Work Text:
**Title: Snowfall at Midnight**
Christmas arrived quietly that year.
The city glittered outside the apartment windows, streets wrapped in golden lights and soft music drifting up from somewhere below. Snow fell in slow, lazy spirals, dusting rooftops and turning the world gentle for once.
Kim Dokja had planned to spend the evening alone.
That had been the plan—instant ramen, a blanket, maybe a novel he wouldn’t finish. Peaceful. Predictable.
Which was exactly why he froze when the doorbell rang at 11:43 p.m.
When he opened the door, Yoo Joonghyuk stood there, shoulders dusted with snow, dark coat slightly damp from the cold. He looked entirely out of place in the warm hallway light, like winter itself had decided to visit.
“…You’re busy?” Joonghyuk asked.
Dokja blinked. “It’s almost midnight.”
“I know.”
That, apparently, was explanation enough.
With a sigh that wasn’t very convincing, Dokja stepped aside. “Come in before you freeze.”
Joonghyuk entered quietly, removing his shoes with familiar ease—as if he had always belonged there. The apartment felt smaller with him inside, warmer too. He placed a small paper bag on the table.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Dokja said.
“It’s cake.”
“…That changes things.”
They ate sitting on the floor, sharing slices straight from the box because Dokja owned exactly one clean plate. Outside, laughter echoed faintly from late-night celebrations. Inside, the only sound was the hum of the heater and the occasional clink of forks.
“Why aren’t you with your family?” Dokja asked.
Joonghyuk considered the question. “I wanted quiet.”
A pause.
“…With you.”
The words were simple, spoken without hesitation, and somehow that made them heavier.
Midnight arrived unnoticed until fireworks bloomed faintly in the distance, colors reflecting against the window glass. Dokja turned instinctively toward the sound, and Joonghyuk followed his gaze, standing beside him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Snow continued to fall, soft and endless.
“Next year,” Joonghyuk said suddenly, “don’t make plans alone.”
Dokja huffed a quiet laugh. “That sounds like an order.”
“It’s a suggestion.”
Their shoulders brushed, warm through layers of fabric. Joonghyuk didn’t move away.
Neither did Dokja.
Outside, Christmas carried on loudly, brightly—but inside the small apartment, the night settled into something quieter, something steady.
Like a promise made without needing to be said aloud.