Archive of Our Own

The first snow fell slowly outside the storefront. Changbin felt grateful to watch it from the inside.

The clouds stretched overhead, gloomy and unrelenting. He stood behind the counter, blinking at the soft piles of white that were forming on the high rooftops. 

This job would be it—after checking so many adverts, after so many interviews and after meeting too many people, he applied at a newly opened household and decorative items store; one of those small, practical discount stores, but with much more charm, much more soul.

And in the festive months—much more handmade quality items that sat snuggled on the shelves. The Christmas decorations took over the entire interior in the best way.

A jewel in the middle of this part of town—that was what most visitors said about the shop. Changbin couldn't agree more. The neighborhood was quiet, uneventful, even a little frigid. But here it was warm, but not annoyingly so; the music from the speakers hummed a tune, but did not distract or bother; the store's few workers buzzed around, but did not disturb or interrupt anyone's browsing.

Changbin tapped his fingers against the wooden surface of the checkout, skimming around the customers that roamed from aisle to aisle.

He had enough time to think about the very essence of this job, and he gathered that buying decorative items wasn't a necessity—it revealed the most intimate, tender parts of someone.

Caring for your home, making it nice and welcoming, making it your own. Having something shiny, sparkly, beautiful to look at as you wind down; as you gather with friends and family, as you leave all the cold and worry in the world. People outside may be mean, they may bring you down, drag you in their filth—but that's why there's a doormat.

Maybe it wasn't the items that built a home—but they certainly enlivened it. no, all the decorations didn't make a home. The people in it did.

Changbin sighed out deeply, rubbing his eyes.

Retail was supposed to make you stop thinking about the state of your life outside of work, but it never did—it only enhanced these reflections.

...But this job was great. It was worth it in this season. He brought to mind fireplaces, sparkly garlands, full stockings, and scented candles. He turned his head towards the fully packed storefront with tall Christmas trees in varying sizes and the string lights that framed the entrance.

This job was more than great. His coworkers were wonderful, the stock brightened his day, and so did the customers. Most days.

He got along better with elderly women than he thought—they, apparently, were the prime patrons; the target audience. He wasn't complaining.

It was just that when he saw the prettiest guy he had ever seen around his age walk in on random Tuesday it certainly left an impression.

The glass door opened and the light shone on this new customer, basking him in warmth. His gaze wandered across the entire space, floating around each sparkling item with slightly parted lips. The cold caught in his throat made his breath visible as he exhaled.

Over his shoulder draped a beige tartan scarf—one of those luxury fashion ones. It wrapped around his neck snugly and complimented his silky hair.

"Hello," he greeted, wiping his shoes on the mat. The sound traveled across the spacious store—it rang like a greeting bell; melodic, honeyed, songlike.

"Welcome!" Changbin replied, maybe beaming a bit too much. 

He reckoned it was fine, because he got a flash of a smile in return.

The customer walked—as if on air, slow and relaxed—to the closest aisle, turning his back to the world as he admired each trinket on the shelves. He glanced at the goods at eyesight level, reaching for and feeling each one in his grasp, turning it around, then moving onto the next.

Changbin, coincidentally and very randomly, decided to pick up a bunch of neglected price tags and put some missing items where they belonged.

He caught himself drifting way too close to the customer, so he casually moved around. Pacing just like he usually did. Straining to use his peripheral vision a normal amount.

The radio station caroling overhead played a soft instrumental tune—vaguely festive, as Changbin would describe. These tunes helped him focus on making note of what was missing and what to stock up next week. When he first got the job, he didn't realize how calming this sort of logistic part of the job would be. Maybe it was the atmosphere. 

Maybe it was this new, faint scent of vanilla that put him at ease.

He could still feel the man next to him. In fact, the customer was so focused on the wares in front that he almost bumped shoulders with Changbin.

"Do you need help with anything?" his customer service voice was one notch too friendly, too familiar. The man beside him didn't seem to mind, meeting his eyes and smiling.

"No, thank you, I'm just browsing," the customer nodded, looking at the new wares that Changbin put up.

Changbin nodded back—involuntarily, more so mirroring—and returned to the counter. He thought of it as a fortress at this point.

Changbin tried not to stare—and didn't exactly stare, just kept his eyes on him as he slowed his steps and looked at one of the nearer aisles. 

The customer's bangs draped over his dark eyes as he held a ceramic mug in the shape of a little Christmas tree, turning it around in his grasp. The mug itself was charming, but bulky. He put it back and grasped one of their simpler cups—one with an odd round handle and a repeating pattern of different dog breeds, all wearing Christmas hats. He saw the customer's eyes brighten up, and he managed to pick up a little chuckle.

There were a few customers pacing around the counter, so the next few moments Changbin focused on handing out receipts and bags, accepting cash and giving out change. The scrunching and folding of packaging paper drowned out the radio overhead.

When he glanced ahead after the last person in the row, he saw his customer almost to the counter, near the end of the candle aisle.

In his hands he carried one of their candles in the shape of a snowflake and the mug with puppies he was looking at earlier. Changbin admired how his knuckles had gone red from the cold, how his long, delicate fingers carried the objects.

"Hello again," the customer approached Changbin and put the two items at the counter.

"Got everything you liked?" Changbin picked up the barcode scanner, the device beeping as he held it near the price tags.

"I'd have to buy the whole store."

Changbin grinned and looked at the display. "That'll be 36 000."

The customer rummaged for his wallet—the pattern of it resembling his scarf's tartan.

"I think I can give you the exact sum," he murmured, nearing a hum.

"No worries if you don't," Changbin tried to absorb that sweet murmur, as well as the thought of not having to scour for cash to return. "I'd worry if it were the beginning of the day."

The customer laughed.

"Problems with not being able to give change?"

"I had just opened the store and this nice lady got one of our plates for 8 000, but she pulled a 50 000 note," he ran a hand roughly over his face remembering it. "I nearly blacked out."

He got a wide smile in response and a sympathetic giggle. 

"I can imagine the run to the nearest store."

"Too intense for a morning jog," Changbin huffed. "Would you like a bag with that?"

"Yes, please."

The customer slid the exact sum on the counter. Instead of lifting his hand away fully, he retracted it just a bit and curled it. His knuckles shone forward, still tinted; gentle and soft.

Changbin allowed himself a glimpse.

"So that's why I avoid working opening shifts," Changbin concluded and handed him the bag.

"I'll know when to visit, then," he grasped it with the faintest smile. "Goodbye, have a nice day."

"Thank you! See you soon."

Changbin watched as the man made his way out of the store. 

What he didn't expect was a gaze over the shoulder from the customer through the glass door, right before he crossed the street. Changbin looked away, feeling caught, as well as feeling some sort of ease. Gratification.

The rest of the work day flowed by smoothly, the speakers above switched to mainstream Christmas hits, and soon it was time to close.

Before he could wish his coworkers a good night, he checked out the candle aisle. 

He peered at the vanilla tea candles and felt the sudden need to take these home and light one before bed.

❄

The clock on the wall read 12:58. Just two short minutes until lunch break.

Changbin pretended not to care about the time so it would go by faster.

He looked out of the store instead—it was cloudy and unusually bright, the sky a solid white. Everything outside looked dulled out and static. He thought about rushing to the nearest diner and ordering something warm, restorative.

The store was near empty, quieter than usual—only Changbin's foot rhythmically tapped the wooden floor.

He spared the clock one quick, spiteful glare before the front door opened.

Changbin's sharp eyes first widened, then softened at the sight of his customer.

The same tartan scarf hung around his neck. Bitten by the cold, the customer licked passively at his chapped lips, bringing their pigment back. His deep eyes looked ahead, scanning the store in search of something.

The customer's eyes landed on Changbin. His gaze remained there and smiled.

Changbin nearly leapt from behind the checkout.

"Hello, welcome!"

"Hello," the customer walked quickly, intently, towards Changbin. 

Changbin couldn't help but lean in as the man rested his hands on the wooden counter. Before he could get distracted by his neat, pristine nails, the customer continued.

"I showed my mom what i bought yesterday and she got so excited that she sent me back to get her more decorations."

"Good to hear," Changbin matched the passive smile the customer was giving. "We have some catalogs over here if you wanna show her our stock for this month. Do you need help choosing something?"

The customer hummed, averting his gaze and looking past his shoulder. 

"Only if you don't have any urgent work."

Changbin followed his gaze and saw fewer customers than before. He thought back to the clock behind him, and suddenly it didn't matter what the time was.

"Don't seem to have any," Changbin thumped his fingers on the wooden surface. He grinned, "You have me at your disposal."

The customer, keeping a soft focus on Changbin, quirked one of his smile's corners up. He bowed his head down and reached for his phone.

"I said I'd take a picture if I see something interesting," his hand reached to fidget with his earlobe—a gesture that only heightened Changbin's attention to his reddened ears. "But I also wanna get her a mug as a surprise. Or maybe something else. Just something as a gift."

"Okay, we can head over here first," Changbin said, as if the aisle with the kitchen items wasn't two steps away. 

The customer nodded and made way for Changbin to lead them there.

As the subtle scent of vanilla walked behind him, Changbin felt the undeniable urge to hold the man's hand, to grasp his delicate fingers in his. To embrace him at the waist and feel the material of his jacket under his palm; but he shook the thought off before he could get embarrassed for thinking it.

What exactly was it that made Changbin feel like this? There was something to this shopper—the way his phone looked small in his grip; the way his scarf loosened and dangled when his frame bent; his round, full eyes. Changbin wanted to call it simply admiration, but he couldn't even convince himself.

The customer was already taking a picture of some of the plates below the mugs as Changbin returned to the present.

"My mom dropped a bowl just like this one a few days ago," the customer murmured and held it up for Changbin to see. The ceramic bowl was painted with cute dots in green and red. "So maybe I could get her this one? But I also broke one of her coffee cups a couple of weeks ago and I still haven't replaced it."

"Is smashing dishes a hobby of yours?"

The man shrugged in response—light, amusing. "We had family friends over the whole month," he ran a finger over one of the plates with a pleasant bumpy texture. "Usual amount of stress and dropping dishes."

Changbin's eyes followed the passive movement; enchanting him further. 

"Hope you had a pleasant time with them," he blurbed out of nowhere and nearly cooed. Nearly. 

Changbin's mind sounded off as to why he’d said such a thing. Oh god, he was flirting. And was pretty bad at it, because it wasn't even flirting.

That clearly crossed the familiarity line—the one-sided attempt at breaking through the formal customer-client relationship in this odd, overly familiar way; Changbin prying into this random man's business just because he found him attractive and deluded himself into believing it's mutual—

"I did, thank you," the customer looked at him brightly and stood up, bowl in hand. "...We gathered so early, because I just came back from abroad and a lot of my family members wanted to see me."

Oh. Okay. It was his own business, but he wanted to share it. With the random cashier he met yesterday. So it wasn't one-sided.

The customer varied the grip of the bowl in his hands, moving it around in his grasp; the flush appeared on his cheeks, intense and charming. 

His mouth tensed, as if he wished it stayed closed moments ago.

Changbin tilted his head, eyes gleaming with interest—in whatever was going on between them. "That sounds great. Abroad you say?"

The customer raised his head up again, gaze soft. He nodded once, deeply. 

"Yeah, I'm coming back from London. I finished my internship there and I'm back for good now."

Changbin smiled fully, warmly, locking eyes with him.

"Welcome back, then."

"...You say 'welcome' too much," the customer regained the clarity in his voice, seemingly switching to a different tone. Something familiar. Something fond with a teasing trace.

After a beat, he continued, "I wanna take a look at the ornaments again, if you're still free."

"Of course," Changbin declared. The concept of time went neglected, as it had been as soon as the front door opened earlier. "Let me hold the dish while you browse."

Changbin's hand nearly brushed against the customer's as he held the bowl, walking alongside him to the ornaments aisle.

❄

He had things under control. This was normal and, honestly, expected.

Changbin put down the empty cardboard box. The storage room was orderly, but too narrow for his frame. He had just finished rearranging the non-festive stock.

'Crush' was a bit of a weighty word, especially for a man he'd met a week ago. And spent his lunch break with after helping him pick a gift for his mother.

He squinted to himself.

More so... four days than a week. The customer didn't come yesterday, or the day before that. It felt like longer.

He shrugged that thought off.

Something like this was bound to happen. He was just having fun—an exciting, beautiful face in the midst of routine. Pleasant routine, but still routine. Mundane. Of course he'd swoon for the first handsome guy at work. 

'Work crush' usually meant something between co-workers, but it also could apply to vendors and their customers, right? Why shouldn't it? 

He was finally an esteemed, integrated citizen. He had a work crush.

This was fun. That was all.

People sought connections. He was grateful—among other things—to be someone this customer chatted with. People sought people that were pleasant to be around, that listened and took interest in them.

A muffled, breezy 'oh my god' rang as he opened the storage door.

Changbin's eyes took a little time to adjust to the warm lights of the store—twinkling, merry.

He straightened up when he saw his customer with another person at the candle aisle.

This new customer looked like the embodiment of a Christmas miracle—long blond hair, tucked in the puffiest white scarf, big white coat that gleamed under the lights; a deep, sincere laugh that resembled the jingling of bells.

"—really like that, but I should probably get the Christmas one, right?" the friend was talking—his voice low and bass, barely in earshot. "These are stocked all year and that one smells like gingerbread!"

Changbin found himself slowly pacing around them, straining to hear more of their conversation.

"Your apartment already smells like the inside of a gingerbread house."

"And of vanilla! Way more of vanilla."

His customer—wearing the cashmere scarf—sighed, a passive smile on his face, and blinked at Changbin nearing them. He turned towards him.

"Hello," the customer tapped his friend, not breaking eye contact with Changbin. "I've lured in more victims."

The friend jolted and turned towards him. The faint freckles over his red nose and cheeks appeared denser as the corners of his mouth shot up.

Changbin crossed his arms as he parked himself next to them.

He felt his lips tighten, hoping his face wasn't too contorted with whatever he was feeling right now.

The friend looked at Changbin, looked at the customer glancing at Changbin's biceps, and looked back, decisively, at Changbin.

Still, Changbin smiled at both, eyes a little sharper, a little more knowing.

"Good to have you back. And thanks for stopping by."

The friend beamed, his smile brought crinkles to the corners of his eyes. 

He stood way too close to his customer, brushing shoulders with him.

"Hi! Seungmin has told me so much..." the friend's grin didn't waver as he cut himself off. "...about the store! We, um, have a bit of a dilemma."

Changbin's eyebrows twitched— Wait.

Seungmin, Changbin repeated in his head. Seungmin. 

Okay.

"We need divine intervention or we'll have to close the store alongside your coworkers today," the customer—Seungmin—deadpanned.

"Sure. I heard something about candles?" Changbin asked, knowing he pieced the discussion together already four sentences ago. Still, he wanted to take his time talking to them. Find out some things.

"More so a choice between two," the friend gestures to the square candle that they had regarded. "I'm not sure whether to get the vanilla candle," he points to the furthest aisle in the store. "Or the festive gingerbread one. Seungmin thinks that I have to get something mild and be boring and suppress my authenti—"

Vanilla candle.

Changbin was an optimist. He chose to believe the best outcome in this situation, even as the argument in front of him turned into something sickeningly intimate right in front of him. Not loud, not too dramatic—domestic. The kind of domesticity that came from repetition, too practiced for two best friends going into a store together.

Seungmin—the name felt more familiar as he repeated it—wanted him to buy a candle that wasn't too intense; getting a vanilla candle. He was expecting a compromise. Maybe because they live together. Because shared spaces required compromise. Because this was something they did—bought candles, negotiated small preferences, built a life out of details Changbin felt distant to, felt were unobtainable.

Changbin trusted his gut, especially when it came to people—this, however, was making his trust waver. So much for having passive crushes when they, supposedly, bring their significant other to your workplace. 

His gut didn't appreciate how easily Seungmin occupied space that felt claimed.

"—have to get it, I said I think the vanilla is a bedroom candle, while the gingerbread is for the living room."

"Any candle can be anywhere! Plus, the gingerbread is shaped like an ornament, so instead of getting a tree for my room—"

Changbin frowned. He could picture it too clearly, which was the most aggravating part. A gorgeous Christmas tree in their living room that they decorate every year, string lights hung above a fireplace they huddle around.

Of course they argue about candles—they're so in love that this is the only thing left to fight about. Changbin didn't appreciate how naturally his customer fit into that imagined scene. He didn't like how permanent it felt.

"—fragrant are the candles, actually?"

Changbin glared back at the two customers who were staring at him.

"Huh, sorry?" was the extent of sounds he could produce.

"How fragrant are the candles when lit?" the friend repeated, a lift in his voice.

He saw them wind up like springs, waiting for an answer to prove their own arguments and stance.

Changbin took a big, careful breath before answering. He genuinely didn't know what answer would pander to Seungmin's argument—but if he did, he would go for that one.

"...More than you'd expect—" Changbin said, but seeing how menacingly Seungmin turned towards his friend made Changbin interrupt and spit out, "I don't want to be that kind of employee, but why don't you just... get both?"

Both customers froze, blinking. At each other, then at Changbin.

The sound of the friend facepalming rang throughout the store. Still, his smile stretched bright and he headed for the other aisle.

While Seungmin looked at him stride, Changbin cleared his throat.

"Do you two live together to be arguing about fragrance intensity in the living room?" his voice came out a bit more sneerful than expected.

"No, I just visit often," Seungmin shook his head, unaffected by his sour tone. If anything it made him lean in and soften his words. "And he's always baking, so imagine if he lights a gingerbread candle."

"You don't have to imagine anymore!" the friend chirped, heels clicking fast on the wooden floor. "Let's go!" he beamed at Changbin, who walked behind the counter alongside the customers.

Seungmin stood to the side as Changbin scanned the candles, looking at the barcode scanner's light curiously.

He eyed the items at the counter, stopping at one and pointing at it.

"Felix," he whispered with a smile. "Hyunjin would like these."

A small gasp escaped the friend—Felix—as he picked up a pack of wooden coasters with handpainted abstract patterns.

"Hyunjin would love these! Do you know how much he wants to get matching coasters?" he shook with excitement as he picked them up. "He was so disappointed when the cups he got for our anniversary didn't come with coasters. I could cry thinking about it!"

Changbin's eyebrows shot up. He used all of his inner strength to not look too invested in the conversation.

He tried to breathe in evenly—instead failing, and drawing in a breath sharply.

"I'd also like to get these, please," Felix slid the coasters over to Changbin. "Are there any other matching items I can get for my partner? It could be household stuff or ornaments," he scanned the shelves behind them, listing ideas for presents—as if what he said didn't make Changbin freeze in place.

Seungmin shot him a glance, squinting at him. Subtly, but discernible enough.

Partner, he said. Anniversary gifts. Partner. Changbin restrained himself from pumping his fists in the air and letting out the deepest exhale of relief. 

Okay.

He suddenly felt lighter, regaining the radiance in his customer service voice.

"Uh," he began with a tight grin. "There are some styrofoam teddies with matching scarfs, you can group two or more together, as well as some other ornaments that have similar patterns to one another."

Changbin rubbed his chin and continued. "But my opinion is that any two items can be a set with the right intent."

"Wow, wise words! In that case, I'll just have to bring him along next time. Do you guys have loyalty cards?" the customer's eyes shone brighter than the entire storefront. 

"We opened this store recently, so not yet. But you'll be the first to know when that happens," Changbin noted how Seungmin listened attentively, giggling at Felix's infectious glee.

After Felix paid and grabbed his bag, Changbin saw how he squeezed Seungmin's elbow and shook it, waggling his brows.

Seungmin caught Changbin's—intrigued—gaze as he detached himself from Felix's grasp.

"So..." he began, taking a big breath. "Aside from here, where else can I see you?"

Okay. He straightened up, feeling lighter than ever. More prideful and smug after such an array of emotions.

Suddenly the space was just theirs. Changbin leaned in, chin high, pretending to think about it. A small hum escaped him.

"Why don't you just visit me when you're free and I'll tell you?"

Seungmin mirrored him—which was the most exciting part. Seeing yourself in the other, borrowing body language, smug looks, and narrowed glances. Closing the distance between each other.

His smile was light, lips parted in pretend thought as well; they held a vibrant pigment, luscious, soft.

"See you tomorrow. Don't get too excited."

"I'll miss you," Changbin muttered, hoping that his sincerity was veiled behind his smirk and sharp eyes. The outside world—the world beyond Seungmin—got reintroduced to him as Felix stared at them from aside. He snapped out of it with a quick farewell. "Have a nice day."

"You, too!" the friend beamed, getting pulled by Seungmin out of the store.

Changbin couldn't contain his smile for the following moments. The customers left his field of view as soon as they fled the store, but their faint laughs would chime around the aisles until he closed for the day.

❄

"Here you are," Changbin greeted, tone smooth and generous.

The view from outside the store was burdensome—gray clouds spoke of upcoming thunder and heavy snow, the air thick with cold. 

All Changbin could do in this weather was sit behind the counter and count the minutes until Seungmin walked in.

He didn't have to wait too long for that.

Changbin walked to the side of the counter, nearing the entrance. As he watched Seungmin thoroughly wipe off his shoes on the welcome mat he felt the gentleman urge to help him take his coat off.

"You'd love it if I'm here just for you," Seungmin opted for this instead of a greeting, his voice deep and bright. "But I've got something to ask."

Changbin huffed, clasping his hands behind his back. He lifted his chin and pretended not to notice Seungmin eyeing how his chest puffed out.

"I went through the catalog and saw something I haven't seen in the store," he scoured through his bag, on it were custom engraved initials—KS. He pulled out the little brochure and flipped through the thin pages. "This wreath made out of felt."

Changbin leaned in to look at Seungmin's hovering finger on the page.

He stroked his chin with furrowed brows. Glancing at where the item should be, he replied, "Haven't seen this recently."

"I thought so, too." 

Seungmin, despite that, walked towards the general area Changbin was looking at.

Changbin followed, nearly bumping into him. 

"The deliveries are actually getting delayed, we should've restocked yesterday, but they didn't come."

"Did they explain why?"

Changbin shook his head with twisted lips. "Earliest we'll get new stock is... next week?"

Seungmin let out a considerate hum, a small noise. His hands reached to put the catalog back into his bag.

"Tell you what," Changbin smirk bloomed on his face, growing into a tight grin. "Why don't you give me your phone number so I can text you when we've got it in stock?"

Seungmin's eyebrows shot up, eyes widening before he squinted back.

"Subtle," he leaned in. The word rolled off like a purr; bright and gentle as a chime.

Changbin wasted no time handing Seungmin his phone. He thought—as his elegant fingers wrapped around the device—that Seungmin would only need to look at him through lashes to steal all his earthly possessions and savings. Or just ask sweetly.

Seungmin tapped away at Changbin's phone, taking his time—briefly licking his lips in concentration. He gave it back with a polite smile and narrowed eyes.

Changbin fixed his eyes at the new contact information and quirked an eyebrow at him.

Seungmin had set his name as 'Work crush No.1'.

The certainty that he could not read Changbin's mind seemed to falter. He disregarded any insecurity about how obvious he was being, because of course they were both aware of it.

He opted for a diversion as a response. 

"You think I have other work crushes?"

"So you're not denying it?" Seungmin suddenly looked flustered, glancing sideways. Just barely out of sight, he twisted the fringes of his scarf between his fingers.

"Never have," Changbin murmured, peeking at the name. He liked the sight of it more with each second. "And you're right that you're number one."

"Okay, change it to 'Seungmin', this is too much."

"How about 'cute guy with nice scarf'?"

Seungmin stroked the cashmere around his neck before his mind caught up with the gesture. His hand slipped to his earlobe and one of his eyebrows shot up.

"No?" Changbin pursed his lips. "What about 'customer who only shops here to see me'?" he fake-tapped on his keyboard.

"Too long," Seungmin stubbornly avoiding the accusation. "I liked my scarf being mentioned."

"Compromise," he stated, smiling. "Work crush with nice scarf'".

"Number one," Seungmin decisively added, getting Changbin to huff in response.

He looked at the edited name and decided to add a little >< at the end.

"And what name are you gonna pick for me?"

"...Well," Seungmin averted his gaze again, hesitant. "Just your name, most likely. I just don't... know it."

"Ah, we're crossing the customer-cashier boundary, then," finally, Changbin thought. He reached his hand out. "I'm Changbin."

"Changbin," Seungmin repeated. He made it sound so resonant, so smooth and rich. "Thank you for the great service in this nice shop," he nodded once and fit his hand into Changbin's. "You already know my name."

Their handshake was firm, Seungmin's hand was colder than his, Seungmin's fingers—pressing safely into Changbin's.

"Thank you for always coming back, Seungmin," he loosened their hands, missing the feeling of touch immediately. Seungmin copied Changbin's phone number into his own phone after a beat, tapping quickly. Changbin hummed after a moment. "I also liked 'nice scarf guy', by the way."

"'Nice cashier guy' sounds just as good for you."

"Just ‘nice'? Really?"

"...'Attractive'," he paused before continuing to tap.

"...Really?"

"Don't push it," Seungmin murmured, not looking up, pressing delete repeatedly and typing in a four-letter word. 

His gaze shot up at the camera in the corner, looking for more of them afterwards. The lighting above drew out the shadow around his jawline—vivid, defined—as he glanced around the store. His flushed ears also caught the light.

"I don't know how you haven't been fired yet, I should go," Seungmin said, wide-eyed, a little somber, mellow.

Changbin, on the other hand, looked entirely endeared—not bothering to hide his amusement.

"Text me when you get home."

He thought he sounded demanding, but before he could soften his suggestion or add 'only if you want to, of course, and if you even like me', Seungmin flashed a smile.

"You, too. Have a good shift, Changbin." 

He blinked slowly, bowing his head, and left the store at a leisurely pace. Before exiting, he spared Changbin a look over his shoulder again, averting his gaze when they locked eyes.

Only when Changbin saw his customer safely cross the street and fade into the evening mist did he reach for his phone.

He pressed the volume up button repeatedly, checking that his notification alerts were set to maximum.  

❄

Every buzz of his phone felt as exciting as the last, if not more. Every time he got a new message it felt as exciting as the first time he'd received it after work.

A few days had passed since Seungmin's phone number was added to his contact list.

Changbin had such easier access to him, and yet each time Seungmin showed up at the store was more adoring than the last. Something as spontaneous as regular visits became constant, reassuring, thrilling.

Seungmin was so considerate. He texted most before his shift, during Changbin's breaks, and after his work day ended. Their conversations flowed smoothly, both putting equal effort into keeping it afloat; changing subjects frequently and turning icebreakers into something deep, intriguing, significant.

Seungmin was more than great. Changbin couldn't fathom how equally pleasant he was in text and in person. He was just so authentic and well-spoken. And these feelings that Changbin had towards him, seemingly, were mutual.

After a particularly mundane shift—with no visits from pretty boys in cashmere scarfs—Changbin rushed to close up the store and drive home. 

A singular notification hummed in his pocket as he was activating the alarm system. He decided to do the responsible thing for just a moment and not pick up his phone before he was sure everything was in check.

The store at night, with its lights off, resembled a dollhouse tucked in the corner, ready to be played with again in the morning. 

He always took a few steps back to admire it like this. Packed storefront that held its glow in the heart of the neighborhood; the way it sat below the clear dark sky. He saw his breath as he exhaled fully.

The sound of cars passing by loudly surrounded him, alongside dry branches smacking against one another in the hush wind, and the rustling of leaves under careful steps behind him.

Another notification rang—this time he fetched his phone and looked at the message preview.

Seungmin (work crush with...

Behind you

The steps slowed down and increased in volume. Changbin turned around to find Seungmin—bright light from the screen illuminating his face. His eyes shone twice as much when they locked with Changbin's.

Changbin looked back at Seungmin as if for the first time.

"You're closing early today," Seungmin's voice—familiar and within reach—pierced through the frigid air; melodic, songlike.

He put his phone away, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. Changbin wondered if they shook with cold, if wrapping them around his own would help warm him up.

"Or you're just coming in late," Changbin said. It felt good to hear him again, to wonder why he chose to visit today. After a long shift his filter was gone, he felt fulfilled, and didn't feel like hiding his fond look. "It's good to see you."

Seungmin nodded, straightening up. He looked at Changbin through lashes, but quickly averted his eyes.

Changbin spared his efforts to maintain eye contact so early into their meeting, instead switching the topic.

"Here to pick me up?"

"Something like that," Seungmin cleared his throat, his breath visible. He looked somewhere beyond Changbin, bracing himself to speak. "There's a little park I always pass on the way here. Thought we could walk for a bit, if you want."

Changbin smiled, blinking slowly. Suddenly the soreness in his feet from standing all day didn't matter.

"Lead the way," Changbin gestured forward and positioned himself next to Seungmin.

The streets were bare, all shop displays closed down and empty. The snow had reverted to puddles scooped at the end of the pavement, forming a little pathway.

The stars twinkled merrily—as if just for them. Changbin glanced up, making Seungmin follow his gaze.

Seungmin's mouth opened, his clattering teeth more noticeable than before. His shaky, steamy breath grazed his lips and fused with the freezing air.

"How are you? Are you cold?" Changbin asked, the air nipping at his ears as well.

His hand wrapped around and hovered over Seungmin's waist. Changbin pulled him a bit closer, steadying both as they walked.

He tilted his head towards Seungmin to catch his response, only to find his bowed head burrowed in his scarf, bangs caressing his forehead and draping over shiny eyes.

Seungmin walked slower—the park now in front of them—and snuggled closer to Changbin's side. 

A faint scent of vanilla filled Changbin's senses—alluring, comforting; soothing. His eyelids felt heavy, grip deepening in thought.

Seungmin reached out of his pocket to press his palm against Changbin's hand. His thumb grazed over Changbin's knuckles, radiating warmth. 

Changbin heard a small noise from him—a sigh, a breath; let out through smiling lips.

"You're colder than I am."

Seungmin stood taller than Changbin, but he was the perfect height to embrace, to nestle into his neck, breathe his perfume in.

Changbin stopped in his tracks, pulling Seungmin into a halt—gently, easily. 

"Are we moving too fast? I mean, we just stopped," his mind raced, muddled with fondness and want. A staggered grin stretched across his reddened face. "The, uh..."

He had never loved like this. Changbin was so deprived of it, that he still wasn't sure what it resembled. Especially something like this.

Whatever they would call this—work crushes, valentines in two months, or other vague labels—Changbin knew this was safe. In the backdrop of this cold night, amidst the hazy park lamps, Seungmin glowed; he reflected all of the stars in the sky, held all their light.

Right now Seungmin looked back at him... as if for the first time.

"By normal standards, we definitely are," he replied, a murmur. He bit on his lip as his eyes looked away. "But we also aren't... anything yet."

Seungmin reached out to grasp Changbin's jacket sleeve, feeling the fabric between his fingertips absently.

A gust of wind blew by them, making him retract his hand and slip it back into his pocket. Seungmin looked at the ground, breathing in deeply.

"I wouldn't be here," he began, nibbling on his lips again. "If I didn't want us like this."

Changbin restrained himself from pushing a strand of hair out of Seungmin's eyes and tucking it behind his ear. He watched him curiously, taking in the sight of him being so earnest. Wanting more, doing something about it.

Changbin's smile grew.

"Let's sit and talk this out," he said, barely above a whisper.

Seungmin only had to turn his body towards the bench behind them. It sat right below one of the park lights, acting as a beacon, a spotlight.

Changbin let Seungmin pick a side of the bench before sitting down himself.

"So," he ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose this is where the work crush joke retires."

Both sat upright—maybe a little rigidly. Seungmin perched his shoulders back, head bowed forward.

"It had a good run," he nodded.

"Very low stakes," Changbin shifted his body to face Seungmin, knees bumping. "Comfortable, fun."

Seungmin mirrored him, placing his hands on his thighs. 

"...I liked the excuse."

In the tranquil of the night, Seungmin finished the thought with a look. The light above got caught in his eyes—dark pupils widening, seeming impossibly deep.

Changbin leaned back, the cool wood of the bench pressing firmly into his spine. His eyes creased with quiet joy; something warm stirred in his chest—patient, confined, tender. Something not to be wasted on haste. Which was very ironic.

Something expressed quietly; deliberately. In a way worthy of Seungmin's attention.

After a moment admiring him, he extended his hand out and placed it at the back of Seungmin's nape—just above his scarf and into the short of his hair.

"I did, too."

Seungmin's lips parted in bliss, though subtly. He tilted his head towards his hand, breath emerging as steam.

His whole frame relaxed into the touch, shifting backwards and into Changbin's side.

Warmth, sentiment. Suddenly there were no other benches around, no other lampposts that shone as bright, no closed shops beyond the park—just the still of the night, its dark sky and a moment drawn thin and shining as it stretched.

Breath followed breath—quiet, unguarded, each inhale following the next. The slow, steady rhythm extended. One rise and fall of the chest answered another, and somewhere along the way it became impossible to tell who had begun, and who had chosen to follow.

The sound of fabric shifting as Seungmin readjusted filled the air.

"Where do we go from here?" his tone sounded drowsy, words heavy with rest.

It was infectious, Changbin's reply coming out lower, quieter. He paused, wetting his lips as he considered it.

"Wherever we want," he shifted with an inhale and crossed his arms. The winds—having gentled, no longer biting—carried the fragrance of vanilla again, a fresh, sweet undertone to it. "I'd rather stop pretending this is temporary."

Seungmin's head tilted to the side, itching closer to Changbin's face; the top of the bench cradled his neck, supporting it.

He looked infatuated, tranquil, his small smile parting on instinct.

"Would you?"

"Yeah," Changbin eyed his lips. The edge of his smirk eased into something softer. "And just have you. All the time."

"That would be... easier," Seungmin stammered, turning his head away.

Changbin widened his eyes, confused for exactly one moment before he took note of Seungmin's helpless smile he was trying to suppress.

He folded forward, catching his face in his hands. Another sound escaped him, muffled, pleasantly bashful, and fragile. "...Can you say that again?"

Changbin's grin came easy—fond, incredibly amused. He hummed under his breath, keeping it steady and low. "Having you? Being mine?"

His fingers moved without hesitation to the back of Seungmin's head—as if on demand, as if it was established. His hair was as soft as he guessed it would be, feeling like silk between his fingertips. He twirled a strand loosely in his grasp, then began kneading his nape.

"Mhm," Seungmin barely managed to mutter out. His face fit into the side of Changbin's neck.

"The nice part is that I'd be yours, too."

Changbin's hand slid to Seungmin's jaw, cupping his face, just for a moment. His skin was warm beneath his palm; his eyes were open and waiting, fixed on Changbin's, patient. Hopeful.

His hand lingered, thumb resting just beneath his ear. The faint, rushing pulse under his thumbprint drew him closer. It matched Changbin's own pulse—quickened, insistent. 

He pressed his forehead against his—a quiet touch that sealed the moment. 

He thought of shiny ornaments, of string lights and garlands, of trinkets placed on the fireplace.

Seungmin's breath brushed Changbin's lips, warm, close enough to feel.

He thought of Seungmin amidst the store, between the aisles, amidst countless items. 

He viewed the ornaments now as something less than he did some time ago—none of them glowed as Seungmin did. No item could compare to him.

No decoration could warm a home the way the person hanging it could. He could definitely prove it now.

Changbin's eyes closed and his lips met Seungmin's—soft, just as sweet as he imagined them to be; just as tender. He licked at his lower lip for the briefest moment. Chaste and light.

He pulled away with heavy eyelids. He expected to feel lighter afterwards, weightless even. Instead, he felt grounded. Anchored deeply into this moment. Every detail sharpened: the gravel beneath his feet, the faintest movement of fabric, the night breeze slipping past his cheek.

Seungmin let out a breath, halfway caught in his throat, resembling a soft whine.

Seungmin wet his lips, barely pulling away. Just making space for Changbin to cup his face with both hands.

Changbin complied, grinning into another kiss. Seungmin wrapped his arms around Changbin's neck, drawing him closer, closing the distance with certainty; their lips slotted, warm and unhurried.

He felt Seungmin's nose pressing into his cheek after tilting his head. Slowly, and more so hesitantly, Seungmin pulled at Changbin's lower lip with his teeth. 

It wasn't a rousing act, feeling more like a curious nibble, like Seungmin was testing the plush of his lips.

It ended as soon as Changbin’s mouth crooked into a grin, teeth getting in the way.

Seungmin drew back and hid his face in the curve of Changbin's neck, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. Changbin huffed, arms still embracing him, watching the moment unfold in complete, helpless awe.

The air stilled again, letting the sound of muffled laughs reach the world beyond the bench.

Changbin hoped that when he woke up tomorrow the scent of vanilla would remain on his neck and clothes. He brought to mind Seungmin in the soft morning sun, lying beside him and rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes.

His heart thumped in his chest, proud and smitten.

As Seungmin lifted up and steadied himself with a hand on Changbin's chest, one last airy laugh left his lips.

Changbin bit his lip—tasting sweetness, craving more—and inhaled.

"How are you getting home?"

Seungmin's hand fell back on his own thigh, scratching at his trousers' fabric idly. He arched his neck in thought and giggled when a response came to him.

"I was hoping it would be with you."

"Good," Changbin smiled and slipped his hand into Seungmin's. Their fingers fit together precisely, perfectly. "I'd like to drive you."

"Then you'll have to send me off properly," Seungmin stood up, dragging Changbin along. He felt his legs give out—they felt numb and begged to rest at home. Seungmin nestled his scarf with his free hand. "With flowers. Unless you don’t plan to leave me at my door."

"Best I can do is a little ornament I got for myself and forgot in the car yesterday."

"That works, too," Seungmin followed Changbin's lead, pressed against his side. "Next time, though."

"As soon as the florist opens in the morning," Changbin hushed a promise.

Changbin's car waited further down the street, along the puddled pavement and empty street—the kind of stillness present only with a loved one.

And as the clouds above gathered and thickened—grayish, somber, and heavy—he found comfort in the familiar weight in the air.

It was damp now, but tomorrow the snow would come. And when it did, he and Seungmin would be inside, tucked away from the cold, welcoming it from behind closed curtains and fogged windows. Somewhere safe. 

He imagined them under layers of his fuzzy sheets, the room dim and quiet in the morning sun. 

No alarms, no reason to rush. Knowing they could spend the entire day in bed—breathing slowly, drifting in and out of sleep, limbs tangled.

He could rest easy tonight, in good company, because he had the day off tomorrow.