous chunk from his half-eaten cake and lifted it in offer. “Here, try it. It’s really good.”

Sehun’s face showed the slightest trace of surprise. The gesture must’ve been unexpected, and he’d been here many times previous, but Jongin’s mind unwillingly started generating a thousand what-ifs. He tightened his grip on the fork to calm himself.

Sehun lowered his head and consumed the offered slice. “You’re right. It’s pretty good,” he said, words coming out muffled and slurred by the cake in his mouth.

Kyungsoo groaned. “Stop talking when your mouth is full, Oh Sehun,” he griped.

“Sorry, hyung.” Sehun didn’t sound the least bit sorry, cheekiness underscoring his words, eyes crinkling into crescents.

Jongin couldn’t help staring at the formation of a grin on Sehun’s lips; couldn’t help the mild acceleration of his pulse.

Sehun looked his way, chewing slowed; mischievous expression disappearing and replaced by curiosity. He sounded too cautious in the way he asked, “Is something wrong?”

The shop’s heater worked fine, but Jongin’s cheeks felt too warm. He shook his head; gestured to the vacant seat beside him for Sehun to occupy. “The cake tastes good, right?”

Lighthearted conversation began and ended when more customers started pouring inside the shop. It was a good time as any for Jongin to excuse themselves knowing Jongdae and Kyungsoo would have their hands full. Sehun suggested grabbing dinner on the way home; bade Jongdae and Kyungsoo goodbye on the way out.

The chilly evening air hit Jongin’s face on the sidewalk. Winter officially began last week, though the wind took an icy edge before autumn’s end. He hurried to grab the scarf stashed away in his bag and wrapped it around his neck. Burying his face into the soft wool, Jongin noticed Sehun buttoning up his coat, the black turtleneck he wore inside looking too flimsy to protect him from the weather.

“Aren’t you cold?” Jongin asked, mildly concerned.

“I’ll be fine,” Sehun answered, his breath coming out in white puffs. He must’ve read his mind, following his previous answer with, “Scarves aren’t for me. I don’t like suffocating things.”

Jongin slowly nodded his head. He transferred the bag of cake to his right hand so his left could hold on to the strap of his bag. “I’ll be amazed if Kyungsoo-hyung’s cake lasts more than a week in our refrigerator. You can’t resist sweet things.”

Sehun gave an amused laugh. “Are you challenging me? I could surprise you, you know.”

Jongin smiled. “You game? What if I challenge you to let the cake last until Christmas?”

The playfulness completely dropped from Sehun’s face. Jongin immediately realized his error; regretted what he said. Horrific did not begin to describe what he felt when Sehun turned his head the other way for the entire duration of their walk, or when he refused to meet Jongin’s eyes as they ate in complete silence in the gamjatang restaurant.

Jongin couldn’t remember what he put in his mouth, couldn’t taste anything. Trifle worries compared to the erected wall Sehun built between them, intimidating and impossibly high. The same wall that always appeared when Jongin said something he thought harmless but created the opposite effect.

The same wall Sehun tore down after a considerable amount of time passed. The sign he’d conquered his inner turmoil by giving a casual observation. “You didn’t eat much. Do you have no appetite?”

The concern in his voice was more than welcome. Anything was better than the abrupt silences; impenetrable barriers. Jongin readily accepted this but could not seem to answer Sehun’s questions.

Sehun’s soft sigh did not sound the exasperated kind. Wordlessly, he ladled more broth and meat into Jongin’s empty bowl. “You should eat a little more. You should build immunity against flu and colds since winter is here.”

Jongin stared at the pork and vegetables swimming in the bowl, appetizing but not tempting enough for him to take his spoon. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, keeping his head down. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that. I forgot.”

He could sense Sehun’s stare on him; heard another sigh, longer, but softer. “I’m not upset at you. I’m sorry if it came off like that.”

A loaded silence descended, ridden with plenty of unspoken things Jongin wished he knew. He got none of them; instead, Sehun reached for his hand across the table. A little more courageous, Jongin finally lifted his head, releasing a shaky exhale as he soaked up the warmth coming from their joined hands.

“It’s not your fault,” Sehun told him, voice so soft it almost blended with the white noise in the restaurant. “Really. It’s just… give me time. It’s all I ask. But please trust me when I say none of this is your fault.”

“Okay,” was Jongin’s reply, because it was the only thing he could say right now. He squeezed Sehun’s hand for good measure; to reassure himself, too, in a way, even if he had a hard time believing.

The reply got him a smile out of Sehun, tiny but not lacking in tenderness or sincerity. Jongin committed this to memory, vowing to use this image when things seemed bleak and out of his control.

This time, Jongin’s sip of gamjatang broth tasted more flavorful compared to minutes ago.

On the way out of the restaurant, less tense than when they entered, Jongin glimpsed a street food cart surrounded by customers young and old. Blinking twice, the scenery and people changed except for the cart. Snow fell like dusted sugar; Jongin saw himself happily munching on a cup of hotteok, chatting animatedly with Sehun, who was eating something else.

He must’ve spaced out, or his staring must’ve given him away—whatever it was, Sehun gave an offhanded comment of having room for a snack and lightly pushed him toward the cart. Jongin looked at him questioningly, though not expecting an answer.

Surprisingly, Sehun answered, “You like to eat hotteok on winter.”

“And you like tteokbokki, even if it isn’t winter, because it’s a year-round snack for you.”

Jongin was as surprised as Sehun looked when the words tumbled out of his mouth unwittingly. They had no time to bask in the moment, interrupted by the elderly woman who asked for their order.

Standing to the side, hands warmed by their snacks, Jongin exulted, “I remembered something on my own!” He danced in place, careful not to drop his hotteok. “Looking at the cart must’ve unlocked something. Ah, I’m so happy!” He bit his hotteok; shared it with Sehun, along with the memory he saw.

“And I’m happy for you,” Sehun said, dabbing a napkin on the corner of Jongin’s mouth after feeding him a piece of tteok.

Jongin delighted in this small victory, giddiness coursing through him. He hoped this high would last, for nothing was better than seeing the bloom of surprise on Sehun’s face, followed by a huge smile, when he remembered.

And he wanted nothing more than to see Sehun smiling, always, just like this, because happiness suited him the best.

Despite having been long disillusioned about Santa Claus’ existence thanks to accidentally catching on to his father’s gimmick as a child, Jongin enjoyed Christmas and the festivities that came attached.

He found himself smiling at Christmas-themed ornaments decorating the city proper. He hummed along to the different carols and pop songs rolling out from shop speakers; cooed or grinned at fragmented conversations he’d pick up from children excitedly talking about the presents waiting to be opened on the day. (Often they also debated whether it was their parents or Santa Claus who placed the gifts in the stockings, under the tree.) Cute toys and Lego boxes would remind Jongin of his older sister’s children, whose faces always brightened when he surprised them with gifts every year, giving him hugs and kisses without needing to be bribed or meeting their set conditions.

Jongin remembered this much, at least. He remembered spending Christmases with family and closely following plans they had for the day; sitting down for a meal together, homemade or in a restaurant reserved a month in advance. The country itself did not devoutly celebrate the holiday compared to others, treating it more as a short respite from work, or, in the recent years, a day dedicated to couples. It was evident in the swell of special offers and discounts in order for couples to spend more on their businesses; store staff loitering in the streets on the lookout for potential customers.

Kyungsoo’s shop was no exception. A slight difference was the shop also catering to families and friend groups, right down to the single and happy individuals. The inclusion of the peaches and cream cake on the winter menu was predictably a big hit among the shop’s loyal customers. Some had to place orders three days prior since it sold out quick. Jongdae even had to put up a hiring notice online for additional part-timers in order to meet the quota, or extra hands to man the shop for takeaways.

Jongin watched the hustle from his window table, admiring Kyungsoo and Jongdae’s consistent cheer and efficiency in handling orders without mixing items and quantities. The part-timers were holding their own, too. In his subsequent after-work visits since the taste test, Jongin now waited half an hour before either of them could catch a break, chat with him for a few minutes. Not that he needed company—Jongin was content watching from the sidelines, snacks and phone enough to keep him preoccupied.

Exactly half an hour later, Jongdae slid into the chair across of Jongin’s and set down mugs of hot chocolate for each of them. He looked a little tired, though the glow of his face implied he didn’t mind.

“Any plans for Christmas yet?” Jongdae asked, after a complete minute of humming along with Mariah Carey belting out notes from the speakers.

“I’m visiting home, of course. The holiday season must be spent with family.”

Jongdae smiled; sipped his drink. “No plans with Sehun for an overseas trip? This time of the year, you usually jet off somewhere around the world. Sometimes it’s just the both of you. Other times it’s a family affair.”

Jongin’s smile dipped. “Is that so?” He cupped his hands around the mug, watching steam rise from the surface. Sehun never said anything about this. “Now that you say it, Sehun mentioned a ski trip to Hokkaido with his parents after Christmas.” He recalled Sehun receiving a call from his father last Sunday and briefly mentioned it.

Jongdae’s face brightened. “Oh, it’s a family trip this year? You should pack a lot of sweaters, scarves, and coats. I heard Hokkaido can be ten times colder than Seoul.”

Jongin’s palms were warmed by the mug, but his chest felt cold. “Will it really be alright to tag along?” he asked, words heavy on his tongue but passed easy through his lips.

“Of course it’s more than alright,” Jongdae assured, tone taking on a gentleness characteristic to him since childhood. The kind of gentleness that quelled Jongin’s doubts, regardless of the matter. “This wouldn’t be the first time they invite you. You’ve spent some holidays with them. Sehun’s parents love you—don’t let whatever monsters in your head tell you otherwise, okay? They’re more on the reserved side, but they would never be cold or unkind toward their youngest son’s cherished person.”

This, of course, was reassuring. This, at the same time, was burdensome. Jongin knew from firsthand experience Sehun’s parents were pleasant, welcoming folks; had never treated him badly since their first interaction. Yet Jongin couldn’t help the slight unease; couldn’t smother the tiny, annoying voice at the back of his mind whispering he shouldn’t be too complacent. Everything could change anytime in a speed too quick to comprehend or recover from. It happened a year ago. It could happen in the future, too.

Jongin replayed that part of the conversation while doing his shopping at the supermarket. For a while, it stopped and faded as he threw himself into his task, grabbing ingredients for budae jjigae. Sehun’s casual comment of wanting to eat the dish two days ago stuck with him, and he intended to cook it tonight. He checked the items in his cart twice to make sure he had everything on top of other essentials. His destination should’ve been to the counter; somehow, Jongin wheeled the cart toward the beverage section, instead. He surveyed the drinks on display at the same time questioning why his feet led him here. His eyes landed on a chocolate milk carton—brown and yellow with Doraemon printed in front. An unexplained sense of accomplishment rushed through him once his hand came into contact, fingers refusing to let go until it was safely added inside the cart.

“Wow, you bought a lot today,” Sehun remarked, after greeting Jongin hello and entering the kitchen. They arrived ten minutes apart of each other; Jongin had one bag of groceries left to shelve when the main door beeped and opened. “Did you have a hard time during commute?”

“Jongdae-hyung gave me a lift home since we both had things to buy,” Jongin said, smiling. He smiled wider grabbing the drink from the bag and showed it to him. “I bought you this, by the way.” He watched Sehun’s reaction intently.

Sehun’s face lit up in surprise. He accepted the drink, features softening—far softer than what Jongin had seen on him in a year. “Why’d you buy this?” he asked, smiling at the box.

“I’m not really sure, if I’m honest,” Jongin confessed, telling him of his standstill moment at the supermarket. “Doraemon’s eyes hypnotized me?” He laughed at Sehun’s withering stare. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Just… I can’t tell you why, exactly, but I had to buy this for you no matter what. I had a feeling it was something that made you happy.”

Smile remaining in place, Sehun shook the box and punctured it with the straw for a sip. Watching him do so summoned a blurry image that soon cleared up. A summer day impossibly hot and humid; cicadas singing in the background. Under the shade of a public gazebo sat Jongin and Sehun, shoulder to shoulder and sweating, cooling themselves with handheld fans. By their feet was a bag containing assorted drinks and snacks. Sehun complained of the heat, leaned forward to reach into the bag and procured the same carton of chocolate milk. He said something, and before Jongin could process, the image vanished.

Jongin didn’t realize his eyes were closed until he opened them. He was back in their kitchen, the faint scent of chocolate, the freshness of laundry detergent, and the winter-infused air from Sehun’s coat sobering him. He met Sehun’s cautiously hopeful gaze.

“It… it was summer. Afternoon, maybe? It was really hot. You told me chocolate milk was your lifeline and obsession in high school. You’ve never outgrown it.”

The straw slipped out of Sehun’s mouth. Multiple emotions swirled in his eyes. Jongin couldn’t name them one by one, but Sehun’s silence seemed to be a positive thing.

“Am I right…?”

Sehun’s fervent nod was more than enough answer. So was the soft smile on his face. “You’re right. I told you about the chocolate milk on a summer’s day. That was our third date.”

Ecstatic and warmed, Jongin carried this giddiness throughout dinner preparations. Sehun helped out with the slicing and sauce measurements. Half an hour later, they were settled in their dining table with a pot of boiling budae jjigae between them and additional side dishes waiting to be eaten. Though it was a simple task as sharing a meal and talking about their day, Jongin noticed Sehun’s deliberate avoidance of noodles and a relatable love for meat; consuming select vegetables from the pot and never eating tofu and sausage without rice. Jongin noticed Sehun paid attention to him, too, refilling his bowl before its contents disappeared; warning him of stray food about to fall down the front of his shirt. He tucked away these casual observations like precious gemstones, knowing he would need them in the future.

“Jongdae-hyung asked me about Christmas plans today,” Jongin said, after chewing a mouthful of tofu. “I told him I’ll visit home because it’s a must. I mentioned the ski trip with your parents when he asked about yours.” He also relayed the additional information Jongdae imparted about their customary spending of holidays together.

Sehun hummed in acknowledgment, then asked, “I told my parents I’ll ask you about the ski trip. I don’t want to decide on your behalf because you should always have a choice.”

Jongin’s chewing slowed, hand lowering his spoon. The simmering stew sounded too loud in a dining area that grew increasingly silent. He tried not to fidget under Sehun’s expectant gaze, aware the next words that would come out of his mouth would be cursed, but necessary.

“I don’t think I’m ready for something like that just yet…”

Cold dread slithered through Jongin’s chest witnessing Sehun’s expression become guarded, banishing the warmth previously residing in it. “It’s not that I don’t want to tag along with you and your family,” he hurriedly added, attempting to stave off the creeping awkwardness. “It’s also not because I feel unsafe, or suspicious, or anything of the sort. I wish I could show better proof so you can believe me, but I am simply not prepared. It… it feels too much at once, even if your parents are people I should feel comfortable around.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Sehun let go of his chopsticks and leaned forward on the table, face concerned. “I believe everything you say. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. If you’re not ready, my parents will understand.”

Relief and a sickening wave of guilt twined and flooded Jongin. “Still…”

“Don’t apologize for things beyond your control.” Sehun sounded firm in his gentle insistence.

Jongin studied him, carefully stringing his next reply. “You should go with your parents, even if I can’t make it.”

“They’ll understand if I don’t go,” Sehun said, after a deliberate pause. “No, I assure you I didn’t make my decision on a whim, or after hearing you answer. I’ve given it plenty of thought. I’m not too keen on the idea of traveling on the holidays this year.” He took his chopsticks again and resumed eating.

“Is it because it happened on the holidays?”

Sehun’s head snapped up so fast, his expression unguessable. His gaze betrayed nothing of what he felt and thought.

Jongin braved through the apprehension, the spreading dread in his chest, using the softest tone; the most careful approach. “Are you scared something might happen during the trip?”

Sehun’s eyes fell close, the utter sadness lining his face devastating in ways unexpected but familiar. The reaction wasn’t what Jongin expected to receive—witnessing it formed a deep throb in him, too—but he wanted to know the truth, regardless of its hideous appearance.

Sehun stayed disconcertingly quiet for a long time. Though nervous, Jongin didn’t push him for an answer; paid close attention to what Sehun was and wasn’t saying. Dinner resumed but took on a weird sort of limbo, cloaked by a clumsy, loaded atmosphere interspersed with the clinking of cutlery.

“I was always excited about Christmas every year.”

Jongin widened his eyes in his utter shock but held his breath, scared Sehun might stop talking if he didn’t.

“Was being the operative word. Last year completely changed my mind.”—Sehun’s voice took on a bitter edge but did not last— “Things have drastically changed then, so you were on to something about my refusal to go on the ski trip.” He released an exhausted-sounding sigh. “It doesn’t mean I have to drag down anybody with me just because I’ve started feeling differently about Christmas. You should do all that you want on the day.”

“But…”

Sehun shook his head, shushing Jongin. “It’s alright. I’ll be alright.”

Jongin wanted to counter Sehun’s response but came up with nothing. The most he accomplished was helplessly watching Sehun stand up after he was done eating and deposited his used dishes in the sink. The longer he stared at Sehun’s back, the faster the unbearable ache bloomed within as he wondered, with plenty of sorrow, if there was a way to erase the prominent loneliness radiating from it.

Jongin couldn’t help smiling while making his rounds in the room, keeping a watchful eye in case a student needed help. Yesterday, he proposed making Christmas as their main activity for art class. Today, each child worked in concentrated silence. Most of his students could work with minimal supervision, though one or two would occasionally call for his attention to help them decide if a rabbit or a reindeer was cuter, or to simply open a bottle of glue. Otherwise, they enjoyed cutting, pasting, drawing, and coloring the cards as their imagination dictated.

Jongin reminded his students to leave space on their Christmas cards for a message they would write to their recipient. When he asked who they would give their cards to, the jumbled chorus of responses made him chuckle. One by one he decoded them: parents, favorite siblings, family pet, the pretty noona next door who always shared her snacks. Jongin met their answers with enthusiasm and encouragement, especially the students whose answers were deemed funny or weird by their peers.

The school bell chimed across the hall, signaling the end of the day. A few groaned and groused they hadn’t finished their cards. Jongin assured them they could continue tomorrow. The students who finished early let out jubilant shouts—art class for this section was scheduled at the end of the day, no surprise they were collectively looking forward to heading home. Jongin set down two baskets on the desk where children would deposit their work—red for finished, green for unfinished. He helped some children slip into their coats, tied their scarves, entertained their random commentary. He gave jaunty waves in goodbye once their parents arrived, promising to have fun again tomorrow.

Haerin, one of the students to finish last, approached the desk and placed her card in the red basket. Jongin was caught by surprise when Haerin handed him a second card he didn’t see earlier.

“For me?” Jongin asked, wanting to make sure.

Haerin nodded, pigtails bobbing along. “I made this card for you, Teacher Jongin. The card I finished is for my parents and pet goldfish.”

“Oh, thank you so much! This is so sweet of you.” Jongin beamed, a surge of affection welling up inside. He held the card with careful hands, taking in its details. On the front of the card was a wonderfully-drawn tree with decorations hanging from it and gifts underneath. A sparkling yellow star above completed the look.

Inside the card was an unexpected message:

Dear Teacher Jongin,

Merry Christmas! I wish you will get well soon. Mommy told me Santa can give you anything if you’ve been nice, not naughty. You’ve been nice this year, right, Teacher? So don’t look sad anymore! I’ll write a letter to Santa and ask him to bring you back your memories.

Lots of love,
Haerin

Jongin read the message once more after Haerin and her father left together. He read the message a few more times on his table back in the faculty room, forcing himself to smile and assure his co-workers nothing was wrong. He read the message again and again during the subway ride from kindergarten to the city proper, as if engraving the syllables behind closed eyes; the words echoing in the chambers of his mind. During one of the stops, Jongin caught his reflection on the window opposite from where he sat. He was surprised by the sadness in his own face; wondered if it was obvious to others.

Jongdae must’ve noticed. When he dropped by to deliver his usual order of hot chocolate, a saucer of cookies was also set down.

“You know I don’t eat and drink sweet stuff at the same time, hyung,” Jongin reminded, attempting a smile; loathed the way the corners of his mouth lifted too slow.

“I know. But did you know sweet stuff can help alleviate sadness, even if temporary?” Jongdae asked, smiling gently at him. The shop wasn’t teeming with customers at this hour, so Jongdae was free to stay longer and chat. “You can take the cookies home for Sehun if you don’t want to eat them. Isn’t it a busy time at the firm right now? Nothing is better for the stressed soul than your comfort food.” He nudged the saucer forward, hardly moving an inch. “C’mon, Kim Jongin; tell big brother what’s bothering you,” he coaxed, tone light; playful.

Jongin confided what transpired earlier. Jongdae listened without interrupting once.

“Haerin sounds like a sweet girl,” was Jongdae’s first comment, after Jongin finished his recap. “It’s not like the school doesn’t know what you went through. Your students more or less have an idea about it, right? It’s a thoughtful message, what she wrote.”

On the day Jongin was cleared to return to work, the entire faculty treated him kindly without being patronizing; accommodated him every step of the way. Co-workers and other staff reintroduced themselves, filled in the gaps if he blanked out on certain details. Parents of former students who caught wind of what happened sought him out to ask how he was doing and gave their well-wishes. The absence of information didn’t impede Jongin from efficiently doing his work, though it took several tries to match names and faces. Undeterred, Jongin tried, and tried, until he slowly began retrieving bits and pieces of memories about co-workers and students; until he built the confidence to identify them without embarrassing himself.

“Your recovery rate is actually impressive—at least on the physical side of things,” Jongdae told him, after a few beats of silence. Jongin sipped his drink. “As for the other things, those take time. You can’t rush it. Putting unnecessary pressure on yourself does no good.”

Jongin nodded his head; acknowledged this. Inculcated it into his mind a thousand times before this talk. “I’m taking it one day at a time. Some things come back to me when I don’t force it, and that’s great! It’s always great.” He stared at the cookie crumbs on the tabletop, a wave of sadness filling his chest. “I just wish it would all come back to me in one fell swoop. I just wish most of these memories would be about Sehun.”

Jongdae gave a sympathetic smile; nodded in the same fashion. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. The human mind can be very fickle. I believe you’ll remember him and everything about your relationship. And I’m not just saying this because I’m your brother. I genuinely wish for it to happen.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jongin said, his sadness abating a little. This time, his smile didn’t feel forced. “I also want to hurry and remember.”

That night, after a warm shower and a refreshing face mask, Jongin set aside an hour to finalize tomorrow’s lessons, then continued the book he started last week. His concentration broke when he heard the opening and closing of the bathroom door outside. Sehun must’ve finished bathing. The wall between their rooms was neither too thick nor thin, so Jongin could hear the muted sounds of movement coming from the room next door. Around this time, Sehun might probably watch a movie or browse on his phone to decompress from work.

The sounds gradually faded to silence. Jongin stared at the bare wall, wondering if Sehun was in bed. While it was Jongin’s choice to stay in a different room until he could remember, he sometimes found himself staring far too long at this bare wall separating them. Every time, an overwhelming urge to tear down the wall surged through him. Every time, an unexplained fear defeated him until he dropped the idea.

But Jongin was tired of simply staring, conjuring what-ifs and succumbing to his hesitation. Sehun did not give up on him regardless of what happened; of whatever hurt Jongin directly and indirectly caused since he couldn’t remember him. Them. So, tonight, he breathed in once for courage, exhaled for more, and left the sanctuary of his room to stand in front of Sehun’s door. He knocked twice right away before he could back out. It felt strange being polite in his own home, but he was trying to get used to it. Trying for close to a year.

Sehun’s surprised face greeted Jongin behind the door. He blinked several times, shook his head once, as if disbelieving the sight of Jongin in front of him. “Yes?” he asked, anyway.

Jongin opened and closed his mouth, but words abandoned him on this vital moment he needed them most. “I…” he trailed off, frustratingly blank. He met Sehun’s curious gaze, and decided to be honest. “I don’t know. My room is too big and empty. It doesn’t usually bother me, but… I feel like I needed to be here. With you. In this room.”

Sehun seemed taken aback, but his eyes softened. “Do you want to come inside? We can watch a movie. I was browsing for something interesting on Netflix.”

“Can I pick? I want a horror movie.”

To his surprise this time, Sehun chuckled and shook his head in amusement. “Always with your horror movie kink.” He ushered Jongin inside the room. “Alright, just this once, I will trust you not to choose a movie that won’t let me get any sleep tonight.”

Jongin stared at him—puzzled, curious, pleasantly entertained. “What’s wrong with horror movies?”

Sehun might not have given a verbal reply, but Jongin found his answer when he inevitably drifted to the horror movies category and chose one based on the most interesting description. Side by side they sat on the bed, backs leaning against the headboard and legs outstretched before them. The subtitles kept Jongin busy reading, but when the scenes hinted at something suspenseful about to happen, he noticed Sehun slowly tensing up. Movie forgotten, Jongin paid closer attention to Sehun; smothered the beginning of a smile when he clutched tight the pillow he was hugging as the music grew eerier.

Jongin unleashed said smile in the end at the first shout that burst out of Sehun during a jump scare.

“I will never understand why you willingly put yourself through these movies,” Sehun groused loudly, huffing in annoyance, and probably mild embarrassment, as he straightened himself. “I never understood it before, and I don’t think I ever will in this lifetime.”

“Do you get scared watching horror movies? We can watch something else, if you want.”

“Who’s scared?” Sehun demanded, a challenge in his tone.

Sehun’s false sense of bravado merely delighted Jongin; told him as much. Sehun’s expression morphed into one of indignation, but Jongin had no interest in hearing what he had to say. He lost interest the moment fragmented images of movie nights similar to this one flashed in his mind’s eye: Sehun flinching and complaining, Jongin laughing at him and appeasing him with a kiss to the cheek and holding his hand.

Without a word, Jongin replicated the hand holding. It almost took his breath away how natural the gesture came to him. Sehun’s palm was a balance of soft and rough but did not lack in radiating warmth.

“What?” Jongin asked, meeting Sehun’s questioning gaze. “Isn’t this what we usually do when watching horror movies? I always held your hand, right?”

Sehun’s gaze dropped to their hands resting on top of Jongin’s thigh. He looked him straight in the eye when he spoke next. “You remembered.” He posed it as a statement, not a question.

“Just now, yes,” Jongin answered, proud of attaining another victory; at the way Sehun’s lips formed a smile. “Let’s continue watching, you big baby. Don’t worry, I won’t let go.”

Sehun scrunched up his nose but didn’t break away from Jongin’s hold. “I don’t like you very much right now.”

Jongin would squeeze Sehun’s hand in reassurance every time he flinched at the terrifying scenes. Midway through the movie, a short time skip was introduced, the once autumn setting replaced by winter. On screen it was snowing outside of the protagonist’s new residence; inside, the living room showed a magazine-worthy scene of a family celebrating Christmas, complete with an ornate tree and a festive atmosphere fostered by the children opening gifts and the adults swapping stories over eggnog and sugar cookies.

Jongin’s focus shifted to the decorations; somehow remembered they kept a box of ornaments and a small tree in their storage room. He glimpsed at the desk calendar to check the current date. A few weeks until Christmas arrived.

“We should decorate the apartment for Christmas soon,” Jongin said. “I haven’t checked the box in the storage, but do you think we should buy new decorations? Do we have enough? Do we have anything bright and colorful? That could complement the living room’s wall color.”

Sehun never answered any of his questions. Impatient but not wanting to push, Jongin studied his face; saw his jaw clenched, emotions storming in his eyes. He didn’t look like he was watching, though his gaze was glued to the television.

“Hey.” Jongin tentatively poked him on the shoulder. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Decorate as you see fit.”

Stunned, Jongin couldn’t help but frown. Sehun had his days when extracting a reply from him took a lot of effort, but he never sounded cold in saying them. Deciding to let this slide, Jongin slightly turned to look at him on his second attempt. “I’ll let you pick the decorations. Don’t pick something too garish, though. And expensive—don’t pick the expensive ones! We need to save.”

Sehun breathed through his nostrils. He opened his mouth, closed it, slightly looked away before looking at the screen again. “I don’t want to pick anything.”

Jongin dragged out the silence a while longer before daring to ask, in a soft, measured tone, “Is decorating really that unpleasant of an idea?”

He braced himself for an argument. He sort of expected it, partly at fault for exacerbating the tension-saddled situation. The silence extended, long and heavy. Jongin assumed this would be an unfinished conversation. Then, Sehun gave a deep inhale and exhale, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Decorating isn’t an unpleasant idea. You’re free to do it, but I don’t want to be involved.” Sehun sounded like the words were being dragged out of him. “I already told you before that I started feeling differently about Christmas. I don’t see how decorating the apartment in celebration of it is going to magically change my mind.” The light from the television screen highlighted the pained expression on his face.

Jongin’s stomach dropped in dread. He opened and closed his mouth—but what would he say, exactly? His excitement about doing something Christmas-related got the better of him. How could such a vital detail slip from his mind?

Sehun must’ve misconstrued his silence as unhappiness, or perhaps disappointment, because the coldness lining his face melted away, leaving behind barefaced regret. He faced him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I sounded unnecessarily harsh. There’s no excuse for that. I honestly mean it when I say you can decorate the apartment. Or do anything to celebrate the holidays, really. I don’t want you to feel like you’re walking on eggshells around me. You don’t have to worry about me and my foolish self.”

“Don’t say that,” Jongin chided, gently, releasing Sehun’s hand to cup his face. Sehun’s eyes lowered, and an ache surged through his chest. “I got carried away. I should have been more sensitive. I should have… I should have remembered. That it would still be difficult. That some things don’t go away in a relatively short span of time.”

Sehun shook his head fervently, though it took a moment longer for him to lift his gaze once more. “I meant what I said. You always looked forward to the holidays. It’s alright. I’ll be alright.”

Jongin wanted to tell him no; that he shouldn’t try too hard to please him to avoid conflict. That Sehun shouldn’t put on a brave front at the expense of his self-preservation; that he shouldn’t take the entire burden and suffer by himself. Yet not a single one of these protests was spoken since Jongin was rendered defenseless against the silent plea in Sehun’s eyes compelling him to hold his silence to prevent further upsetting this delicate matter.

On quiet interims in Jongin’s busy life fitting for rumination, he couldn’t blame Sehun for coming to despise the holidays.

When they first started getting to know each other after hanging out numerous times with mutual friends, Sehun held no strong opinions for and against Christmas upon asking the question. Sehun did volunteer work in orphanages, influenced by his father whose humble origins started from one and wanted to pay it forward. He said he stopped believing in Santa Claus at the young age of five; regardless, Sehun was always willing to dress up as one to entertain and distribute gifts to the young kids and make their holidays a little brighter in any way he could.

When they first started dating, Jongin continued celebrating Christmas with his family. He wasn’t one to follow the flow of societal conditionings; disagreed with capitalism’s pitch of treating Christmas as a special day meant for couples only. He opined couples could dedicate everyday to each other if they wanted and didn’t necessarily have to wait for an important event to demonstrate. He was upfront about this to Sehun on their first year together, hoping he was an open-minded individual to understand he loved spending time with his family during and outside holidays. Surprisingly, Sehun told him he was ridiculous to worry over such things: “I would never come in between you and your family.”

And so on their first year of being together, they spent half of Christmas with their families, the remainder of the day together doing whatever they pleased. On the same year, they brought each other home to introduce to their respective families. The next two years witnessed a similar pattern. Sometimes they made holiday plans months in advance to avoid the hassle and rushing. Sometimes it was Sehun himself who reminded Jongin to work around their plans so he could spend more time with his family before leaving.

Their fourth Christmas together took a dramatic turn from its usual path.

The long stretch of the highway before them seemed endless, surroundings dark and dusted by light snowfall. They were returning from Gapyeong after a brief excursion to see the Lighting Festival. Jongin suggested spending one night in a pension because he wanted to do a little more sightseeing. Sehun insisted they needed to return to Seoul in order to be well rested before packing for the Sapporo trip he had booked for both of them six months prior. Jongin was hesitant to agree—it was one of those unexplained gut feelings that screamed at him to listen—but relented in the end.

In the end, neither of them foresaw what would happen in the next ten minutes. In the end, the snowfall was growing progressively thicker on the drive back to Seoul. Though the wipers functioned well, tires newly installed, and Sehun driving with absolute care, he was no match against the icy patch on the road he couldn’t avoid in time and sent their vehicle swerving to the next lane.

The last thing Jongin saw was the truck’s blinding headlights, the deafening blare of its horn mixing with the screeching of brakes piercing the night air.

The first thing Jongin saw after his blurry vision swam from triple, to double, to clear focus was the harsh lights above him. It took a few seconds to register the cream-colored walls surrounding him; more, for feeling to return to his body. The harsh, distinctive scent of disinfectants and alcohol melded with the hundred aches and pains grinding through his body, jolting him further to full consciousness. The IV hooked to his arm confirmed he was in the hospital. Shortly after, a nurse entered, gasped when he saw him, rushed out and returned with a doctor. Jongin was shocked to learn he spent three days lying in bed unconscious.

And when his mother and siblings entered, the sight of their somber faces lined with relief and fatigue caused a dull ache behind Jongin’s ribs. His mother rushed to his bedside at once, framing his face with frail hands and sobbing out his name. Yet the first sentence he uttered in reply was, “Who are you?”

His family members’ mouths fell open in deep shock. The doctor had to intervene when his mother started growing hysterical, effectively calming her down with a few convincing words.

Jongin underwent questioning and several tests when he didn’t feel like his head was being repeatedly smashed by a sledgehammer. A name to his condition was given. It was more than obvious what it was, if Jongin went by his family members’ increasing speechlessness when repeatedly asked if he recognized them, and his answer would be a resounding “No.”

Jongin was lucky he didn’t acquire any serious or life-threatening injuries from the accident. He was unlucky to lose a vast amount of memories in exchange, judging from how much he’d forgotten based on his frustrating inability to answer his family’s questions. Mrs. Kim, ever the optimistic, told Jongin to not strain his mind trying to remember—whatever he forgot, they would help him recall.

The memories returned to Jongin in trickled increments, sporadic in their occurrence and without specific stimuli. Jagged, fragmented imagery would flash through his mind unbidden, regardless of what he was doing at the time. Most of these fragments showed clearly the faces of people he couldn’t recognize but start seeming familiar after describing them to his family. Other fragments never showed a full image, concealed like fogged-up glass, though transitory. This way, Jongin unearthed more elusive memories, even if some never told him a complete story.

On his last day of confinement, Jongin had gained back his usual strength. He could now sit, stand, and walk without requiring assistance; physical wounds healed and healing. He was reading a book while waiting for his mother to return from settling the paperwork when a knock on the door before opening disrupted the peace. Like how he was conditioned to react in the past few days receiving visitors, Jongin flashed the stranger—a tall young man around his age—a polite smile; greeted him in the same fashion.

The young man’s face was eerily unreadable, lips pressing into a thin, stern line. Jongin blinked at him, unsure of how to proceed. Something about this young man and the way he gazed at him nagged at the back of his mind; tugged at the strings of his heart. Both sensations were neither dreadful nor bothersome, albeit mystifying. Jongin spied the bandage wrapped around the young man’s head, the healing cuts on his face. One arm was secured in a cast. Jongin deduced he might have been involved in an accident just like him. Asked the question aloud.

The immediate horror that showed on the young man’s face confused Jongin, and also surprised him. “Are you perhaps in the wrong room?” he asked, courteous but friendly. “Ah! Do we know each other from somewhere?”

Nothing prepared Jongin from the raw, naked pain displayed so openly on the young man’s face, or the sudden tears falling down his cheeks. More curious than the reaction was the confounding ache blooming behind his ribs, and the perplexing urge to wipe those tears away.

Jongin came to know this young man’s identity as Oh Sehun a week after his hospital discharge. He came to know the basics about him—shared the same age, lived in Seoul, a common interest in dancing, recognized as a promising architect in related circles.

Later, much later, Jongin came to know how deeply rooted Sehun truly was in his life, one that defied platonic borders, to his surprise. His mother and siblings vouched for Sehun and the validity of his accounts; so did their mutual friends. Jongin’s doubts were allayed by the indisputable evidence he and Sehun meant something to each other from countless photos and videos he found in his cloud storage once he gained access, Sehun’s phone, anecdotes from important and trusted people.

Yet, no matter how much proof was presented, no matter how many stories he heard, Jongin’s mind seemed unable to conjure any stray fragment involving Sehun.

Jongin told himself he’d give it time. He found himself remembering more—better—without external forces pressuring him. He spent a lot of his free time with Sehun, who made an effort to visit at least every day. Sehun assured him even if he couldn’t remember everything about them as a couple, they could always start out as friends getting to know each other again; that jumping right into boyfriend territory wasn’t needed at the moment, Jongin’s recovery more important than anything else. Jongin found this admirable, thankful about having a choice.

It took close to two months before Jongin accepted Sehun’s invitation to hang out together outdoors. Jongin appreciated Sehun’s earnest attempts in ensuring he was comfortable and enjoying himself. He also appreciated Sehun’s kindness and patience if Jongin showed no recognition about this moment or that place containing important memories between them. Spending time together was always fantastic. Reacquainting themselves with each other filled Jongin’s chest with warm, fluttery feelings that steadily grew more intense as days passed into weeks. He learned to associate this sensation with inexplicable joy whenever his phone lit up and Sehun’s name flashed on the screen; whenever their hands brushed and shoulders touched as they walked beside each other, or if Sehun laughed or smiled a certain way.

Jongin feared he was feeling too much and too fast; but when he took a risk and held Sehun’s hand during a leisurely stroll in the park, his trepidation evaporated at once upon receiving a huge smile; an assuring squeeze that he was doing fine at his own pace, taking it one step at a time. On the periodic moments Jongin recalled something out of the blue, the way Sehun’s face brightened was one he always wanted to see on him. A type of happiness Jongin thought suited him best. A type of happiness Jongin decided he would try to give without straining himself.

But there were questions Jongin wanted answered; questions lingering in his head for some time but couldn’t find the right moment to ask. He knew his amnesia was the product of an unprecedented car accident. He knew Sehun was with him during the accident, and they had both paid for it. He knew Sehun was luckier between them because, despite the acquired minor wounds and broken arm, he remembered everything while Jongin didn’t. He knew Sehun wouldn’t lie to him, or at least held good faith he wouldn’t keep anything from him on purpose. Sehun had been nothing but truthful so far whether or not the information cast him in a good light. So Jongin dared. Asked.

Sehun’s face turning somber was not the answer he expected, nor the words that followed the change in expression: “It was my fault.”

Straightforward, pained, guilt-laden. In the five months spent getting to know each other afresh, this was the first time Jongin saw Sehun absolutely devastated. This might not be the first time he saw Sehun cry as the shocking truth poured out of him in haphazard sentences, but Jongin ached just the same.

The memory of their meeting at the hospital five months before today played back in Jongin’s mind. The expression of surprise, the tears Sehun had shed—everything started making more sense with the added context.

“It was my fault,” Sehun said, in tearful admission, digging the heels of his palms to stem the flow of his tears. Unsuccessful. “I should’ve listened to you about staying overnight. If I had, none of this would’ve happened. You paid for my stubbornness, and I will live with that guilt every single day of my life.” His shoulders shook, frame wracked with sobs, and Jongin lost grip of his composure as the first of many tears fell from his own eyes; drew Sehun into his arms and cried with him.

It was an ugly truth. One not easy to handle, much less say; but it also cleared the giant, invisible hurdle wedged between them. All the same, Jongin admired Sehun’s bravery at the risk of reopening fresh wounds; accepted this with an open mind and heart. Despite being described to him, Jongin never retrieved any memory related to the accident itself. Better this way, he thought; it made forgetting about painful things easier.

Eventually, Jongin got his life back on track until a semblance of normalcy was achieved. His family, friends, and Sehun guided him every step of the way; received unending support as the recovered memories in his puzzle of life gradually fell into their places.

On the last breath of summer, Jongin announced his decision of moving back in with Sehun to live in their shared apartment. Jongdae and their elder sister were supportive. Mrs. Kim was a little more reserved; vocalized this in her usual, mild-mannered way, but didn’t stop Jongin from moving out.

“You might remember Sehun faster by immersing yourself in an environment considered your sacred space,” she told Jongin, on the night before he moved back. “You’ve been living together for a long time before the accident, but we agreed it would be better to take you home and live with us since you were at your most vulnerable. Sehun has been really sweet, patient, and supportive all this while. Others might not have been as strong as he was.”

Jongin familiarized himself with the apartment’s every inch and corner after moving back. He’d visited a few times before today, when he deemed himself mentally and emotionally prepared to see what kind of apartment he and Sehun resided. Though he felt safe and comfortable here, he remained in limbo about whether or not he could sleep in the same bed as Sehun. Sharing seats, food, eating utensils, and clothes came easier to Jongin. Sharing a bed, however, roused his apprehension.

“I prepared the spare room in advance. You can use that for as long as you want.”

Jongin was surprised, but he found himself frowning; guilt in his chest tightening a notch. “Did you predict this would happen?” he couldn’t help himself from asking; disliked how unsure and timid his voice came out.

“More or less,” Sehun said, and there was nothing but plain honesty in his words that reflected on his face. “Just because we’re living together now, and you accept it logically, doesn’t mean forcing yourself to replicate what’s considered normal for us. Sleeping in different rooms doesn’t negate our relationship. It shouldn’t mean what we have means significantly less compared to couples who share one bed. Some things just need to work differently for now—in this case, until you are ready.”

“Sehun’s endurance and loyalty is praiseworthy, I’ll give him that,” Doh Kyungsoo remarked, as he and Jongin settled in a private room at a Japanese restaurant. Jongin remembered dining in this restaurant a few times, either through double dates or just with Sehun. He remembered Kyungsoo as Jongdae’s long-term boyfriend and owner of a quaint cake and bread shop that produced pastries with the right amount of sweetness. “He stayed with you even without the guarantee you might remember him. So many would’ve upped and left, or gave up altogether.”

“I know, hyung.” Jongin understood these were said in admiration, and not to burden him. They ordered appetizers while waiting for Jongdae and Sehun to arrive from their respective workplaces. “How did I become so lucky to have someone like Sehun? I wish I can say the same about the opposite.” At Kyungsoo’s questioning stare, he let a few beats of silence pass before speaking. “A lot of our memories remain out of reach. Somehow, it’s like they’re evading me on purpose. I’m trying my best, I really am, but my efforts don’t seem enough.”

“Hey, none of that,” Kyungsoo admonished, albeit gently. “I don’t want you to think like that. Sehun definitely wouldn’t want you to think like that. You’re doing great at your own pace. I won’t comment about your relationship, but why is it so important for you to remember every single detail of the past? Is it not enough you’re trying, making memories as you go forward and heal?”

Jongin’s chance to respond was stolen by Jongdae’s arrival. A tiny part of him strongly agreed with Kyungsoo’s words. It might take an indeterminate amount of time to accept his misgivings, his turtle-like speed; perhaps longer to forgive himself for things out of his control. But he was willing to do everything he could without pushing himself too hard beyond his set boundaries.

One night, when Jongin couldn’t sleep and longed for a glass of water, he barely set foot outside of his bedroom upon seeing the open lights in the kitchen. On the island sat Sehun with his back to him. Jongin was about to approach when sudden laughter erupted from—Jongin craned his neck for a better look and saw a phone on a stand. Movements and a singular face on its screen told him it was a video call. The voice flowing out from the device Jongin recognized as Sehun’s older brother, who currently worked at the New York branch of his company and had been living there for a year. From what Jongin had been told and observed himself, the bond between the Oh brothers was strong and close.

“So, how are you, little brother? How’s living with Jongin going?”

“It’s going fine. Everyday there’s something new. I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Sehun said, and though Jongin couldn’t see him, he could hear the smile in his words. “Last week, he remembered that I don’t eat ramyun. Out of nowhere, just like that. We were standing in Emart’s noodle section, and he suddenly blurted it out. His face, hyung—you should’ve seen him smile! I love that smile on him, the kind that lights up his eyes because he’s so happy he remembered.”

“You sound whipped.”

“So what? Find someone you can be whipped for, too.”

Unexpected interloper that he was right now, Sehun’s comment warmed Jongin’s cheeks and entire body.

Sehun’s brother laughed heartily. “You’ve always been whipped for Jongin, little brother. But that’s love, right? You will do and endure everything for the person you cherish most.”

“You know I never do things halfheartedly. It’s either all or nothing.”

“In a hypothetical situation, Sehun, and I want you to be honest with me: what would you do if Jongin never remembered anything? Recovery progress varies from one amnesiac to another. Sometimes, it takes months before past memories come back. Other amnesiacs take years. What if the impossible actually happens? What if Jongin never remembers?”

Jongin couldn’t tell when he’d tightened his grip on the door frame; couldn’t fathom why a sudden tension pulsed through his veins.

Silence blanketed the kitchen. It shattered when Sehun clucked his tongue, as if disbelieving the audacity of the question. “What do you take me for, hyung? Of course that crossed my mind. And to be very honest with you… the possibility it could happen scares me. A lot.”

Jongin’s limbs were invaded by an abrupt iciness. He couldn’t shut his ears even if he wanted; couldn’t go back inside his room in spite of his conscience’s protests.

“Why would you be scared?” Sehun’s brother asked, a tinge of genuine curiosity in his voice.

“It scares me a lot he’ll never remember because Jongin can be so hard on himself. He might not tell me, but I can see it. I can feel it. I know he’s frustrated he can’t remember as he wishes, even if he’s trying hard. Maybe I’m at fault, too. Maybe I don’t reassure him enough that he can take all the time in the world, but also be himself without feeling burdened.” Sehun let out a soft chuckle, a wistful sound. “If I could have it my way, I want his memories back. But I’ll also accept whatever outcome is given. Whether he remembers everything, or just pieces, or nothing at all, I’ll still be here for him.”

Sehun’s brother made an awestruck noise. A long pause ensued before he broke it. “I have another question. Before I ask, don’t take it to heart.”

“Out with it, then.”

“What if Jongin remembers everything but gets a change of heart? What if, in the end, after everything you’ve done, he meets someone else he might look at the way he used to with you? It’s one possibility that could happen, right?"

In the time Jongin took a deep inhale, the world came to a screeching halt. The ensuing silence kept him on edge. Jongin admittedly hadn’t thought that far, too preoccupied with healing and filling in the missing gaps of his mind. He couldn’t deny being curious about Sehun’s answer, his reaction. If he would throw a tantrum, call his brother names; if he would stall, ask for more time to think about his answer.

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? No matter what happens, I’ll still be here for Jongin. Even if…” Sehun breathed out a small sigh. Jongin couldn’t tell if he imagined its strained quality. “Even if I’m not the one he’ll end up with. I’m not that selfish of a person, hyung. I don’t force people to stay if they want to be happier somewhere else. Be with someone else. It doesn’t mean I won’t fight for it. As long as there’s a chance, I’ll do my best until the end.”

“Remarkable.” Sehun’s brother sounded impressed, and also very genuine in his praise. “You’ve always loved like this, didn’t you? But be careful, okay? Don’t get too caught up trying to win someone’s heart again that you lose your own in the process. If your heart breaks, who’s going to mend it?”

The topic shifted to something more lighthearted. Thirst long gone, Jongin quietly retreated back to his room. He gently closed the door and leaned against it, a thousand thoughts overlapping and racing through his mind. The brothers’ exchange would haunt him for days. The warmth that spread in his chest from earlier was now tainted by a smudge of unease, worsened by the mere thought of losing Sehun in a future Jongin prayed would not become their reality.

Jongin wanted to remember. Jongin would remember. Although he couldn’t foretell what memories he might or might not reclaim, Jongin still wouldn’t give up on Sehun the way he hadn’t given up on him.

Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest. “This sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

Jongin pouted. “We’ve barely started, hyung. I sort of remember my annual, year-end tradition of baking cookies for my students. Your kitchen remained intact. I don’t think it’ll be any different now. You’ll be here to supervise. Please, hyung?”

Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes by a fraction. Jongin fought back by jutting out his lower lip more, intensifying the pout.

Kyungsoo sighed, arms falling away from his chest. Victory. “Alright, I’ll help you.” He washed his hands in the sink. When he spoke next, an accompanying smile was present on his face. “And you’re right. You came up with the idea of giving out chocolate chip cookies to your students on your first year of teaching at the kindergarten. Your students fell in love with the cookies, and they were so happy that you made it yearly.”

Jongin grinned, giving Kyungsoo a brief hug. Kyungsoo yelped from the sudden gesture; water splashed them in the face, resulting in laughter. “Thanks, hyung! You’re the best. I’ll be in your care again next week to bake the children’s cookies.”

Kyungsoo’s shop was closed today for its weekly cleanup schedule, explaining the lack of staff and customers. Jongin would’ve readily agreed to conduct this baking session in Kyungsoo’s apartment if it meant avoiding a second round of cleaning. To his surprise, Kyungsoo suggested baking at the shop kitchen, citing he had more complete ingredients and tools readily available there.

Jongin dutifully followed Kyungsoo’s instructions, asked questions if he was unsure. From the mixing of ingredients, rolling the dough and positioning cookie cutters, debating what color frosting matched the cookies best, the passage of time flowed unnoticed as Jongin enjoyed every second creating something from scratch. Minor clumsy accidents were inevitable—spilling flour down his apron, smudging pink frosting on his cheek, nearly toppling over an open jar of cinnamon onto the batter—but Kyungsoo never scolded him, handling mishaps with a cool head and professional precision.

Cookies cooled and ready, Kyungsoo tasted one, chewing quietly for a few seconds. He smiled and nodded. “It tastes good. Congratulations on your first attempt at baking sugar cookies.”

Jongin couldn’t silence a moan as he bit into a cookie. He didn’t finish the pastry, however, his tongue unable to withstand the amount of sugar from one bite. “I think Sehun will like these cookies,” he remarked, after drinking a glass of water. “These are definitely on par with the cookies he munches on when he’s stressed out with a client and their unreasonable demands.”

Kyungsoo made a contemplative sound. “You baked these sugar cookies for Sehun?”

“Yeah. Is… is that not a thing I do?”

“I’m not surprised you’re doing things for Sehun, but you never baked for him. Cooking, sure, even if it took you years to not be a menace in the kitchen.” The teasing lilt in Kyungsoo’s voice was mirrored in the slight upturn of his lips.

Jongin remembered that side of himself well, together with a few select memories related to it. Aside from learning the most basic tasks, he wasn’t the most adept at the kitchen. It came to a stop one day after he reasoned with Sehun about learning not to survive on gourmet ramyun and convenient delivery forever. Jongin took it upon himself to learn cooking during his free time. The path to becoming a decent cook wasn’t an easy, accident-free one, but he persevered. Though far from Kyungsoo’s level of a licensed chef, cooking at home helped cut down their expenses.

Jongin stared at the colorful cookies on the rack, molded into assorted shapes customary of Christmas items: the iconic tree, candy canes, socks for stuffing presents, stars, Santa’s head. “I have this… plan, you could say,” he said, slowly. “Christmas is coming soon. Sehun won’t have a good time since…” He trailed off on purpose, aware Kyungsoo could fill in the blanks himself. Some beats of silence before he added, “I merely wish for him to be happy in any way he can, regardless of what happened. If not, I want to be able to make him forget about the bad and sad things associated with the day.”

Kyungsoo squeezed Jongin’s shoulder in silent understanding. “I wish you luck. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Jongin grinned, warmed by the support. “Thanks, hyung. This is a really big risk, and I don’t know if it will work. But I have to try to know, right? Sehun can’t be the only one trying.”

Jongin’s plan came to him during a free period on a slow Thursday morning last week. Alone in the faculty room, kept company by his earbuds and personalized playlist, he finished marking activity sheets when his gaze landed on the desk calendar. He counted fifteen days to Christmas. The jarring shift from R&B tune to a bubblegum pop rendition of a Christmas carol cut through his reverie. Finger poised above the screen to skip the song, Twelve Days of Christmas came on shuffle, unexpectedly feeding him a plethora of ideas.

Jongin decided to start small, hence the sugar cookies. Packed in fancy cellophane and tied with golden filigree, he gave the cookies to Sehun the moment he arrived home. He stared at Sehun’s face intently, preparing himself for whatever reaction to come.

Sehun’s mouth formed a tiny, surprised ‘O.’ Turning away from his laptop, he accepted the bag and brought it close to his nose for a deep inhale. He let out a little awed sound. “Smells good. What’s the occasion? Did you buy this somewhere?” Another inhale; another awed sound. “New item on Kyungsoo-hyung’s menu?”

“I didn’t buy the cookies. I made them,” Jongin said with pride.

Surprise stole across Sehun’s features, eyes blinking in the same manner. “But you don’t bake. No, actually, you only bake for your students before winter break.”

“I wanted to bake something different for a change.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Jongin grinned. “Those cookies are Kyungsoo-hyung approved, let me tell you.”

Sehun looked half-amused, half-skeptical about the claim. “Let me finish this bathroom floor plan before dinner. I want to see if Kyungsoo-hyung’s tongue wasn’t lying to him—” The rest of his sentence ended in a loud laugh when Jongin mimed slapping him on the shoulder in fake affront.

After dinner, Sehun kept his word and tasted one for himself. Jongin watched him bite and chew, smile widening at the same pace Sehun’s eyes did.

“It’s good,” Sehun said, and he sounded honest about it. He immediately grabbed a second cookie, which touched Jongin and made him smile more. “I’m not saying it just because—these are really good, I swear. Just what I needed after revisions.” He grimaced at whatever thought crossed his mind. Jongin found out it had something to do with the same nightmarish client and listened to his woes.

“So my sugar cookies are Sehun approved?” Jongin asked, thrilled by the response. “If you like it so much, I’ll ask Kyungsoo-hyung for the recipe. I promise not to cause a mess in the kitchen when I try baking it myself. That’s one item to include in our Christmas dinner this year.” He was already smiling at the prospect of spending a peaceful, romantic evening together. He couldn’t wait.

Sehun’s chewing slowed. The amusement faded from his face. He finished the remainder of the cookie without another word. Jongin should be touched he reached for a third, but the abrupt silence dampened his spirits.

“I guess,” Sehun said, clearing the tense atmosphere, but the cheer behind the words sounded weak. Forced, even.

Jongin considered his first idea as neither a success nor a failure. One consolation to come out of it was Sehun liking the sugar cookies. He acknowledged the ton of work it would take for his plan to succeed. He wasn’t one to give up on the first try. If anything, it spurred him to try harder.

His second attempt fell on a weekend. Perfect for what Jongin had in store. Relying on his mental map, he searched the storage room and dragged out two boxes containing the tree and decorations. He cleared a space in the corner of the living room where he assembled the tree. He finished under an hour, then took out the decorations and started adorning the living room with the new ornaments and fairy lights he bought on the way home yesterday. Unfortunately, Jongin didn’t get much work done, finding flaws in the smallest things. He spent more time removing and rearranging than actual decorating. Distantly, he heard the beep of the front door, but it didn’t pull him out of his bubble of frustration.

The second he turned around, Sehun was entering the living room, about to open his mouth to call Jongin’s name. Sehun stopped in his tracks when he saw the empty box, eyes roaming around the living room. His open mouth closed, then opened, but no sound came out.

“Hey, welcome home,” Jongin greeted, keeping close watch on Sehun’s face. “Did the meeting go smoothly? Did you get to hang out with friends?”

“Yes to both questions.” Sehun sounded distracted, busy examining every corner of the living room from where he stood. Jongin could tell Sehun was putting in effort to shape his lips into a smile, however minute. Sehun’s expression betrayed nothing when his gaze slid from Jongin to the mini Christmas tree; upward, to the golden star sitting on top, then southward. “So, you found and built the tree.” His eyebrows furrowed in the slightest, lightly pointing at the decorations on it. “Are those new ornaments?”

“Oh! Yeah. You noticed?” Jongin’s hope soared a bit, turning his head slightly so he could look at the transparent baubles and sparkly snowflakes. “I thought they would look good on our tree; add a winter feel to it. What do you think?”

Sehun approached the tree for a better look. Jongin waited for his feedback with a nervous heart, trying not to seem too eager or obvious with his objectives.

Finally, Sehun slowly nodded his head in seeming approval. “The tree looks nice.”

Jongin ignored the mild disappointment from the lukewarm reception and gestured to the undecorated part of the living room. “I have a hard time deciding what decorations to put up. Help me?”

“Do I really have to?”

Jongin chuckled at the childish note in Sehun’s voice. He took this as a good sign to push a little more. “Please? It was fun decorating the tree, but I need a second opinion on a lot of stuff. It also feels a bit lonely decorating by myself.” He slowly reached out for Sehun’s hand, clasping them between his own. “Do it for me?”

Sehun’s face softened; then, in an unforeseen development, nodded his head. “Let me just set my things aside.”

Decorating together made the task infinitely more enjoyable compared to doing it alone. Sehun helped in ways he could, following Jongin’s instructions, never suggesting ideas of his own. In the first fifteen minutes, they bickered over trifle things such as color coordination and pattern creation, often ending in petty comebacks before dissolving into laughter. The longer they spent decorating, Jongin noticed Sehun’s frequent glancing at the wall clock; his growing listlessness, his fading liveliness.

As soon as Jongin tacked on the fairy lights, he told Sehun, with courage, with gentleness, “You can help me up to here. I’ll do the rest.”

Sehun seemed to sober up quick. “What? No, let’s finish decorating together.”

Jongin shook his head, feeling emotions well up in his throat. He tamped it down and pasted a smile on his face. “It’s okay, there’s only this pair of windows left. It really won’t take long anymore.”

Sehun’s face showed confusion; opened his mouth, probably about to protest. A mellow ringing interrupted the moment. Sehun’s phone was singing on the counter. Jongin seized the chance to playfully shoo him away, telling him to take the call. Sehun’s brows furrowed, looking hesitant, and only by Jongin’s insistence it might be an important call did he leave to answer.

Jongin faced the windows as soon as he left, squeezing the decoration in his hands once, twice, to clear the pressure behind his eyes and the sadness creeping on the fringes.

But it was still too early to give up.

A Christmas tree was bare and incomplete without gifts surrounding its feet. Jongin already made a list of presents he planned to give his family and friends. Others he ordered online if they were impossible to find in Seoul’s physical stores. He was missing a few items for his niece and nephew; his solution was to search for alternatives. He enlisted his friends’ help for a day of gallivanting, but all of them had plans and couldn’t join him. Sensing an opportunity, Jongin asked Sehun if he wanted to come.

“Only if you want,” Jongin added in a hurry, but secretly hoped he would say yes.

Sehun looked at him, then at his laptop screen. He scowled at it—Jongin could tell the client’s demands were giving him hell. What he didn’t foresee was Sehun saving his work and closing the laptop. “Well, what better time to go than now? Why are you looking at me like that? I’d rather go outside than sit here and stew in my annoyance. The trip could distract me and relax my overworked mind.”

Walking around a timely-decorated COEX felt like stumbling into a Christmas wonderland of sorts. Beautiful decorations of all colors and sizes hung all over the mall, the storefronts of its many establishments. Holiday songs played between the standard fare of pop tunes; store employees wore Santa hats while assisting customers with their shopping. Jongin hummed along to a ballad playing in the store while browsing for age-appropriate toys he thought Rahee and Raeon might like. After fifteen minutes of walking up and down the aisles and deliberating, he narrowed down his choices for Rahee to two different types of Lego sets.

“She's growing up so fast. She's also incredibly smart,” Jongin thought aloud, looking from one box to the other.

“She is,” Sehun said, and he sounded just as fond as Jongin felt whenever the children were brought up. “You should buy both sets. There are advantages to each. Building bricks can stimulate her imagination to create stuff from scratch. She’ll have a fun time constructing the magical ice palace if she hasn’t moved past her Frozen phase.”

“She’s moved on, but she has a soft spot for anything Elsa,” Jongin said, recalling how he sat through a Rahee musical consisting of the film’s songs on his last visit. He stared longer at the boxes, more confused than ever. His hand drifted to take the Frozen-themed Lego but dropped midway. “I want to buy everything, but…” He spied the prices of both sets and internally blanched at the total. As much as he loved Rahee, the combined amount would severely compromise his current budget.

Sehun carefully took the magical ice palace and building bricks boxes off the shelf. “We’re buying both.”

“What?” Jongin blinked, disbelieving. He gasped as the reality quickly set in and chased after Sehun, who was making his way to the cashier. “Wait! Sehun, are you sure? I think one should be enough for now…”

“You've never held back when it comes to giving Rahee and Raeon presents. You love them so much; you always want to give them the best. And I want you to continue doing that,” Sehun told him, gentle but firm with his reminder. “If you're worried about the total, don't. I'll pay for it. No, don't feel indebted. We’ve always done this before. I don’t see why we shouldn’t continue doing it now. The kids have endeared themselves to me, so spending on them is rewarding.”

Jongin knew he would be on the losing end of this conversation—and he didn’t mind one bit. He’d seen for himself how Rahee and Raeon approached Sehun with ease on his visits earlier this year; how comfortable they were to babble about their day to Sehun and asked him to play with them. Sehun had shown equal patience and playfulness with the children, sometimes bringing them snacks when he visited; tended to them during mealtimes if he stayed long enough. And to Jongin, those gestures, though seemingly insignificant, spoke volumes.

Almost all the items on Jongin’s list were available save for one that entailed a separate trip to Apgujeong; otherwise, they were done shopping for the day. Deciding to take a break and rest their legs, they drifted off to the nearest coffee shop. Mid-afternoon meant it was relatively filled, but they were able to secure window seats that allowed more private conversations away from the crowd. Jongin couldn’t hide his surprise when Sehun ordered for both of them without asking what he wanted. His surprise heightened when Sehun returned with a tray of drinks and passed him the cup of café latte.

“You only ever drink café latte when we’re in Starbucks,” Sehun answered the unvoiced question.

Fair enough, Jongin conceded. In the months of hanging out together, they didn’t deliberately seek out a Starbucks and opted for other coffee shops within the area.

The muted chatter of other customers and the rich aroma of coffee aided in Jongin’s relaxation. Behind his cup, he noted Sehun’s relaxed form while sipping his green tea latte. Minus helping him choose gifts for Rahee and Raeon, Sehun didn’t talk much during shopping, drifting off and away on his own to do some personal browsing. Jongin allowed him if it meant the moroseness about him gradually left. Being surrounded by stark reminders of Christmas must take a lot to ignore; even so, Sehun always had a ready ear and a readier smile prepare when Jongin reached out for his arm to consult his opinion. Jongin tried not to celebrate prematurely, but this—he wanted to consider this progress.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

The question escaped before Jongin could think it through. Shocked as he was, he didn't take it back.

Sehun looked up in surprise, then it gave way to contemplation.

“I'm sure there's something you want,” Jongin pressed on, gently, treading carefully. This was still tricky territory to navigate, but it was worth trying. “I don’t mind you telling me specifics. Or should I surprise you on the day?” Whatever it was, Jongin was more than ready to search for it, whether in the entirety of Seoul through the power of online shopping, or tapping friends’ help from overseas if it wasn’t available locally.

“Are you sure? You might not be prepared to hear it.” Sehun’s tone was teasing. The somberness underscoring his words, however faint, wasn’t hard to miss.

Jongin opted not to pay attention to it for now. “If you say something like ‘you can be my present,’ I’ll sue you for being overly cheesy.”

Sehun threw his head back in amused laughter, a melodic sound. Healing, to an extent. “Lies! You are the cheesy one between us.”

Jongin didn’t hold back on his own laughter. “There’s something fundamentally wrong about that statement, but I will ignore it to salvage your dignity. So, what do you want for Christmas? Tell me.” He raised and wagged his forefinger playfully. “Nothing too expensive, though. If you name something I can’t buy, I’ll have to reconsider our relationship.”

Sehun huffed, clucking his tongue and shaking his head in fake disappointment. He took a long sip of his drink and turned serious. “What I want is priceless. It can’t be found anywhere, not even online.”

“Is that code for ‘I am too shy to say it in public?’” Curiosity piqued, smile hanging onto the corners of his mouth, Jongin tugged at Sehun’s sweater sleeve across the table. “If you can’t say it, throw me a hint. Give me something to work with.”

Instead of a hint, Sehun held Jongin’s hand, giving his fingers a light squeeze. Amazing how a smile bloomed on Sehun’s face with zero effort, the tenderest Jongin had seen on him based on how far he could remember. Touching wasn’t uncharted territory for them, but it wasn’t a frequent occurrence, either. Sehun often looked like he was stopping himself from reaching out to hold his hand, or brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, or twining their fingers when their wrists knocked together. On the first few months of their reintroduction, Jongin admired Sehun’s integrity of giving him time, space, and choices; because even if he understood it in his head that Sehun was someone special in his life, he still couldn’t recapture the level of comfort to accept or do skinship of the most intimate kind.

But when Jongin made the first move, after being overcome with a huge, unexplainable longing to hold Sehun’s hand on that momentous stroll in the park, he lay in bed wide awake that night staring at the same hand he used. He wondered—with bewilderment, with a tinge of sadness—how he could move forward now that he had a taste of the warmth from Sehun’s palm, and the reassurance coursing from his grip that felt like an anchor tethering him from straying too far.

Touching still wasn’t as frequent, even after becoming more comfortable with each other. Jongin tried bridging those gaps, hands finding their way to touch Sehun one way or another. Often Sehun reciprocated his advances, but it was rare for him to initiate. Whenever it happened, Jongin’s pulse raced like never before, the hollow crevices in his chest brimming with profuse elation.

“Am I getting a hint now?” Jongin asked, tone purposefully soft so only Sehun could hear.

A longer pause ensued before Sehun spoke again. He looked up, held and met his gaze. “There’s only one thing I really, really want. But let me keep that a secret to myself a little longer.”

“So secretive.” Jongin pushed his lips into a soft pout.

Sehun’s mouth quirked into a hint of a grin. “The next best thing I want is for you to stay healthy. Your immune system tends to weaken during winter. I’ll nurse you back to health if it inevitably happens, of course. It’s still better if you don’t catch anything.”

Jongin sensed Sehun wanted to say something else, but the sincerity behind his wish dissuaded him from further inquiry. He spoke the truth, anyway. Winters did not look kindly on him since childhood—an irony of epic proportions for someone born in the season itself. Jongin nodded to show his agreement; linked their fingers together, basked in the silence of their cozy space in this spacious shop.

“When that time comes, I don’t want you to hold back,” Jongin said, maintaining his previous volume. “It doesn’t have to be in a few hours or days. It can be next year, two years from now—I won’t mind. Tell me the real gift you want when you’re completely ready.”

Sehun’s face showed gratitude, smile carrying more confidence.

Although willing to wait, Jongin could muse in secret. Knowing his curiosity, it wouldn’t abate overnight, or ever. He longed to know what gift Sehun truly wanted to receive. Longed to know if it had something to do with the thin, golden chain Sehun wore around his neck everyday with a mysterious object dangling from it he kept concealed from Jongin’s view all the time.

The fourth day of Jongin’s ambitious plan involved a tree-lighting ceremony at Cheonggye Plaza. Coincidentally, Sehun finished work early that day. Jongin wasted no second in seizing the opportunity and convinced him to go. A sizable crowd was gathered in front of the towering fixture and assorted sculptures on their arrival, impatient as they were excited. Five minutes later, they brightened up layer by layer in variegating colors, inciting awed gasps and breathless sighs from the crowd.

Jongin didn’t refrain himself from cheering and clapping along with the others. He noticed Sehun stick a finger in one ear to block the noise from the people beside him talking in voices loud enough to wake the dead. The knitting of Sehun’s eyebrows and the stern downturn of his mouth looked so severe it scared off other citizens who looked his way.

Concerned, Jongin set him aside to a vacant spot. “Are you tired? Bad day at the office?”

“If you had to stand beside a guy who talked like a living megaphone, you’d be grumpy, too.”

Jongin shouldn’t have found it funny but found himself chuckling. He felt bad, and also responsible, in a way. “I’m sorry,” he said, scrunching up his nose.

“What for?” Sehun asked, bemused. “My grumpiness isn’t aimed at you, don’t worry. Oh, hey, they’re allowing people to get close to the tree. Let’s go. I’m sure you want to take a ton of pictures.”

Sehun’s mood seemed to improve as Jongin half-led, half-dragged him from sculpture to sculpture. Jongin’s smile grew every time Sehun followed his directions, bickered over apt filters, competed on who could take the best selfie and couple picture. By the time they walked away from Cheonggye Plaza, Jongin’s phone contained pictures and new memories, and an exuberant glow suffused Sehun’s face. Jongin secretly considered this a win.

The fifth day witnessed thicker, intermittent snowfall and a dramatic drop in temperature. Jongin jogged up the subway steps, squeezing the hot packs in his coat pockets and burrowing his face deeper into the scarf. He sprinted the rest of the way to the apartment complex. Seeing the layers upon layers of snow gathered on the apartment grounds, Jongin tossed his bag aside and started building snowmen.

Sehun found him finishing two snowmen. Jongin grinned behind his scarf upon catching sight of him, face a slide show of curiosity, surprise, then concern while marching up to where he sat. Another idea formed in his head. Jongin mumbled an apology before hastily scooping up enough snow for a snowball and pelted Sehun with it, leaving him no time to duck.

The snowball struck Sehun on the forehead. The turn of events must’ve caught him off-guard: he froze in his tracks, shock and betrayal on his features.

Jongin cackled and hooted—and was abruptly cut off by a bigger snowball walloping him in the face.

Sehun’s high-pitched, hyena-sounding laughter should’ve wounded his pride. It merely stoked Jongin’s fighting spirit.

Neither of them won the impromptu snowball fight. They only wore themselves out chasing each other on the apartment grounds like overgrown kids, white projectiles sailing in arcs through the air that either hit or missed targets. Tired, cheeks hurting from smiling and laughing so much, Jongin laid on the ground, uncaring of the snow and dirt that would stick to his coat. Sehun chastised him to stand up right this instant to prevent catching a cold. Instead of listening, Jongin moved his arms and legs to make a snow angel.

“Join me?” Jongin requested, stopping just to say this; smiling in the way he knew Sehun wouldn’t be able to resist.

Sehun gave him an exasperated look, arms akimbo. “And if you get sick?”

“You won’t let that happen,” Jongin answered, confidently. He gestured to the wide expanse of space beside him. “C’mon, join me.”

Jongin lost count of the snow angels they created. After tiring themselves out, they returned to the general area of where they started. Gentle snowfall rained down a few seconds after Jongin lay on his back once more. He extended an arm, palm upward, snow melting on the skin, shivering as it managed to trickle inside his sweater sleeve. He watched the fluffy flakes fall diagonally for a time, mesmerized.

“It snowed just like this on that day, right?”

Jongin couldn’t see Sehun’s face, but he sensed his telling silence. He wanted to chance a look; somehow, he couldn’t pluck enough courage for such a simple gesture.

“It started snowing late in the afternoon when we left,” came Sehun’s quiet response, after a silence so long Jongin was almost sure his question would be unanswered. “It looked exactly like this.”

“Was the sky as gray as it was now?”

“Yes. It grew dark real fast, too.”

“Ah…”

Jongin felt the soft landing of snow on his cheeks; the space between his eyebrows; the tip of his nose, his chin. Since Sehun’s confession and recounting of the accident, disjointed flashbacks began visiting Jongin in his dreams; spread throughout the months. In this more or less complete picture, he could make out a steel-gray sky contrasting the white snow; the scenery of naked trees sliding past the windows; the dark silhouette of the mountains beyond the windshield. He saw himself chatting with Sehun; it must’ve been a good conversation, judging from his animated face. He couldn’t tell if music played or not inside the car. He could tell Sehun was excited to return to Seoul for a reason Jongin couldn’t fathom.

Jongin revealed all this information to Sehun, now, sensing it was the right time to share. It was time to ascertain his mind wasn’t churning out fictitious scenarios, and sighed in sheer relief after Sehun’s affirmation of those memories.

They never discussed the accident openly, willingly, choosing to dance around the subject or complete avoidance from toeing the line when dangerously close. But some conversations, though painful, needed to happen. Some conversations needed to be heard, if only to help ease them into facing and accepting the harrowing past in order to advance.

“What do you remember from that day?” Nervousness prickled Jongin as he finally brought up the taboo topic. The prickling intensified when he heard Sehun expel a soft, quivery sigh, then calmed upon receiving an answer.

“Cold. Not as cold as today, but we still wore thick coats. We acted like tourists in Gapyeong and had a lot of fun. It wasn’t our first time there. It was our first Light Festival.”

Jongin closed his eyes to better visualize the festival’s sights and attractions, matching them with Sehun’s descriptions; the activities they partook. The corners of his mouth rose as he listened to Sehun’s stories; Sehun’s voice. Jongin lowered his extended arm to rest on his side, allowing himself to be swept away to the idyllic moments Sehun described.

“We must have had a lot of fun that day.” Jongin smiled wider, eyes remaining closed. One question lingered at the tip of his tongue. He had two choices. His mouth decided for him shortly. “I want to go back to Gapyeong someday. A spring trip sounds nice. The cherry blossoms will be in full bloom around that time. We could schedule it on your birthday. You were born in spring, right? April the twelfth.” Braver this time, he turned his head.

Sehun was looking right back at him, face solemn and multiple emotions swimming in his eyes. Jongin waited for him to sort his thoughts in silence.

“I’d like that.” A gleam of joy glazed Sehun’s eyes. “I can’t say when, but I want to see the cherry blossoms with you. We can plan a trip when… when I don't feel too scared of driving a car again.”

“You don’t have to. We can commute,” Jongin told him, injecting sincerity and reassurance in the suggestion. Noticing the hairline gap between his and Sehun’s fingers, he erased the remaining space and held his hand. Sehun's palm against his was solid and cold, but also warm and comforting. “I can drive for us. We can borrow Jongdae-hyung’s car for that. I’m sure he won’t mind.” He took a good look at the arm connected to the hand he was holding. Remembered; asked, “Did your arm hurt a lot when it broke?”

“Not as much compared to the way you looked at me like I was a complete stranger when I finally saw you.” Sehun’s words were stitched with residual pain and grief borne from reminiscing. Jongin’s chest tightened. “I’m a big baby when it comes to physical ailments. My pain threshold is super low. But when you asked who I was, and you looked at me like we’ve never met each other before, I was gutted. I wondered if you were pulling a prank, but the look on your face told me no. You would never joke about something like this, either. It felt like I lost you even if you were right in front of me.”

Sehun’s face slowly became blurry as he listened. Jongin used his free hand to pat at his surprisingly damp cheeks. Perhaps it wasn’t the best move—touching worsened the sting in his eyes, enlarged the knot of emotions in his throat, wetness tracking down his face one by one.

“But I’m here now, aren’t I?” Jongin asked, voice trembling, smile shaky. “You’re also here now. We survived the worst of it.” Turning his body fully to the side, he clasped Sehun’s hand between his and pressed it against his chest. Right above his beating heart. “And as long as we have hope, we’ll survive this together, too.”

Difficult conversations often ended two ways: the parties involved getting closer (and closure), or unintentionally drifting apart.

In their case, a shift occurred, another invisible wall torn down, after the honest talk in the apartment grounds. Jongin paid for it with a low-grade fever from being exposed to the cold too long but secretly thought being stuck in bed during the weekend had its advantages. The biggest advantage was, perhaps due to his feverish state, some memories returning to him in more pleasant dreams.

In one, he was confined in their bed, Sehun sitting on the side and checking his temperature. Sehun frowned at the digits he saw. Jongin saw himself smiling, dazed, face flushed from fever and sweating, giving Sehun assurances. Sehun frowned harder in response and lightly rapped Jongin’s forehead with his knuckles. His unsmiling countenance crumbled at Jongin’s whine, then soothed the spot with the pad of his thumb.

In another, Jongin was wearing a different set of pajamas and sitting up in their bed, complexion pale but better than previous. He was busy reading a book when the door opened. Sehun entered carrying a tray of food. Jongin ate three spoons of porridge before Sehun took over and fed him. Jongin voiced his wish for something greasy. Sehun clucked his tongue; told him sick people shouldn’t be eating greasy food until fully recuperated.

Sehun in real life told him the same thing, after moving past his initial shock of Jongin telling him what he remembered.

“But, Sehun, I’ve been craving Kyochon for weeks now. Even before I got sick. I was holding off on buying because I wanted us to share,” Jongin reasoned, pushing out his bottom lip just right and schooling his face into the most pleading of looks. Already he could see Sehun’s resolve wavering. If he carried on persuading him like this, the chicken would be his. “I know it’s not advisable, but I really want their chicken right now. I tend to deeply crave Kyochon when I’m sick, right?”

Sehun’s eyes softened, mouth no longer a tight, thin line. A slow nod followed. “I’ll buy you Kyochon when you’re feeling better. You know what that means? Taking plenty of rest to recover faster.”

Jongin wasn’t sure if he liked this answer; if this was how Sehun used to answer him in the past. In the end, Jongin slept off most of the weekend, moved around minimally to get rid of the kinks in his body from lying down for long hours, watched horror movies with Sehun in their room and teased him every time he flinched or shouted. If the medicine kicked a quarter into the movie, Jongin would find his head pillowed on Sehun’s lap, no recollection of having dozed off, and a romance film playing on the screen. Jongin would resume napping, but not without righting himself and snuggling into Sehun’s side.

Best of all, Jongin got Kyochon for dinner on Sunday night.

“But no more after this,” Sehun told him, nudging the plate with select chicken pieces toward him. The biggest portions from the box, Jongin noticed. “You can eat more Kyochon or any other chicken takeout you want when you’re feeling better.”

Jongin did feel better at the end of the weekend, but it also meant the momentum of his twelve-day plan was ruined. He lost two days to the fever, leaving him with five. Yet the more he turned the plan over in his head, he realized, however belated, that maybe some things was better left to time, regardless if he succeeded or failed. The intimate conversation provided a grand hint Sehun wouldn’t easily forget about what happened a year ago. Jongin could try his best to convince him, or lessen its emotional impact. Infinite patience would be needed. And Jongin was more than willing to provide it, like Sehun had been doing since the first day.

Salvaging the rest of his plan, Jongin used an idea that wouldn’t take too much time to prepare. Fate must side with him today—he reached the apartment first and had approximately two hours to himself.

“I’m home,” Sehun called out from the main door, an hour and a half later.

Jongin feigned nonchalance, trying to calm his frazzling nerves. He stayed seated on the kitchen island, mug between his hands. Maybe he shouldn’t have prepared hot chocolate to drink, aware it wouldn’t calm him with what he was set to do. He was spared no more time to dwell on it, however, as Sehun walked into the kitchen and flashed him a smile. Sehun was about to walk up to him but paused in his tracks, making Jongin’s pulse stutter.

Sehun cast a surreptitious glance around the kitchen before it stopped at Jongin and turned suspicious. “…out with it. Where’s the dead body you’re hiding?”

“What?” Jongin was torn between laughing and taking offense.

Sehun’s brows furrowed, gaze sweeping around the kitchen a second time. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he muttered under his breath, but Jongin heard him, anyway.

“What’s so unusual about finding me in the kitchen?” Jongin asked, amusement winning out, words bubbling with laughter.

“For one thing, it’s too quiet. Another thing is that you’re too tense. Did something happen?” Concern lined Sehun’s features.

Nerves soothed, Jongin took his chance. Now or never. “Something is about to happen.” Smiling at Sehun’s confused face, he pointed to the general direction of the kitchen entryway. “Look up.”

Sehun did. Above him, mistletoe hung over his head. His brows met in the middle, as if he’d never seen one before, then let out a sound of understanding. He looked at Jongin again when he spoke. “Okay, so no hidden dead bodies. That’s good.”

“I hope you know what mistletoe is?” Jongin asked, gesturing to the hanging plant. He slid off the stool and strode up to Sehun. In no time, they were standing under the mistletoe, facing each other. The width of the kitchen entryway wasn’t too big, but the minimal proximity between their chests was new to Jongin. New, but not unwelcome. This close, Sehun’s body warmth radiated off him in waves; the faint, mixed scents of snow, fabric softener, and the fading notes of their body wash tickling his nose. “I know it’s uncommon in this country to do this sort of thing for Christmas, but I thought why not?”

“You hung mistletoe as an excuse to kiss me?” Sehun teased, cracking a cheeky smile to go along with it, eyes crinkling in the slightest.

The sight of it had Jongin’s heartbeat kick up a notch. “A-and what about it?” He smacked himself internally for stumbling on his words, the heat infusing his cheeks unhelpful.

Sehun’s chuckling worsened the flaming of his face. “We’ll kiss only if you want it. The past few months have been tough on both of us. I don’t want to do anything half-assed, or have you feeling miserably after just because you think it’ll make me feel better.”

It was one thing losing memories of the person you love; it was another to rebuild your life together while trying to integrate the everyday stuff you used to do together. Holding hands, sitting close together sans the self-consciousness, sometimes hugging in search of comfort when Jongin was having a bad day and wanted to forget about the world for a while—these only became possible after a marginal amount of time had passed; after overcoming mental obstacles and repossessing a semblance of their old intimacy.

Kissing was one base they hadn’t touched yet, however. Several times Jongin found his stares lingering longer than usual on Sehun’s face, regardless of time and what he was doing. Then his attention would divert to Sehun’s lips, and he’d ponder, not for the first time, what it would feel like to kiss him. Jongin didn’t act on this thought, consciously holding himself back due to so many factors. And when those slowly disappeared or proven baseless, his desire steadily grew, and grew, reaching a dangerous bursting point.

“I want it,” Jongin said, surprising both himself and Sehun with the steadiness of his voice; the determination to take what he wanted, after months of self-doubt and suppression. “And even if I didn’t hang the mistletoe, I still want to kiss you.” He hesitated on his next words, gnawing on his bottom lip first. “I’ve actually… daydreamed about it, as embarrassing as it sounds. I know it shouldn’t because we’re boyfriends, and kissing should be normal between us, but I just wasn’t in the right space of mind back then. So when I started fantasizing a lot, I was conflicted.” He sighed, wringing his hands together. So many thoughts running through his mind becoming impossible to untangle and verbalize. “I don’t know. None of this is making sense. I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Sehun said, and he sounded equal parts gentle and assuring. “What’s a little more waiting? Sure, we’re boyfriends, and kissing should come naturally. But that’s exactly it, too: it should come naturally. What’s the rush? Consideration for me and my waiting? Don’t. Never rush into situations that will give you more regret than you can handle.”

“Thank you.” Jongin smiled, face aflame and touched. Daring to eliminate the already-close proximity, he clutched the front of Sehun’s cardigan, the wool material soft and crushing easily with his grip. “I still want that kiss, though,” he said, smiling to show he meant what he said, coating each syllable with sincerity and hoping it would get the message across loud and clear.

Sehun burst out laughing, the sound of it leaning more toward surprise than finding the situation comical. His eyes shone with resignation, faith, and fondness, all jumbled together. “Ah, really, why must you say things like this…” he said, laughter tapering off, and became serious once more. A tender smile stayed on his lips. He looked up at the mistletoe then at Jongin. “If you really want it, I’ll give you a kiss.”

As Sehun leaned forward, Jongin closed his eyes. His heart beat at a frenetic pace, cheeks blazing hot with the knowledge of what was to happen. Deep inside, a small voice whispered this was right.

And then Sehun’s lips were—shockingly—pressing against his forehead.

Sehun gave him a kiss on the forehead.

It ended as fast as it began, too.

Jongin’s mind reeled from this stupefying development as he reopened his eyes, somewhat pleased the act happened but highly confused of the direction it headed.

“A forehead kiss?” Jongin questioned, touching the spot on his forehead where Sehun planted it.

Sehun raised his eyebrows in mild amusement, mouth twisting in the same vein. “You sound disappointed.” He didn’t pose it as a question, but the words were underlined with contained glee that was a little too obvious.

Jongin pouted, even if he understood why Sehun chose this specific kind of kiss. “This is supposed to be a romantic moment.”

“Forehead kisses are romantic, too. We don’t discriminate the value of kisses in this household,” Sehun reasoned, face straight. The corners of his mouth trembled with concerted effort of smothering a laugh. “Besides, who said kisses that happen under the mistletoe must be on the lips?”

Jongin pouted harder, petulance overcoming him. A rush of boldness surging through him, he grabbed the front of Sehun’s cardigan with both hands this time. “I do.”

It was a quick kiss—any longer their lips stayed pressed together, and Jongin feared he might not be able to stop. In that millisecond of their lips touching, a different kind of shock jolted down his spine. It felt magnetic. It felt like a treasure chest waiting unlocking as the fog cleared at a certain gray area in his head, assorted memories of various events where he and Sehun shared kisses accosting him: chaste kisses, desirous kisses, comforting kisses, kissing just because. Jongin felt like a protagonist in a romance movie living out clichés he used to laugh at; but this was his reality, now, and he might have to take back some of his criticisms against the genre.

Sehun’s gobsmacked expression would’ve been funny if Jongin’s mind wasn’t being traitorous and chanting for him to go in for a second, longer kiss. He could hear the cogs of Sehun’s mind working, helping him break down and process what just happened. Jongin waited for him to speak, if he wished to say something, fingers caught in Sehun’s cardigan.

“You had your kiss,” Sehun remarked, gaze dropping and staying on Jongin’s mouth. “I don’t want to ask anything except for one question. Was it the kind of mistletoe kiss you expected?”

Jongin listed his head in feigned contemplation. “That kiss was too short.” He grinned impishly, hands moving upward to frame Sehun’s face this time. “Maybe if I get another kiss, I can give a better opinion…?”

“And you call me fussy about details,” Sehun sassed, sans heat, sans annoyance.

The second kiss lasted longer, came with a sweetness Jongin didn’t taste the first time. How odd; he was the one drinking hot chocolate, but Sehun tasted sweeter than the cocoa. They took their time with this kiss, drifting apart with plenty of reluctance, and when Jongin looked at Sehun’s cheeks flushed pink, lips pinker, he had no doubt he might look similarly.

“Does this one meet your expectations of a mistletoe kiss?” Sehun asked, sounding a little winded, which pleased Jongin greatly.

“Hmm…” Jongin traced Sehun’s lower lip with his thumb—his boldest move yet, as far as acts of intimacy were involved—and the strong want within him was almost too much. But he didn’t run away, didn’t hold himself back. For once, he wanted to be swept away without worrying of where it might lead him. “I’m still not convinced. We need to kiss more. I’ve hung mistletoes above every doorway in the apartment. I’ll choose which one is the best mistletoe kiss when we’re done.”

Sehun laughed aloud—joyous, unrestrained. He leaned forward, and Jongin happily met him halfway for another kiss—except Sehun rubbed his nose against his, instead. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go kiss under all the mistletoes.”

“How’s that twelve-day plan coming along?” Jongdae asked, once the waiter left their table.

“So-so.” Jongin sliced his steak into bite-sized pieces. It was a weekend, and he didn’t let slip the chance for free lunch when Jongdae invited him out. He hadn’t seen much of his older brother after he was hired by an esteemed entertainment company as a vocal coach. His days helping out at Kyungsoo’s shop were over, which meant seeing less of Jongdae since he became incredibly busy after being assigned to coach an idol group set to debut. “It isn’t a total success, but not a total failure, either.”

“That doesn’t make much sense. Elaborate?”

“I’ve sort of given up on it,” Jongin clarified, but not before eating two more steak slices. “I should let Sehun warm up to Christmas again on his own terms and pace. I can help him forget about the bad memories associated with the day without being too pushy. But, ultimately, it will be his choice. Only he can say if he’s fully moved on.”

Jongdae hummed in understanding. “I won’t lie, I was highly skeptical when Kyungsoo told me about your plan. I’m not saying it was a bad move on your part, but I had a hunch the plan wouldn’t succeed. There are too many elements to your situation that makes it tricky to pull off.”

Jongin made a face. “You should’ve talked me out of it.”

“I could have,” Jongdae admitted and nodded slowly. “You wouldn’t have listened to me, though. You’re stubborn that way. Your pout won’t work on me, Kim Jongin.” He cackled and grinned teasingly, much to Jongin’s chagrin. “No, seriously; I know you only had good intentions with that plan. But hard feelings don’t vanish overnight, and the positives that came out from your ideas are simply band-aid solutions to a more serious situation. You did what you could, so the effort counts. Surrendering doesn’t mean defeat. You should continue exerting the same effort, or more, while waiting for time to act like the medicine it’s supposed to be.”

Lunch was a pleasant affair and ended on a high note when Jongdae gave Jongin two tickets to a ballet performance scheduled on Christmas Eve. Staring at the tickets took Jongin back to the time ballet became one of his many first loves growing up. He dreamed about dancing on stage in front of thousands of people as young as third grade. He was so decided on becoming a ballet dancer, he begged his parents to take him to the school that could teach him how to dance like one. Once signed up, Jongin dutifully attended ballet classes with a determination awe-inspiring for someone his age. His family had been nothing but supportive, motivating him one step closer to his ballet dreams.

Their love and encouragement did not go in vain. Jongin was slowly starting to receive recognition and adoration from the world of ballet through the years, whether from seasoned veterans or academy peers. Artistic directors must’ve seen potential in him with the staggering amount of love calls he received after capturing their attention with his stage performances. Judges sought him out for interviews after winning competitions domestic and overseas. Scholarships from various ballet academies were offered, clamoring for the promising young talent they promised to hone if he accepted.

Yet some dreams were not meant to be realized in this lifetime.

In the midst of molding a budding career, Jongin’s dreams came to a halt in the form of an unseen puddle and one flight of stairs. It was rounded as an accident. Jongin thought otherwise, though he never pursued further investigation when all the gathered clues led to dead ends. The culprit was never found, and Jongin was at a loss on who would be diabolical enough to wish ill on him to go as far as indirectly inflicting bodily harm.

With a career-ending injury at the age of twenty, it took Jongin a long, long time before he could regard ballet with a fondness similar to his childhood days; before he could look at his old ballet shoes or watched productions without the residual bitterness ruining his good feelings. The Nutcracker was one of his favorite productions, the first that introduced him to ballet. He danced for this production a few times, lead and otherwise. On the first winter after his forced retirement, Jongin’s incredible pining for the stage pushed tears out of his eyes, sobbing in his room about a fate unfairly dealt on him.

On the second winter, the cracks in Jongin’s heart did not hurt as much when his classmates from university talked about taking their dates to see a ballet performance, or when his mother took out his old tights and marveled at how much he’d grown since.

On the third winter, Jongin was dead tired from studying for exams he accidentally alighted at the wrong subway station. Waiting for the next train, he was joined by a couple of teenage kids talking about costumes, dance techniques, and ballet terms Jongin surprisingly found himself still familiar with, despite not thinking about it in a long time.

By the fourth winter, Jongin, now a licensed and working kindergarten teacher, was struck by an overwhelming yearning when he found out one of his students took ballet as a hobby. This time, he faced the yearning head-on; purchased a ticket and sat through The Nutcracker with nervous anticipation. He left the theatre in tears—regretful, jubilant. The long-awaited resolution to his surviving resentment, ushering him toward the path of graceful acceptance.

The closing of one path opened another. Although ballet had permanently closed its doors on Jongin, two new paths to help him heal opened and intertwined. First was his genuine enjoyment of teaching kids. Second came from the handkerchief suddenly entering Jongin’s line of sight as he stood crying in front of the theatre, coming from a young man who looked deeply concerned about his state.

That young man was Sehun, whom Jongin met again the following day at a house party and was introduced through mutual friends.

Many winters passed, and the wounds Jongin carried completely closed. He now looked forward to watching one winter production annually; brought Sehun with him if he could make it. Jongin remembered this much during the commute home. He excitedly showed Sehun the tickets later that night.

Sehun’s smile was soft as he looked at the tickets. “I should be okay to go on the day. And even if there’s something scheduled, I’ll make sure to be free.”

Sehun had been smiling more and looking better since the mistletoe episode. They were still working out on getting used to kissing, more on its organic occurrence but still seeking permission when unsure. It produced funny accidents, when the eagerness made them a little impatient and ended up knocking foreheads or bumping noses. It didn’t stop them from initiating. Now, every time their lips met, a fluttering warmth sprang up and spread through Jongin’s body; found himself wanting more, received and took plenty.

The days leading up to the production were hectic but fruitful. Jongin stuck to his yearly tradition of baking chocolate chip cookies and handed them out to his students on the last day of school. He tagged along with Sehun and his family to distribute gifts and spread cheer to one of the orphanages they often visited. The children enjoyed Sehun’s stint of dressing up as Santa Claus, not seeming to mind when they greeted him Merry Christmas. Several times through the night, Jongin caught Sehun hesitating to say it back when more people greeted him, often relying on smiles, nods, and gentle pats on the head if heard from kids.

Jongin had watched it hundreds of times before, but The Nutcracker never lost its charm. It always felt like the first time whenever he entered the theatre and opened the programme to check the list of performers. Sehun kept his promise and accompanied him to watch, looking just as charmed marveling over decorations and the amount of people pouring in and filling seats.

“Oh, that was a superb show!” Jongin couldn’t help gushing. They went for dinner after; throughout the meal, he talked nonstop about the dancers, the scale of production, the nostalgic scores and memorable scenes. The streets saw less groups and more couples—a typical Christmas Eve scene. Most establishments followed their usual working hours, some with notices pasted on their doors about closing early tonight. “Why does it feel so magical every time I watch it?”

“You’ll be watching it again with Rahee and Raeon. You’ll be saying the same thing soon,” Sehun pointed out, not unkindly.

“That’s true,” Jongin agreed. “I can’t help it—there’s always something new to discover on every show. It’s exciting to watch a new batch of performers execute the same steps and dance to the same musical score. It’s also interesting to note how similar and different the dancers portray their roles. The way they dance often reflects the depth of their understanding about their characters…” He trailed off, a little embarrassed; offered a sheepish smile. “I must be boring you with all this talk about ballet. Sorry.”

“No, not at all,” Sehun assured. “The extent of my ballet knowledge goes as far as what you share. I’m always interested to hear you talk about it, even if I have little to no clue. Don’t stop on my accord, though. I never stopped you then; I won’t start now. I won’t stop you from talking about the things you love.”

Christmas Eve blessed Seoul with the lightest of snowfalls. Glittering white sat on the trees’ bare branches and car roofs when Jongin looked out the apartment window after coming from the shower. He saw a couple walking down the length of the sidewalk and turned right to enter the apartment grounds. They were carrying shopping bags, wrapped presents peeking from it.

Jongin had already given most of his presents. The ones for his family would be delivered tomorrow morning on his visit. Just yesterday, he’d given Kyungsoo a present, even if he initially insisted he was okay not receiving any. Thanks to Jongdae’s tip, he was able to secure a specific set of kitchen knives Kyungsoo had apparently been eyeing for months. (Jongin couldn’t believe the amount attached to these knives the first time he shopped but closed his eyes during purchasing. Anything for his other brother-in-law.)

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want?” Jongin asked Sehun, cozy in their matching pajamas of satin and sapphire blue. Instead of watching a movie, they agreed to sit in front of the electric fireplace in the living room. It wasn’t the same as the wood-burning type, but those were impossible to install in modern apartments, so they pretended the heat emitting from the inferior substitute was real.

“As in a Christmas gift?” Sehun clarified, handing Jongin a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows. He sat next to him on the plush rug spread out beneath them. “There really isn’t anything I want if you mean it in the material sense.”

“What about the real gift you want? The one you told me about at the coffee shop? Are you… are you ready to tell me that?”

The ensuing silence became too drawn out, so Jongin hurriedly added, slightly panicked he might have pushed his luck a little too far, “You don’t need to tell me! Where did my head go—I did tell you to reveal it when you’re ready.” Internally, he’d already smacked his forehead five times. “Sorry, forget about what I said.” He tacked on a laugh at the end, but it sounded weak and nervous to his own ears. Hoped against hope this wouldn’t result in an awkward and uncomfortable time together.

Sehun sipped his drink, cupping the mug between his hands. “I’m ready to tell you.”

Stunned speechless, Jongin could only stare wide-eyed, mind blank.

“The longer I thought about the gift I truly wanted, the more it sounded so absurd.” Sehun sighed, combing back his hair with one hand. “The real gift I wanted this Christmas was for you to magically remember everything. Every single thing. I wished that all the memories you’re still trying to remember would finally return to you.” He let out a shuddering laugh, shaking his head wryly. “What a ridiculous wish, right? After telling you time and again that you can remember at your own pace, here I was selfishly wishing the opposite.

“I know of your efforts in trying to make me like Christmas. All those things you pulled in the past days—you thought I wouldn’t notice? I had a feeling, but I didn’t want to make it seem like I was ungrateful, or make you feel your efforts were for nothing. I guess I didn’t try hard enough, even for you; because up to now, I still haven’t changed my mind.”

Jongin set aside his mug. On one hand, it was assuring to know his aborted twelve-day plan didn’t go unnoticed. On the other, it was a good thing he decided to end it, and he appreciated Sehun’s honesty about the matter. About Christmas itself. About the mystery behind the real gift he wanted, acknowledging it might be impossible, but with wholehearted honesty.

It was human to have wants and wishes, no matter how far-fetched. Jongin could never fault him for that. It was also human to hope and believe, even if results did not work in your favor. Jongin wished he had adequate strength to acknowledge that.

“You don’t have to like Christmas.” Jongin’s voice was deliberately soft, afraid if he spoke any louder, it would break the sanctity of this moment. He reached over and tilted Sehun’s chin so they could face each other. “I will admit I did try to make you like it. I tried to give you new memories. I also realize now that it was an idealistic wish—too ambitious, even—and I might have only been hurting you in the process of wanting to make you happy. I’m sorry for that. We can have differing viewpoints about Christmas but still stay together, right?”

“Of course,” Sehun readily agreed. “How do you think we lasted four years if we can’t even respect each other’s opinions?”

Jongin’s chest warmed, giving him the push, the much-needed bravery, to be able to say what was on his mind next. “It’s a few minutes to Christmas, but I will tell you this now: it’s impossible for me to remember everything I lost. Still, I want to try. I want to remember slowly. Even now, I’m still remembering. So if I might react differently to certain situations or things you say, please don’t take it to heart, or think I’m intentionally hurting you. I hope you’ll be patient with me. I hope you’ll never get tired of being patient with me.”

Sehun’s forehead creased. “Never.” He took Jongin’s hand and molded it against his cheek, nuzzling into his palm before speaking again. “Don’t try too hard in being the old self you can’t remember. I admit, I won’t always be strong-willed, so some things you do or say might hurt me. But I’m willing to endure it.”

“You have to tell me if I’ve gone out of line, too,” Jongin said. “Don’t just endure in silence. Remember: communication is important. We have to be honest about our thoughts and feelings, even if it’s hard or unseemly. No secrets between us, either.”

“No secrets,” Sehun agreed.

The sudden chiming of the wall clock startled them. Midnight, Christmas. They traded looks, unsure of how to proceed. Jongin made the first move, leaning forward and planting a sound kiss on Sehun’s forehead. “Merry Christmas from me to you.”

Sehun smiled, but it wasn’t cold; wasn’t forced. He didn’t say the greeting in return, but Jongin was more than content with a kiss on his cheek.

“And since we aren’t keeping any secrets…” Jongin lifted a hand and traced the length of the golden chain around Sehun’s neck with a finger; down, down, until where it ended right above the lapel. Further down, concealed beneath the satin material, Jongin’s palm came into contact with a slight bump. “I hope one day, you will tell me the story behind this necklace, if there is one at all.”

Sehun drank his hot chocolate in contemplative silence. Jongin readied himself to hear no answer, already choosing a new topic to discuss. His eyes widened as Sehun put down his mug and took out the hidden half of the necklace, baring it before him for the first time. A pair of thin, silver rings was dangling from the chain.

“I planned to propose to you last year. Not on Christmas itself, but…” Sehun let the sentence hang, giving Jongin a meaningful look. “Obviously, no proposal happened. Instead of storing them away, I chose to wear the rings. It just felt right having them close to me. The rings are my reminder of what I’ve got, and will continue to have if I cherish it. The proposal was supposed to be a surprise—we’ve discussed marriage a few times before. I couldn’t tell you this after the accident. Unloading all this information would’ve been too much for you. I never meant to hide this on purpose. But, you’ve always been perceptive, so it was probably about time you found out.”

Jongin gently brushed his fingers against the rings, the metal warmed by Sehun’s body heat. He hadn’t recovered anything related to proposals or marriages, yet the thought of those made his heart skitter.

“Are you going to propose to me now?” Jongin grinned, hoping to lighten the moment.

Sehun blushed profusely, proving his unpreparedness for the question. “Don’t pop questions out of the blue like that,” he scolded, without real heat. “Give a man time to prepare.”

Jongin chortled, relishing Sehun’s flustered state. He looked at the rings once more, cupping them in his hand. “Although I cracked a joke about it, I’m not ready for a proposal right now. And it’s not because I have no feelings for you. They haven’t changed, either. I simply want to feel deserving of the proposal when it happens. I want to wear this ring when I’m ready. When I’m complete. When I look at you and guilt or regret aren’t the first emotions to surface for not remembering things we shared and went through. For now, are you willing to accept me—this person lost and incomplete—without any regrets?”

“I have never regretted any single moment of my life with you.” Sehun’s hand covered Jongin’s, ardent gaze impossible to look away from. “Happy moments, sad moments, all those are precious to me. If you’re lost, I’ll guide you back. If you feel incomplete, don’t. You’re not incomplete. Nothing’s wrong with you. Even if you can’t remember, who’s to say we can’t make new memories as we spend each day together? With or without all your memories, you are still Kim Jongin to me, the person I love most.”

Jongin’s eyes prickled, and he blinked rapidly to prevent tears from rising. They fell anyway, but he didn’t wipe them away; for these were tears of happiness, of relief, of the knowledge that despite how much he lacked, he had family and friends who supported him. That despite his forgetting, the glacial pace of his remembering, and the disconcerting incompleteness of his being, there existed one person with a heart so large and a love so unconditional it gave Jongin the much needed strength to hold on and keep believing everything would be worth it.

The warm sunlight pouring in from the curtain gap prodded Jongin awake against his will.

Relearned habits told him it was time to wake up. His mind and body sided with him for once and whispered it was too early to be functional—on the beginning of winter break, no less. Grimacing at the disturbance of his sleep, Jongin turned his back to the intrusive sunlight without opening his eyes. He burrowed deeper into the covers until he could no longer feel the air caress his face; until the tip of his nose found its place into the familiar crook of Sehun’s neck. Only then did he relax, breathing in Sehun’s unique scent that lulled him back to the world of dreams.

When Jongin opened his eyes again, body rejecting a second longer of sleep, the first thing to enter his line of vision was Sehun’s peaceful face. In slumber he looked ages younger, guileless, inciting Jongin’s protective instinct. He vividly remembered feeling this way on the first night Jongin moved back into their old bedroom after deeming himself ready to sleep in the same bed again. The feeling stayed in subsequent mornings, when he woke up before Sehun minutes after sunrise and took his time staring at him. The feeling stayed strong, even after a year had passed.

Sehun’s brows furrowed. Jongin watched his face closely, intently, waiting for him to wake up any given moment. No such thing happened: the space between Sehun’s brows smoothened, and his face was serene once more. Amused, unable to help himself, Jongin pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, smiling through the gesture.

Sehun stirred but remained asleep, only breathing out a sigh and nothing more.

Jongin didn’t mind. He’d gladly watch Sehun sleep until he woke up. They didn’t have anywhere urgent to be. Caressing his cheek with the lightest of touches, his attention diverted to the silver band he now wore around his finger. Just the mere glance of it brought him an inordinate amount of happiness, and set off a tender warmth in his chest he learned to associate with the ring and its meaning.

Sehun groaned, eyes slowly cracking open. He blinked several times, brows furrowing once more, and then smoothing again as soon as he saw Jongin. “Hey,” he greeted, voice low and gravely as it was bound to happen during mornings.

“Hey,” Jongin greeted back, smiling. “Good morning.”

Sehun pushed back his dark hair, having grown a considerable length since he cut it months ago. Around a finger, the ring identical to Jongin’s. “Good morning.” He glimpsed at the curtain gap, mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’ “Is it snowing? Looks like it’s going to be a white Christmas.”

Jongin nodded, inviting himself into Sehun’s arms that willingly closed around him upon contact. “I’d love to kick your ass in a snowball fight, but that can wait. I want to stay indoors and cuddle while we wear those matching knitted sweaters Jongdae-hyung gave us as a present.”

Sehun’s chest rumbled with laughter, a hand coming up to thread through Jongin’s hair. “Sounds like a plan.” A kiss was dropped on top of Jongin’s head. “Merry Christmas.”

Jongin lifted his head to respond with a heartfelt smile before pulling Sehun close for a soft, loving kiss on the lips.