Archive of Our Own

what if you're lonely
And you know I am too?
And I get the chance to say
"Merry Christmas, I miss you"
I miss you

He had thought about it for months, and every day had been identical and different at the same time.
In the morning, he woke up convinced he had to tell him.
In the evening, while staring at the ceiling of the dormitory swallowed by darkness, he convinced himself once again that staying silent was the better choice.

Tell him. Don’t tell him.

It had become the quiet rhythm of his days, an obsessive thought repeating itself to exhaustion.

Baek-Jin had never been an impulsive boy. Growing up in a Catholic orphanage in the center of Seoul, under strict rules and fixed schedules, had taught him a self-control almost unnatural for his age. He knew how to stay quiet, how to fall in line, how to never ask for more than what he was given.
And yet, ever since he had realized he was in love with Baku, everything had fractured. It felt as if a dam inside him were threatening to burst at any moment. Every smile from Baku, every gesture of kindness, every accidental brush of his arm during a game… was a blow against an already cracked barrier.

And every day had become hell.

On December 7th, he exploded. The director, with her usual calm voice, reminded him that the next day he wouldn’t be able to go out: they needed to set up the Christmas tree in the lobby, like every year. It was a tradition, a small ceremony the volunteers and educators took very seriously. But that day, Baek-Jin couldn’t swallow yet another rule.

“It doesn’t make sense for me to be there” he snapped. “I’m not Christian. And we’re in South Korea, not the United States.”

It happened in a second. A heavy silence fell between him and the director, who stared at him in surprise, almost wounded.
He knew perfectly well that the orphanage was Catholic, and that religious traditions were part of every child’s education. He knew it, and yet he needed to vent, to let out even a small piece of the turmoil inside him. The problem wasn’t the Christmas tree.
It was Hu-Min.

On December 8th he wouldn’t see him. No afternoon together, no basketball game at the park, no invented excuses to walk a little longer than necessary just so Baek-Jin could stay close to him. And Baek-Jin felt, with suffocating anguish, as though he were losing a chance that would never come back.

The worst part was that he had no illusions. He was one hundred percent convinced that Hu-Min didn’t return his feelings. Yes, Hu-Min was kind. Smiling. Always ready to talk to him, to include him with the others. When they played basketball, he was the only one who chose him first, while the others would’ve picked anyone else.

But kindness didn’t mean love. He knew that. Baek-Jin repeated it to himself constantly.

And yet, it was impossible not to hope.

He often thought back to the day he had shown him the orphanage. It had been the bravest thing he had ever done. Bringing someone into his world meant lowering his defenses, exposing himself, admitting his vulnerability. The other kids in the neighborhood often avoided him for that very reason: he was “the one without a family.”
Hu-Min, instead, had looked at the courtyard, at the old beige building, and then said, eyes shining: “your basketball court is huge! It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen!”

No one had ever found anything special in his life. No one had ever taken something missing and turned it into a strength. That day, something inside Baek-Jin had broken apart and come back together in the right way. His whole life he had felt invisible, or worse, a burden. With Hu-Min, for the first time, he felt rare.

Maybe that was why he had fallen in love. Like an idiot, like someone who didn’t know how to protect himself.

That 7th of December, he couldn’t sleep.

Baek-Jin tossed and turned in bed for at least an hour, his heart beating too hard to ignore, too loud to let him rest. In the end, he gave up, pushed the blankets aside, and got up, letting his bare feet meet the cold floor. Every step down the dark corridor sounded like a toll, a summons. He passed by the windows, seeing only the faint glow of the streetlamps reflected on the glass like tiny, sad stars.

Enough, he told himself. Once again.

How long had it been since he promised himself he would wait for December 8th? That he would do it that day, at a precise moment, with the right words?

It was something Baek-Jin had been carrying for weeks, maybe months. He had already tried to confess many times, sometimes involuntarily, as if his mouth disconnected from his brain and took control on its own, ready to devastate his life in three words.
It happens when you’re in love, he often told himself: all it took was a goofy gesture, a particularly sweet laugh, and “I like you” surged up like electric current, like an uncontrollable impulse.

He remembered perfectly every time he had almost ruined everything.

Like that winter afternoon when Hu-Min, who could make him lose his mind without trying, showed up with a popsicle despite it being -3 degrees. Baek-Jin had already found the idea ridiculous, but when Baku ended up with his tongue stuck to the popsicle, eyes wide and a muffled “mmmh!”, Baek-Jin lost his breath. He had been so impossibly adorable that the words slipped out on their own.

“Hu-Min, you know that… I…”

Baku had chuckled with his tongue still glued to the popsicle, unable to talk, unable even to realize how important that moment was. And Baek-Jin, swollen a second earlier with hope and madness, had deflated like a punctured balloon, turning his almost-confession into.

“I think you’re really stupid.”

He had helped him free his tongue with warm water, while his heart broke and rebuilt itself in an endless cycle.

And that wasn’t the only time.

How many others?
Those evenings when they laughed so much it felt like he could say anything.
Those mornings when Baku shared half his breakfast with him: “you’re so damn skinny, if you want to get good at basketball you need to put on some weight!”
Or that day at the basketball courts, when Baku pulled up his hood as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “If you sweat, with this weather you’ll catch a cold!”

Every time, Baek-Jin had come within a breath of saying it. Within a sigh. Within a syllable forming on his lips. Every time, he backed out at the very last second.

Out of fear, yes, but not only. He had quickly understood that a confession thrown out casually, at any random moment, wouldn’t have the weight he wanted. He wanted those words to be remembered. To have their own frame, their own breath, their own little sacredness.
And so he started looking for a date, a precise point in time to carve into memory.

In the end, he chose December 8th.

He had imagined it so vividly that it almost felt as though it had already happened: he and Hu-Min walking side by side, as the latter walked him back to the orphanage; the lamplight softening the darkness; the gentle silence of winter around them. In that small suspended space, Baek-Jin would speak. Calmly. With a voice he hoped steady. Maybe trembling, yes, but at least controlled, at least somewhat dignified.

It would have been a symbolic day.
A way to remember it.
To remember them.

And then… the sudden slap of reality.

December 8th was no longer available. Gone from the possibilities because of a stupid tradition.
Because of a damn Christmas tree he didn’t even celebrate, since he wasn’t even Catholic.
The absurdity of it almost made him want to laugh or scream.

So, that night, while walking down the dark corridor, he told himself it didn’t matter anymore.

That the date wasn’t everything.

That he didn’t need December 8th.

He could move it up.

He could do it now.

He could finally stop running from what he truly wanted.

And then the question, the biggest of all, echoed in his chest like an off-beat pulse:

What would change?

Everything. Absolutely everything.

Their friendship would never be the same, no matter the answer.
There was an invisible line between them, and Baek-Jin knew that by speaking those words, he would cross it forever.
But he had the almost physical feeling that if he didn’t speak now, if he didn’t do it in that very moment, he would never find the courage again. It was as if something, fate, maybe, or just anxiety, were pushing him from behind, dragging him toward that choice.

Because maybe… maybe… beneath that kindness, beneath those smiles, beneath the “Jin-ah” said with a light in his eyes… there was something more for Hu-Min too…

That thought gave him courage. And a hint of reckless, blessed foolishness.

***

Sneaking out of the orphanage had never been either difficult or impossible. The windows in the back corridor never closed properly, the fence was low in certain spots, and sometimes the night volunteers fell asleep in front of the TV left on too loud. Baek-Jin knew every shortcut, every gap, every blind corner. But he had never used them. Never.

He knew exactly what happened to the kids who got caught outside the dorm after curfew: punishments, extra chores, no permission to go out for weeks. He had seen them cry, stuck peeling mountains of potatoes or scrubbing floors on their knees. And every time, he had promised himself he would never be that stupid. He wouldn’t risk anything. He would never break a rule.

And yet, that night… Baek-Jin didn’t care.
For once, he wanted to listen to what inside him was screaming louder than fear. His heart, wild, pounding against his ribs as if it wanted to escape before he did. He wanted to give it a voice, no matter how absurd it was. To say everything his mind, always so rational and so cold, told him not to do.

Don’t risk it.
Don’t lose everything.
Don’t ruin the only beautiful thing in your life.

But it was too late to turn back.

The danger wasn’t sneaking out of the orphanage. It wasn’t the freezing night, nor the chance of getting caught. The real risk was what he was about to say. The thing that could change everything, maybe forever.

He climbed onto his battered bicycle, the chain creaking like a wounded animal, and hurled himself into the dark street. He pedaled like a madman, slicing through the icy December air burning his face. Every now and then he was forced to stop, bent over the handlebars, trying to catch his breath through white clouds of exhalation. In those moments every cell of his body screamed: Move! Keep going! Run!
Because he knew that if he waited even a second too long, his mind would take control again, grab him by the shoulders, and drag him back.

Baek-Jin didn’t want to listen to his mind.
Not that night.

When he reached the foot of the enormous hill leading to Baku’s neighborhood, he got off his bike, letting it crash loudly onto the asphalt. His legs were shaking, muscles strained to the breaking point, but he started running. The cold didn’t exist, the darkness didn’t exist: only the urgency in his chest existed, the desperate need to reach him.

When he arrived at Baku’s house, the world seemed to collapse into a single point. He bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping, his lungs on fire and his forehead soaked in sweat despite the freezing air.
And suddenly, clarity hit him.
This is a disaster.
He hadn’t thought of anything. He hadn’t prepared a speech, didn’t have a single sentence ready, didn’t even have the slightest control over his own voice, still hoarse from the effort.

Baek-Jin, who always rehearsed every word in his head before saying it, who hated improvising and who only felt safe when everything was perfect.

But now he was there, under Baku’s window, unable even to hear his own heartbeat over the roar of his heavy breathing.

For a moment, he truly considered going back. He even took a few steps backward down the driveway, his brain screaming Run! This is madness!

But then he clenched his fists.

“No” he whispered through his teeth. And he went back under the window.

He searched for small stones along the driveway. He couldn’t climb up to Baku’s room: he knew himself too well. If he found himself shut in a room with no escape route, he wouldn’t gather even a scrap of courage and would end up inventing some totally different reason for being there. He would ruin everything. He needed to feel at least somewhat prepared.

He threw the first pebble. Tic.
No reaction.

The second. Tic.
No light.

Baek-Jin sighed. Of course. When Baku slept, not even shouting woke him up. In class, when he slumped over the desk and fell asleep from boredom, Baek-Jin had had to shake him hard more than once.

At the third pebble, a wave of discouragement washed over him.
At the fourth, the conviction that had carried him through the night wavered, like a house of cards in the wind.
It won’t happen.
Maybe he wouldn’t have the courage this time either.

But at the fifth pebble… the light turned on.

A lamp.
A window opening.
A shadow leaning out.

Baek-Jin’s heart exploded so violently he truly feared Hu-Min might hear it from above.

The boy appeared at the window, hair tousled, eyes squinting with sleep, voice rough when he spoke: “What are you doing here, Jin? Did something happen?”

That concern, genuine and immediate, melted something in Baek-Jin’s chest, spreading an impossible warmth through the freezing night. It was because of these little gestures, this almost instinctive care, that he had fallen so hopelessly for his best friend.

He shook his head.

“Can you come down for a moment? I need to talk to you.”

Baku’s eyes widened, suddenly much more awake.

“Holy shit… do you know what time it is? Did- did you sneak out of the orphanage?” he exclaimed, far too loudly.

Baek-Jin immediately pressed a finger to his lips in a desperate gesture.

“Do you want to wake up the whole neighborhood? Come on, just come down!”

Baku ran a hand through his messy hair, scratching his scalp in confusion and disbelief. He yawned hard, then nodded.

“Okay, okay… I’ll get dressed and come down. Fuck, it’s freezing out here!”

When Baku finally appeared, wrapped in his red coat that nearly reached his knees, his hair still tousled from sleep and his eyelids heavy, Baek-Jin felt his knees give out. Not just his knees: his inner voice, his certainties, the impulse that had dragged him all the way there until that moment.

Am I really doing this? Am I really about to destroy the only good thing I have in my life?

Baku huffed, and a dense, white cloud rose from his warm breath, drifting slowly toward the night sky with an almost regal grace. Baek-Jin followed it with his eyes, and inside he desperately wished he could do the same: rise upward, dissolve, disappear.

Suddenly, the courage that had pushed him this far felt like a lie. And the madness burning in his chest vanished in an instant.

Baku wrapped his arms around himself, shook his cold shoulders, and stepped forward twice.

“Shit, it’s so cold… why don’t we go inside?” he suggested, his voice a little hoarse.

“No!” Baek-Jin exclaimed, too quickly, too loudly. He felt his heart leap into his throat like a wild animal, as if it wanted to burst out and reveal itself in all the colors Baku had given him through years of friendship: colors Baek-Jin hadn’t even known he had inside.

Baku frowned. Baek-Jin lowered his gaze to his own feet, unable to withstand those sleepy yet incredibly clear eyes.

“It’s something quick… then I’ll go home before… yeah.” he mumbled. He mumbled, he, who never stuttered. Na Baek-Jin, who would rather stay silent than reveal any emotion.

Baku noticed immediately. He studied him for a few seconds, his eyes gliding quickly over every detail: the ragged breathing, the trembling hands, the stiff shoulders.

“You sure everything’s okay, Jin? You look… shaken.”

It was a perfect description. Baek-Jin shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest, a gesture more defensive than protective. He nodded, but the movement was so nervous, so fragile, that Baku couldn’t believe it.

Hu-Min took another step forward. Then he slowly raised a hand, reaching for Baek-Jin’s forearm. A gentle, hesitant touch.

Baek-Jin would have wanted it, that contact. Wanted it desperately. But he also knew that if he felt Baku’s warmth on his skin right then, in that moment when everything inside him was stretched thin… he might crumble. He might keep himself from speaking. He might run away.

So he stepped back.

The other’s hand lingered suspended for a second, frozen in the air, then dropped and curled back around his own cold body.

“Did someone do something to you?” he asked, a thread of anger in his voice. “I swear, if they mistreated you again, this time-”

“No!” Baek-Jin interrupted immediately, lifting his gaze. His cheeks burned, his breath breaking into small puffs. “No, nothing happened, it’s just that…”

Baku raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“It’s just that…?”

Baek-Jin inhaled deeply, trying to impose order on the chaos.

“I have to tell you something. You… you don’t have to answer, okay? Or say anything. I’ll say it and… you’ll know. Then everything goes back to normal. I go back to the orphanage and you… home. And…”

His voice cracked. “By the way, I can’t come tomorrow. The director forced me to help them decorate the Christmas tree…”

The sadness in his voice was clear. Obvious. Painful.

Hu-Min, who seemed not to grasp the deeper part, reacted with his usual spontaneity: “Cool! I’ve never made one before!”

Baek-Jin slowly lifted his eyes and looked at him with an expression that seemed to say yes, but I wanted to be with you.

With a sweet, natural smile, Baku simply said: “We’ll reschedule the game. I don’t play if you’re not there.”

The warmth those words sparked in his chest was almost too much. Baek-Jin felt the tension loosen just a bit, only to tighten again immediately after. They remained silent, the cold air forming small clouds between them.

“So, was that what you wanted to tell me?” Baku asked, rubbing his arms with a sarcastic smile. It was strange that Baek-Jin had run there in the middle of the night just to tell him they wouldn’t be able to play basketball the next day.

“I’m not trying to rush you, but my… legs are freezing.”

Baek-Jin held back a smile. He had perfectly understood that Baku had been about to say something far less elegant, but the fact that he corrected himself at the last second warmed his heart.

“Yes… well…” Baek-Jin said, his voice trembling. Finally, he was on the verge of saying it.

He inhaled again, but the air only went halfway, broken, as if his lungs had shrunk. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing he had to jump with no guarantee he’d land whole on the other side. His hands shook so much he had to clench them into fists to keep Baku from truly seeing him fall apart.

“Hu-Min…” he began, but the name died on his lips.

The world seemed to hold its breath with him: the empty, silent street, the closed windows, even the wind whipping through the leaves paused for a second, as if waiting.

Baku tilted his head, confused, his fringe falling over his still-sleepy eyes, his nose red from the cold.

 “Jin…?”

Baek-Jin closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to find a grain of courage, tiny but enough. When he opened them, he looked at Baku as he never had before: without filters, without barriers, without fear of being seen too clearly.

“I… I have to tell you something I’ve been carrying inside for… a while.”

His voice trembled. The more he spoke, the more it felt like he was slowly opening a door he could never close again.

“For months” he continued, “I’ve felt like there’s a knot here.” He touched his chest, right above his sternum. “Like something is about to explode. And every day I told myself it was stupid, that I shouldn’t think about it, that I might… ruin everything.”

He swallowed. His mouth was dry, as if he had swallowed sand.

“You’re the only person who makes me feel…” He searched for words, but it was like trying to grab them in the dark. “You make me feel seen. Important. Rare…”

Baku’s eyes widened a little, surprised. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. He stayed still, attentive, as if he feared a single word would break something fragile.

“And I know” Baek-Jin murmured, lowering his gaze for a second, “that you’re kind to everyone. That you smile at everyone. That you always try to make others feel good. But…” He slowly lifted his eyes. “I have no one. I only have you… and even though I’m terrified that saying this might push you away… I need you to know how important you are to me. Because you deserve it. You’re special, Hu-Min, and you make me feel incredibly lucky… to have you.”

A gust of freezing wind cut through his thin jacket, but Baek-Jin trembled for a completely different reason.

“Every time you talk to me, when you look for me, when you choose me first… it feels like I short-circuit, because it should be normal, right? I never feel normal when your attention is all on me.” He brought a hand to his forehead, brushing through hair damp with cold sweat. “And the more I try to repress it, the more impossible it becomes.”

Baku took a step forward, barely noticeable. Baek-Jin saw him move out of the corner of his eye and instinctively held his breath.

“Jin…” the boy murmured, but said nothing more.

Baek-Jin straightened a little, as if he had found a fleeting fragment of strength. “I… think that… I like you.”

He said it softly, but it was the loudest thing he had ever spoken in his life. He felt each word hit the cold air and hang suspended between them.

“I’m an idiot, I know, but I like you” he continued, a weak, trembling smile on his lips, “without wanting to, without really understanding why it feels so wrong not to tell you, not to try to make you understand. I have no idea what the right thing to do is, but I… I know this could ruin everything. I know.” He lowered his head, pained. “I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. I had to tell you.”

His hands hung stiffly at his sides. He couldn’t look at him. “And… you don’t have to answer. I told you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know. That’s all.”

A dense cloud of breath escaped his trembling lips.

“If you want to pretend this never happened… I will.”

He paused, fragile, painful, immense.

“But I… I had to tell you. I had to.”

Baku stood still for a few seconds, as if Baek-Jin’s words had fallen on him too suddenly to understand them right away. Then, slowly, he stepped forward. His breath formed small white clouds that dissolved quickly, as if too eager to disappear.

“Jin…” he began, with a gentleness almost disarming. “I… I like you too. Really, but…”

He said it quietly, hesitantly, with the same voice he used to avoid scaring cats on the street. And for a moment Baek-Jin’s heart stopped, struck by a spark of hope.

But that spark died instantly.

It wasn’t the tone Baek-Jin had imagined in countless sleepless nights. It wasn’t the full, warm, overwhelming vibration he would expect from someone who wanted him the way he wanted Baku. It was a fragile tone, uncertain, as if he were trying to be gentle. As if he were trying not to hurt him.

“I like you too, but” became “you’re my friend” became “you’re important, but not like that” became “I don’t want to hurt you.” Kindness. Always that damn, beautiful kindness. That spontaneous, impulsive, messy kindness of Baku’s, who had a smile, a kind word, a warm gesture for everyone.

And that’s when Baek-Jin understood. He understood with a sharp clarity that hurt like a punch to the stomach: Baku was talking about friendship. About sincere affection, yes, but the kind that doesn’t burn, doesn’t weigh, doesn’t change the color of your cheeks when someone smiles at you.

Baek-Jin saw it in his eyes. Or maybe he imagined it, pain and fear can create monsters. But it was enough to make him feel himself fall.

His heart tightened so much he physically felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. It was like being hit in the chest, as if that small, newborn hope had been ripped from him without mercy. And yet he didn’t shed a single tear. Not there. Not in front of him.

He touched his face lightly, as if checking there was nothing to wipe away, then tilted his head slightly, as if to hide, and clenched his fists so hard it hurt.

Baku, unaware of the silent disaster unfolding before him, gave a timid half-smile. “I mean… you’re important to me, Jin. Really. And if you mean you like me like-”

Baek-Jin didn’t let him finish. “Ah…” he breathed, a pseudo-smile that didn’t even reach his eyes. “I get it.”

Baku shook his head and hurried to clarify, stepping closer to try to reach him: “No, really, what I’m trying to say-”

Baek-Jin immediately stepped back. He couldn’t bear another missed touch, another gentle gesture that would only make the agony worse.

“No, it’s fine this way” he said, astonishingly calm while inside he was collapsing piece by piece. “Sorry… sorry for putting you in this situation. I shouldn’t have.”

“What are you-? Jin, just listen for a second, I-”

Baek-Jin shook his head, fast, almost frantic. If he listened any further, if he let Baku explain, he would lose what little self-control he had left. He would cry, right there, in front of him. He would beg him not to hurt him without meaning to. And he didn’t want to, he couldn’t, let it reach that point.

“Goodnight, okay? It’s all okay, Baku…”

The way he said it… it was gentle yet distant, sweet yet shattered, as if every syllable cost him a piece of his soul.
Then he turned.
He took one step. Then another. And another still.

He could hear Baku’s voice calling after him: “Jin! Wait, please!” but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Tears were pressing behind his eyes like a dam about to burst, his legs were shaking so hard they threatened to give out, his breath was a thin thread slicing through his lungs. He had to get away. He had to disappear before he fell apart right in front of him.

So Baek-Jin ran, swallowed by the darkness of the street, while the cold bit at his face and even his own shadow seemed to struggle to keep up.

And Baku, standing under the streetlamp, watched him go, too slow to stop him, too late to explain, too shaken to understand how everything had fallen apart so quickly.

***

The next morning, Baek-Jin didn’t even get up when the bell that woke the orphanage rang down the halls. He stayed still in his bed, blankets pulled up to his nose, his eyes swollen and reddened from a sleepless night. It was such an unusual thing that even the smallest children, passing by his door, whispered to each other wondering why “good Jin” wasn’t already up checking that everyone had done their chores.

Baek-Jin never skipped school. Never. Not even when he had a fever or a stuffy nose, or when his dark circles were so deep they looked like bruises. He was a constant, a small certainty in a place that didn’t offer many.

But that morning, when the director knocked on his door. “Hey, sweetheart, are you alright?” ,  he answered only with a thread of voice: “I… I don’t feel very well.”

The director took one look at him, saw the pale face, the chapped lips, the red eyes, and didn’t insist. She had often seen kids feign illness to skip school, but Baek-Jin was not that kind of kid. If he said he wasn’t feeling well, it meant something really was eating him alive.

And something, in fact, was eating him alive.

He stayed in bed for hours, unmoving, with his heart feeling like a heavy bundle pressed against his chest. Every now and then he turned onto one side, then the other, but there was no peace in any position. Sometimes he closed his eyes hoping to sleep, but one deeper breath was enough for the scene from the previous night to pierce through him again.

His words.
Baku’s answer.
That confused smile, that gentle voice.
Too gentle.

And then the terrible thought that Baku might not want him close anymore.

That was the worst wound. It was like a blade pushed in slowly, and he had no way to stop it. The idea that Baku could look at him with disgust, could avoid him, could decide never to speak to him again… that was what twisted his stomach until he felt physically sick.

When the director came back around ten to bring him breakfast, Baek-Jin was curled up under the blankets, eyes glossy, his face hidden in the shadow of the comforter. She placed the tray on the nightstand and slipped out quietly.

He didn’t touch it.
He couldn’t.
Every bite would have stuck between his throat and his heart.

Noon came, then passed. Lunch also remained untouched.

And Baek-Jin still didn’t move. He didn’t speak to anyone. He didn’t answer the kids who knocked softly on the door asking if he needed tea or an extra blanket. He stayed there, lost in thoughts that kept looping endlessly.

Why did I listen to my heart?
Why did I believe, even for a second, that I could be… something more?
Why did I let myself be so weak? So vulnerable?

His mind offered him nothing but terrible scenarios: Baku avoiding him, changing desks, stopping talking to him; Baku giving him a wounded, disgusted look; Baku laughing about his confession with the others.

Each image was worse than the last, tightening around him until he could barely breathe.

And yet, this was perhaps what destroyed him the most, a part of him didn’t regret it.
Not completely.

Amid all that pain, that embarrassment, that wild fear of having lost the most precious thing he’d ever had, he knew one simple truth: if he hadn’t said anything, if he had kept suffocating every feeling… he would have gone insane. He would have exploded.

But knowing he did the right thing didn’t mean not suffering.
If anything, he was hurting even more.

“Maybe…” he whispered into the silence of the room, his voice breaking, “maybe Hu-Min would still be my friend if I hadn’t told him…”

A friend.
A friend he would have to lie to every day.
A friend to love from afar, in silence, pretending his heart didn’t want to shatter every time he smiled.

A friend to whom he would have to say lies like “I care about you like a brother” when the truth was that Hu-Min was everything, but not a friend or a brother.

So, losing him would have been like losing the last piece of light he had left.

Baek-Jin pulled the covers tighter around himself. The tears started flowing again, along with the sobs.
And once more, he did nothing to stop himself.

***

Baek-Jin must have fallen asleep without realizing it, because when he felt the blanket lift and a hand blindly searching for his face, he couldn’t have said how long he had been lying there, motionless, drowning in his tears and sadness. His eyes, swollen and heavy, blinked open at the faint light, and for a moment he saw only blurred shapes, muddled colors.

Then everything came into focus, and his heart gave a jolt, a sharp blow that cut the air from his lungs.

Hu-Min was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his back curved as he leaned toward him. His face still carried the clear signs of worry: slightly lowered eyelids, messy hair, a mouth curled into a timid, uncertain smile. As if he didn’t know whether he was welcome, though he hoped with all of himself that he was.

Baek-Jin squinted, annoyed by the light, but the moment he recognized Baku, his eyes flew wide open, and he sniffled in an embarrassingly pathetic way. He instinctively tried to sit up, his body stiff, his hands trembling as they clung to the blankets. His cheeks were burning, and he knew exactly why: he must have looked like a wreck, with red eyes, wet lashes, an irritated nose. A version of himself he never wanted anyone to see. Ever.

And yet, Baku was looking at him with a disarming tenderness and, most of all, wasn’t commenting on anything. There was no shock, no pity. Only a quiet, gentle understanding that made Baek-Jin feel even more exposed.

A black hole, that’s what he wanted. To disappear into a black hole.

“What… what are you doing here?” Baek-Jin asked. He tried to sound tough, to shield himself, but his voice trembled in a humiliating way, wrecked from a night spent choking back sobs. He immediately bit his tongue, annoyed at himself.

His heart, however… his heart was melting. Because Baku was here. He had actually come looking for him.

Baku scratched his temple, one of those nervous gestures he used when embarrassed or unsure. He let out a small, awkward laugh.

“You didn’t come to school. And… you said you were supposed to decorate the Christmas tree today. I thought…” He lowered his gaze for a second. “...that I wanted to do it with you.”

Baek-Jin’s eyes widened even more. His chest tightened painfully, and then a warm wave rushed to his throat. It felt like every emotion he had been holding back for hours decided to explode all at once. Tears welled up again, filling his eyes, swelling them until they shone. His lip began to tremble, barely at first, then more and more.

Baku watched him fall apart. Right in front of him. And a sudden, embarrassed, tender flush appeared on his face.

Baek-Jin wiped his nose with one hand, desperately trying not to cry again, but his body wouldn’t obey.

“Sorry…” he murmured.

“Why are you apologizing?” Baku asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I… I ruined our friendship. I… I don’t deserve you.” His voice broke on the last word.

Baku stayed still for a few seconds, silent, as if choosing his next move with great care. Then he let out a short breath, not exasperated, but incredulous, and moved even closer. His knees touched Baek-Jin’s. With both hands, he cupped Baek-Jin’s face, his fingers pressing into his cheeks with surprising firmness, forcing him to look at him.

Baek-Jin’s eyes opened wide like those of a frightened deer.

“Jin. You’re going to listen to me now, okay?”

Baku smiled, a bright smile, a bit incredulous, a bit irritated, but full of unmistakable affection. With his thumbs, he stroked the flushed cheeks, brushing over the skin with such gentleness that Baek-Jin’s breath quickened even more.

“I told you I like you too, idiot.” His voice trembled just a little, but it was honest. “Did you get that or not?”

Baek-Jin held his breath. “But you…” he stammered.

Baku huffed again, more exasperated this time.

“It was three in the morning. THREE. It was freezing like hell, and you thought I’d be collaborative, coherent, and romantic while I was dying of hypothermia outside my house?”

Baek-Jin was too confused to laugh. But a small corner of his mind whispered that one day, maybe, he would laugh about this.

“I wasn’t thinking about romantic stuff or, I don’t know, making out or whatever…” Baku continued, his face growing redder. “But you really are special to me, Jin-ah. When you said I make you feel important, I… I was happy. Because that’s how I want you to feel. Because that’s what I think… you’re special to me…”

His voice dropped, more serious.

“You caught me off guard and then ran away. You didn’t even give me time to- I don’t know, tell you that what you feel… I feel it too. I like you. For real.”

“Not… not just as a friend?” Baek-Jin whispered, terrified of the answer.

“Well… we are friends…” Baku began.

“You know what I mean…”

“I don’t know, I’ve never thou-”

The sentence crashed into his teeth as a thought crossed his eyes. And since he was already there, with Baek-Jin’s face in his hands… he decided it was a good excuse to lean in and brush his lips with a quick, shy, almost clumsy kiss.

When he pulled back, he licked his lips nervously. Baek-Jin was frozen. Petrified.

Baku smiled a little, as if amused. Then he kissed him again, slower, more real, his lips parting just enough to meet Baek-Jin’s, choosing him deliberately.

When he pulled away the second time, his cheeks were completely red.

“Yes. I like you like that too…” he whispered.

Baek-Jin let out a strangled sound, a sort of confused stutter. Baku burst out laughing.

“What? Did I make you speechless?” Baku teased, poking him in the chest with far too much satisfaction.

Still melted and stunned, Baek-Jin gave him a very soft punch in the side.

“Ouch!” Baku bent forward dramatically, like a performer in a cheap local theater. He laughed, that warm, clear laugh Baek-Jin could recognize anywhere.

He straightened up a little, still smiling, then his expression softened, becoming more serious, more attentive.

“Ah, by the way… the director told me you weren’t feeling well.” Baku tilted his head, his smile fading into something more worried. “Was it… because of me?”

Baek-Jin stiffened instantly. Embarrassment flooded him, overwhelming and violent: he couldn’t look at him, his eyes slipping down to the wrinkled blankets, to any spot that was NOT Baku’s face. He was still shaken, still dizzy from the idea that Baku had kissed him. That he felt the same. That it was real.

“I…” he began, swallowing. “I was scared that… that you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore. So… I didn’t want to leave the room.”

A soft silence, nonjudgmental, full of meaning, settled gently between them. Then a warm hand landed on Baek-Jin’s hair, making him jump slightly: Baku started brushing his fingers through the strands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, stop…” Baek-Jin protested, already blushing.

“It’s your fault” Baku laughed. “You’re like… pettable.”

“I’m not a dog!”

“Sure…” Baku slid his hand deeper into his hair. “Come here, puppy.”

“Stop!!” Baek-Jin squirmed as usual, a wary stray who didn’t easily accept affection. He pulled back, but Baku followed, again and again, until balance betrayed them both and they ended up on the bed, Baek-Jin pinned underneath him.

For a second, the world stood still.

Baku was a breath away from his face. His warm breath brushed Baek-Jin’s cheeks. Baku’s lashes trembled slightly.

“Well then” he murmured, a smile forming on his lips. “Since I’m here… can I kiss you again?”

Baek-Jin’s eyes widened. “N-no-”

Baku gave him barely a second of reprieve before adding, with a light sincerity that pierced straight through Baek-Jin’s chest.

“I really liked doing it.”

Baek-Jin’s resistance dissolved instantly. His hands, as if moving on their own, grabbed the sides of Baku’s waist, clutching his hoodie. He didn’t answer with words. He didn’t need to.

He lifted his head. Just enough.

Their lips met again, this time slower, shyer. Baek-Jin didn’t know what he was doing. Didn’t know if he was good at it. But when their mouths parted and searched for each other again, when the only sound in the room became the soft, damp click of their kisses, he understood that it didn’t matter.

It was sweet. Tender. A new rhythm they were learning together.

Baku was the one to pull away first. He stroked Baek-Jin’s cheek, his thumb brushing the skin like a promise.

“Shall we go decorate the Christmas tree now?” he asked with a soft, affectionate smile.

Baek-Jin rolled his eyes, but this time a trembling smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes.”

Baku stood and held out his hand. Baek-Jin stared at it for a moment, then took it, their fingers intertwining as if they’d always fit that way.

“But let’s not let the director… or anyone else see us like this” Baek-Jin mumbled.

Baku tightened his grip on his hand.

“As long as I can hold it, I will” he said quietly, serious, almost solemn.

Baek-Jin blushed again and rolled his eyes once more. “Good thing you weren’t into this cheesy stuff…”

“What? You don’t like me anymore already?” Baku teased.

Baek-Jin shoved him toward the door, blazing with embarrassment. “Stop saying that.”

“Oh, I’ll never stop” Baku laughed. “I’ll always remember the night you came to confess under my window… an unforgettable memory. 7th of December!”

“I swear I’ll-” Baek-Jin raised his fist, ready to actually hit him.

But Baku moved faster. He pressed a quick kiss to his lips, soft as a “thank you, Jin-ah.”

Baek-Jin couldn’t handle that level of intensity anymore, that affectionate, overwhelming, shamelessly sincere Baku. With a desperate sigh, he pushed him out of the room.

When they reached the courtyard, both wrapped in their coats, the cold nipped at the air like tiny needles of ice. The sky, a deep and motionless blue, seemed to hold its breath above them. The director and a few staff members were already at work: beside the smaller children, they were bending down to adjust the bulky metal stand that would support the fir tree, not a particularly large one, but big enough to fill the evening with a simple, contagious joy. Cardboard boxes filled with years-old decorations were scattered across the cold stone ground, and from one of them spilled tangled strings of lights, twisted like sleeping serpents.

Baku didn’t waste a single second. With almost explosive energy, he glanced at Baek-Jin, nudged him gently with his shoulder, and dove into the small crowd, lifting a box of colorful ornaments as if it weighed nothing.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Leave it to me!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing clear and cheerful across the courtyard. In an instant, he was everywhere: laughing with two kids trying to decide whether a golden star was too big for the top; holding up a branch while a staff member secured it to the base; encouraging a tiny child who, too small to hang an ornament, handed it to him with wide, hopeful eyes.

Baek-Jin stayed a few steps behind, standing still near the entrance. His breath left small white clouds in the air, but the frost couldn’t penetrate the warmth that churned in his chest. He found himself watching Baku with an intensity that bordered on painful. Every movement, every laugh, every wide gesture, every gentle hand resting on a timid child’s shoulder, stirred something inside him, something bright and fragile at once.

“Jin-ah!” Baku called at one point, turning toward him with a forehead reddened by the cold and a shamelessly radiant smile.

“What are you doing over there? Come help me! You look like an hyung watching the dongsaeng work!”

Baek-Jin flinched slightly.

“That’s… that’s not true.” His voice came out lower than he expected, almost timid. “I’m just observing.”

“Observing what?” Baku pressed. “The tree? Or me?”

Baku said it laughing, without thinking too much. But to Baek-Jin, that line made his heart tremble like a tiny bell hanging from a branch.

He wet his lips to answer, but the words got stuck somewhere between his throat and breath.
“The tree…” he murmured, unconvincing.

Baku shot him a mock-suspicious look. “Mh. If you say so, hyung!”
Then he went back to laughing with the others, immersed in the energy he brought with him wherever he went.

Baek-Jin inhaled deeply, trying to calm the unbearable warmth pulsing in his chest.

He wasn’t Catholic. He didn’t believe in God. He had never felt any spiritual pull during these holidays that repeated themselves every year, always the same. But now… now, watching Hu-Min help a child hook a red ribbon to a sturdier branch, seeing him chuckle because the string lights had wrapped themselves around his wrist, watching his face light up every time someone completed a small part of the tree…

…in that moment, Baek-Jin felt that life had given him a gift he had never dared to ask for.

It wasn’t a miracle in the way the world would define it. It was something simpler, and for that, infinitely more precious: a presence. A smile. A hand that, tonight, had promised not to leave him for as long as it could.

Maybe, he found himself thinking, almost afraid to admit it, celebrating something didn’t have to mean believing in a God or in a tradition. Maybe it meant recognizing a beautiful moment, a good moment, a moment worth remembering. Maybe it meant saying thank you to life, even without uttering a prayer.

Maybe, with Baku, any tradition could become theirs. Even the ones that didn’t belong to him. Even the ones he had once watched from afar like a stranger.

Maybe, with him… he could love everything.

“Hey, Jin-ah!” Baku called again, this time with a softer tone. “Come at least see how it’s turning out? It’s beautiful… you should be here putting it together too.”

Those words slipped into his chest like a thread of warm light, passing through all the insecurities and doubts piled up inside him. You should be here too. The sound of that sentence seemed to fill every corner of his heart.

Baek-Jin approached slowly, his steps heavy and hesitant, as if each one cost him an enormous effort. His heart was pounding in his throat.

“It’s… it’s turning out nicely… you’re good at this” he managed to say, as the yellow glow of the newly lit lights illuminated Baku’s face.

Baku turned toward him, furrowing his brow playfully and chuckling.

“Don’t flatter me, or I’ll want to kiss you right here in front of everyone” he whispered, teasing but with a disarming naturalness. Baek-Jin elbowed him, hoping his embarrassment would blend into the flickering lights that reflected the tree’s colors.

“Stop it…” he muttered, blushing.

Baku shrugged, smiling openly, hiding nothing.

When the tree was finally finished, the lights and colors cast a warm glow across everyone’s faces, but especially across Baku’s. At that moment he turned to Baek-Jin and gave him one of his most sincere smiles, the kind that reached his eyes without any filter. Baek-Jin felt a warmth spread through him, as if every fear, every hesitation melted inside that smile.

“Hu-Min…” he began, but his voice trembled and broke.

Baku tilted his head slightly, curious and patient. “Mh? What is it?”

Baek-Jin took a deep breath, searching for words between the frantic beats of his heart. Baku stepped closer, leaning lightly against the tree and looking at him as if trying to read every hidden emotion in his eyes.

Baek-Jin met his gaze, his heart full to the brim.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

Yes, Baek-Jin thought: this is my miracle.

I've got scars
Even though they can't always be seen
And pain gets hard
But now you're here and I don't feel a thing

Pay attention, I hope that you listen
Cause I let my guard down
Right now I'm completely defenceless

For your eyes only, I'll show you my heart
For when you're lonely and forget who you are
I'm missing half of me when we're apart
Now you know me, for your eyes only