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The city sounds too alive on Christmas Eve.
And a woman like Im Nayeon has never been fond of holidays.
They always asked too much of her.
Her parents were divorced since she was in middle school and celebrating holidays also means spending it apart with one of them. Christmas meant choosing which parent to disappoint and which house would feel emptier when the night was over.
Growing up, celebration always came with absence and joy was something borrowed.
Never hers to keep.
Then Myoui Mina taught her that holidays could be gentle.
And it could be full of love.
Not borrowed.
Not less.
But hers.
With Mina, Christmas Eve stopped being something Nayeon survived and became something she waited for.
Mina showed her that celebration didn’t have to be loud to be real.
It could be intentional.
It could be warm.
It could be two mugs cooling slowly on a coffee table.
It could be midnight arriving without ceremony, unnoticed except for Mina’s soft smile and the way she always squeezed Nayeon’s hand saying i love you when the clock struck midnight.
Now, every light in the city feels like it’s calling her name.
Nayeon sits alone on her couch, listening to the noise outside, and feels Mina in all the places she shouldn’t.
The laughter from the neighbors next door can be heard through her thin apartment walls. Someone down the hall is playing a carol too loudly, off-key but it doesn’t matter since everyone would sing along anyways. Fireworks crack too early outside, startling her dog, who looks at the door like it expects someone to come home.
No one does.
The night has already been peaceful and warm, but why does Nayeon crave the love that ignites the pain inside of her chest?
And suddenly, the world feels warm, full, and forgiving, like it’s giving everyone permission to reach out.
Nayeon tells herself she doesn’t want Mina to call.
She repeats it like a rule.
Like something that can keep her safe if she believes in it hard enough.
She doesn’t want her to disturb her life anymore.
I don’t want to ruin her night.
I don’t want to hear her voice.
I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.
But that would be a lie.
It settles heavily on her chest.
I don’t want her to call.
But I know I’ll answer in a heartbeat.
Nayeon hopes Mina uses this stupid holiday as an excuse to talk to her and she knows it would end just the same.
A never ending cycle wherein Nayeon always loses.
Her apartment glows dimly, lit only by the small Christmas tree in the corner. The lights blink unevenly, red and green refusing to line up. The star on top leans just slightly to the left.
Mina did that.
And Nayeon never fixed it.
She sits on the couch with her knees pulled close, wrapped in a sweater she should’ve returned to her ex-girlfriend months ago. It still smells faintly like Mina if she breathes in slow enough.
She hates that her body recognizes it before her mind does.
The radio hums softly and it’s another Christmas song about coming home and about love that waits.
Nayeon scoffs under her breath, but she doesn’t change the station.
Her phone lies on the coffee table.
She hasn’t touched it in a while.
She’s counting again.
Seven minutes.
Eight.
Nine.
She tells herself she doesn’t want it to light up.
She tells herself she wouldn’t know what to do if it did.
But every time the radio crackles and every time a car passes outside, her breath catches, just for a second, like her body is bracing for Mina’s name to appear on the screen.
She hopes that every time her phone lights up, it’s from her.
And she hates that hope lives in her heart anyway.
Deep down, quieter than guilt, she wants Mina to call.
She wants Mina to use Christmas as an excuse.
To say I know we shouldn’t, but it’s Christmas.
To say I just wanted to hear your voice.
To make the first move so Nayeon doesn’t have to admit how badly she’s been waiting.
Nayeon doesn’t have the courage to be the one who breaks the silence.
She wants Mina to be brave for both of them.
Because Nayeon isn’t.
If Mina calls, it won’t be her fault.
That’s the thought that hurts the most.
She picks up her phone, then sets it down again, like touching it too long might be a confession.
Her chest aches, not sharp but slow, stretching past what it can hold.
If she calls, Nayeon thinks, I’ll answer.
There’s no hesitation in that truth.
She imagines it, Mina’s name lighting up the screen.
Mina’s voice, careful and gentler as always.
Mina saying Merry Christmas like it still belongs to both of them.
Nayeon presses her thumb into her palm, grounding herself in the pain.
The radio host cuts in gently. “For anyone spending Christmas Eve hoping for a call that might not come, you’re not alone.”
Nayeon’s laugh comes out wet and broken. “That’s cruel,” she whispers to herself. “Don’t say it like that.”
She doesn’t remember calling the station.
She only knows the ringing stops and suddenly she’s live, her heart exposed to strangers.
“What’s your name?”
“Uhm...” She says, not thinking about what she would say and sees the poster of the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind plastered on the wall and smiles, “Clementine.”
“What is it again?”
“You can call me Clementine.”
“Clementine,” the host says softly. “What’s going on tonight?”
Nayeon stares at the crooked star on her tree.
At the lights blinking like they’re trying to be brave.
Unlike her.
“I don’t want someone to call me,” she says.
The words feel wrong as soon as they leave her mouth.
The host waits.
“I mean,” Nayeon corrects, voice shaking, “I tell myself I don’t. Because if she calls, I’ll fall apart. I’ll answer. I’ll hope. And I don’t know how to survive hoping again.”
She swallows hard.
“But part of me keeps waiting. I keep listening to my phone. I keep thinking maybe she’ll use tonight as an excuse because I don’t have the courage to do it myself.”
A beat.
“So you won’t call her,” the host says.
Nayeon shakes her head. “No. Because if I do, I’ll be the one who breaks us open. And if she calls… at least I can pretend I didn’t ask for it.”
The truth sits between them, raw and humiliating.
“That’s human,” the host says quietly.
“Can you play a song for me?”
“Of course,” the host replies. “What is it?”
“It’s Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call by The Bleachers.”
“Lovely,” the host hums in response. “Is this for someone else? Do you have anything to say to them?”
Nayeon bites her lower lip before saying, “Even if you think this is not for you, well this is.” She lets out a chuckle. “Merry Christmas.”
She grips her phone tightly and then drops the call.
“Please don’t call.” She whispers as soon as the line disconnects.
The line clicks off when the song starts playing, something slow and something that understands wanting without acting.
To the tempo of your uptight
Is the flicker of a streetlight
You know this moment, don't you?
The music fills the room, aching and gentle. Nayeon slides down onto the floor, hugging her knees, and her phone clutched loosely in her hand.
She stares at her phone screen.
It doesn’t light up.
This December is my last yearning for you.
“Merry Christmas, Mina,” she whispers, her voice barely there.
The city keeps celebrating.
Her last hoping.
Her last waiting.
Holidays have a cruel way of rekindling old flames. Nayeon worked so hard for the past year to stay that way.
So please, call.
Even if it’s brief.
And even if it changes nothing.
Just for once, let this holiday give me one last chance to love you before I finally let you go.
Because when the clock strikes midnight and when the city celebrates Christmas Eve, her heart will finally heal.
Not in an instant.
Not so sudden.
But this time, it’ll be real.
But you should know that I died slow
Running through the halls of your haunted home
Because Mina just gave her the gift of her absence.
Her name will always stay outside in the cold right where it truly belongs.
And the toughest part is that we both know
What happened to you
Why you're out on your own
Merry Christmas, please don't call
Merry Christmas, I'm not yours at all
Merry Christmas, please don't call me
The song ends.
And the silence afterward is unbearable.
Nayeon doesn’t know how long she sits there.
She stays where she is on the floor, phone resting in her palm like something heavy and useless. The clock already struck midnight and she can feel it in the way the city screams outside, and in the distant cheer that rises and falls like a wave she missed.
Her phone never lights up.
Something inside her finally gives up.
Her breath quivers.
“Oh,” she whispers, and it sounds like it’s finally over.
A quiet, final surrender.
She buries her face into her knees, her breathing in fabric that still smells like Mina, and hates herself for it.
Even now, even here, her body reaches for what hurt her.
She cries for the call that didn’t come.
For the courage she never had.
For every night she waited and every time she pretended she wasn’t.
“I won’t wait anymore,” she says, like a vow.
Like a punishment.
“I won’t.”
Her dog nudges closer, confused. Nayeon clings to that warmth, her fingers trembling.
“I’m letting you go,” she sobs quietly. “I swear. I’m done.”
Her dog shifts closer, resting its head against her leg. Nayeon threads her fingers through its fur, grounding herself in something warm and real.
“This was my last time,” she whispers. “I won’t do this again.”
She wipes her face with the sleeve of her sweater, breathing through the ache. The tree lights blink unevenly in her vision.
The star still sits crooked, still wrong.
She doesn’t fix it.
She doesn’t need to anymore.
Nayeon sets her phone face-down.
And it feels like closure.
An ending.
Her final surrender.
Outside, the hallway is quiet.
Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that feels like the world is holding its breath.
Mina stands there anyway.
Her coat is too thin for the cold. Her hand aches, fingers stiff and trembling despite the cold. Her hand hovering inches from a door she knows by heart. She memorized the weight of it, the way it sounds when it closes, and the pause before it opens.
She’s been standing there too long and long enough for the doubt to settle in.
And long enough to imagine the door staying shut.
She can hear something from inside. Not words. Just the faintest sound.
A broken breath.
A quiet collapse she knows too well.
Mina’s throat tightens.
She’s heard that sound before. Her head pressed into her shoulder, muffled by fabric, whispered apologies that weren’t apologies at all.
It twists something sharp and familiar in her chest.
She almost leaves.
She tells herself Nayeon is better without her.
That showing up unannounced is selfish.
That silence might be kinder.
She exhales, fog blooming in the air.
Just knock, she thinks. Just once.
She imagines Nayeon on the floor. Her arms hugging her knees, trying to be brave in the way she always was.
Quietly, alone, and without asking anyone to stay.
“I should go,” Mina whispers to herself.
But her feet don't move.
She almost listens.
Inside the apartment, Nayeon sniffles, unaware, pressing her forehead to her knees.
“I’ll let you go,” she whispers, “I promise.”
Her voice cracks anyway.
She stands on shaky legs and walks to the window, watches fireworks burst and disappear without making a sound.
She doesn’t hear the hallway floor creak.
Mina lowers her hand.
Then raise it again.
Her pulse roars in her ears and her chest feels too tight, like this door is holding all the air she needs to breathe.
The hallway light flickers softly overhead.
Mina swallows, heart in her throat.
And knocks.
Softly.
And at once.