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Jihoon has decided that Christmas is a fundamentally hostile concept. Especially this year. He’s never been a Christmas person, but this year, it is so, so much worse.
Everything is an inconvenience. The cold seeps through his uniform no matter how tightly he pulls it closed. Snow gets into his boots and melts, soaking his socks, and by the end of the day his toes are numb and aching. The barracks are loud and cramped and smell perpetually like detergent and sweat, and there is nothing soft anywhere. No soft beds. No soft voices. No soft hands.
Essentially, no Sanghyeok.
Jihoon is miserable.
The last part might be the worst of it, he thinks bitterly, lying on his bunk at night and staring up at the underside of the one above him. If it weren’t for something even worse. He touches his head absentmindedly, fingers skimming over the stubble that never quite stops feeling wrong beneath his skin. Every time his hand meets the bristles of what’s left of his hair, he feels a fresh spike of irritation.
Because you see, not only is Jihoon cold, and lonely, and torn asunder from his beloved boyfriend.
He is also bald.
Bald.
Someone down the row snores. Someone else shifts and mutters in their sleep. Jihoon closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose, trying to ignore it.
He tells himself it’s stupid to care this much. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. Sanghyeok knows that. Sanghyeok isn’t the kind of person who would suddenly stop finding him attractive because of something so trivial. Jihoon knows this.
Intellectually.
Emotionally, however, his brain keeps replaying the memory. He hadn’t had a lot of time alone with Sanghyeok before he’d had to come here. Just a few, brief moments in the warmly lit lobby of his apartment building. Sanghyeok had looked lovely in his cream knit sweater and red scarf, cheeks flushed and eyes bright from having spent time in the cold outside. Jihoon had come down to see him sulkily, scalp exposed, determined not to embarrass himself further by hiding his bald head from Sanghyeok by covering it with a hat or beanie.
Sanghyeok had taken one look at the neatly trimmed hair on his head, the exposed half-nubs of excuses he had to call the eyebrows on his forehead, and promptly burst out laughing.
Jihoon scowls into the pillow.
“Hyung,” he had complained, in a whiny voice. “How can you be so mean to me? I’m already sad about having to leave you for three whole weeks.”
And Sanghyeok had struggled to keep his composure. He’d still been chuckling, however, when he pulled Jihoon close by the yellow scarf he wore around his neck, tightening it dotingly as he did.
“I know, Jihoonie,” he’d said. “I’m going to miss you too.”
But then he’d glanced up at Jihoon’s bald head, and started laughing again. Jihoon had been so embarrassed. He’d almost wanted to leave Sanghyeok alone in the lobby, even after he’d come all the way to Incheon just to see him off before he left. He’d wanted to go upstairs and sulk in his newfound misery by himself. But he couldn’t. Because no matter how mean Sanghyeok is to him sometimes, Jihoon couldn’t deny the fact that he was going to miss him more than anything else in the world. He couldn’t believe how long the three weeks ahead had stretched in front of him then.
Three whole weeks without Sanghyeok, without being able to hold his hand, or kiss him, or hold him close, or, well… other things.
It had felt like nothing short of abject torture.
But it hadn’t been all for naught. The last memory he has with Sanghyeok before coming to this hellscape is not of him laughing, but of him pulling Jihoon close, arms fervent as they closed tightly around him, expression wistful as he buried his face in Jihoon’s neck. It’s not of the mockery he’d faced with regards to his baldness, but the sweet, warm sensation of Sanghyeok’s hands clasping around either side of his face, pulling him down to press a brief kiss onto his lips, right there in the apartment building lobby where anybody might have seen them.
“Be good and stay warm, okay?” He’d said afterward, patting Jihoon’s cheek with such love that he thought he might melt from the inside. “I love you.”
Jihoon had almost cried.
That warmth, now, after weeks of suffering in the grueling regimen of the basic training programme, is nothing but a distant memory. Maybe he’s being dramatic, but it’s more nightmarish than he’s ever believed to be completely cut off from civilization like this. He has no idea how other people manage to do this for two whole years. Even these few short weeks have felt like a disaster. Jihoon has severely underestimated how addicted he really is to his phone.
And, how addicted he really is, to Sanghyeok.
He misses Sanghyeok almost like a phantom limb. He hasn’t realized how dependent he’d been on that warmth, until now it’s been snatched away from him so cruelly. How happy he’d been, just to have been able to sneak quiet moments with Sanghyeok in the hallways at Lol Park, in the silence of their dorm rooms after everyone else has gone to sleep, in the occasional times they manage to finagle in a date to a restaurant in the middle of their busy schedules.
It sucks, he thinks miserably. This sucks.
But well, he has only a week or so left in this hellhole. Then he’ll be back in Sanghyeok’s arms, and he can do his best to forget that all this has happened to him while he waits for his hair to regrow.
Ugh. That’s right. He’s going to be bald for so long. His hand drifts back to his head. The stubble is a little longer than it had been at first, a velvety fuzz. It doesn’t feel like his hair. His real hair is soft, can fall into his eyes, is something Sanghyeok likes to reach out and tuck behind his ear with a fond, absentminded gesture.
This… this military crop isn’t his hair.
It’s just another abject detail of misery that this hellscape of a holiday has become for him this year.
“Merry Christmas to me,” he grumbles quietly.
Jihoon tosses over onto his side, and tries futilely to go to sleep. After a few minutes, he hears someone approach the room his unit has been assigned to, clunky military boots unmistakable as they drag against the hallway. Great. Has one of them been assigned to some night duty or something? Good grief, what if it’s some cleaning duty again? Maybe he should shut his eyes tighter and pretend to be more deeply asleep.
The door scrapes open. “Private Jihoon,” a voice whispers. “Come out here for a moment.”
Oh, wonderful, Jihoon thinks irritably. With a sigh, he drags himself out of the bunk, throws his military jacket and pants over the government-assigned underclothes he wears to bed. He’s gotten used to this routine of getting dressed quickly, now, and within a minute, he’s out in the hallway with his socks and boots on, albeit with the laces still untied.
One of his senior officers waits in the hallway, wearing an unreadable smile. Yikes, Jihoon thinks. He’s going to be cleaning the cafeteria or something in the middle of the night for sure.
“What did you need me for, sir?” he asks politely.
The officer looks around conspiratorially, and leans in. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Jihoon’s eyes widen. “Isn’t that… against the rules?” he whispers back nervously.
The officer presses a mischievous finger to his lips, and winks. “I’m sure you can keep a secret, Private. Anyway, I wasn’t going to turn down something he asked me for. It’ll be fine. It’s Christmas, anyway.”
“Oh,” Jihoon says confusedly, not quite understanding. “Um, lead the way, sir.”
The officer turns, gesturing for Jihoon to follow. They move down the stark, fluorescent-lit hallway quietly. Jihoon’s mind races. Someone here to see him? His parents surely don’t have the influence to pull strings like that. It’s against every protocol he’s been drowning in for weeks.
They take a turn away from the administrative offices, toward a quieter wing housing meeting rooms usually reserved for family visits during designated hours. The officer stops outside a nondescript door and gives Jihoon a significant look.
“I’ll give you five minutes, private,” he whispers. “Don’t make too much noise.”
It’s a good thing he’d given Jihoon that warning, because the first instinct Jihoon gets as soon as he enters through the door is to scream. Because there, leaning against the edge of the table in the center of the room, illuminated like a god in the golden light hanging above, is Sanghyeok.
For a second, Jihoon is convinced he’s hallucinating. A desperate, sleep-deprived fantasy conjured by some miserable Christmas spirit. Sanghyeok is wrapped in a long, dark coat, hair flecked with bits of fluffy white snow, cheeks and the tip of his nose pink from the cold. He looks like a dream. Maybe he is a dream.
But then Sanghyeok’s eyes find his, and they crinkle at the corners, curving into half crescents as his face blooms into a smile like it always does when he sees Jihoon.
“Hyung,” Jihoon chokes out. Without hesitation, he sweeps forward and ushers Sanghyeok into his arms tightly, grabbing onto the back of his coat and almost lifting him off the floor in his urgency to get as close as possible. “Oh my god,” he babbles, pressing his nose into Sanghyeok’s hair and inhaling his scent and – this is real, this is real, he’s really here…
“Hyung, what are you doing here?” Jihoon croaks, pulling back to look at his beautiful face, really taking him in. “How? They said no visitors.”
“I have my ways,” Sanghyeok says, eyes flickering with mischief. “Mostly, I begged. And promised many, many favors. Don’t ask too many questions if you see me in some military promo piece in the next few weeks or so.”
Jihoon laughs, flabbergasted. Warmth blooms in his chest. For a moment, all he can do is grab onto Sanghyeok’s arms tightly, just breathing deeply as he looks at him in awe. He looks beautiful. He is beautiful. And he’s all Jihoon’s. The novelty and the thrill of being able to think those words with certainty never really seem to go away, no matter how long he spends by Sanghyeok’s side.
“I missed you,” Jihoon says. Understatement of the century, perhaps, but he doesn’t know how else to phrase it without sounding drastic. Sanghyeok is probably going to laugh at him if he says something like you are the light of my life in this cold, miserable world where there is nothing else to be happy about, and I love you so much I think I’m going to die, which is how he really feels about seeing him after so long.
Sanghyeok’s eyes soften. “I missed you, too,” he says. He leans back to take Jihoon in properly, eyes gleaming. Jihoon tenses, bracing for the verdict, as Sanghyeok’s eyes predictably rove over his bald head.
“You look like a very serious soldier,” Sanghyeok decides, smiling. “It’s a good look on you.”
Jihoon’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Really?”
“Really,” Sanghyeok assures. “You look very handsome.”
Jihoon can’t help but pout in protest. “Even when I’m bald like this? Hyung, I don’t have any hair. I look terrible. Look at my eyebrows. They’re gross.”
“I’ve seen your eyebrows before,” Sanghyeok points out. “They’re my good friends, okay? I won’t have you insulting them like that.”
Jihoon can’t help but laugh at his bad joke. He shakes his head exasperatedly.
“And as for your hair,” Sanghyeok adds, eyes flicking upward again. “I won’t deny that it’s… well, it’s different, for sure. But you’re still you, Jihoonie. I’d know you anywhere. Just for the record, though, I think you look handsome like this.”
Jihoon wrinkles his nose disbelievingly. “Really?”
“Really,” Sanghyeok says. A little flush that has nothing to do with the cold spreads across his pale face in a pretty dusting of pink as he roves his eyes over Jihoon’s full military attire. He bites down onto his lower lip softly, and Jihoon almost loses his mind right then and there. “You look very, ahem, manly.”
That makes him smirk. He tightens his arms around Sanghyeok again, pulling him close until he’s pressed flush against his chest. Sanghyeok makes a winded noise of surprise as Jihoon squishes him there.
“Manly?” Jihoon echoes, pleased. “I like the sound of that.”
Sanghyeok’s hands come up to rest against him, fingers curling into the stiff fabric of his uniform jacket. Jihoon presses his nose to the side of Sanghyeok’s face, and then kisses him softly, right beneath the ear. He marvels at the fact that he can wrap his entire arm around the narrow arch of Sanghyeok’s waist, with enough force to almost raise him off the floor.
“Is this manly enough?” he murmurs cheerfully.
Sanghyeok laughs against Jihoon’s shoulder. “Don’t let it get to your head, Private,” he teases, but the way he tilts his face up, seeking, betrays him. Jihoon doesn’t need to be asked twice.
He turns his head and closes the distance between them to capture Sanghyeok’s lips in a kiss. Weeks of pent-up longing poured into a single, desperate point of contact. He kisses Sanghyeok like he’s trying to memorize the shape of his mouth all over again, to overwrite every cold, lonely memory of the past weeks with this one, searing heat. Sanghyeok yields against him immediately, a soft sigh escaping as his hands slide up to cup the back of Jihoon’s neck, fingers brushing against the short, soft bristles of hair there.
Sanghyeok pulls back abruptly, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s definitely different,” he says amusedly, brushing his fingertips against Jihoon’s scalp. “I feel like I’m kissing a new man.”
That makes Jihoon scowl. “No new men for you okay, hyung? Just me.”
Sanghyeok laughs at the obstinacy in his voice. “Okay,” he agrees exasperatedly. “Just you.”
Satisfied, Jihoon leans in to hide his face in Sanghyeok’s hair again, pulling him into a proper embrace. Sanghyeok hugs him back, burying his face in the stiff fabric of his uniform. For a moment they just stand there, content to enjoy the warmth of each other’s arms, as the snow falls softly outside.
“I hate it here,” Jihoon mumbles in a complaint.
“I know,” Sanghyeok placates. “Just a little longer, and then you’ll come home.”
Jihoon sighs. They stand like that for a few more precious moments in the silent, dim room. The cold from outside still clings to Sanghyeok’s coat, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of him, solid and real. Jihoon is so grateful that he feels his chest might burst. He can’t stop thinking about the impossible, miraculous fact that Sanghyeok has moved heaven, earth and military regulations just to bring him a little piece of warmth.
“Why did you do this, hyung?” Jihoon asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy to see you but… you must have gone through a lot of trouble.”
Sanghyeok smiles at Jihoon just then, and leans onto his tiptoes to reward him with another soft kiss that sends sparks through his head.
“It’s Christmas,” he says enigmatically, like that explains everything.
Huh, Jihoon thinks, smiling too.
Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad, after all.
When a soft, deliberate knock comes at the door – time’s up – Jihoon doesn’t feel the crushing disappointment he expected. He feels fortified. He pulls back, and Sanghyeok kisses him just one last time, brief and hurried but desperate, always desperate, a deeper promise lingering just behind the familiarity of his mouth. A promise that Jihoon knows will no doubt be fulfilled once he’s finally free of these shackles.
He can hardly wait.
“Stay warm, okay?” Sanghyeok repeats. He pats Jihoon’s cheek again, fondly, affectionately.
“I will,” Jihoon says.
And for the first time since he’s been sent here, he actually believes it.
Fin