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“Santa baobei, all I want for Christmas is my husband. He’s been awfully busy this past month and hasn’t had much time for me at all. Whatever shall I do?”
Yan Wushi drapes himself across scarlet velvet trousers, making himself at home on Shen Qiao’s lap. Every other word he speaks is followed by a teasing drawl and a playful tug on his white beard, completely dismissing the notion of personal space. The sweat that’s been collecting under Shen Qiao’s wig intensifies with his impromptu arrival.
“Hey, mister! There’s a queue here,” the little boy who Yan Wushi ruthlessly cut in line speaks up. “Plus, you’re so old. Why do you even want a picture with Santa?” Shen Qiao is thankful his over-sized beard hides the laugh that’s trying to break free.
“Boo-hoo, you brat. Go cry about it to your mother.” Yan Wushi levels the boy with a sneer as he gets increasingly clingier with Shen Qiao, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers gripping the white fur-lined collar in ardent possessiveness. He lays his head down on Shen Qiao’s shoulder, sultry voice setting fire to Shen Qiao’s ears. “This Santa is mine and mine alone. I’m his first priority, so of course I can take as many pictures as I want with him.”
Shen Qiao’s heartbeat quickens, not even the thick layers of his costume could mask the scorching heat of Yan Wushi’s touch and the raw desire in Yan Wushi’s words. He tries to shift his position on the makeshift throne, but the oppressive weight of a certain childish man keeps him helplessly pinned down.
“Isn’t that right, A-Qiao? I’m your first priority~” Yan Wushi rubs his nose against his with heart-warming affection, sneer immediately melting away to a sweet smile. He whispers against his covered lips, “I would kiss you right now, but that involves taking off this hideous wig of yours. I’m not so heartless as to ruin Santa for little children, however much of a menace they may be.”
Shen Qiao heaves a sigh, unable to fathom how such a tender gaze could be accompanied with such a haughty tone. “Are you sure about that Mr. Grinch?”
“Haha!” Yan Wushi laughs heartily, nuzzling his cheek against Shen Qiao’s beard, unfazed by the scratchy quality of the wig. “How could I be a Grinch when I love Santa so very much?”
The fondness that blooms in Shen Qiao’s heart is cut short by the wail that echoes throughout the shopping mall. Panic sets in when he sees the little boy from just a moment ago burst into tears.
“Waaaaahhhhh!!! You’re so mean you’re so mean how can you say that Santa doesn’t care about me!!! Waaaaahhhhh!!!” Small hands furiously wipe at his reddened eyes, sniffles interspersing his agitated cries.
“Yan Wushi! Look what you’ve done!”
There are many things Shen Qiao can bear to witness, but a crying child is not one of them. He promptly shoves Yan Wushi off his lap and onto the plush red carpet that lines the floor of ‘Santa’s Workshop’. Paying no mind to the surprised groan the other lets out, he runs to comfort the boy with soft hushed tones.
“Santa baobei, how you wound me. Your hands stay glued to your throne when I ask for my wish, yet you don’t hesitate to hug that whiny brat.”
Shen Qiao whips around to see Yan Wushi sprawled across the floor like a glass-hearted maiden, clutching his chest in an overexaggerated gesture of heartbreak.
It takes everything in him to refrain from rolling his eyes. Instead, he pats the little boy’s head and gives him a gentle smile, which although hidden by the big white beard, could still be seen with the way the corners of his eyes lifted. “Don’t listen to the mean old man. Everyone is Santa’s first priority.”
The beginning of a synthy Christmas pop song filters in through the speakers scattered across the mall as the boy gapes up at him in wonder, stars in his eyes. “Santa…”
“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. But the very next day, you gave it away~”
Yan Wushi’s honey-sweet voice croons. Shen Qiao’s attention is stolen in an instant, the melodious quality of Yan Wushi’s singing leaves him breathless and enraptured. He closes his eyes and sways, wanting nothing more than to melt into the carpet and listen to him forever.
“This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.”
It takes a moment for the lyrics to hit him. The impact strikes a chord against Shen Qiao’s heartstrings, his eyes flying open. “Yan —”
Before he can interject, Yan Wushi flashes him a wink, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. He speaks words filled with mirth, already one foot outside the tiny prop fence that lines the workshop.
“Annoyingly catchy isn’t it, Santa?”
Shen Qiao has never been one to overthink matters of the heart. But Yan Wushi was always an exception, privy to all his firsts. The lyrics loop around in his head enough times for them to turn into a muddled mess by the time he spots Yan Wushi perusing for truffles through the pristine glass walls of one of the mall’s many luxury chocolate stores.
A tinkling bell signals his arrival, yet Yan Wushi, who’s usually eager to throw himself into Shen Qiao’s unprepared but willing arms, continues to stare at the selection of delicacies laid out on display, rubbing his chin while seemingly deep in thought.
“Yan Wushi…” Shen Qiao quietly calls out to him, hesitant on how to approach.
Yan Wushi’s phoenix eyes flit up to him in acknowledgement before he pretends to be utterly concentrated on the task at hand, the golden overhead lights casting enough of a shadow to hide the way the corners of his mouth lift.
Shen Qiao’s eyebrows furrow with concern, growing increasingly troubled by the lack of response from his typically talkative lover. He so desperately wants to say something to dispel the tension, but he finds himself unable to push through the initial barrier of awkwardness.
He lightly taps against the lapels of Yan Wushi’s coat, so light that Yan Wushi doesn’t even lift his head this time, eyes fixated on a particularly decadent set of milk chocolate truffles drizzled artfully with white chocolate.
“Hmmm…” Yan Wushi’s low hum breaks the pin-drop silence that existed between them a second ago. In Shen Qiao’s distressed state, he fails to catch the whispered “I wonder if these are to A-Qiao’s tastes.”
Gulping down his nervousness, Shen Qiao musters the courage to slide his hand up to Yan Wushi’s shirt collar, knuckles brushing against his Adam’s apple, before his palm caresses Yan Wushi’s cheek, thumb lifting his chin up to face Shen Qiao.
“Yan Wushi.” Amber eyes lock onto his. Shen Qiao can’t tell if there’s confusion or shock lingering within them. He hopes Yan Wushi can’t feel the way his arm shakes.
“Yes, Shen Qiao?”
The bottom of Shen Qiao’s lips involuntarily starts to quiver at the way he’s been addressed. Any momentary burst of confidence disperses into dust. His expression glazes over for long enough to blur out Yan Wushi’s fond smile, eyes hinting at childlike wickedness.
“If there’s nothing you need, I have to let the shop clerk know my order.”
Footsteps retreat in the direction of the cash register as Shen Qiao’s arm hangs uselessly in place, the place where Yan Wushi should have sweetly kissed his palm and idly rubbed his thumb against his wrist before entangling their fingers together, just as he always does. And yet…
Shen Qiao.
He’s not Shen Qiao to Yan Wushi. He’s A-Qiao!
“Oooo! What an excellent choice, sir. These are our finest Belgian chocolate truffles. Each one is made with exquisite care. Perfect for a sweet tooth with not a hint of bitterness. Might I ask what the special occasion is?”
Too preoccupied with biting his lips in worry, Shen Qiao misses the adoring glance Yan Wushi sends his way. However, he refocuses just in time to see Yan Wushi make a show of leaning in and whispering to the shop clerk like a gossiping grandmother divulging a well-kept secret, “Just a pre-Christmas treat for my special someone.”
This year … I'll give it to someone special.
A constricting coil settles in the pit of Shen Qiao’s stomach. The gnawing ache in his heart chews away at any remaining rationality he has. He can’t stand it anymore, decency be damned!
“A pre-Christmas treat at this price point? Oh my! Most customers buy this as an extravagant gift for their most precious loved one. How very lucky — Sir!”
Shen Qiao grabs Yan Wushi’s hand and drags him out of the store, mind stewing with possibilities, oblivious to the delighted expression Yan Wushi wears.
The two make their way to the same ‘Santa’s Workshop’ set up from earlier, a new Santa heartily ‘ho ho ho’-ing to children’s cheers. Escalators bring customers up and down floors, some taking the time to admire the giant Christmas trees lit up with dazzling lights and glittering ornaments, while others push past in a frenzy to get to the next store on their checklist.
No one pays any mind to the beautiful blushing man and the cunning silver fox that tags along with him, hand-in-hand, as they duck into an alcove.
“What has Shen Qiao brought me all the way back here for? Isn’t your shift over?”
Shen Qiao wonders at what point in their relationship he grew so comfortable with Yan Wushi’s teasing ‘A-Qiao’, for hearing his full name in that deep voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. He suppresses the urge to flinch, eyes flittering between Yan Wushi’s questioning gaze and the gold tinsel lining the walls.
Taking a deep breath, he clears his mind of hesitation before saying, “Yan Wushi, you-you’re not Santa’s first priority. Everyone is.”
Yan Wushi’s expression frosts over. “Well, how generous of you to tell me that so blatantly.”
Shen Qiao panics at the sudden ice in those phoenix eyes he loves oh so much. He hastily grasps onto Yan Wushi’s arm as he turns to leave. “No! Wait, wait! That… that… let me finish.”
Yan Wushi feigns indecisiveness, momentarily pausing to ‘contemplate’ whether or not he should leave. Shen Qiao drags him further into the alcove before Yan Wushi has a chance to reach the wrong decision.
“But… What I meant to say was…”
Shen Qiao hates how he can’t bring himself to say the words he’s been rehearsing in his head this entire time. The striking outline of Yan Wushi’s muscles when he crosses his arms over his chest isn’t helping him either.
“Go on.” Yan Wushi raises an elegant eyebrow and tilts his head, gold earring twinkling in the low light, high cheekbones and razor-sharp jawline accentuated by the shadows casted in the small space.
“But…”
“If you have nothing else to add, I need to go back and get the chocolat —”
Without a care for propriety, Shen Qiao runs his hand through Yan Wushi’s long hair, using the other to cup his cheek and tilt his head down for a soft peck on the lips. Yan Wushi’s half-hearted proposal to leave dies in his throat, eyes widening in astonishment and awe before closing when Shen Qiao moves back in to deepen the kiss.
Make him forget what he’s here for. Make it such that the only name on his mind will be A-Qiao.
The thought takes over every last vestige of Shen Qiao’s functions. He’s consumed by a hunger that propels him to bite at Yan Wushi’s lip and entwine their tongues. He pours all the words he cannot say, all the love he feels but is too embarrassed to show, all the passion and thirst and tenderness Yan Wushi invokes in him everyday.
He licks the roof of Yan Wushi’s mouth, tasting sweetness, chocolate that’s exactly suited to his tastes. His tongue grazes against a sharp canine, reminding him of the endearing fang that pokes out when Yan Wushi dissolves into laughter. He feels the upturn of Yan Wushi’s lips against his own, and his heart swells with immense fondness for the man he’s holding, the man who holds him back just as tightly.
He pulls back to catch his breath, placing two fingers against Yan Wushi’s enthusiastic lips and pressing their foreheads together, other hand hopelessly tangled in Yan Wushi’s silky locks.
“You never let me finish.” Shen Qiao smiles, eyes crinkling into happy little crescents, voice as light as the first snowflake that falls at the start of December.
“Yan-lang is A-Qiao’s first priority.”
Shen Qiao rubs his nose against Yan Wushi’s, marvelling at the way his eyes shine with unbridled joy. “Please give your heart to me this Christmas as well.”
A momentary pause passes between them, before it’s interrupted by a snort.
“Hahahaha! A-Qiao, you really…” Yan Wushi bursts into laughter, holding A-Qiao’s face in his hands and raining kisses down on every inch of open skin. “A-Qiao really took my silly little sing-along to heart. I can’t help but be moved,” he says between affectionate pecks and exuberant chuckles.
“There’s nothing to give, though,” Yan Wushi says after a particularly long kiss that leaves Shen Qiao breathless.
“What?” Shen Qiao freezes up in alarm. Surely, he’s not going to…
“I’ve already given my heart to Shen-lang a long time ago. Surprisingly, he never gave it away.”
Yan Wushi’s answering smile melts away any shards of doubt in Shen Qiao’s heart. He sags against Yan Wushi’s chest in relief and happiness, the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat comforting him.
“I’ll keep your heart. Forever and always.”