Work Text:
Seungcheol is walking with Minghao when the skies open up on them. Clumps of white fluff crumble away from the clouds.
“Ah, it’s snowing,” he says, trying to contain his smile. Minghao’s scoff makes it obvious that he’s failed. Actually, Minghao scoffs at a lot of things.
“Wait, wait, look,” He cranes his head up, trying to catch a snowflake on his nose. That doesn’t work, but he does get one in his eye, so that’s nice. “Ugh. Damn snowflakes.” He blinks the piece away and sniffles. It’ll get colder soon, but no sniffles can dampen his mood. “First snow of December, eh?”
“You’re such a sap,” Minghao huffs in return.
No one has decorated for Christmas yet. Seungcheol is in the middle of a wonderful argument as to how he’s not a sap when he spots a hint of Christmasacross the street. “Whoa.” The traffic lights turn red, and he sprints across the empty road.
Youngie and Friends Bakery is written in bright characters across the front. He presses close to the frosted glass, admiring the twinkling green lights dangling from the ledge. A crudely constructed snowman stares back at him. Some of the stones in his smile are missing, so his expression is a little ambiguous, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Yah. You can’t just leave me like that.”
In the window reflection, Minghao is glaring at him. Seungcheol steps back, pressing a longing palm to the glass. “Pretty, right?”
Minghao makes that face, where his nose scrunches up and his mouth purses. “What happened to the snowman? He looks like he lost a battle with a wall of cement. And what about the trees? One’s too big, one’s too small. The middle one is too fat for the other two. The aesthetics are really amateurish.”
Despite the fact that this is generally what Minghao does, criticizing everything, Seungcheol feels the sudden urge to defend the display. Youngie and Friends Bakery might be a dumb name, but they’re trying their best. “Hey,” he huffs, pushing a curtain of hair out of his forehead. “You always get grumpy around December. Do you just hate the holidays or something?”
Minghao scowls. Ah. Right on target.
“How?” Seungcheol demands, breathless. “What’s wrong with Christmas?”
“It’s just so cheesy , hyung.” Minghao protests, gesturing to the window decorations. “It’s all just so dumb. The movies. The songs. You wake up one day, and suddenly everyone’s dressing like they’re in an ad for old flannel and too-tight jeans. You just can’t escape it, it’s everywhere. ”
Okay, the movies and songs can get stupid sometimes. And all the chatter about Christmas spirit is a little cultish. There’s something Seungcheol can’t get over though, because Minghao is the most materialistic person he knows. “You hate getting gifts too?”
“No. That’s the only good part.” Minghao’s breath wisps into the chill wind. His lashes are as delicate as icicles, and his complexion is like a coat of snow, and if he liked Christmas, he could have been the personification of it. Somehow though, he’s a holiday-hater, the prettiest holiday hater to ever exist.
Seungcheol looks away, his own skin redder than holly berries.
“So,” he mutters, clearing his throat and not really thinking about what he’s saying. “If you get a really good gift, you won’t be such a grouch?”
Minghao makes a sound, like he’s gargling pebbles in the back of his throat. “Look here. If I got a really good gift, I’d do just about anything.”
Just about anything? Seungcheol kicks the thin layer of snow, already melting on the sidewalk. He can hear jingle bells and holiday music from inside the bakery.
“Let’s head back before the boss sends security out to find us.” Minghao sighs at last, loping away. Someone inside Youngie and Friends waves at him. Sulking, Seungcheol waves back, before following the path back to the office building.
~
It’s just. He can’t get the damn conversation out of his head.
A really good gift. What could be so good that even Xu Minghao’s infamous will is won over? Seungcheol wants to find out. He loves a good challenge, and he loves winning. Besides, what idiot doesn’t like the holidays? He’s pretty sure that beneath the aloof facade, Minghao just needs a little push to succumb to the festivities.
Unfortunately, he has never been good at gift giving. Mostly, his friends just steal whatever they want from him and call it Christmas.
Minghao doesn’t strike him as a kleptomaniac though. Or maybe he is. He’s stealing away all his thoughts, isn’t he?
“What are you thinking of?”
For all his anti-holidays garble, Minghao is wearing a bright red sweater. He leans into Seungcheol’s cubicle, ears sparkling with golden studs. “Someone,” Seungcheol mumbles, hitting his head against the desk. “Just someone.”
Minghao’s face twists with interest. He slides his chair further in. “Someone?”
You. I just can’t figure you out. “Want a drink?” Seungcheol offers, rubbing his forehead and hoping it doesn’t bruise.
Minghao spins to point at something. “Well, there’s a coffee machine—”
“I insist.” Seungcheol is already getting up, grabbing his coat and feeling inspired. This is a perfect opportunity to mine some information. What kind of gift could convince even the most devout holiday hater to turn to the good side? He’s about to find out. “Let’s go. Hurry, hurry.”
Why is Seungcheol so invested in this gift-giving thing? Why is it suddenly his life’s mission to get Minghao to like Christmas? It must be the competitive soul in him, the part which hungers for a challenge.
Then, Minghao peers up at him, dark eyes suddenly awash with sparkles. Someone has strung yellow lights across the office, and they look like stars.
Seungcheol’s breath catches in his throat.
~
“Oh my god ,” Minghao groans, the stars flying out of his eyes. They stand in front of Youngie and Friends.
Seungcheol smiles innocently. “What do you mean?” he asks, reaching forward to grasp the door and wrench it open. The bell jingles festively.
“It’s so—”
“Wonderful?” he guesses. “Awesome? Fun?” Minghao stands firmly in place, expression pulled into taut disappointment. Seungcheol pouts, drumming his feet impatiently against the pavement. “You’re blocking the doorway. Just get in, Myungho-ssi, it’s so cold. Your hair is going to be messed up with all this snow.”
It’s not even snowing all that much, but he knows that messy hair is a bit of a trigger point.
Minghao does, eventually, but not without a look that shows exactly how much fun he expects this to be. Seungcheol follows him inside, stomping his boots on the doormat to get rid of the slush.
“Ah, Christmas guy! You’re here!” They both turn to find the man Seungcheol waved to last Friday. He’s waving again, half his body thrown over the counter. It looks like he’s about to leap over. “We were hoping you would come back.”
Minghao frowns as he peels off his gloves. “We?”
“Well, me and Joshy.” He turns around, gesturing wildly for someone. “Come out, Joshy! The Christmas guy has returned!”
Seungcheol takes a moment to look around. Holiday music blares from the speakers. The bakery is lit up in yellow and red lights, and little lychee-colored tables stand next to the window. Christmas ornaments dangle from the ceiling like angels. Paper snowflakes line the pink walls.
It’s holiday heaven.
“Christmas guy!” He startles back to the counter, where a second man stands now. He seems just as excited as the first, eyes becoming crescents with the force of his smile. “We’ve been talking about you for the past week. You’re the only one who’s seemed enchanted by our display so far. Why didn’t you come in last Friday?”
The first man hisses something into Joshy’s ear. “ Oh.” Joshy’s face straightens out coldly. His gaze turns to Minghao.“I see,” he spits, cheery voice hardening. “The Grinch.”
Seungcheol has no idea what the Grinch is. Minghao probably doesn’t either, but he understands the tone, anyway. “The what?” he demands, voice shrill.
“Shh , Joshy.” Not-Joshy quickly throws a hand forward. “I’m Kwon Soonyoung. I own the bakery. Joshua-hyung meant, uh—” His eyes squint as he throws his arms around. “In a pinch! We’ll ring up your order in a pinch.”
Seungcheol pouts until Minghao sniffs off the insult and orders a chamomile tea.
They settle at the table farthest from the Christmas display. Seungcheol finds himself watching Minghao. It’s just—he looks so ridiculous here in his black trenchcoat and his perfect, slick hair. He fits in perfectly at the office. Not so much in a pastel bakery at Christmastime.
He can’t resist a breath of laughter, hiding his face in his hands. Minghao’s gaze flies up to him, scrutinizing. “What?”
“Nothing.” The Christmas song changes. Minghao makes a face that’s a cross between a walrus and a penguin, and he has to cover his mouth again. “Nothing at all.” He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them, Minghao is still looking at him. Not scrutinizing anymore. He seems…
At that moment, Soonyoung shows up with chamomile tea, hot chocolate, and a slice of cherry tart. He must feel apologetic about the pinch fiasco, because the cherry tart wasn’t part of their order.
Minghao accepts his teacup with aristocratic delicacy. Seungcheol watches him take one sip, then another, splotches of color flooding his pale skin. Huh.
“You like tea,” he discerns, eloquent as ever.
“I do,” Minghao agrees, after a moment. His eyes dart to the plate between them, where half the tart has already disappeared. “You like cherries,” he says drily.
Seungcheol takes another bite. “I do.”
They don’t look at each other for a while. Here, he realizes that maybe he should have made a list of questions before asking Minghao out to coffee.
“So,” he begins blandly, running a spoon through his hot chocolate. “Business analytics.”
Minghao puts his chin in his hand, watching him stir. “We have to start preparing for the audit next month.”
No one likes January. Or audits. Even the cherries taste sour now. “Have some,” Seungcheol sighs, pushing the plate away. “You just ruined my appetite.” They don’t talk any more after that.
When they leave the bakery, Soonyoung and Joshua wave at them again. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to call you the finch,” Seungcheol offers, shutting the door behind them. A gust of cold smacks them in the face as they turn back towards the main road.
“The Grinch!” Minghao cries in abrupt passion, waving his phone around. “is a green monster who hates Christmas! He called me a green monster!”
You do hate Christmas though.
Minghao’s ears and nose are turning a most furious shade of red. Without thinking, Seungcheol pulls his beanie off and fits it snugly around Minghao’s hair.
Shoot. Minghao’s hair.
He’s going to die.
Strangely, even after a second of stammering, Minghao doesn’t draw a knife. Or push him into oncoming traffic. Instead, he reaches up and pats the beanie, which nearly covers his eyes entirely.
Seungcheol gulps. Minghao drops his hands. “Let’s head back,” he says, without the usual bite in his words. “before they—uh. Before they fire us.”
He walks off, a little slower than usual.
Seungcheol has learned exactly three things today. Xu Minghao loves tea. He tolerates a good cherry tart. He doesn’t mind green beanies, even if they ruin his hair.
~
“Want to work on the quarterly analysis together?” Seungcheol asks, leaning against the wall of Minghao’s cubicle. He doesn’t mean to sound so eager about it.
Minghao glances away from his computer, and his whole expression seems to brighten for the flash of a second. The corner of his mouth hints at a moon-shaped smile. Then, it settles back into its usual (gorgeous) stillness. “Sure. Less work for the both of us.” His gaze drifts to the cups in Seungcheol’s hand. “Coffee?”
“Tea.” Seungcheol drags a chair up, sliding the drink over. The space smells faintly of flowery perfume. “Yours, anyway. I need my caffeine.”
Minghao accepts it, squinting at the label. “Chamomile,” he reads out, then pauses. “You bought chamomile for me?”
Seungcheol nods, taking a sip. “Yeah. You like it, don’t you?” The detail had stuck. For some reason, his memory is especially attuned to anything Minghao-related. He doubts a box of chamomile tea bags is the mind blowing gift he’s searching for, though.
Minghao opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it. Over the keyboard, his fingers curl. “What do you like?” he asks, so soft it might have been a mistake.
Seungcheol looks away from his folders. “Me? I—ah,” He shakes his coffee a little, grinning proudly. “Anything peppermint. Candy canes, peppermint cookies, peppermint mochas. Really makes everything feel like Christmas, you know?”
A second. Minghao flicks his wrist.
“Ow!” Seungcheol hisses, rubbing his skin. “What?”
“You’re such a sap.” This time though, he doesn’t sound nearly as sincere.
~
A lot of business analytics is being able to forecast consumerism. Predicting the future is difficult, but if it entails a little Christmas outing, he can hardly complain.
This time, Seungcheol does manage to catch a snowflake on his nose. Before he can get too proud, Minghao pats it away.
“They seem to like designer brands this year,” he says, while Seungcheol’s skin is still tingling from the touch. “People have more money to spend on larger gifts.” A swarming group of kids in bright red coats brush past, carrying at least a hundred plastic shopping bags between them. Seungcheol nearly smiles, but catches Minghao’s withering eye, and settles for a disappointed head shake instead.
They keep walking down the sidewalk. He puts his boots within the already-made footprints. Minghao tramples over them with his chin in the air.
Even the high end stores have embraced the holidays, shattering their cold images with wreaths of tinsel and glinting gold stars. “Oh, Dior,” Minghao remarks, running a thin finger across the glass as they pass it. A fur coat is arranged carefully on a slender mannequin, along with a gleaming pair of boots. They pause at the display, and Seungcheol ogles the price tag.
It seems his Christmas spirit might empty his savings.“You like Dior?” he croaks.
Minghao steps back and shrugs. “Not really.”
All the clouds in the world heave a sigh of relief.
When they’ve made their way down half of the shopping district, Seungcheol demands a rest stop. Minghao acquiesces with a delicate sniff, draping himself over the nearest bench and exhaling a thin column of frost into the air. He’s wearing round sunglasses, which are pulled down the long bridge of his nose, and a pair of black leather gloves.
“You look like an evil tycoon,” Seungcheol huffs, but it’s not exactly an insult.
Over his suns, Minghao raises an eyebrow. “At least I’m a good-looking evil tycoon. You look like a tree farmer.”
The tree farmer always gets the girl in the end. Seungcheol is about to declare as much when someone taps his shoulder.
He looks up, and finds a young girl, maybe in her early teens. “Sorry sir,” she whispers shyly, covering her mouth with a pink mitten. But she doesn’t move.
Seungcheol glances at Minghao, whose expression is sour. “Yes?” he asks.
She dawdles for another second before removing her hand so they can hear her. “I saw you from across the street. You two are such a lovely couple. I just wanted to say that.”
Couple? Before Seungcheol can deny it, Minghao is leaning forward to speak. “Thank you, that’s very kind,” he says, twisting a lock of hair with his fingers. There’s a smile, a wicked smile, curling up the side of his face.
Seungcheol watches the girl rejoin her loud group, who are all giving her thumbs ups, patting her arms, or giggling. “Merry Christmas!” one of them calls over their shoulders, offering a friendly wave.
“Merry, Christmas,” he murmurs back, but they’re too far gone by then. Then, he looks back at Minghao wildly. “What was that?”
Unperturbed, Minghao reaches over and flicks him on the shoulder. His smile grows even wider, until it’s not wicked anymore, just pleased. “Didn’t you hear her? She called us a lovely couple.” He doesn’t seem mad about it. “Maybe you should call me lovely too.”
Fleetingly, Seungcheol wonders if there are any movies where the tree farmer gets the evil corporate tycoon too.
~
Logically, he should probably decide on a gift before buying ribbons and wrapping paper.
But Seungcheol’s tried. He’s cornered Minghao during lunch breaks, talked with him between meetings, even followed him into elevators like a creep. What does he know now?
Minghao likes tea, tolerates a good cherry tart, hates working overtime, and has a very lovely giggle. The lovely giggle part isn’t very helpful, except to haunt his daydreams. Which is another new development. He’s been daydreaming about his coworker.
Christmas is rapidly approaching, and so is a terrible sense of dread. Now, Seungcheol faces an aisle full of ribbons, and doesn’t even know which one Minghao would prefer. Black with silver threading, which looks like his favorite cozy sweater? Or the navy blue with gold sparkles, like the pattern on his tea mug? He manages to rule out the leopard print, at least. No, Minghao would never like that one.
Wait. Why is he putting so much thought into this?
“Seungcheol?”
Oh god. He’s already had dreams. He sees Minghao’s smile in the night skies, and thinks of Minghao at the very notion of holidays. Now, he’s beginning to hallucinate his voice too.
“Seungcheol hyung?”
Thus begins his slow descent into madness.
“Stop ignoring me!”
Well. That sounds too real for even his brain to come up with. Slowly, Seungcheol turns around. Minghao stands there, velvet coat unbuttoned. His hair isn’t slicked back, curling around his neck instead. On the weekends, he seems rather less like a heartless CEO trying to ruin Christmas.
“Oh,” he says, pleasantly, instead of all of these things. “Hello Myungho.”
Gaze softening, Minghao tilts his head. “Hello.” His dark eyes scan the aisle of decorations. “Are you buying a present for someone?”
“Uh.” He can’t exactly say no, not with an armful of heart-patterned ribbon. “Yeah.” Minghao leans in expectantly. “For—for my crush.”
The smile twitches. Minghao clasps his hands together so tightly, the bones press against white skin. “Your crush?” he repeats, jaw falling into a tight square. “Really?”
Seungcheol isn’t sure whether to slap or commend himself for the lie. “Yeah. See?” He waves the roll around, just in case the neon hearts aren’t visible enough. “The holiday rush is going to start soon, so I thought I should beat the crowd.”
Minghao blinks a few more times, gnawing on his bottom lip. His ears are turning red, but it isn't even cold. “No, you’re right,” he rasps finally, voice strained. With a sniff, he walks closer, one long leg after the other. “The hearts are too forward though, in my opinion. Too obvious.”
“Oh. Really?” Seungcheol quickly puts the roll back. “What—uh—which one do you recommend?”
Minghao doesn’t spare a second. “The yellow.” Seungcheol reaches for it. “No, not the lacey yellow. The one that looks like melted highlighters. Yeah, that one.”
That one? Frowning, Seungcheol takes it. Uh…
“Myungho-yah,” he begins carefully, examining the ratched thread. “I don’t think the spiders really scream Christmas.” That’s an understatement. This is the ugliest thing he has ever seen in his life. The moment Minghao turns away, he’s going to chuck it across the store.
Minghao smiles, but this time, his smile is venomous. “Spiders are a symbol of limitless admiration. Because of the eight legs, you see. I think your crush is going to love it.”
Seungcheol thinks of the person he’s actually buying this gift for, who likes tea and wine and the sound of rain. “You know, I don’t think they will.”
“Well maybe you should switch out your crush then,” Minghao replies casually, stepping even closer. He fills up Seungcheol’s space, layers of minty perfume rushing to fill the meager emptiness remaining between them. “Because they don’t sound like they have very good taste, hyung.”
Incredulous, Seungcheol combs a curtain of hair away from his forehead. “But I like them!”
“I don’t think you do.” Minghao’s voice becomes deep with a sultriness, a certainty. His eyes turn half-lidded with disinterest. “I think you like someone else.” Then, he spins around and walks away smoothly, all of a sudden the supervillain in every Christmas movie ever. Again.
Seungcheol takes a deep breath, wheezy over the sound of his drumming heartbeat. The air still hints of peppermint, which is odd, because Minghao’s regular perfume is flowery and heavy. Then again, this whole thing has been odd.
He turns back to the neon yellow ribbon with the spiders, and reconsiders.
~
“So what’s your gift?”
Seungcheol stirs his americano, though there isn’t really anything to stir. “I can’t tell you,” he huffs, because he doesn’t want to admit that he has no idea.
Joshua wrinkles his nose and sits back. “Well that’s no fun.” It’s evening, and the red lights are blurring around his broad shoulders. He looks off to the side, drumming his shoe on the pink-patterned floors. “How much time did you spend choosing it anyway?”
Blushing, Seungcheol ducks his head. “Three weeks.”
For a moment, all he can hear is the whirring ovens. Apple pies and hot chocolate cool on the countertop, and the steam from the ovens warms his face.
Then, twin cackles erupt through the bakery. Joshua is pointing at him like he’s a clown, while Soonyoung is curled around his mop and about to collapse.
He sits up, wide-eyed. “Yah. What’s so funny?”
Joshua feels the need to slap the table a few times, just to emphasize how hilarious he finds all of this. “Wow, Christmas guy,” he wheezes at last, face red with remnants of humor. “You really are down bad.”
“I’m not! ” Seungcheol looks frantically at Soonyoung, who is still absorbed in chuckles. “I just want him to like Christmas!”
“You just want him to like Christmas?” Joshua asks, smile stretching. “That’s all? Christmas?” His fingernails click against the plastic tabletop. “You’re more crazy about the holidays than we are, then. And all of our menu items literally have the word holiday in them.”
Seungcheol takes a furious bite of holiday chocolate eclair (sliced), which is just regular chocolate eclair (sliced) with the world holiday in it. “This is ridiculous.”
The mop clatters to the floor and rolls across the gleaming tile. Youngie and Friends has become hostile territory, and Seungcheol is at the mercy of two sadistic, smiling pastry chefs. “Just admit it,” says the one with chubby cheeks (cute, but don’t let that distract you). “You’re in love with the villain, Christmas boy.”
Seungcheol has been distracted by the chubby cheeks. His answer is one second too late. “Am not.”
Soonyoung smiles triumphantly, streaks of sunset weaving across his shadowed face like beacons of victory. “Are too,” he teases, hands on his hips.
“Am not!”
With a sigh, Joshua reaches over and pats his shoulder. “Are too. You, my dear tree farmer, have a big fat crush on the Grinch.”
~
So it’s Christmas Eve. And Seungcheol’s gift from the universe has been the absurd, terrifying realization that he has a crush on Xu Minghao, his Dior-wearing, perfume-spritzing, Christmas-hating coworker.
The worst part is, he hasn’t even found a cohesive gift. He’s just been collecting random things which remind him of Minghao, somehow , and thrown them into a box, and wrapped it with that neon yellow ribbon with the creepy crawlies. Only these days, everything reminds him of Minghao.
“I can’t associate myself with this failure,” Seungcheol mutters, standing in front of Minghao’s apartment door. He can see himself reflected in its glinting surface, a warped red figure. Would it be wrong to just leave the gift here and leave? Secretly, he craves attention. Not-so-secretly, he dreads the humiliation of a bad gift.
Surely, it doesn’t matter who the gift is from, as long as it’s there. Really, the anonymity of it all might even be better. What could be more Christmasy than the thoughtfulness of a stranger, instead of the random colleague who has a huge crush on you? Minghao will like it more if he doesn’t know who gave it.
Seungcheol teeters for a second before squaring his jaw.
He sets the box down softly, adjusting the ribbon one final time. In truth, he should have asked an employee to wrap the thing. It’s anonymous though, so at least Minghao’s opinion on his wrapping-skills won’t be lowered.
Okay. Back away softly and…
The door is thrown open. Seungcheol nearly throws himself against the walls.
For a moment, the stream of yellow light blinds him. He makes out Minghao’s fine silhouette.
“Hyung?” He pokes his head out. “Are you alright?” His eyes drift to the thing on his doormat instead. Seungcheol lunges forward to hide the gift. Minghao gives a long suffering sigh. “Hyung, I’ve already seen it.” With a squeaky groan, the door opens wider. “Come in.”
After a brief pause, where Seungcheol weighs his chance of being able to escape and Minghao magically losing his memory in the next three days (Christmas miracles do exist, after all) he decides to stand up and enter the apartment, shutting the door behind him with his foot.
Minghao’s apartment is strangely normal. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting—a villainous lair, maybe—but this definitely isn’t it. The walls are pale blue and two plush sofas sit opposite to each other. A pale diffuser is placed in the corner, spraying a faint aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. The only thing remotely evil in the room is the coffee table, but that’s only because the surface is a tinted glass.
Even the apartment’s occupant is less fearsome than before. Minghao’s hair is fluffy, not slicked back. He wears a pair of gray joggers and a huge knitted sweater which is rolled up to the elbows. “Now,” he sighs, sitting down and stretching. “I think you had something for me.” His eyes sparkle with far too much innocence, far too much amusement.
God , what angel have I insulted to deserve this? Seungcheol exhales a breath between his teeth and steps forward, holding out the box.
Despite everything, Minghao’s eyes widen. He takes it gently and puts it to the side, without removing his gaze from Seungcheol. “Thank you.”
Seungcheol hesitates, pressing his hands together and then pulling them apart. “I don’t—It was supposed to be anonymous. I thought you might like it if it was a secret.”
Minghao looks up at him patiently. “You were wrong,” he says, after a moment. “I’d like anything more if I knew you were giving it.”
Does that mean anything? Is it really worth the way his heart leaps?
Breathless, Seungcheol sits, nudging the present closer. Minghao’s face blossoms into an indulgent smile, and it’s brighter than all the Christmas lights in town. “Ugly ribbon,” he remarks, and then double-takes. “It’s the one I told you to buy for your crush, isn’t it?” He tilts his head teasingly, strands of hair streaking over his eyes. “Does this mean I’m your crush?”
Seungcheol must make a truly miserable face before he buries it in his hands, because Minghao takes pity. “Alright, alright, I’ll lay off.”
Finally, he begins unwrapping the present. Through the gaps between fingers, Seungcheol watches Minghao tug the ribbon away and smooth it over the table. “I don’t like ripping things,” he explains, not looking up as he gently peels back the tape. “The paper is too pretty.”
“That’s fine,” Seungcheol whispers, though he’s dying from anticipation, and polka dots aren’t even that pretty. “Take all the time you want.” He’ll wait. He’ll always wait.
It’s striking how empty the apartment is. A few select paintings occupy the draft walls. There are five pillows thrown over the opposite sofa. One of the pillows, a fluffy grey one, ripples with movement. Movement? Seungcheol squints. No, that’s a…
A cat! It peers at him for a few more seconds before unrolling, like it knows it’s been noticed. They blink at each other, and then the cat stretches, jumping down from its high post before prowling back and forth.
“It’s fine.” Seungcheol startles back to Minghao, who has finally managed to extricate the box from its wrapping. He smiles lazily this time, eyes melting brown in the evening light. “He recognizes you. That’s why he hasn’t hissed at you yet.”
Recognizes him? “Have I and your cat met before?” Seungcheol demands, scrambling frantically through his memory for a name , a hint , anything. He didn’t even know Minghao had a cat.
“No.” Minghao takes the lid off. “From pictures of you.”
Seungcheol can’t really question further, because then the first little present is being pulled out. “Christmas flavored tea,” Minghao reads, squinting. “Gingerbread, peppermint, and vanilla cinnamon. Ooh.” He sets the three bags onto the coffee table and smiles at them. “Thank you, hyung-ah.”
Seungcheol winces. “There’s more.”
“More?” Minghao leans over and peers into the box, much like his cat. His face softens, an unreadable array. “You didn’t have to—”
“I had to ,” Seungcheol interrupts. “Because it made sense. I don’t really know Myungho the person, do I? I just know all the little things about you, like the fact that you like tea, and green things, and....”
He reaches into the box and retrieves a flower-shaped metal bookmark from China. “That you want to read more because reading helps you heal, but you’re so busy, so you lose your pages. And you probably don’t want to fold the page corners, because that ruins them, and you like pretty things, so I thought about a bookmark.”
“But a bookmark wasn’t enough. It wasn’t. Whenever I walked past this one store, this miniature porcelain set kept on catching my eye. Not because it was pretty. Because it made me think of you, and I couldn’t bear it anymore. I went in and bought that. Then the crescent moon shaped earrings, because your smile is shaped like a crescent moon.”
The words leave his mouth like the inevitable winter. Seungcheol speaks on, a blizzard which can’t be halted. “And I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t stop. I saw you in the reflection of Youngie and Friends and Dior, and the slushy footprints on pavement, and the pale sky when it snowed. But I can’t give you the sky, Myungho-yah.”
Exhausted, Seungcheol throws his arms up at the world.
Then, Minghao’s arms are around his chest and squeezing like he’s never hugged anyone before. And it’s like someone’s lit a fire, because the whole room becomes flickering and red like the shadows of a fireplace. Seungcheol opens his mouth and closes it, hands hovering somewhere above Minghao’s shoulders.
The cat’s footsteps are a pitter-patter against the carpet. It leaps onto the coffee table and stares at Seungcheol balefully. Hug back. He hugs back, and everything is soft and warm and happy. Minghao’s hair is a collection of feathers, and his breath is gentler than the mist of dawn.
He mumbles something, something Seungcheol can’t catch because his heartbeat is too loud.
“What?” he rasps, unable to comprehend anything.
Minghao laughs, that silvery giggle, and pulls away. His cheeks are wet and glittering. “I said, you’re such a sap.”
For once, he doesn’t care. Seungcheol strokes away whatever tears were on the verge of spilling. The room is delicately silent, except for the muted buzz of the diffuser. “Do you like Christmas now?” he asks, though it’s a rather stupid question, and he never really cared about that anyway.
Shaking his head, Minghao sticks out the tip of his tongue. “I like you.” Then, he leans forward on his heels and kisses Seungcheol.
Nestled between the pillows and the cold, Seungcheol kisses back.
The tree farmer gets the evil tycoon after all, but no one is evil and there has never been anyone else between them.
The sunset retreats into the hills, tossing fistfuls of stars into the blue night. The moon shrinks into a crescent with shyness, and the clouds dare not show their grey faces. The holiday lights, red and green and yellow, twinkle over their purple pavements. The chubby cheeked man from Youngie and Friends pulls the blinds shut, and everything seems to be melting away.
But the snow doesn’t melt, not now, because all at once, it’s Christmas.