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It’s been almost a week since you and your husband got into a massive fight over where to spend Christmas. He wanted desperately to spend it with his mother and Ga-yeong, while you had promised your family that you would make it to your hometown for your long break from work.
Eventually, the two of you decided to split the difference and just visit each other’s families on your own. An agreement that felt less like a compromise and more like a horrible tradeoff that you did not appreciate.
Now, though, as you walk in from the blustery elements and kick your shoes off, you expect to find what you’ve come home to for the past week: a sulky Gi-hun who looks like a puppy who just got yelled at. But instead, you take a deep breath and realize with great pleasure that the house has been filled with the warm, inviting scent of cinnamon tea and frosted cookies. Even faint Christmas music echoes through the hall, and you enter the house like a confused albeit hopeful child in search of the source of the holiday cheer.
Surprised, you find Gi-hun in the kitchen, humming softly in his deep timbre, shaking a small bottle of sprinkles over a batch of freshly baked cookies. You stifle a laugh as the lid pops off and sprinkles flood the plate below him, coaxing a quiet curse and a lot of scrambling of fingers against the baked goods.
“Need some help?” you offer when you’ve adequately smothered your chuckles, and Gi-hun whirls, eyes wide, a smile stretching across his face. A bigger smile than you’ve seen all week, since the fight. It warms your heart, but you still feel achingly guilty for being part of such an argument.
“Hey baby,” he says cautiously, hurriedly shifting his smile to play along the ‘still-upset’ lines of behavior, ducking his head. “Yeah, I’m makin’ cookies.”
“I see that,” you giggle. “What’s all this about?” You move closer, slipping to settle yourself against his side, not quite embracing, but your hips bump together and he smiles down at the countertop, a soft blush creeping into his cheeks.
“Christmas is in a few days, I dunno,” he shrugs. “Wanted to just… liven things up.”
“I appreciate it,” you grin. “It smells amazing in here, and I love the music.”
“Ah, I knew it would help ease the tension,” he sighed softly, reaching across the table to grab a plastic container of frosting.
You frown slightly, trying hard to ignore how soft and supple his side looks when his shirt rides up, and you echo, “Tension?”
“Ah…” Gi-hun’s brow furrows and he glances away from you. “Y’know… Us. The fight. I just… feel bad and hate how quiet it’s been…”
“Aw, baby, me too,” you whine, resting one small hand against his broad shoulder and blushing at the way he swallows thickly.
“I want to make up,” he says, turning to fully face you, setting the frosting down. “It’s so cold without you–”
You snort a laugh. “Just turn up the heat,” you joke.
He grins crookedly, leaning in to press his soft lips against your cheek, slipping both long arms around your waist before tugging you against him.
“I don’t mean like that,” he teases, bending down to nuzzle his face into your neck, sending shivers through you as you hug him tightly, fingers lacing through his fluffy hair. It’s effortlessly soft and exudes the sweetest floral scent as you breathe in, smiling.
“Well thanks for taking the first step,” you whisper against his shoulder as you press a loving kiss against his warm skin. He tightens his grip on you, sucking in a sharp breath as he pulls back. “I don’t really… know how to come back from an argument, sometimes… I’m so sorry–”
“It’s water under the bridge now,” he insists, tracing one thumb down your cheek softly. “And I decided to just celebrate with Ga-yeong and my mom on Christmas eve, if that’s okay with you.” He smiles, but your stomach drops in shock.
“Gi-hun– what? No, you don’t need to–”
“No, it’s alright. Eun-ji already said that Christmas day is hers and I am not in the mood for another ruined holiday,” Gi-hun growls lightly, chest rumbly with sorrowful anger. You frown.
“She’s a bitch,” you snap, framing your husband’s sharp jaw with your hand, and he purrs, leaning into your touch.
“Yeah,” he agrees with a light chuckle.
“And I’m sorry for fighting with you, I never should have tried to make it all about me–”
“Stop,” Gi-hun shushes you. “You didn’t. It’s natural to want to spend the holidays with family. I want you to.”
“But I don’t want to be away from you,” you say, blinking up at him.
He flashes you a dazzling white smile and quips, “Well now you don’t have to be.”
You smile back smally, lowering your gaze to his feet, bare on the kitchen floor, spilled sprinkles scattered around them.
He continues, “And at least we’ll get all of Christmas eve day with Ga-yeong. That’ll be fun.”
“She’s so sweet,” you say, stifling a sigh as he pulls away from you to shut off the blaring timer going off on the stove.
“I’ll never know how I got so lucky with a daughter like her,” Gi-hun says, ducking down to reach in with a hot pad to pull the pan from the oven. He turns and winks at you as he sets it on the counter, saying, “And a wife like you.”
“I’m the lucky one, dummy,” you say adoringly, handing him a spatula over the table. He takes it graciously, his elegant fingers brushing warmly against yours for a fraction of a second before pulling away again.
“Ah yes, I almost forgot about that lovely nickname,” he huffs, pushing a lock of his pitch black hair out of his face and shooting you another lopsided grin over his shoulder.
“You know I mean it with all my love,” you remind him, picking up scraps of garbage and loose sprinkles to toss in the trash.
He chuckles warmly, “I’m well aware, princess.”
“Aw, come on,” you tease. “You can’t call me that while I call you a dummy! That makes me sound like a jerk.”
“Hmm, oh well,” Gi-hun shrugs, giggling as he sets the warm cookies on a plate.
You giggle, circling the island counter to meet him on the other end of the kitchen. He looks down at you, his dark eyes flashing hungrily as he sees you. He swallows, and you watch the way his throat bobs, his jaw clenching beneath the layers of stubble on his skin.
“It smells like cinnamon,” you muse, flicking your gaze up to his mussed hair, reaching to ruffle it with one hand. He grunts at the touch, ducking to let you scratch at his scalp lovingly, drawing his free hand around your middle, dipping his fingers to tug at your waistband and send an expectant shiver through you.
“Tea,” he explains vaguely, lowering his nose to brush against the soft spot of skin beneath your ear, his warm lips parting slightly to press against you.
“Mm,” you moan quietly, slipping your other arm to hug your husband as he kisses you. “Can I have some?”
“Ah, no,” Gi-hun jokes, running his teeth sharply against your throat, his tongue slick and hot on your skin. “It’s not for drinking. Just for display.”
“Oh, I see,” you laugh, breath hitching as he grips possessively at your waist and yanks you against him. “And the cookies?”
“I’m interested in a different cookie, myself,” Gi-hun rumbles deeply against your neck, biting down gently as you suck in a breath.
“I need to wash your mouth out with soap,” you pant, leaning into him as he pulls you into a tight squeeze. He giggles softly, pulling away from your throat, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown in hunger as he drags his gaze up and down your petite form.
“As much as I’d like that,” he mumbles, “I need to finish baking and cleaning up.”
“Can’t that wait?” you whimper dramatically, sticking your bottom lip out in a pout, to which Gi-hun chokes and forces his chest to stop heaving.
He pushes a strand of your wild hair back and retorts, “Can’t you?”
You blush fiercely and smile, pecking him on the cheek, standing up on tip-toe to reach him. “Fine,” you snort. “You got me. I’ll help.”
“Thank you, sweet girl,” he croons happily, a ditzy grin plastered on his pink lips.
You smile back at him, chest warming at the way he brushes his hip against yours affectionately. “Thanks for not hating me,” you say after a minute.
He frowns in your direction. “I could never hate you, darling, what do you mean?”
You clarify, “For fighting, I mean.”
“I told you, that’s done with, now.” He smiles. “We’ve made up, and that’s what matters.”
“Okay,” you reply, heart fluttery with adoration for your amazing husband.
“When we’re done here, we can go watch that movie you’ve wanting to see–”
“The musical?” you ask hopefully.
He winks. “What else?” he says. “And then I will get you a nice mug of cinnamon tea.”
“With cream and sugar,” you remind him with a giggle.
He smirks, rolling his eyes and picking up the plate of cookies from the counter to frost. “Ah, ye of little faith. You think I forgot how you like your tea?”
“No,” you smile. “I just like the way you look at me when I repeat it for the hundredth time.”
“Try thousandth,” he snorts playfully. “And how do I look? Annoyed?”
“Exactly.” Your chest feels bubbly with laughter as you help him scoop the frosting into a piping bag and squeeze it on over the cookies.
“Well, it’ll take a lot more than you repeating yourself to make me annoyed,” he huffs.
“Darn, guess I’ll have to try harder,” you tease. He winks at you again, cheeks a gentle crimson.
“I dare you,” he says with a chuckle. You grin, ready for the challenge.
…