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Christmas came the same way it always did too bright for something that felt so empty.
Lights hung from every post and window, blinking in warm colors that tried too hard to feel alive. Christmas songs spilled from every store, overlapping into a noise that followed people wherever they went. Somewhere, children laughed. Somewhere, families gathered. Somewhere, warmth existed in a way that felt real.
And then there was Seongje.
Christmas, to him, was nothing more than another date on a calendar. Another day to get through. Another excuse for people to pretend things were whole.
He treated it the same way he treated every holiday. The same way he treated his birthday. Like it didn’t matter. Like it shouldn’t matter.
He stayed in his apartment most of the time, sunk into his gaming chair, the glow of his monitor reflecting against tired eyes. Hours blurred together, marked only by the end of a match or the burn of a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke filled the room in quiet layers, clinging to the air like something that refused to leave, something stubborn, something familiar.
His phone would light up every now and then.
Messages. Calls.
Invitations he didn’t need to read to already know.
“Dinner tonight.”
“Come out for once.”
“It’s Christmas, you bastard.”
He declined them all the same way he always did, quick, automatic, thoughtless.
Even Baku invited him. Even after everything.
There was always something different about Baku’s invitations. They weren’t loud or persistent. Just a quiet offer to visit Baekjin’s grave together, maybe stop by Eunjang after, maybe sit somewhere and not talk about anything that mattered too much.
Sometimes Suho’s name would come up too. Someone Seongje never thought he’d end up knowing like this. Not after everything that had happened with the Union. Not after everything Baekjin had been.
But time had a way of rearranging people.
Four years.
Four years had passed, and yet the name still sat somewhere inside him, unmoving.
Na Baekjin.
It wasn’t something he said out loud. Not often. But it was there, in the pauses between his thoughts, in the quiet moments when nothing demanded his attention.
It slipped in when he waited for water to boil.
When a game queued longer than usual.
When he flicked his lighter and watched the flame catch.
It came without warning, without permission and every time it did, it brought something with it.
An emotion he couldn’t name. It wasn’t simple enough to be grief. Not quiet enough to be longing. Not sharp enough to be regret.
It just… stayed.
Heavy. Persistent. Unfamiliar, even after all these years.
Like something unfinished. Like something that refused to settle into a shape he could understand and maybe that was why he avoided certain days.
Birthdays. Holidays. Christmas.
Days that made everything feel louder than it should. Because on those days, that feeling grew heavier. It pressed deeper into his chest, made breathing feel like something he had to think about. Like something that didn’t come naturally anymore.
So he avoided it.
Locked himself in his apartment. Let the hours pass without meaning. Let the day end without acknowledging it existed.
But this time was different. Because the man appeared in his dream again.
Not as a memory. Not fragmented or distant. But clear. Close. Real in a way that lingered even after Seongje woke up.
And he couldn’t ignore it this time.
Outside, the city moved like it always did during Christmas, crowded, alive, full of people heading somewhere they belonged.
Seongje moved through it without direction. A plastic bag hung loosely from his hand, filled with convenience store food and cigarettes. The same things he always bought. The same routine he never broke.
He looked like he belonged there, walking among everyone else. But he didn’t. Not really.
When he got home, his phone buzzed again. He didn’t check it. Didn't need to. He already knew.
Instead, he let it sit there, lighting up and dimming over and over while he moved around his apartment in silence, gathering what he needed. Nothing elaborate. Nothing meaningful to anyone else. But enough.
The decision sat heavily in his chest the entire time. He wouldn’t stay long. He already knew that. He couldn’t.
The moment he stepped outside again, the weight started to settle in.
By the time he reached the cemetery, it had already sunk deep enough to make every step feel slower than the last.
And when he finally stood in front of the grave, It hit him.
That same feeling. Only worse. Stronger. Heavier.
Like it had been waiting for this.
It didn’t come with tears. His eyes stayed dry, stubbornly so, like even that kind of release was something his body refused to give him.
But his chest hurt.
A dull, constant ache that spread with every breath, pressing against his ribs, making it feel like something inside him was trying to break through and couldn’t.
Still, he stayed.
He lowered himself to the ground, spreading everything out carefully on the grass like it mattered. Like Baekjin would notice if he didn’t.
And then he started talking. About nothing. About everything.
The weather. The cold. How the sky looked clearer than usual. How the city felt louder this year.
His voice sounded unfamiliar to his own ears, quieter, softer, like he was speaking to something fragile. Like he was afraid of breaking something that wasn’t even there.
He spoke as if Baekjin was listening. As if those eyes he remembered so clearly were still on him. Watching. Unmoving. The same way they used to.
As if there would be a response if he just waited long enough. As if the silence meant something.
Hours passed like that. Slow. Unnoticed.
Until there was nothing left to say. And even then, he didn’t leave right away. Because leaving meant ending it. Ending whatever this was.
So he sat there a little longer, letting the weight settle deeper, letting it carve itself into something he still couldn’t name.
And when he finally stood up, it felt like he was leaving something behind. Or maybe taking something with him.
He didn’t know which was worse.
He glanced down one last time.
“Merry Christmas, Na Baekjin.” I miss you.
The words felt heavier than they should have.
By the time he got back to his apartment, the city had quieted just a little. Midnight was close. The celebrations were either winding down or reaching their loudest point somewhere far away from him.
He stopped by a store again. Bought drinks. More cigarettes.
Something he could rely on. Something that didn’t change.
Back inside, he didn’t bother with lights. Didn’t bother with anything, really.
He drank straight from the bottle, the burn sharp and immediate, chasing something he knew it would never catch.
One glass turned into two. Then more.
The room blurred at the edges. The air grew heavier. Time stretched in uneven pieces.
And still that feeling stayed.
Untouched. Unmoved.
If anything, it only grew clearer. More present.
Like it had been waiting for him to stop distracting himself. Eventually, like he always did on nights like this, he reached for his phone.
His fingers didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t second guess.
They already knew what to do.
The number was something he didn’t need to look up. Didn’t need to check.
It lived somewhere deeper than memory.
Embedded. Permanent.
Baekjin’s number.
He stared at it for a moment longer than usual this time.
Then pressed call.
It rang.
Once. Twice.
He let it ring out.
Called again. And again.
Each time with the same quiet, pointless hope he never acknowledged out loud.
Four times. Nothing.
On the fifth call
Someone answered.
Everything in him stilled. Even through the haze of alcohol, something sharp cut through his thoughts, dragging him into a clarity he hadn’t felt all night.
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Because the voice on the other end he knew it.
There was no hesitation. No doubt. It settled into him immediately, like it had never left.
At the same time, the doorbell rang.
Once.
Then again.
Louder. More insistent.
The sound echoed through the apartment, pulling him toward it even as the phone stayed pressed to his ear.
He stood slowly, unsteady but certain.
Each step felt distant, like he was moving through something thick and invisible.
The voice was still there.
Real. Too real.
By the time he reached the door, his hand hovered for just a second.
Not out of fear.
But because something in him understood, whatever was on the other side of that door would change something. Maybe everything.
Still, he opened it. And there he was.
Not a memory.
Not a dream.
Not something his mind had pieced together from fragments.
But real.
Na Baekjin stood right in front of him.
Exactly as he remembered.
The same posture. The same presence that filled the space without trying. The same face Seongje had spent years forcing himself not to forget.
Even the smallest details were there.
The way his hair fell. The way his eyes held steady, sharp but softer when they landed on him. The familiarity of it all hit harder than anything else that night.
Because nothing had changed.
Not in the ways that mattered.
Baekjin held his phone to his ear, the call still connected between them.
A small smile rested on his lips, not wide, not exaggerated. Just enough to feel real.
Just enough to break something open inside Seongje that had been locked away for years.
That unnamed feeling surged all at once.
Stronger than before. Sharper. Deeper.
And this time it almost felt like it had a shape. Like it was something dangerously close to longing.
Something painfully close to love. Something far too late.
Seongje couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
Could only stand there, staring, as if looking away would make it disappear.
As if blinking would take it all back.
Baekjin didn’t move either.
He just stood there, steady, present, real in a way that made everything else feel distant.
And then, finally
“Merry Christmas, Seongje. I miss you.”