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theharrowing · 1 year

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Hope for the Holidays

Meeting someone extraordinary and deciding to leave your partner of three years wasn’t quite what you had in mind for the holiday season, but life rarely goes as planned, does it?

❄ Hoseok x Non-binary (AFAB) Reader ❄ word count: 25.9k ❄ strangers to lovers, chance encounters, slow burn, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw ❄ warnings: a smidgen of emotional infidelity (but mc tries not to!), emotionally manipulative, toxic and vindictive partner, having complicated feelings about a relationship, breaking up, hurt/comfort, falling for someone new, angst, fluff, not going home for the holidays, strained relationship with family, panic & anxiety, recreational drinking, moving on very fast, falling in love, honestly just trying to live their best lives ❄ this fic is part of a hyung holiday collab! check out the other fics by @here2bbtstrash, @gimmethatagustd and @sailoryooons! ❄ beta read by @neoneunnajimin, banner by @sailoryooons ❄ posted on dec. 2022 | read on ao3

❄ note: hi friends! this is a breakup fic, as advertised. but it is also a discover someone new fic and a feel alive for the first time in a long time fic. although mc's relationship isn't explicitly abusive, the way Ash behaves may be reminiscent of the way abusers behave so please proceed with caution. this has a happy ending, so don't fret! i poured a lot of my personal feelings into mc, their relationship to the holidays, and their strained relationship to their family. there is going to be angst and lots of fluff (and in a separate part, there will be smut, so if you are not an enjoyer of smut, then the ending of this part is also an ending.) also! shout out to @m1sss1mp for letting me use her name (sorry you were a chismosa in this story hehe i'll give you a kinder role next time! <3) since Ave is a real person, i did not describe her, so you are free to imagine she looks any way you would like!

With each buzz of your cell phone, you take a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to steel yourself. You already know what to expect, and this is not the conversation you want to be having on this bright—albeit frigid—Wednesday afternoon.

You answer the call and do your best not to sound too nervous as you say, “Hey, Ash!” in a practiced, bright tone.

They sigh, which sends a pang of anxiety to your guts, and you squeeze your eyes closed, turning from the sun that suddenly shines far too brightly into your reading nook.

“Baby! Hey! I miss your voice, oh my god.”

Their chipper tone brings you a hint of relief, and you smile in an effort to keep your voice smiling, as well. “I miss you too. How is everything? How are the parents?”

“Parents are good,” they respond, sounding a bit out of breath. “Dad and I just took a little hike around the land, and mom’s been cooking up a storm! They’re both stoked to see you. Any, uh…any word on that?”

Of course, Ash would jump straight to the point. You feel like mold in a petri dish, ready for examination.

“I, uh…” you cringe. “No. No, I haven’t been able to find any good prices, and—“

Ash sighs—heavy, exasperated. “Baby, please just let us chip in,” they mutter quietly, as if to hide their words from eavesdroppers. “It’s fine, they want to help—“

“I don’t want that, Ash,” you insist, absolutely unwilling to let their parents send you any money. “Look, I’ll keep trying. There’s bound to be a holiday deal, maybe I can cope with a long layover somewhere warm…I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

It’s silent for a beat, and you inhale slowly, count to three, and then let the breath out.

“It’s okay, baby. If things don’t work out, there’s always next year.”

You hum a weak, “mmhmm,” feeling anxiety pound at your rib cage.

“At least you got yourself a tree,” Ash says brightly, as if attempting to save the mood.

You glance around your reading nook, where the large, ornate pine tree would ordinarily stand, finding only pillows and stacks of books. “Yup.”

“Send me a pic! I want to see it!”

Panic rises like bile in your throat, and you do your best to swallow it down. “I w—I will. I haven’t found the perfect topper, yet, so once I do that, I’ll send a pic,” you lie.

“Just use mine! It's in a box somewhere."

"Uh–okay, I'll look for it."

"Alright, well, I have to go. Let me know if you find any tickets! Mom and dad really miss you!” There’s an insistent bite in Ash’s tone, and you do your best to ignore it.

“I will, baby," you respond, unable to hide the shake in your voice. "I miss them too.”

“Bye, I love you!”

With shaky hands, you end the call, and glance around the space. A tree. If you won’t fly out to San Francisco, the least you can do is get yourself a tree. What a bother.

The thing about living in the middle of a big city and choosing not to own a vehicle—because the public transit is okay enough to get you where you need to go—is that getting large things like an eight-foot fucking pine tree is a bit of a hassle.

Thankfully, with the internet comes people ready and willing to deliver pretty much anything you could possibly desire, often within the span of several days.

And that is how you wind up in the crowded foyer of your apartment building, attempting to heave a giant box toward the elevator. As soon as you laid eyes on the thing standing tall beside the mailboxes, you burst out laughing. There is just no fucking way—absolutely ridiculous.

You probably make it two inches in the correct direction before deciding that this box is not only too tall, but too heavy to move, and instead, you sit on the foot of the steps with your head in your hands, running through a list of people you may be able to bribe to help you out, shooting off a few texts starting with folks who live nearby.

“This is just fucking great,” you mutter under your breath.

All of this, you’re doing to appease someone who won’t even be here to see the damn tree, just so that you can prove to them that you’re not miserable without them.

The truth is, this is the first time you’ve really gotten to breathe in months, and having a holiday-tree-free home has been just fine. But that is a thought you do not let yourself dwell on. You and Ash have been together for three years; you have a history. Every relationship has its rough patches. This is simply one of those. And who knows, maybe having the damn tree around will brighten your mood. That is, if you can get it into your apartment.

With a defeated sigh, you bury your face in your hands and let out a heavy exhale. Why is it that the holidays always come with some sort of nonsense? This is truly the cherry on top of a towering nonsense cake.

You are about to say fuck it and leave the box in the lobby for someone else to claim, when the front door of the building opens, and in comes a large, cold gust of wind and one of the prettiest people you have ever seen.

They’re tall, wearing a long, camel tan jacket with fur lining the hood and perfectly framing their face—sharp yet soft, and scrunched in the cutest frown you have ever seen.

“Shit,” they mutter under their breath in a slightly high-pitched, nasally voice. “It's cold!”

The pretty stranger meets your eye and gives a wide smile, and if you weren’t already swooning, their heart-shaped lips would have done you in. You sit up straight, beginning to worry that you are in the way of this stranger, and start to shift around on the steps that are effectively blocked by a large box.

"Need some help?" the person asks with an accent that rolls their words ever so slightly.

You shake your head and mutter, "No, no it's too heavy. I think I'll leave it."

"Leave it here?" the person asks with wide eyes, and you nod your head.

"Yeah."

They hum and glance around the box, then ask, "Which floor are you on?"

"Three," you respond meekly, hoping that with that information, they will surmise that it is, in fact, too big to get to your door, and that you should leave it out on the street.

They hum again, then say, "Wait here. Two minutes!" and take off running toward the elevator.

You stand, holding a hand out while shouting, "Wait, no, it's alright," but as they press a button, closing the elevator doors, they smile widely, holding up two fingers, convincing you to stay.

With a huff, you sit back on the steps and take out your phone. Of course, your traitor friends have not responded to your pleas for assistance, leaving you to wait on some beautiful stranger who left in a flash, just as chaotically as they arrived.

When the elevator dings, you sit up straight and turn toward the sound, and you actually feel disappointed to find someone else exiting and walking down the hall. They pause to ask if you need help with the box, but the way they stand—chest and shoulders puffed out with a frown on their face—has you certain they are just asking to be polite.

"Nah," you say, shaking your head. "I'm waiting for someone."

They shrug and leave, and that is that. Now, you are some weirdo on the steps with a giant box who has been perceived by not one building tenant, but two, and you are ready to bury a deep, deep hole in the earth where you can go lay down and freeze to death.

Certain that two minutes have passed and the pretty stranger may have just been messing with you, you stand and begin to push the box back toward the front door. They never said what they were going to get; maybe they decided that offering you help was a mistake and that the best thing for them to do is run far away and never show their face on the third floor. You can't say you would blame them.

The elevator dings once more, and you hear the sound of wheels against the shitty linoleum of the foyer. You turn to find your beautiful building-mate standing before you with a layer of clothing shed, and a dolly in their hand. How and why they even have that device is beyond you, and you nearly cry when they wheel it up and stop it just before the box.

With an eyebrow raised, they ask, "You were pushing it to the door, weren't you?" in a teasing tone.

Warmth floods your cheeks, and you give a sheepish glance, responding, "Noooo..." sarcastically.

"Here," they offer, pointing the dolly at you to hold onto, and you walk around them to take the handles, which come up to your ribs, holding it in place while they wiggle the box onto the rectangular base on the bottom, which sits between two large wheels. Then, they come back around and hold out their hands, muttering, "I got this," so you step aside and watch in horror as they slowly lift the far end of the box from the floor, tilting it toward their body, then begin to walk backwards toward the elevator.

You charge ahead and push the call button, then run inside as soon as the doors open to hold the button that keeps them from closing. It is a precarious feat to get the eight-foot tall box into the small elevator with the two of you, and there is quite a bit of squishing yourselves against the wall with your feet nearly getting rolled over before the doors are able to close.

As you crane your neck to look at the person standing with their shoulder pressed into yours, they look at you and smile.

"My name is Hoseok, by the way."

"Hoseok," you repeat, enjoying how it sounds on your tongue. You tell them your name, followed by, "They, them pronouns."

Hoseok's eyes widen, and he smiles softly. "My pronouns are he, him."

"Nice to meet you," you mutter, glad to have that all sorted out.

Hoseok opens his mouth to respond, but the elevator dings open. The fight to get out and into the hallway begins, though it is much easier this time around, and you pause briefly after exiting, allowing your heartbeat to even out. It takes you a moment to realize Hoseok does not know where to deliver the tree, and you spring into action, walking a few doors down before coming to a stop in front of yours and fishing a key from your pocket.

"Will someone be by to help you decorate this later?" Hoseok asks politely.

You shove the door open, kicking stray shoes out of the way, and allow Hoseok to enter the space. A kitchenette is to the left, with a countertop that separates it from the small dining area and living room. Ahead, past the restored wood tables and forest green couches, is a nook where the windows jut out, creating a nice, cozy space for you to sit and read. You lead the way, picking up stray clothing items, then tell Hoseok to set the box down beside a pile of books.

"No," you finally respond. "It's just me."

Sheepishly, you glance around and scratch your head as the realization hits that you don't have anything to decorate the tree with. Ash has a bin of holiday items, and you are certain that there are some that are meant for a tree, but the idea of digging through their things makes you uncomfortable.

"Actually, I don't have anything to put on this yet," you admit.

"I guess we have to go shopping, then," Hoseok says with a soft smile.

We. Just like that, Hoseok breezes into your life and makes himself at home, and you feel helpless to stop him, returning his smile with a smaller one, as you mutter, "I guess we do."

While shopping with Hoseok, you learn several things about him. The first of which is that he is from Gwangju, South Korea, which is about three hours south of the capital city Seoul, by car. He moved halfway across the globe about a year and a half ago to study fashion abroad, and since he isn't a huge traditionalist when it comes to Christmas, he opted to save his trip home for the Lunar New Year, instead.

You also learn that Hoseok is extremely curious and animated, and he enjoys pointing at and touching things, making tiny little sound effects, and turning everything into characters for which he creates special voices. You found it alarming at first and shied away from the excitement, ducking your head and looking on in confusion. But as you eased into the afternoon with Hoseok, you found yourself pointing to things that reminded you of previous characters and moments, and laughing along.

"It's nice to see you relax," Hoseok says over a steaming paper cup of hot chocolate, and you look up with a start, tilting your head the way he tilts his whenever you say something that doesn't sink in immediately.

"What do you mean?" you mutter, bringing your own paper cup of cocoa to your lips and blowing over the top to cool it enough for a sip.

"You've just been really tense all day," Hoseok continues, still holding his drink to his lips but making no move to taste it. "Not a complaint, though; just an observation."

You hum and accept Hoseok's observation. Truth be told, you have been tense for months—not just this morning. And, in fact, this time spent with Hoseok is the first time you have really laughed and let yourself go in so long, you actually feel embarrassed. Holing up in your apartment by yourself and being a recluse has been too easy, especially with the weather as cold as it has been, and you have forgotten how nice it is to get out and have a cup of hot chocolate.

Try as you might to not let your mind wander to when things used to be this carefree and simple, you can't help it. You imagine the early days with Ash when you would meet up at the local cafes and initiate impromptu snowball fights, falling into a pile of goose feather padded fabric and giggling with snow stuck to your hair and a chill on your cheeks.

Now it's tense smiles and words replaced by hums and grunts. You can't remember the last time you bought a gift out of the blue because you saw something that reminded you of them, or suggested trying a new eatery just for the fun of it. Even meals cooked at home are usually performed by one, without consulting the other, and you either share the food or choose to make something else.

How depressing.

"Earth to marshmallow," Hoseok chimes, waving a hand over your face, and you blink away from your thoughts, tasting rich, warm chocolate on your lips.

"Marsh—" you begin, questioning his choice of nickname, when you feel a stray, small marshmallow stuck to your bottom lip. You tug your lip into your mouth while warmth rises to your cheeks and set your cup down so you can bury your face in your hands.

"Embarrassing," you groan.

Hoseok begins to yank at one of your wrists, and you give in, smiling as your one free eye reveals his smiling face.

"It was cute," Hoseok teases, releasing his grasp on you.

The spot Hoseok touched tingles, and you drop both hands to the table and rub your fingers over your wrist in the hope of making the feeling go away.

"So," Hoseok says with a wide, pretty grin, "we got tinsel, lights, some ornaments—but maybe not enough ornaments?"

You shake your head. "Definitely not enough ornaments."

"So we just need more of those and a topper, and this tree is ready to decorate!"

You nod and worry your bottom lip. Shopping with Hoseok has been nice, but you feel bad for dragging him all around downtown, looking for the perfect decorations. Why you are being so picky about the final product in the first place is beyond you, since this tree is more to appease Ash than anything, and they won't be back in time to even see the fucking thing. Why should you care so much?

"I think we should find something that is less traditional than an angel for the top," Hoseok suggests, eyes staring off into the distance as he takes a sip from his cup and lets it settle in his mouth before swallowing. "You don't strike me as an angel person."

"Like a star?" you recommend, considering the shades of gold and pretty pastel colors that the rest of the decorations are.

Hoseok hums. "Exactly! I think a star would be perfect."

The realization hits you, sinking into your guts to swirl with all the bile and acid: You care about the way the tree looks because Hoseok cares, and you want his approval. During the entire shopping trip, you deferred to his opinion and considered his feedback. And now, here you are, sipping hot chocolate and planning the star—the piece de resistance—with him as if this tree is also his.

If you had any shame at all—even just a single ounce of it—you would cut the excursion short, lie about something you need to do back home, and take what decorations you have back to your place to adorn the tree alone while shopping online for the rest of what you need, thus cutting all ties between Hoseok and the entire event.

But you do not want to exclude him from even a second of this project because his company is warm and comforting, and you hate the thought of doing it alone. And sure, you can remind yourself all day that you wouldn't be doing any of this alone in the first place if you had just gone to San Francisco with your partner as is tradition, which you have done for the last two Christmas and New Year seasons, mostly to make them happy.

But things don't always work out according to plan, and you think maybe it is time to start new holiday traditions that bring you joy. Hoseok is the only reason you got the damn thing into your apartment in the first place; he deserves to see this through to the end, as well.

At least, that's what you tell yourself in order to abate the guilt.

With a fortifying breath, you put the compostable plastic lid back onto your hot chocolate, take a drink, and then ask, "Ready?"

Hoseok beams at you, eyes turning into pretty little crescent moons as he replies, "Ready."

Ash That's...interesting.

You Interesting? Really?

Ash I mean, it's not really Christmas-y.

You It is literally a Christmas tree.

Ash Why didn't you use any of my decorations? Seems like a hassle to go out and buy all new stuff when I have a bin full of shit that you could have used.

You IDK it felt weird going through your stuff.

Your phone rings, and you sigh, watching as Ash's name and smiling face appear on the screen. Beside you—on your couch, watching some shitty Hallmark movie that you have all but spaced away from paying attention to—Hoseok cocks his head to the side and knits his eyebrows, studying your sullen expression.

"I have to take this," you grumble, standing from the warmth of your fuzzy baby blue blanket and making sure the large bowl of popcorn that sits between the two of you is undisturbed.

Hoseok nods and reaches for the remote, but you shake your head and say, "It's fine, don't pause it," as you leave the living room and walk to your bedroom.

Ash has already cut the unanswered call short, and you thumb through your phone and call them back. It rings twice before they pick up and let out a familiar sigh, setting your nerves on end.

"Sorry, I—"

"You can text but you can't answer your phone?" Ash snaps.

Your jaw tenses and you take a deep breath, attempting to keep your voice steady. "I was on the toilet, geez. Did you want to listen to me flush and wash my hands that badly?"

"It's not like I haven't literally watched you take a piss," they respond, and you roll your eyes.

"Pardon me for wanting a moment of privacy."

Silence hangs, and you wait for Ash to speak since they were the one to initiate a conversation by calling first. When they say nothing, you mutter, "So you hate the tree?"

"I don't hate the tree, babe, I just...I don't understand what you're doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ash sighs loudly, "it feels like you're not even trying to come here, and now you're decorating the tree with shit that you went out to get yourself rather than just using what I have. It's like you're trying to cut me out of your holiday altogether, and it just feels fucking...weird."

Your gut instinct is to get defensive and question where this newfound paranoia is coming from, but although Ash is not correct in their assumption, they are also not entirely wrong. No, you are not trying to cut them intentionally out of your holiday, but it is true that some part of you has begun to pull away from them, in general.

"Ash," you respond, keeping your voice as level and guilt-free as you can manage, "I'm not trying to cut you out of anything, alright? I just had some free time and wanted to go trudge around in the snow for my own decorations. I'm sorry if that made you feel left out."

Ash hums, and mutters, "Alright. Sorry for getting defensive."

Although nobody can see you, you shrug as you say, "Nah, I think it's a perfectly reasonable way to feel. And I'm glad you voiced those feelings."

"Thanks for being understanding," Ash says, then, after some chatter is heard in the background, they mutter, "Gotta go, babe. Love you," and hang up before you can say anything back.

As you shove your phone into your hoodie pocket, you rock in place, unsure where you want to settle your feet. It would be rude to stay in your room while your guest is on the sofa, but returning to the living room and explaining your relationship to Hoseok feels...awkward.

And you are unsure why it feels that way because it's not as if he would judge you for being in a relationship. At least, you assume that to be the case; you don't really know. It is late evening on day one of your whirlwind friendship with Hoseok, and he has already taken up more space in your life than anyone else has in months.

After the shopping excursion, Hoseok ran to his place—also on the third floor, on the far end of the hallway—to change into dry socks and some sweatpants while you also changed, and then he returned promptly to help you clear away the piles of your books, unpack the tree, decorate the tree, and help himself to two bags of microwavable popcorn that you had forgotten were in the kitchen cabinet.

There were talks of eating actual dinner, but Hoseok became very invested in a film about two neighbors competing to decorate their house for Christmas, so you settled on popcorn because you are an adult and are free to make poor dietary choices from time to time.

All day, despite the ebb and flow of emotions, everything with Hoseok has felt really easy.

Hoseok is very friendly and open, and he would most likely be understanding of whatever version of the situation you choose to tell him. So why would it be awkward? Assuming today is not just a one-time thing, Ash will eventually come home and meet your new friend. So he should therefore know they exist, right?

You trudge back to the living room with an impassive smile, hoping that your presence alone will be enough and that Hoseok will refrain from asking questions. And your wish is granted as he shoves popcorn into his mouth while attempting to explain everything you missed in what he has adorably coined The Battle of the Dads. With a nod and a smile you listen, despite having no idea which dad is which in this story. It doesn't matter; Hoseok is smiling.

Your apartment feels empty when Hoseok leaves—too quiet for comfort. You had gotten so used to the chattering, the humming and singing, the sounds of busy shopping malls, hanging decorations with hip-hop tracks playing in the background, and winding down in front of the television. This one day feels like several have passed, and you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to text Hoseok, just for something to do.

You failed to bring up Ash after returning from the phone call, but there are signs of them all over, so you reason that Hoseok has probably picked up on the fact that another person lives in the apartment with you. Earlier, when you were talking about Hoseok's life, and how he was not intending on going home for the holiday, you had mentioned that you were also not planning to visit any family, but you left out the part about Ash's family. For once, it felt good to have a conversation about the holiday season and not really think about their family at all.

It is not as if they are bad people; Ash's parents are wonderful. But there is something about being the add-on to someone else's holiday celebration that makes you feel a little displaced. And not for lack of trying on their part; Ash's mother always goes out of her way to make sure your favorite snacks are stocked, and she is very considerate with the gifts she buys you. But, no matter how hard she tries, you will always feel like an outlier. And this year, you are not in the mood to feel that way.

Perhaps, in the back of your mind, you are allowing yourself to admit that you and Ash are drifting apart a little too much, and that things will probably never be as exciting and nice as they used to be. Ash is becoming more standoffish and defensive, always assuming the worst about every little thing—even from miles and miles away.

And you are tired. Work is stagnant, the city doesn't feel as charming as it used to, your friends are all getting married and having children, and you feel like there is nothing left to do but let the tides carry you like a hunk of driftwood. Will the waters pull you back out to sea, to discover new and exciting things? Or will they toss you onto the sand and leave you to rot in the sun for the rest of your days? It does not matter because you simply do not have the energy to care one way or another.

Except...for today, with Hoseok.

For one day, everything else felt tertiary; less important. Hanging out with him felt so natural and comfortable—as if you had known each other for years—and time flew past in the blink of an eye. When he disagreed with one of your suggestions, he was polite and non-judgmental, and he never attempted to talk you out of something—even when the pink tinsel you wanted was evidently "bland and inferior" to the pink tinsel he liked best, he encouraged you to buy it anyway. In the end, you bought them both, just to make him smile.

Hoseok feels like a breath of fresh air—a tide gently pulling you away with a promise to no longer let you smash into the cliff sides over and over again. Hoseok is full of life, abundant with joy, and shrouded in mystery. Though, if you continue to play on the ocean cliche, the mysterious bit becomes less appealing, as the ocean is literally full of unimaginable horrors, but in your sleep-addled state, you reason that you can let the metaphor slip just this once.

With a sigh, you turn to your side and close your eyes. Staring at the ceiling all night is not going to do you any good, so instead, you begin to replay the moments of your day that stood out the most. Hoseok whooshing into the building like a friendly wind elemental to save you from your sorrows. Hoseok suggesting hot chocolate and taking you to a place he recently discovered and was so giddy to show you. Hoseok smiling, and giggling, and laughing, and being so calm and patient while a silent storm raged inside you.

With a smile on your face, you fall asleep thinking about Hoseok.

"Wait," you mutter against his lips. "I can't."

He pulls you closer, makes you whine as your bodies press together flush and fitting, like they were always meant to be.

"Of course, we can," he teases, voice far lower than you remember.

Your palms are on his chest, and you attempt to push him away, but he holds you tighter, tighter, tighter.

"You don't love them," he growls, words stinging like capsaicin across your lips.

You push some more, afraid to agree but far more afraid to disagree. Whatever this is, it cannot be happening. Especially not with him.

"Give in to your desires," he growls like a wild beast. "You want me, so have me."

"I can't!" you shout, attempting to push him away.

When you wake up, sweat beading on your forehead, you sit with a start, muttering, "I can't," under your breath.

Your heart pounds like a drum behind your ribs, and you attempt to get your bearings, searching your bedroom for any sign that something is amiss—desperate to be out of that dream.

If you try hard enough, you can remember the smell of Hoseok's musky, floral cologne and how, in your dream, it invaded your senses and made you dizzy with desire, against your better judgment.

This is bad. You have only known Hoseok for one day, and already, you are having dreams of infidelity while in his arms. Your only reprieve is that you cannot imagine Hoseok actually behaving in that manner. That was purely a work of your imagination. Though, where it is coming from, is a mystery.

Hoseok is attractive, yes, but you barely know him. Ordinarily, it takes a lot of emotional connection before you begin to feel the arousal butterflies flitting about, and although you did feel incredibly comfortable with Hoseok yesterday, it should take far more than that to have you dreaming about nearly kissing him.

At least you manage to wake up at an appropriate hour, and rather than having to fight to get more shut-eye, you toss aside your blankets, slip your feet into a pair of bright yellow chicken slippers, and pad into the kitchen to start up your coffee pot.

As a rule, you try to begin your day without immediately checking your phone, and you usually have no problem with going through the motions of making coffee and breakfast, consuming the coffee and breakfast, and then returning to your room to check your notifications before you shower and get on with the day. But today, as you set out the frying pan and open the fridge to grab two eggs, you find your mind wandering to your phone again and again.

You wonder whether Hoseok is awake and if he has plans for the day. He still has classes, but he mentioned half of them are online, and you wonder if he is on campus yet, or still just down the hall. Or, perhaps, at a third, unknown location.

Although you work as a freelance writer, you tend to have the holiday months carved out for traveling, and for that reason, you do not have much to do. The pile of books began to accumulate at the reading-nook-turned-tree-nook all thanks to not having much of anything to do without Ash around. Before meeting Hoseok, you were comfortable in the vast nothingness, but now you feel antsy.

With your breakfast cooked and your coffee steaming up from your favorite mug, you trudge into your bedroom and grab your phone from its charger. It is only 8 AM, but you still find yourself surprised to have no notifications, and even feel a tinge of sadness. Surely your new platonic bestie would think to message you the moment his eyes opened to the new day.

Just thinking about it makes you cringe. Seriously, who are you?

With a huff, you return to the small dining table and plop down to go through the motions of breaking fast despite barely being awake enough to be hungry. The coffee helps to perk you up, but you still feel listless and out of sorts after that very tame but alarming dream. You are no stranger to your subconscious thrusting arousal upon you at unsuspecting times over people you adore, but this...this just seems far too hasty.

For the rest of the morning, you make motions through the apartment, navigating around the giant tree to find your copy of Bell Hooks' All About Love, and curling up on your couch with your favorite blanket.

In a blink, your coffee is empty, the words are beginning to blur, and you stretch your limbs before getting up and walking around, glancing outside to see the early afternoon sun hanging high.

You should go out and do something, you tell yourself. Yesterday was a blast; you should make today another blast. But you hesitate to text your neighbor, and there is nobody else who lives nearby and is not already fully absorbed in the chaos that this time of year brings. You could always go alone—something you have happily done plenty of times before—but a voice scratches at the back of your mind, telling you to text him, text him, text him.

You Busy? I was thinking about going out to grab lunch.

You chew on the inside of your mouth while you wait, anxious for a response. When your phone finally dings—a mere thirty or so seconds later—you let out a light, excited huff of air and check the notification immediately.

Hoseok Not busy. Give me 10?

You Sounds perfect.

In a flash, you toss the book aside and jump to your feet, making your way to your bedroom to attempt to become presentable. Luckily, Hoseok already saw you dressed in typical jeans and hoodie attire with no makeup yesterday, because you were not anticipating interacting with another human being when he came breezing into your life, so you don't feel too much pressure to get done up.

A coat of mascara to make your eyes pop, and a black sweater that is more form-fitting than a hoodie, coupled with a pair of skinny black jeans feels decent enough. You leave your hair down and find your favorite mustard beanie, then check your phone to find twelve minutes have passed since Hoseok asked for ten.

You wonder if he is the type to take a long time getting ready, and nearly return to your book on the couch when there is a knock at your door. The sound startles you, and you call a shaky, "One moment!" as you make your way to the entrance.

When you twist your knob and fling the door open, the sight nearly takes your breath away. Hoseok's hair is parted over his forehead, and he also looks a little more put together than yesterday, despite wearing the same camel, fur-lined knee-length jacket. Beneath the jacket is a brown, blue, and white argyle sweater and light grey slacks.

"What did you have in mind?" Hoseok asks with a pretty heart-shaped grin, leaning into the doorway.

You take a step back and begin sliding your feet into chunky, brown snow boots. "Honestly, I haven't gotten that far," you admit sheepishly.

"Do you like Korean food?"

You think briefly about what your past experience with Korean food has been. "I've only had Korean barbecue, but I really liked what I had."

"How do you feel about soup?"

Soup does sound good, and you nod as you tie the strings of one boot and then the other. "Soup would hit the spot."

With a pleased hum, Hoseok says, "There's a spot kind of nearby that makes it close to how my mom does...well, as close as I will hope to get away from home."

Eager to know that little detail about Hoseok and his life back home, you agree to trek several neighborhoods over, just to have some soup. Without another word, you throw on a long, black pea coat and wrap a mustard scarf around your neck that matches your hat.

The walk through the hallway, to the elevator, and out to the front entrance of the building all feel uncharacteristically quiet, but you don't question it. There are many reasons a person might be chipper and talkative one day and not the next, and it feels weird to pry. You still don't fully know Hoseok or what kind of a person he is, and this is only day two of discovering the various sides of him.

Despite the sun hanging high and bright in the sky, the afternoon air chills you to the bone the moment it touches your skin, and you instinctively bring your scarf up to your cheeks.

"Does it get this cold back home?" you ask, watching your footsteps make prints in the shallow snow, which crunches under every step.

Hoseok hums. "The weather is similar. Cold in the winter and humid in the summer."

At the thought of heat and humidity, you roll your shoulders back, thankful for the cold. Soon enough, your breathing is steady, your posture is relaxed enough not to shiver, and you feel comfortable. And, perhaps, there is a warmth that radiates from your new friend, as well.

"You wear a lot of black," Hoseok says after a block of comfortable silence.

You snicker. "I do."

"You would look nice with some color."

Something in your stomach lurches at Hoseok's words, but not necessarily in a bad way; it's hard to put your finger on it. Sure, the thought of looking nice for Hoseok is something that has crossed your mind, but it is much easier to have these thoughts without the added pressure of knowing that he has an opinion on the matter.

"Color is overrated," you tease, turning to watch Hoseok's expression go from calm to feigned offense. "Anyway, you wear enough color for the both of us."

Hoseok laughs, then playfully nudges your shoulder with his, throwing you momentarily off balance. It's so subtle he could not possibly detect the way his touch makes your world spin—throwing you off trajectory entirely—but you can feel it.

Conversation the rest of the way is so light and relaxed, you keep remembering that you and Hoseok only just met yesterday. You point out cafes, bars, and restaurants that you like and discuss going to them one day together as if there is no question that your future is now forever entwined with his.

It feels nice to talk about things with no pressure or fear of being judged. So far, the only judgment Hoseok has offered is that you would look nice wearing color—something you can hardly hold against him. He is, after all, a fashion major.

"Does the black make me seem like a gloomy person?" you ask somewhat out of the blue when the conversation lulls.

Hoseok chuckles beside you. "It was just an observation. Don't let it make you feel insecure."

"It doesn't," you respond somewhat insistently. "I'm just curious."

"Not gloomy," Hoseok says, offering you a smile. "Just less...I don't know...bright?"

The uncertainty in Hoseok's voice could be from worrying about whether you are likely to be offended, and you give him time to sort it out.

"I guess, yeah, gloomy. Black makes you gloomy."

You can't help but laugh and nudge Hoseok with your shoulder. He gasps in surprise and holds his hands up defensively, whining innocently, "I was just repeating what you said!"

All you can do is giggle as Hoseok links his elbow with yours and trudges you forward quickly. It takes about thirty minutes to arrive to your destination, so your cheeks are numb as you walk in the front door, and warmth instantly settles over your skin, tingling ever so slightly.

The place is quaint, with wooden tables spread throughout and a bar that overlooks part of the kitchen on the far end. Hoseok leads you past all of the tables and pulls out a seat at the bar. Then, he calls to the older woman behind the counter, and they banter in Korean.

Hoseok speaking his native language kicks up a new feeling in your chest—seeds taking root and germinating into sprouts. Whereas he is usually slow and calculated in his speech with you, with the older lady he is fast, giggly, and emphatic—alive in an all new way. It is beautiful, and you do your best not to stare.

The older lady disappears into the back, and Hoseok apologizes for speaking for so long and leaving you out. Warmth crawls up to your cheeks when you observe how flushed and giddy he is, and you shake your head and say, "It's alright. I don't mind."

"Do you drink alcohol?" Hoseok asks, and you nod, cracking a smile.

"From time to time."

"Have you had soju?"

You think you have had soju at the Korean barbeque spot and say, "Maybe? It was clear and reminded me a little of sake."

Hoseok nods and smiles widely. "She's going to warm some up for us."

You grab a menu and look through it, suddenly overwhelmed by the choices. Soups and stews, rice and meat bowls—some with an egg on top. Everything looks amazing. But you want to have the meal that Hoseok says tastes like home.

"Which one is the soup that you mentioned before?" you ask, running your finger somewhat aimlessly over the pictures.

"Oh, you don't have to get that specific one," Hoseok says as his lips turn into a slight frown. "Everything here is great."

"I want to," you respond with playful defiance, making Hoseok laugh.

"Alright. It's this one," he points to the menu. "Kimchi jjigae. You can get it with pork, tofu, seafood, or a combination. I usually get pork and tofu."

You repeat jjigae quietly to yourself as you read the description, and decide on getting pork and tofu, as well. "That sounds good. I'll have that."

"Should we just get different things to share?" Hoseok suggests. "Or are you afraid of my germs?"

A laugh rocks through your chest before you can stop yourself, and you lightly smack Hoseok on the arm. "We can share. I think I can handle a little soup spit."

There's a sparkle in Hoseok's eyes as he observes you, and it makes your heart pound wildly in your chest. You duck your head down, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, and pretend to read the menu despite everything blurring and becoming impossible to parse.

"How about some appetizers, so you can try some different things?" Hoseok suggests, voice softer than before.

You can't bring yourself to meet his eye and nod instead, looking over the options. Rice cakes in sweet, spicy sauce sounds appealing, and you point at the photo, unsure how to pronounce tteokbokki. Hoseok hums happily, suggests also getting fried chicken, and then it's settled. When the older lady returns, Hoseok slips between speaking Korean and English, sometimes repeating himself in both languages, and once the food is ordered, he gets to work pouring the two of you small glasses of soju.

"She speaks English too, but it's nice to fall back into Korean," Hoseok explains.

"Understandable," you respond, feeling a myriad of questions bubble up. You want to learn everything there is to know about Hoseok, about the language he grew up speaking and the city he moved so far away from. But you also feel at a loss for what to say and instead accept the small, warm cup of clear liquid.

"Repeat after me," Hoseok says, "geon—"

"Geon—"

"—bae."

Hoseok taps his class to the side of yours and says, "Geonbae," and you recite it with a smile, then follow his lead of drinking the liquid back.

The taste is subtly heady and bitter, and not too strong, but it warms your mouth, throat, and chest instantly. Hoseok watches expectantly with his eyebrows raised, and you nod with a smile, telling him, "It's good."

As Hoseok pours the next round of shots, it dawns on you that you are still bundled up, and the warmth is beginning to feel stifling. You peel off your hat and scarf and set them on the counter beside your glass of water, which has a foot or so of extra space before the wall. Then, you begin the precarious feat of wiggling your shoulders and arms out of your jacket while sitting in a somewhat narrow space. Hoseok follows suit, shrugging much more easily from his jacket. Then, he slides your cup of soju over, and you pick it up.

"Does geonbae mean cheers?" you ask, holding the glass up for him to tap his against.

"It means empty cup," Hoseok responds cheerfully, with the same shimmering gaze as before.

"Ah, like bottoms up," you say as he taps his cup to yours.

Hoseok cocks his head, and you tap your middle finger against the bottom of the cup, then mimic throwing it back without actually moving enough to spill any liquid.

"Oh, yes!" Hoseok says as he grins. "Bottoms up!"

You take your shots, setting the small glasses down with a light thunk. The warmth slowly spreads throughout your chest, giving you a slightly dizzying haze as sweet intoxication ripples at the edges of everything.

"I wonder how many strange sayings and words there are for you to learn, in English," you muse.

"Too many," Hoseok responds with a laugh. "You will have to teach them all to me."

Once again, your future feels woven with his, and you nod and say, "I will do my best."

After two more shots, the appetizers arrive, and you feel somewhat overwhelmed by the inviting smells, unsure where to start. Hoseok picks up his phone and takes a photo, then grabs two sets of wooden chopsticks and hands one to you. As you pull the chopsticks from their paper sheath, you remember Hoseok taking a photo of his hot chocolate at the cafe yesterday and you smile to yourself at the thought that he likes to document things.

"Do you post those online? Or just keep the photos for yourself."

"I post them usually," Hoseok responds, taking a piece of fried chicken and blowing on it before taking a bite, wincing and hissing as he perseveres through chewing, grumbling, "Fuck that's good," with his mouth full.

You decide to try the chicken first, finding a smaller piece and giving the skin a little nibble before blowing on it to cool it down. Ultimately, like Hoseok, you give in too soon and take a steaming hot bite, quickly inhaling air with the hope of cooling down your mouth as the chicken heats it up.

The skin is crispy and crunchy and paper-thin, with a perfect blend of spice that brings out the flavor of the juicy meat inside. You hum and close your eyes, savoring it to the sounds of Hoseok gasping and hissing, undoubtedly eating a second piece before letting it cool.

The tteokbokki is equally as delicious, with a rich, spicy flavor that is delicately sweet. And when the soup comes out, you can barely contain your excitement as you grab a plastic spoon and have a taste. The broth is hearty and reminds you of home in a way that is inexplicable and impossible to articulate—a warm, comforting home that is not yours. Hoseok waits quietly for your opinion, and when your wide-eyed surprise turns to soft appreciation, he smiles and nods, hastily shouting something to the older lady who brought out the food.

"It's perfect for winter," you mutter after a second slurp, and Hoseok hums.

"It's a really simple dish to make, and sometimes I break down and make it myself, but there is something special about receiving it from someone else."

You nod and watch as Hoseok's smile downturns into a slight frown.

"My mother always made it when I was sick. She swore it could cure anything. So when my heart feels sick thinking about her, I eat it."

"Ah, homesick," you mutter, suddenly feeling a heavy sadness hanging over you.

Hoseok nods, shrugs, then smiles. "I made the choice to move away, but sometimes it feels hard to be so far, you know?"

"I do know," you respond, using chopsticks to grab a piece of the pork. "Sometimes, even if the choice is necessary or good, it can still be painful to reconcile."

At this, Hoseok watches you, eyes soft and intent. Embarrassed under the undivided attention, you duck your head and eat the pork that has cooled at the end of your chopsticks.

"You're wise, marshmallow," Hoseok teases. "I appreciate it."

"I need a better nickname," you groan past half-eaten pork, and Hoseok shakes his head, muttering that it is cute, then joins you in eating.

By the time the dishes are empty, you are full and warm and ready for a nap. Hoseok huffs out a sigh as he sits back in his chair, and you nod, agreeing with the sentiment.

"Caffeine?" Hoseok suggests.

"Caffeine sounds amazing," you groan, sitting up and stretching your limbs.

"I know just the spot," Hoseok says—because, of course, he does—and you both stand and begin to put on your jackets before heading out into the cool afternoon air.

Coffee leads to walking the long way home, which leads to Hoseok inviting you to his apartment for more soju and another terrible Hallmark movie. You concede without much of a fight—only a few groans at the mention of the movie genre—and that is how you wind up curled up on Hoseok's cozy, brown faux leather couch, falling asleep against the armrest with a belly full of soju and food and a head full of him.

For the next two weeks, Hoseok says he has to keep his head down and focus on studying. He has exams in all of his classes and rattles off a list of essay, presentation, and project deadlines that are also coming up, over the phone on Monday afternoon, in between classes.

"I just wanted to call and tell you that I will be distant, even though we live in the same hallway."

You smile to yourself, glancing out into the city from your nook window beside the tree that the two of you decorated two days ago. "That's fine. If you need me to bring you anything, just let me know. I can grab coffees or something."

Hoseok hums and says, "Maybe. I will probably be on campus a lot more, only coming home to sleep. But if I am home and need to call in reinforcements, you're at the top of the list."

You chuckle at Hoseok's response despite feeling a tinge of sadness at the thought of not seeing him for a little while. It feels silly to admit how much you expect to miss someone who only just met and began spending time with, and when Hoseok teases you about it, you very flatly tell him that you are an adult and will handle his absence just fine, thank you very much.

But you do miss him. It surprises you how much, in fact, considering you hardly know him, all things considered. Although, even as you tell yourself that over and over—an attempt at talking yourself out of caring as much as you do—you know that it is not true. Hoseok is radiant and open and loves talking about himself as much as he seems to enjoy learning about you, and he has shared quite a lot of himself over the span of just two days. His presence is hard not to miss.

Tuesday afternoon, when Hoseok calls to catch up between classes, you learn that gender and identity are fluid to him and that—although Hoseok uses he, him pronouns and presents as male—he loves to play with androgyny and fashion in a way that attempts to erase any cisheteronormative assumption. He tells you that he sticks with he, him pronouns because things back home are a little different when it comes to gay and trans rights, and, for now, changing the language is something he is not fully ready to embrace, but he thinks he feels closer to how you describe your feelings, and that warms your heart.

"I can't really put into words what I think about gender," Hoseok mutters before sipping loudly from a compostable coffee lid. "But I feel disconnected from it. Indifferent."

"Me too," is all you could bring yourself to say as you stare at the bright red cover of your open copy of All About Love that sits sprawled open, page-down on your lap. Suddenly, you find yourself overwhelmed with feeling a deep, strong connection to him.

"Anyway," Hoseok continues brightly over the phone, "I have to run, but once finals are over, I want to show you some of the pieces I have designed."

"I can't wait," you respond happily as the call comes to an end.

On Wednesday, when your phone dings thrice in a row, you drop your book onto the table and grab your phone excitedly, only for the feeling to dissolve into disappointment when you find the messages are not from whom you want to hear.

You almost don't open them until you take a moment to read the third message that has come in succession, sitting on top of the notifications, and decide that whatever Ash is going on about needs to be addressed.

Ash So you're definitely not coming for Christmas, right? I know you said you would look into it and search for deals, but you're not actually doing that, are you? I wish you would just be honest with me.

With a deep, fortifying sigh, you close your eyes and center yourself. This is a conversation that you have been putting off, but you are tired of always feeling put on the spot by them, and it is partially your fault for not being forthcoming.

You I have looked, but not as much as I could have. I'm sorry, I guess I'm not in the mood to travel this year.

Not ten seconds after you send the message, your phone begins to ring, and your anxiety spikes to the ceiling. Talking to Ash right now feels like willingly throwing yourself into a lion's pit covered in fresh meat, and you end the call and shoot off another text.

You I'm not in a great place to talk. Can we text instead?

Ash Are you fucking serious?

Your hands tremble, and you take another breath, but this one is less deep than the last, and when you close your eyes, tears form around your lashes. When did things reach this point? You and Ash used to be open and honest and receptive to one another's problems, and now everything they say is laced with impatience and vitriol. Which of you was the first to begin pulling away? When did the pulling begin?

You Geez, Ash. I'm sorry that this is upsetting, but behaving this way is not going to make me change my mind.

Ash Behaving what way, exactly??? Because last I checked, you were the one telling me one thing while wanting another, and you have also been keeping my hopes up. My family has been eager to see you, and now I have to let them down.

You Every single thing I say and do seems to piss you off. You were angry when I had to stay behind for work, angry when I bought my own tree decorations, and now you can't respect the fact that I'm not in the mood to travel to someone else's family event for a holiday that I'm not a huge fan of, in the dead of fucking winter. Even if I had been excited to fly out, the ticket prices were already exorbitant. And during all of this time, you haven't once asked how I am, how things have been going with work, or what I have been doing to keep myself busy. You just complain and take everything personally and treat me like an inconvenience.

Ash Wow.

You Yeah. Wow.

Minutes pass, and you brace yourself as you see Ash typing a response.

Ash Please can I call you? I just want to hear your voice.

You almost concede and tell them yes. A part of you would even like to hear their voice, hoping to find comfort in their familiar cadence and tone. But you know that all they are going to do is backtrack and offer empty apologies that will only last until the next time they blow up again. Or, worse, they will just yell over the phone until you feel forced to hang up on them.

You I don't want to speak right now. I need some space to think.

Ash That's rich coming from someone who is not only physically far away but has the entire apartment to themself. How much more space do you require, exactly? Should we fly you to the moon? My family has been nothing but good to you, and this is how you treat them.

With an exasperated sigh, you fire off your response—

You And this is exactly why I didn't want to talk to you. Not an ounce of understanding for how I am feeling, just jab after jab about how inconsiderate I am when I have been telling you for years that I would like a quiet holiday all to myself or just the two of us. And I understand if you want to be with your family, but please understand that maybe I don't. Being on the sidelines of someone else's event is really fucking difficult when all I can think about is how much I wish I had that too. No matter how nice your parents are, they still aren't my parents. I just want one fucking holiday with a clear head and no stress, and you can't even grant me that because you would rather be pissed off at me for not doing what you want than try to understand how I feel. I'm muting my phone now; I need to walk away from this conversation for a bit.

—and then mute your phone before shoving it between the couch cushions. All at once, you heave for air and fall forward against the armrest as tears pour into your open hands. Things have been rocky for a while, but when did they get so bad? Ash used to be your safe space, and now all they make you feel is anguish and frustration.

Although your phone is muted, you still hear it vibrate as a message comes in, followed by another. There have been times in recent weeks that you have considered blocking their number altogether, but at that point, you figure you would be better off just ending the relationship.

Tears continue, and you breathe deeply, attempting to quell them. A good cry is cathartic, yes, but this is not how you would like to spend your sunny Wednesday afternoon. Determined to pick up the pieces and attempt to have a good day, you decide a trip to the cafe will be nice. You can get something warm and covered in marshmallows. Maybe you can take your laptop and start working on a new writing project to take your mind off things for a little while.

Between the cushions, your phone vibrates consistently—an incoming call. At first, you sigh and squeeze your eyes closed, eager to ignore it. But then you remember it could be Hoseok calling, and you fish the device out, careful not to hit the answer or end call buttons in the process. Hoseok's name greets you, and you fumble to answer before it disconnects

"Hey, Hoseok," you say with an obvious shake to your voice.

"H-hey," Hoseok responds carefully. "Did I call at a bad time?"

You sniffle and let out a chuckle over how unconvincing you must sound. "No. I mean, I'm not having the best day, but it's always a good time to talk to you."

"Corny," Hoseok responds, though the laugh in his voice is more subdued than usual.

"God, it was, wasn't it?" you cringe, replaying what you just said and how it must have sounded.

Silence hangs, and you fiddle with a loose thread at the bottom of your shirt as you try to come up with something to say that is unrelated to having a fight with your partner of three years. Ordinarily, Hoseok launches into how his day is going over the phone, and his silence makes your tension rise.

"Are you sure it's not a bad time?" Hoseok asks again, softly.

"I'm sure," you respond, voice unsteady but more measured than moments ago. "What did you call to tell me?"

Hoseok hums and says, "I actually called to ask about your day. Everything here has been boring me to death and I need some excitement. But whatever made you cry doesn't sound too exciting, so now I don't know. I don't want to pry."

"Ah," you respond, letting your shoulders fall. Then, you remember you were going to set out to try to enjoy the day, and sit up straight. "Well, I was going to leave the house and get some fresh air to clear my head. Do you want to talk to me while I get bundled up and head out?"

"Sure," Hoseok beams, smile evident in his voice. "Where are you going?"

You get up and stretch your shoulders, arching your back as you stand on your toes, then let out a yawn. "I was thinking about the cafe we went to for hot chocolates. I might take my laptop and do some writing."

"Ooh, writing?" Hoseok asks excitedly. "What kind of writing?"

You make your way toward your bedroom to grab your favorite black hoodie, then you pause. Hoseok telling you that you would look good in color rings out in your mind, and you drop the sweater back onto the bed and head toward your closet, putting your phone on speaker so you can set it atop your dresser and look through the shirts that are hanging.

"I don't know. I usually write articles and essays for money, but occasionally, I like to write short stories."

"Like fanfiction?"

You can't help but laugh at the suggestion, and although you have certainly penned a steamy scene or twenty in your day, that is not quite what you had in mind. "It concerns me that that's your first thought."

"Write a story about the handsome stranger who turns your world upside down and makes you believe in love again."

Hoseok's words are playful, but you can't help but wonder if he is trying to tell you something without saying it explicitly, and it makes your hands tingle and your heart pound. "Sounds unrealistic. Aim lower."

Hoseok laughs loudly and brightly, and you chuckle along, though panic still surges through you. Surely, Hoseok does not have those kinds of feelings for you, and is only joking, right?

You pull out a forest green sweater with a loose turtleneck and pull it over your head, shoving your arms through the holes and attempting to steady your breathing, but the garment makes you feel somewhat claustrophobic. Still, you keep it on and grab your phone, making your way to the dining table, where you have left your hat and scarf.

"First the Hallmark hate and now this? You really are not romantic at all, are you, marshmallow?"

The nickname makes you scoff as you pull the hat over your head and loosely wrap the scarf around your neck. "On second thought, maybe I will not get any writing done," you chide, getting bundled up.

Hoseok laughs again, and you picture his wide, heart-shaped smile and eyes scrunched into tiny crescent moons. You grab your black coat from where it hangs beside the front door and shove your feet into your chunky brown boots, placing your phone atop a black Vans sneaker that sits on the top shelf of a very chaotic shoe rack.

"Almost bundled up and ready to head out."

A sigh comes through the phone, followed by, "I wish I could join you."

"Me too," you say softly before you can stop yourself.

Thursday passes quietly, with a few texts exchanged from a very stressed Hoseok. You wish him luck, sending more kaomoji than you might ordinarily use, then get dressed to head out to the cafe again. Getting out and walking in the cold air and warm sun has been doing wonders for your mental health, and having a sweet treat to look forward to is the perfect incentive.

You still haven't opened the messages that Ash sent the day before, and you are not sure when you will.

On Friday evening, after not hearing from Hoseok all day, he calls. You are in the middle of scrolling through recipes for kimchi jjigae and wondering if making a soup from scratch for the holiday is a challenge you are up for, when his name glows brightly on your screen.

"What are you doing?" Hoseok asks, rather than saying hello.

"It's top secret," you respond. "What are you doing?"

Hoseok chuckles—music to your ears. "Keeping secrets already? I'm hurt."

"I'll reveal it soon. Consider it a Christmas gift."

You think you may hear Hoseok gasp, then he mutters something in Korean before saying, "Really? A gift for me?"

Warmth spreads to your cheeks, and you hum. "It's nothing big. Don't get too excited, okay?"

"Nope! This is exciting. Shit, now I have to do something for you."

"Absolutely not," you chuckle, closing your laptop with the soup recipe left open in a tab. "Don't feel obligated to do anything."

Silence, save for the sounds of Hoseok humming softly, hangs between you. Then, he continues.

"Hey, so, I don't have anything too big coming up on Monday. We can hang out this weekend if you'd like."

Hope blooms behind your ribs, and the sprouts that have begun to grow behind your ribs stretch toward the sun for sustenance. "Of course I would."

"Awe, missing me already?"

"Shut up," you complain with a laugh.

Hoseok hums. "It's fine if you do, because I miss you. Tomorrow?"

Your heart pounds as you agree, "Tomorrow."

Thrice since Wednesday, your phone has buzzed with messages from Ash, and each time you have ignored them, clearing the notifications and allowing the little red dot beside your messenger app to increase its number. This morning, as you open your messenger app to find out what time Hoseok was thinking about hanging out, you hover a thumb over the row containing the message preview from your partner and open Hoseok's text thread, instead.

You What time did you have in mind?

Certain that Hoseok will not respond immediately, you set your phone down on your dresser and begin pushing the various hangers around in your closet, looking for something with a splash of color. A red flannel button-up catches your eye, and you grab a white long-sleeve tee to accompany that and your standard black skinny jeans. You may be trying to be less gloomy when you visit with your friend, but he will have to pry the black denim from your cold dead hands.

Your phone dings and you step out of your closet and grab your phone, unlocking it before checking the notification. When you find yourself peering down at a wall of text from the person you were not wishing to hear from, your heart sinks. Although you do your best not to read every message, your eyes flit over certain words—ungrateful, selfish—and you back out of the app, wishing you could erase the image from your mind—childish, a waste of time.

Another ding accompanied by a gentle buzz from your phone causes you to jolt, nearly dropping the device to the floor. "Shit," you mutter as you fumble to unlock the screen, checking the notification bar first. Luckily, this message is from Hoseok, but your excitement is now dimmed.

Hoseok Just showered. I could be ready in 20? Or is that too soon?

You 20 is fine. I was already getting ready for the day.

Hoseok What if it only takes me 15?

You Then show up in 15.

Hoseok See you soon! :)

You :)

As you get dressed, you remind yourself that today is a day for positive, happy feelings, and you do your best not to let the weight of the other messages bring you down. There is something to be said for their accusations—you are being childish and selfish by ignoring them flat out. But you cannot ignore the way your anxiety rises when you think about confronting the conversation, even if you remind yourself that the longer you wait, the worse it might become.

At least you are making an effort to get out of the house and see a friendly face rather than sitting in the apartment in a bubble of self-loathing like you would otherwise be if you stuck to doing what you had been doing prior to The Great Tree Incident, as you have begun to call it in your head. So, whatever Ash is assuming of you and spitting at you daily without giving you a chance to gather your thoughts and form a response is likely only partially true.

You apply a little mascara despite knowing it will just make your lashes sticky and eventually sweat onto your cheeks, then apply a nice lip balm to ward off chapped skin, rubbing your lips together while attempting to stay grounded and not get so far into your head that it will be impossible to come out by the time your friend arrives.

And, when he does show up with his signature single knock followed by three quicker knocks, you give yourself a once-over in the mirror and decide that red flannel is definitely your look before trotting from your bedroom to the entryway.

When you swing open the door, you can't help but smile widely. Hoseok must have gotten the flannel memo, though his is less traditional than the lumberjack-type style, and instead, has larger squares in muted blues, greens, and yellows against white. He wears a white tee underneath, khaki pants, and his camel tan jacket overtop.

"Wow!" Hoseok exclaims, holding his arms out.

You are unsure whether he is using his arms to signal that he is impressed with your choice, or if he is expecting a hug, and you hesitate, lifting your arms after a beat and cocking your head. With a chuckle, Hoseok steps through the threshold, into your personal space, and wraps you in an embrace, squeezing you tight. You reciprocate the hug but in a looser fashion, awkwardly giving him a pat with your hands when you are unsure whether it has lasted too long.

"Nervous?" Hoseok asks, and you hate how easy you must be to read.

"Nah," you respond, "just a little tired still."

"Well, you're in for a treat, because I found a new coffee shop on Instagram that has been going viral for their latte art, so let's go get caffeinated."

And that is how your Saturday began—and your third day of spending nearly every waking moment with Hoseok. The latte art was just the tip of the iceberg. After deciding to grab a reasonable lunch and not just snack on pastries from the cafe, the two of you found a noodle bar nearby and had udon and some sake. Then, you walked to a neighboring park and moseyed along with two fresh cups of coffee and a bit of a buzz.

"Should we go to a bar later and keep this momentum going, or do you want to have a chill night in, falling asleep while I watch another holiday movie?"

You roll your eyes and bump your shoulder into Hoseok's, groaning at the mention of more holiday movies. "Don't you get sick of that sappy shit?"

Hoseok chuckles and wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight side hug that nearly throws you off balance. "No. I like sappiness and romance. Don't you?"

You scoff and shake your head, though something settles in the pit of your stomach. Sadness, perhaps. Envy. It's hard to put a name to, and you do your best to ignore it.

"No. I don't know. Maybe? I've never dated someone who was romantic," you admit. "Or someone who has made me want to be romantic, you know? I guess if someone I loved enjoyed romantic gestures, I would do them, but it's not my default."

Hoseok hums, gives your shoulder a squeeze, and lets you go. You are curious about the hum, and the squeeze, and the hug itself, but you swallow it down and decide not to ask.

"This could be romantic," Hoseok says after silence has settled, and you glance at him to find him looking out over a frozen body of water covered in ice. Trees line the area, giving it a calm, serene feel, and around you, people chatter quietly and walk by, their feet thudding softly against the wooden bridge on which the two of you stand. "What I mean is, it's not something that needs to be forced or bought. Small, quiet moments count, as well; enjoying something simple together."

Eager to sway away from the thought of the two of you sharing a romantic moment, you circle back to the topic at hand. "Okay, but the romance in those movies is always so over the top."

"True," Hoseok concedes with a playful smile. He turns to you, eyes soft and full of something you dare not try to define, and you smile briefly and turn away, looking over the scenery once more. "Over the top is fun to indulge in from time to time. You're just a scrooge."

"Oh, okay," you chide, stepping back from the wooden railing and continuing your walk down the bridge, in the direction you had been going. "I'm a scrooge. Right."

"I have hope for you, though," Hoseok says as he catches up, falling into step beside you.

"Oh thank god for that," you mutter under your breath, pulling your coffee to your lips.

Hoseok laughs and nudges you, nearly making you spill, and you swat at his arm playfully. "You just need more corny holiday films to melt that icy heart and you'll be a true romantic in no time. A soft little marshmallow."

After spending the afternoon walking around, you and Hoseok agree to return to your apartments for new socks and dry shoes before you decide on what else to do. There is a bar nearby that you and Ash used to frequent, and you remember the conjoining pizzeria being pretty good. Hoseok agrees to the idea the moment he returns to your door, and you head back out into the chilly winter evening.

The bar is only two blocks from your apartments, and it is a bit of a dive. The tables are all scratched up, the music is a little too loud, and the drinks are cheap. The bartenders have been working there for ages, and tend to know the regulars pretty well, making it a welcoming atmosphere, overall.

Hoseok surprises you by suggesting whiskey shots to go with your cheap cans of beer, and you agree. Two shots and cheap beers in, the world has a haze around the edges, but you feel good, and Hoseok is so friendly and pretty, and everything is great. The two of you order a medium pepperoni pizza to share, and when it comes, you thank your lucky stars to have greasy bread to sop up the alcohol.

After finishing your pizza, the two of you sit with your heads close, looking at the jukebox app on your phone, making selections from the comfort of your rickety barstools, when someone taps you on the shoulder.

"Hey," the voice calls, and you turn to find Ave, one of Ash's friends, standing with her arms folded over her chest.

"Ave, hey," you respond in a forced chipper tone, not exactly thrilled to see her.

Ave nods her chin toward Hoseok. "Who's this?"

"Oh," you say, half-turning toward Hoseok before turning back to her, "this is Hoseok. He lives in our building."

With a hum, Ave nods her head and squints her eyes. "Are you not spending the holiday with Ash's family?"

A chill runs down your back, and you shake your head. "No, work kept me here too long, and then flights got too expensive."

"But you work from home, right?" Ave presses. Anger rises, and you keep your smile pulled tight, lest you scowl. "So you could have just gone."

You exhale, steeling yourself. "Is that all?"

Ave takes a small step back and cocks her head. "Excuse me?"

"I don't owe you an explanation," you grit through a stiff grin. "So if you have no other questions, I would like to get back to hanging out with my friend."

With a huff, Ave turns on her heels, and you flag down the bartender for two more shots before downing a quarter of your third beer. You can see that Hoseok is fidgeting with his hands on the bartop, but you try not to draw too much attention to the situation, and instead stare ahead, desperately searching for something to say to change the topic, but falling short.

"You don't have to tell me," Hoseok says, leaning in to make sure you can hear him over the music. Your eyes fall to your phone—the screen of which has gone black, abandoning your task of finding songs to play—and you feel guilt begin to rise to your chest and throat. "But if you want to talk about anything, I'm here."

"Thanks," you respond, turning to offer Hoseok a smile, aware that your eyes betray you. "I should talk about it but I guess I'm not ready."

Hoseok nods in response as the bartender drops off two shots, and you slide his glass toward him, then pick yours up. "Gunbear!" you shout, which is what you said earlier when you couldn't remember the word Hoseok had taught you, to Hoseok's utter delight, with the hope of lightening the mood.

"Geonbae," Hoseok responds with a smirk, tapping his glass to yours and shooting back the bittersweet liquid.

Three shots and three beers may just be too many, and you stumble out of the bar with your elbows linked, leaning into Hoseok's side. The night is still relatively young, and you would rather continue to hang out than go to bed, but you also feel nervous to ask, not wanting to intrude on Hoseok's time any longer than necessary. Luckily, Hoseok does not share the same worry.

"So, my couch or yours?" he asks as you approach your apartment building.

"Yours is cozier," you respond, leaving the thought of not wanting to return to a home surrounded by Ash's stuff left unsaid.

Hoseok hums and leads the way through the building, to the elevator, and you ride to the third floor in silence, eyes glued to the silver doors ahead. Blurred figures are reflected back, standing with their elbows linked together, and suddenly, you worry that you might be doing something wrong. But you don't want to drop your arm to the side, letting go of Hoseok; you need your anchor now more than ever.

The doors slide open, and Hoseok leads you down to the far end of the hall in silence, stumbling slightly and letting out soft giggles here and there. You knock your hip into his for comic effect when he over-adjusts and knocks slightly into you, and this sets off a game of back and forth of hips hitting hips and feet stumbling to trudge forward. By the time you reach his door, you are doubled over laughing and gripping onto his arm like a lifeline.

As Hoseok fishes his key from his pocket, you lean against his door, attempting to get your bearings. Three whiskey shots and three cheap beers have never gotten you so drunk before, and you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to replay the night, but all you can picture is Hoseok's pretty smile flashing over and over again.

With a hum, Hoseok nudges you, and you open your eyes to find him looking at you with concern.

"I was trying to sort out how we got so drunk from just those shots and beers," you grumble, words coming out in a slur.

Hoseok laughs as he slowly opens the door, which you continue to lean into, stumbling as its momentum carries you over the threshold into his apartment. "We had sake with lunch and a bunch of caffeine."

The laughter that rocks through you at the realization that you had been drinking earlier in the day threatens to throw you completely off balance, and you reach with your free hand to try to grip the open door but end up flailing, instead. Hoseok grabs your arm with his free hand and gently pulls and rotates you forward, steadying you on your feet, and you stare at him with surprise.

"You're strong," you mutter, only realizing now how close the two of you are—inches apart.

Hoseok smiles and nods, then releases his hold on your arm and allows you to move into his apartment. You stand a while longer, however, still surprised by how Hoseok effortlessly handled you, and by how, in this tiny, confined space, he smells like a freshly picked bouquet on a cool autumn morning.

"May I..." Hoseok begins, nodding his chin toward the rest of his apartment, and you snap out of your daze, clear your throat, and take a step back and around, pressing your back flat against the wall to give Hoseok room to close the door, bend to remove his shoes, and walk into his kitchen.

Your shoes slide off easily enough, and you attempt to chuck them in a mindful place, in the general direction of his neatly organized rows, but they tumble out into the middle of the floor, where you decide they shall live because bending over right now feels precarious and you need water.

"Since you'll fall asleep anyway, I'll pick the movie," Hoseok calls from the kitchen.

You can hear popcorn popping away in the microwave, followed by the sound of the sink running, and you shrug your jacket off, hang it on a hook above the shoes and round the corner from the small entryway. You find Hoseok has removed his sweater, and he stands in a white tee and khakis. His arms are much more toned than you had expected for his otherwise willowy body, and before you can help yourself, you wonder about his chest, then immediately blink heavily and instead try to conjure images of kittens laying in a basket that has a pretty bow tied on the handle—anything to clear your mind.

"Did you hear me?" Hoseok asks, and you meet his gaze to find his eyebrow raised.

The microwave dings and Hoseok opens it up, retrieves the bag of popcorn, and tears it open. You watch as the steam wafts up, past his smiling face. Then, he dumps it into a large plastic bowl and turns you.

"Loud and clear," you respond with a small smile. "I have simply given up on trying to argue about the movie. The choice is all yours!"

Hoseok approaches and holds the bowl out, which you reach out to grab. Then he taps you on the chin with the pad of his index finger and says, "So good for me," sending a chill down your spine as he turns back to the kitchen to grab the two glasses he had filled with water.

You have no idea why those four little words leave you stunned, standing in the threshold of the kitchen as if you have been glued to the spot, but when Hoseok turns back toward you, you clear your throat and will your feet to move, turning in a daze toward the living room where his cozy brown sofa awaits.

Hoseok walks past you, hurrying to put the glasses down and grab one of the three blankets that lay hung over the back of the couch. He likes to lay a large, fuzzy royal blue throw down, then cover himself up with a thin white blanket with a birds of paradise pattern, or with another fuzzy throw that is soft and thick and has a black and white plaid pattern.

As you approach, Hoseok reaches over the sofa for the bowl of popcorn, and you open your palms, handing it over while still feeling a bit discombobulated and holding your hands open for a few seconds too long. Hoseok either does not seem to notice the shift in your demeanor or he is unfazed by it. You have never heard someone tell another they were "so good" for them outside of a sexual context with the tone his voice took, but maybe he is too drunk to realize what he said.

Hoseok turns on the TV and pats the cushion beside him, telling you to sit. As you make your way around the small wooden table, to the end of the couch your phone starts to vibrate in your pocket. You attempt to ignore it, but it keeps going and going, stopping by the time you take a seat, only to start up again.

"Fuck," you mutter as you pull your phone from your pocket at glance at the screen to find Ash's name and face lighting it up.

You silence the vibrating and sit back with a huff, then drop your hand to the cushion with the phone clenched tight, keeping your gaze on the TV. "What movie did you have in mind?"

Hoseok hesitates, then asks, "Do you need to take that?"

"No," you respond quickly but softly. "I don't need to."

"That person at the bar..." Hoseok begins, but he trails off as your phone starts to buzz again, lighting up the space beside you.

You end the call and open your messenger app, to type, "Trying to sleep. Text and I will respond in the morning." Then you set your phone screen face-down on the cushion.

"Sorry," you mutter. "I can shut my phone off."

"Is it important?" Hoseok asks cautiously, voice slow and measured.

"It is," you admit, swallowing a lump of worry as your heart pounds, sending the room into a dizzying spiral. "But I don't want to deal with it right now. I should, but...I just don't want to."

Your phone buzzes again, just once to signal a text has come through, and you squeeze your eyes closed, nausea pooling and threatening to rise.

Gently, Hoseok places a hand over your knee, and you open your eyes to find his expression worried—pleading. "Can I ask why?"

All at once, your breathing becomes shallow, tears threaten to spill, and you have to gasp for oxygen. "They're my—" you begin, then swallow saliva that has pooled too quickly under your tongue.

"I'm in a—in a relationship," you try again, eyes falling to your hands, which are clenched tightly together against your thigh. "But I want to end it. I've been wanting to for a while."

You have never voiced it before, and now that the words are spoken to the universe, a sob rattles through your chest, settling in your throat, and you attempt to breathe past it, finding the task difficult.

"Oh," Hoseok says, moving his hand away from your knee.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," you mutter softly, suddenly feeling guilty for keeping something like this from your new friend for the entire week of your friendship. "I didn't want to lie, I just...they're away with their parents for the holiday, and...it's been nice pretending they aren't coming back."

Hoseok remains silent, and your anxiety rises to great new heights as you wait for him to respond. Of course, you have no idea whether this information will matter to him at all or not, but you imagine that he might feel upset that you haven't been as forthcoming about your personal life as he has been about his.

When Hoseok says nothing, you turn to him and mutter, "Say something," instantly feeling regret over the distant look on his face.

"I just..." Hoseok trails off, throat bobbing as he thinks. "I guess I saw the photos of the two of you and didn't think much of it. Nobody else has been around, nobody was going to help you with that Christmas tree...maybe I was seeing their stuff all along and assuming it was also yours."

"To be fair," you make an attempt at lightening the mood, "most of the shoes by the front door are mine."

Hoseok cracks a smile, undoubtedly because there are many pairs of shoes by the front door, and the thought of them all belonging to one person is a bit ridiculous. But then his lips tug back into a frown, and his eyes fall to his hands.

"I don't want to tell you that you should leave, and I don't want to shut you out when you seem to be going through something difficult," Hoseok says, bringing his earnest, doleful gaze to meet yours. "But I was really starting to have feelings for you, and this news is kind of hard to take."

All at once, the air feels knocked from your chest, and you heave out a silent sob, blinking through a fresh set of tears. Hoseok's hand lifts slightly and twitches as if he wants to reach out to you, but he pulls it back and shoves it beneath his thigh.

You nod and take this as your cue to leave. Hoseok is not asking you to, but it clearly pains him to sit with you, and the last thing you want to do is hurt yet another person, especially one who you have quickly come to care for so much.

"I'm gonna go," you mutter softly, watching as Hoseok's eyes fall to the floor, and he nods. "I need to deal with this, and then we can talk."

Hoseok doesn't look at you as you leave, simply muttering, "Okay."

In a daze, you walk back to Hoseok's front entrance to step into your shoes, letting your heels bend the backs, wasting no time to put them on correctly, and grab your jacket from the hook, draping it over your arm with a sad sigh. You slip out the door as quietly as possible, twisting the nob as you pull it shut, then releasing it slowly.

The fluorescent lighting in the hallway is bright and boring into your brain, and you stumble down to your door as quickly as you can, fishing your key from your jacket pocket and fumbling to get it into the lock. The familiar smell of your apartment fills you with a heavy emptiness, and tears begin to pour once more from your eyes as you drop your jacket and key to the floor and step out of your shoes.

All you want is to throw yourself into bed and disappear from the world, but you make a pitstop in the kitchen, pulling a glass from the drying rack and shoving it into the slot on your fridge that produces water. You only have the energy to fill the glass halfway, then you stumble out and pause, making a choice.

If you go to the bedroom, you will undoubtedly climb under your covers and cry yourself to sleep with your head buried half under your favorite pillow. But if you go to the living room, you can sit and read through Ash's messages once and for all, and make a choice.

As you pad toward the couch, you tell yourself that your decision cannot be swayed by Hoseok admitting that he is starting to have feelings for you. Especially considering you have no idea what he is thinking right now—what if his feelings change after tonight? You can't say you would blame him.

With a huff, you sit and pull the soft baby blue blanket that is bunched up on an armrest to drape over your knees. Then, you take a deep, fortifying breath, hold it for a few seconds, and slowly release it. The whiskey and beer continue to swirl and knock you off your axis, but you feel more sober than you did stumbling into Hoseok's apartment less than an hour earlier.

First, you read the messages that came in from Wednesday, sent just after your novella about feeling misunderstood.

Ash Ignoring me to "clear your head" sounds more like shutting me out, but okay. Do whatever you fucking want, just like always. I just think it's funny that you had nothing to say about this trip before and then waited until after I fucking left to drop the bombshell. How long have you been planning not to come? You are so fucking ungrateful.

And then you read their texts from Thursday—

Ash Are you seriously going to leave me hanging this close to Christmas? How selfish are you??? For three years, I have put up with your fickle, shitty moods, and this is how you repay me? This is childish, even for you. How am I supposed to wrap my head around everything when you make me feel like it has all just been a waste of time? You know how much Christmas means to my family, why are you acting like this?

—and from Friday.

Ash Baby, please just talk to me.

And finally, you read what was sent tonight after you ignored their call at Hoseok's place.

Ash Are you fucking joking? Pick up the phone.

You Trying to sleep. Text and I will respond in the morning.

Ash Trying to sleep??? Less than an hour after Ave saw you at the bar with some guy??? I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I need to know who this friend is and why you haven't bothered to mention him to me. Ave said you were rude, which sounds like you, but it still raises concerns if you were giving an attitude simply because she was asking about him. This is fucked up. I can't believe the person you've become. Maybe I shouldn't come back home once the holiday is over.

Your thumbs shake as they hover over the keys, and instead, you bite the bullet and dial Ash. Everything you want to say to them feels too big to say over text. The tone rings for so long, you wonder if they might not pick up. But then, they do, and your heart sinks a little.

"Trying to sleep, huh?" There is a bite to their voice that makes the hairs on your neck stand tall.

"Ash—"

"Tell me what is going on."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. "Maybe you should stay there for a while."

Silence hangs, and when Ash speaks, their voice is meek. "What?"

"I can mail your things."

"Wait, baby, what are you saying?" Ash asks, sounding panicked.

Numbness fills you, warm and heavy, and you open your eyes to stare past the tree—a dark, looming figure without its lights plugged in—out the window. A golden glow dapples through the thin curtains from the streetlights below, and you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

"We haven't been happy for a while. I don't know when it began but...I want it to end."

Ash sighs, then lets out a humorless laugh. "So that new guy is more than just a—"

"No," you interrupt firmly. "He's a friend, and that's all. I wouldn't do that to you, or to him. That's not fair."

"When did you meet him?"

"A week ago," you admit. "I couldn't get the tree upstairs and he saw me struggling and helped me."

"A week ago? You told me you bought the tree before then."

"I know. I originally didn't want it at all. Funny, how I got it to appease someone who isn't here to see it."

"So he lives in the building?" It's more of a statement, sounding accusatory.

"Yup."

"And you're sure you're not fucking him?"

Anger builds, and you grit your teeth. "Don't do this."

"So you're really breaking up with me?" Ash practically shouts, voice shaking. "Over the fucking phone, two weeks before Christmas."

"Yup."

"Wh—"

"Look, I know you haven't been happy, either. You've been so fucking cold lately; I don't know who you are. So, consider this your gift from me this year. I'm putting an end to everything before it could get any worse and we could become any more miserable."

"Oh, fuck you!"

All you can do in response is sigh. Truth be told, you feel really good—like this should have been done months ago, but neither of you had the guts to see the problem, much less voice it.

"You can't just break up with me!" Ash pleads, voice breaking. It feels like a final test to hear them on the verge of tears and have no emotional reaction of your own.

"I'm sorry. I can find a new place if you want to return to this one, or I can mail your things in the new year."

"Baby, please—"

"I'm happy to draw a contract promising to send your half of the security deposit when I move—"

"—you can't do this!"

"—just let me know what you feel the most comfortable with."

A loud sob comes through the phone, and you fold yourself in half, leaning forward to rest your forehead against your knee. Intoxicated or not, you know you are doing the right thing and that you need to be patient, now. But you are also fucking exhausted.

"You c-can't just break up with me," Ash sobs, sniffling loudly.

"I'm sorry," you say flatly, making no attempt to show emotion.

"You are not fucking sorry!" Ash shouts before breaking down into more sobs.

Tears do threaten your waterline, and when you move to readjust your bent forward position, one even falls down your cheek. But you do not sob, and you do not feel all that sad. You are simply letting go. If anything, you feel lighter.

"I need sleep," you say after a long moment filled only with Ash's anguish as the backdrop. "We can talk more about this tomorrow."

"Fuck you. I never want to talk to you again."

You yawn and sit up straight, stretching your back. "Be that as it may, we still have to figure out the living situation, or the stuff situation. Whichever it comes down to."

"I hope that new boy knows what a fucking coward you are!"

"I can always look for a new place if you need to move back for the time being."

"I hope he breaks your heart twice as hard as you fucking broke mine!"

"Just let me know what works best for you. We have time; I don't want to rush you."

"Stop it!" Ash screams, and you wince, pulling your ear an inch away from the phone. "How are you so fucking heartless? Aren't you sad at all?"

With a sigh, you lean your head to the side, against the backrest sofa cushion. "I've been sad for months. For months, you have been cold and callous and distant. For months we haven't been intimate—have barely had a conversation about anything but work. We don't cook together, we don't go out together. I am done with feeling insignificant. I loved you, and we had some good times, but I don't want to do this anymore."

With another sniffle, Ash says, "Fine. We're done. If I am so fucking terrible, then, by all means, shut me out. But nobody else will love you like I do."

"Sure," you respond with an anger-tarnished smirk. "They'll love me better."

And with that, you hang up and drop your phone to the couch, then let your face fall to your palms to rub the heels of your hands against your eyelids. Exhaustion covers you in a thick blanket, and you grab the glass of water, take a nice big gulp, then abandon it on the table to take your phone with you and go to bed.

Hoseok Good morning, sunshine! Thank you for giving me the space to think. I'm sure leaving wasn't easy, and I honestly hated to see you go, but it seemed like we both had some soul-searching to do. I would like to catch up and chat over coffee when you are feeling up for it, though I fear it will either have to be today or next Friday, because of exams and all that. If today is too soon for you and you need more time or space, I will respect that. And if not, I will be looking forward to seeing you later.

You smile and hug your phone to your chest, then stretch and get out of bed. At the very least, your friendship with Hoseok seems intact, which is the best news you can hope for. Anything beyond friendship is something the two of you will have to build up to and figure out along the way.

You Today would be nice, actually. I could use a friend to talk to if you have the energy to listen to me finally open up about all of this.

This morning, you skip breakfast and jump straight to taking a quick shower, letting the steaming warm water beat down against your muscles for a little longer than usual before washing up and getting out. As you towel off, you do your best not to rush, allowing your mind to be clear and patiently ready for whatever this day may bring.

Once you are finally dressed in the same green turtleneck you wore earlier in the week and your signature black jeans, you make your way to your bedroom and find your cell phone sitting face up with one new text message.

Hoseok I definitely have enough energy for both of us. I hope you haven't already had breakfast.

You I have not. And I am showered and dressed, so I could be ready for breakfast as early as right now.

Hoseok See you in 10. :)

Although you feel optimistic about the day ahead, you worry that things may become a bit emotional, so you skip the mascara, instead deciding to pull your hair back from your face, pinning it just above your ears and attempting to keep the back and sides as tame as possible.

As ready as you'll ever be, you make your way to the entrance and pick up your discarded jacket and keys from the floor, then search around for your scarf and hat, wondering if you had worn them to—and, consequently, left them at—Hoseok's place. You look around a bit, but, ultimately, decide that one day with your ears and cheeks out in the cold air will be fine.

Several minutes pass before Hoseok's signature knock pulls you from your thoughts—which had led you to meander into your living room to twirl aimlessly on the balls of your socked feet—and you make your way to the front door, plastering on your brightest smile as you pull it open.

Hoseok is bundled up with cheeks pink from the cool winter air, and he is holding a bag full of to-go containers and a drink tray with two coffee cups.

"Oh!" you exclaim as you retrieve the cups and take a few steps back into the entranceway to give Hoseok room. "I didn't realize you meant you would bring breakfast."

With a soft, perhaps apprehensive smile, Hoseok says, "Well, I didn't think either of us would want to have a heart-to-heart in a restaurant. I don't know about you, but I hate to cry in public."

Gently, Hoseok nudges the front door closed behind him with his foot, and you reach out to grab the bag while the tray balances on your other hand, so Hoseok can get out of his jacket and boots.

"You were anticipating crying?" you tease. "Interesting turn of events."

Hoseok gently sets his boots among your chaotic pile of footwear and unravels a royal blue scarf from his neck. "Well, I am the romantic one, after all."

You turn and take the items past the perfectly good dining room table to the living room and set everything on that table, instead. As you begin to unpack the boxes, the smell of fruit and maple syrup hits your nose.

"I got us pancakes," Hoseok explains as he joins you on the couch, "and peppermint mochas. I actually placed the order after your first text, and received it after your second. Talk about perfect timing."

Excited to dig in, you turn to Hoseok and flash him a grin. "Perfect, indeed."

Hoseok offers a small smile, and you get to work unpacking everything and immediately digging in. The pancakes are fluffy and sweet, complemented nicely by strawberries and blueberries—which are just slightly tart—and salty pads of butter. There are also sides of bacon and sausage, which you slather in the rich, thick maple syrup.

"Wow," you groan with a mouthful, and Hoseok hums in agreement.

The two of you eat in near silence, with only groans and hums voiced. Once the containers are empty, you grab your paper coffee cup in both hands and adjust on the cushion with your legs bent, facing Hoseok. He takes the last two bites of his food, then has a drink of his mocha and sits the same, turning to you and leaning against the backrest of the couch.

For the first time since he has arrived, you finally take in the sight of him. His hair is parted over his forehead, and he wears a simple black turtleneck tucked into tight-fitting black slacks.

"Now who's dressed gloomy?" you tease, and Hoseok gives a soft smile, eyes falling to his hands.

"I wasn't sure what to expect," Hoseok admits, "so I dressed for the worst."

"Well, why don't we start from the top? I'll tell you everything that I wasn't telling you before, and then we'll go from there."

Hoseok nods, and you take a deep, slow breath. You start from the beginning with Ash, how you had been together for about three years, and how you usually went to their parent's place for Christmas. You briefly explain how—despite how wonderful their parents are—being there makes you feel like an outsider. And, if you are being totally honest, getting closer to the parents of someone who you were beginning to drift away from felt disingenuous.

You explain not wanting to travel, putting it off, and ultimately buying a tree because Ash insisted that if you were going to be spending some of the holiday season alone, you should at least do so in style. Hoseok nods and listens attentively, only pulling his gaze away from time to time to look down at his fidgeting hands that cradle his coffee cup, before looking back at you.

"And that brings me to the day you found me on the stoop, ready to leave the damn thing to die or be stolen in the hallway. When we were watching The Battle of the Dads, I was in my bedroom arguing with them over whether or not my tree was festive enough, because of course, they hated our choice of decorations and wondered why I didn't just use theirs, instead."

"You seemed unhappy when you came back, but it felt rude to pry."

You nibble on your bottom lip. "Honestly, if you had asked me about it, I would have told you. I wasn't planning on keeping my relationship a secret. It just felt so good to forget a little."

"And when I called last week and you had been crying," Hoseok mentions gently.

"We had been fighting over text. I finally admitted that I didn't want to go to their parent's place, and that I wasn't actively looking for tickets, and they were just so angry and defensive, and unwilling to see my point of view."

"That's rough."

"I haven't been perfect," you admit. "The spark between us has all but died out months ago and I have been allowing myself to become numb rather than try to rekindle it. I guess I wanted them to try harder, too, and it already began to feel like the relationship was over."

Hoseok nods and takes a drink from his mocha, and you take the opportunity to have a sip, too. It is perfectly balanced between mint and chocolate, and you hum with delight before resting the cup against your knee and diving into the conclusion.

"So, anyway, I broke up with them last night."

Hoseok's head shoots up, and he watches you with wide, worried eyes.

"They had been nasty over text all week, bombarding me with messages despite me not sending anything in response, and it just became so clear that they did not have my concerns or interests at heart. When I called, after I left your place last night, they were quick to accuse me of cheating with you and told me they hope you break my heart one day, even after I insisted we were just friends. Then they sobbed and shouted, and didn't seem to care at all about my reasoning. So I told them it was over, and in the end, they agreed that it was for the best."

Hoseok's eyes seem misty with tears, and he sets his cup down on the table, then opens his arms. "Can I hug you?"

You smile and nod, reaching to place your cup on the table before walking on your knees across the couch and allowing yourself to fall into Hoseok's arms. His familiar light, floral musk fills your senses, and you wrap your arms around his ribs, smiling as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

"Are you alright with everything?" Hoseok asks against your head, voice reverberating from his chest to your cheek. "Are you sure you made the right choice?"

"Honestly, I feel amazing," you admit, and Hoseok squeezes you tighter. "I am sad when I think of little things that I have lost, but over the course of the last year or so, I have felt like a ghost merely existing in this apartment with them. I can't do that anymore."

You loosen your hold on Hoseok and begin to sit back, and he drops his arms and watches you settle in front of him. "And, I feel like it's only fair to tell you that, in a lot of ways, you have helped me realize that this was something I needed to do." Hoseok's eyes widen, and you worry that he may take it the wrong way, so you continue to explain.

"Even before last night, when you admitted to maybe having feelings for me, I felt a lot of platonic love and appreciation from you in such a short amount of time, that it honestly blew me away and made me wonder why the fuck I had been settling for someone who wasn't giving me even an ounce of that."

Slowly, Hoseok reaches for your hands, and you place your palms in his larger ones, smiling when he gives them a gentle squeeze. "I wanted to talk to you about that."

Anxiety and anticipation race through you, and you nod, doing your best to seem perfectly calm, despite the storm brewing within. "I meant what I said. Since pretty much day one, I have felt a connection with you, and I have wanted to spend every waking moment near you and speaking with you. The affection was not all platonic, but I was also trying to show my feelings without being pushy because it was impossible to gauge whether or not you had feelings for me, too. And now I understand why."

Embarrassed, you look down at your hands, and Hoseok gives them another gentle squeeze.

"Do you...have feelings for me?" Hoseok asks softly, with a slight tremble to his voice.

For the first time since the start of the conversation, tears well, and although you try to blink them away, one falls down your cheek. You nod in small, quick movements, then finally utter what has been blooming behind your chest for a week. "Yes. I do have feelings for you."

Hoseok looks stunned—mouth agape with eyes wide and brimming with tears, and you smile, then softly shake your head. "I didn't fully realize it at first. Or, rather, I wasn't ready to let myself. There were moments when you would say or do something that gave me butterflies, but I would try to ignore it. I didn't want to be unfaithful, even emotionally. Although, there were times when I think I was. But then you told me how you felt, and I played back different moments from the last week and realized that, if I let myself, I would feel the exact same way."

With a pleased sigh, Hoseok brings your hands to his lips, leaving a soft kiss against your knuckles, and you smile as the flowers behind your ribs bloom brightly. It feels so good to have everything out in the open, you never want to keep a single thing from Hoseok again.

"If you do want to be more than just friends, then I want to take things a little slow," Hoseok says, lips moving against your skin as his warm breath ghosts between your fingers. "At least, I want to wait until after this week. Our friendship was already whirlwind, and, if we're on the same page, I honestly don't know how long I will be able to hold out before I want more."

"I can wait a week," you respond with a grin, feeling adoration swell at the sight of his wide, eager grin.

The rest of the day is spent on your couch, watching holiday movies back to back. You manage to stay awake for one and a half before curling up against a pillow placed on Hoseok's lap and drifting to sleep while he plays with the hairs at the nape of your neck.

When you wake up to the ending credits of what might be the second movie—but could also be a third, for all you know—Hoseok stretches and rubs his hand over your shoulder, down your arm.

"I should get going. Although I don't have much to do for tomorrow, I have a lot to do for Tuesday, and I should get a head start."

"Sounds good," you say with a yawn, and you sit up to stretch your arms out and fall against the backrest of the couch.

"I'll call you everyday," Hoseok promises, lifting a hand to caress your cheek ever so gently before dropping it.

"I hope you do," you respond, feeling lightheaded both from having just woken up and from Hoseok's gentle caress.

"On Friday, after my last final, we'll talk about this some more, yeah?"

You nod, smile, and say, "Yeah," feeling hopeful.

For the next week, Hoseok does call every day.

He spends a chunk of Monday with you on speaker while finishing up a sewing project, pausing what he is saying from time to time to let a machine whirr loudly in the background.

On Tuesday, he only has time between classes to tell you that he hopes you have a lovely day, and on Wednesday, you don't hear from him until late evening, when you are returning home from a trip to the convenience store because you have been feeling a bit lonely and wanted to soothe your weary soul with chips.

"You sound a little down tonight," He remarks as you unlock your apartment door and quietly close it behind you.

"Yeah," you admit, "I find myself missing you a lot. But it's alright. I have Friday to look forward to."

Thursday, Hoseok calls in the morning, nervous for his big final presentation; in the afternoon, antsy after showing his pieces to the professor and to his class; and on his way home late in the evening to say he thinks he did well, and that your well wishes in the morning have helped him get through everything.

Then, on Friday, Hoseok calls between exams, telling you to be ready by 5 PM sharp. He instructs you not to dress fancy, so when 4 PM rolls around, you settle on wearing the red flannel with the first few buttons undone and a form-fitting black tee underneath. You apply some mascara and lip balm, then proceed to pace around your apartment for a while, realizing you still have a little over thirty minutes before he is supposed to meet you.

As you settle in to do a little reading, your phone dings with an incoming text. The rational part of your brain knows that Hoseok is likely not messaging while taking his exam, but you are antsy and unlock your screen, clicking on the notification with reckless abandon. And, of course, it is not from Hoseok.

Ash I have been giving it a lot of thought, and I am not ready to let you go. I know things haven't been great for the last several months, but what we had before that was amazing, and I know we can find that again. Please reconsider. I will be coming home as planned on the first weekend of the new year, and I would like for us to talk and reconcile.

The wind feels knocked from your sails as you read over Ash's message, and your eyes prickle with fresh tears. The absolute fucking audacity, after everything you have been through—everything you have voiced to them—for them to steamroll through it all and demand a reunion.

You I am disappointed that this is the conclusion you have drawn from our last conversation and the texts that came before it, and I have no desire to reconcile.

You hate how quickly your pulse goes from antsy over seeing Hoseok to frantic and angry to be communicating with Ash, and you lay back on the couch, waiting for their inevitable response to come through with a ding and a buzz.

Ash You are being so unfair, you know that, right? I'm pouring my heart out to you and all you can say is no.

You Coming from the person who didn't listen to a word I said over the phone. If you really do care about how I feel about any of this, then you will be able to clearly see that I am unhappy and ready to move on.

Ash But I'm not.

You I don't know what to tell you, Ash, but we're not getting back together. If you really do plan on coming back here, then I will begin looking for a new apartment and put my stuff into storage for the time being.

When Ash says nothing in response, you sit up and begin to pace around, once more. Threatening to move out is more or less empty at this time of year, and you would hate to leave the convenient proximity to your favorite neighbor. You hope that, as per usual, Ash is all bark and no bite.

A knock at your door pulls you from your spiral, and you flounce to the door, flailing your arms happily. As you swing it open, you only briefly check to make sure nothing is in Hoseok's hands before throwing your arms around his shoulders and taking a nice, deep inhale of his scent.

"Wh—hey, marshmallow," Hoseok greets, voice surprised, yet soft and deep.

With a pleased and somewhat exasperated sigh, you loosen your hold and let your head rest against him. Hoseok's arms gently wrap around your sides and give you a squeeze.

"They're tormenting me again and I thought I was going to have an anxiety attack," you admit, feeling Hoseok's hold tense slightly, briefly.

"Your ex?"

You hum in response and take a step back to get a good look at Hoseok's pretty, understanding face. He continues to gently hold you, and you rub your fingertips over the hair at the nape of his neck. "Sorry, that's not a pleasant way to greet someone."

Hoseok chuckles and slowly begins to move forward, forcing you to step backward, into your apartment. Your heart pounds, heat rises to your cheeks, and you do your best to keep your eyes on him.

"A hug is the perfect way to greet someone," Hoseok counters, closing your door gently with his foot and spinning you until your back is flush with the wall. "And I want you to always tell me what's bothering you."

The two of you stand so close that one of your legs is slotted between his and one of his, yours. His breath is warm as it ghosts your face, and you can pick up a hint of coffee on his breath.

Ordinarily, this is where the two leads of a story would lock lips, moan in tandem to let out all the pent-up feelings between each other, and tighten their grasp on one another, desperate to never let go. But this is not a corny holiday film, and you want to allow Hoseok to make the first move.

"I've missed you," Hoseok says as he leans in and brushes his lips gently over the apple of your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

Instinctively, you tip your head to the side to give Hoseok access to anything he would like. He leaves a soft kiss against your cheek, and one on your temple, then he releases his hold and takes a step back.

You realize you had been holding your breath, and you release it in a slow, shaky exhale, voice coming out ragged. "I've missed you too."

"You look great," Hoseok beams quietly, heart-lips smiling wide.

Hoseok's hair is styled partially off his forehead, with some bangs hanging parted, just above his eyes, and he has a fresh undercut with his short sideburns coming to points around his ears. He wears a black turtleneck with a black and white knit sweater vest overtop, tight-fit black slacks, and black boots. No jacket, this time. He is absolutely stunning.

"You look—" you begin, losing the words as you examine him up and down, smiling when your eyes meet his. There is a hunger in Hoseok's gaze you have never seen, and you mutter, "—ah-amazing," as the heat of his stare threatens to set you ablaze and turn you to dust.

"I thought we could go to the dive down the street and celebrate the end of my semester and your breakup with some pizza and beers," Hoseok says as he lifts a hand and gently places it below your chin.

You can't help but chuckle, feeling the mood lighten despite the heat that radiates from his skin to yours. "Pizza and cheap drinks is how you want to celebrate?"

Hoseok grins and shakes his head. "I've been craving the pizza."

With a nod, you concede. You would have suggested something a little nicer to celebrate such important life events, but if Hoseok wants pizza and two-dollar cans of piss beer, then that is what he will get.

"Alright," you say with a lift of your eyebrows, "let's go."

Your whole body trembles as you bend to slip on some black boots—sleeker than the ones you tend to wear in the snow, but similar to the ones he wears. These are not warm-weather footwear, but being that the bar is close, you figure your toes can take it.

Once you are bundled in your favorite mustard scarf, Hoseok takes your hand, linking your fingers between his, and tugs you toward the exit. You lock up and allow yourself to be dragged down the hall, giggling as you stumble to keep up. Once the elevator doors close behind you, Hoseok turns and steps into your personal space, caging you in with his arms, and you feel your breath get stuck in your throat.

"You seem so nervous," he teases.

"A little," you confess softly.

Hoseok hums, cocking his head to the side, and you can't help but chuckle at how simultaneously adorable and sexy he is.

"You're making me nervous by getting in my face so much," you complain, grinning.

Hoseok lifts an eyebrow and smirks. "Scared I might kiss you?"

You open your mouth to respond, but you are so taken aback by his forwardness, and the opening of the elevator doors pulls you back to reality, leaving you dizzy and fumbling around loose vowels.

Hoseok chuckles, mutters, "Cute," and tugs you through the building and out into the cold.

The two of you walk hand in hand to the dive. It's a raucous affair inside, full of others who you presume are wrapping up their semester. In the back of the room is a small two-person couch with a dingy wooden table, and you slip your hand from Hoseok's and nod to the corner.

"I'll grab the seats, you get the drinks."

With a nod, Hoseok approaches the bar, and you make your way through the small crowd, to the worn, ripped black leather couch that wheezes as you sit on it. You glance up to find Hoseok leaning against the bar, placing an order, then you take a deep breath and pull out your phone, curious to see whether you have any messages. None.

Hoseok returns with two shots of whiskey, then quickly spins and returns to the bar for four cans of beer cradled between his slender fingers and a long metal stand wedged in his armpit with a plastic card attached to the end displaying the number 13. You stand to slip the number out of his grasp to place it in the center of the table, then take two of the cans. Hoseok sits beside you with a huff and holds up both of his cans as if wanting to call cheers with two at the same time.

"I got us pepperoni again," he announces. "To the illusion of freedom!"

You lift both cans and tap them to his, then take a drink from one, followed by the other. The first taste of cheap beer is always uncomfortably sweet, and you wince slightly as your taste buds adjust.

"The illusion of freedom?" you ask, setting one of the cans down and settling with your body angled toward Hoseok.

Hoseok nods and leans in, speaking over the music, "My semester is over, but I return in the fall. And your relationship is over, but I intend to sink my claws in soon."

Your pulse quickens, and you scoff in an attempt to hide just how affected you are by Hoseok's sudden change in demeanor. This new side of Hoseok is dangerous, and you are eager for more.

"Is that so?" you ask, feigning resistance.

Hoseok leans in, placing a hand gently on your knee, and speaks low into your ear. "I see how shy I make you. Am I wrong?"

You shake your head in small, quick movements and mutter, "N-no."

"Good," Hoseok responds, smacking a kiss to your cheek before sitting straight and causing your brain to buffer momentarily as you stare into space, then blink back into reality.

Hoseok sets down his beer, then grabs both shots of whiskey and hands one to you. "Bottoms up!"

"Geonbae," you shout in response and tap your glass to his before shooting it back.

The first shot of whiskey is vicious the way it settles over you in a thin blanket of warmth. You roll your shoulders back, feeling yourself loosen up just enough to lean in and sneak a peck on Hoseok's cheek. The startled look that melts into a smile kicks up a swarm of butterflies in your tummy, and you chuckle, then sit back in your shared seat.

"You're a menace," you shout as you pull your beer to your lips and have a sip, eyes trained on Hoseok, who leans toward you.

"Is that so?"

You nod. "I had no idea what kind of monster you would be once given the freedom to flirt with me."

Hoseok laughs, throwing himself back against the small sofa as his shoulders jolt and bob. He looks so pretty and carefree, and you want to kiss him stupid.

"This is nothing!" he finally shouts once he has gotten his breath back.

"Oh?"

"I'm holding back a lot, trust me. I don't want to rush anything; you're fresh out of a breakup. And I want to be more than a rebound."

You know that there is no ill intent in Hoseok's words, but they do make you feel a tinge of sadness, so you lean forward and take Hoseok's free hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. "You would never be a rebound. Even if we jumped into a whirlwind relationship before I had a chance to heal from my breakup, you would be so much more. But I appreciate the caution. We should take it a little slow."

The gaze Hoseok fixes you with is soft and warm, and you smile to match his. There is so much you want to express, but the bar is loud and you feel content with what has been said, to this point.

The moment the pizza is set before you, your stomach groans, and you lean in to take a slice, flopping it onto a paper plate and settling back with it. Its warmth is welcome, and you hardly let it cool before taking a bite, letting the cheese and grease ooze into your mouth, hitting the spot. You understand why Hoseok has been craving it.

The two of you eat and drink mostly in silence, and when all of the beers are empty, Hoseok returns to the bar for another round. In your pocket, a buzzing signals an incoming text, and you sigh before pulling out your phone.

Ash I wish you could just be honest for once. Ave says you're at the bar again with the same guy, and the two of you are holding hands. How am I supposed to believe your intentions were pure before you broke up with me?

You Man, Ave really needs to get a life.

Ash That's all you have to say?

You Nah, but what's the point? You aren't going to listen.

Ash Try me.

Alcohol emboldens you, and you chew your bottom lip, ready to make a big fucking mess of things. To hell with it.

You It's true that I have been holding hands with Hoseok tonight. Before tonight, we were just friends, spending most of the week speaking only on the phone, giving one another space while he finishes his semester, and I allow the breakup to settle over me. And now, we are treading the territory of becoming more than that.

Ash Wow.

You It's called moving on. You should try it.

Ash Fuck you.

You I'm good! Anyway, I have better things to do than argue. Have a good night.

Surprisingly, Ash does not fire off any snarky closing remark, and when Hoseok returns, you slip your phone back into your pocket and glance up to find Hoseok approaching with two more shots.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" you tease as Hoseok hands you a shot and taps his to yours, bent over the table.

"I'm trying to get us both drunk," Hoseok responds innocently. "We're celebrating!"

"Bottoms up!" you shout, met with his, "Geonbae!" and you shoot the liquid back.

Hoseok takes the glasses, returns to the bar, and comes back holding two cans. You drink the beers while leaning in close, bumping shoulders and foreheads while people-watching and loudly singing along to the various songs that play just a bit too loudly.

Then, you close out the tab and stumble out into the cool, winter night. It is still fairly early when you shuffle down the hallway and onto the elevator, and without a word spoken between the two of you, Hoseok leads you to his apartment, to his cozy sofa, where you fall asleep in his arms, watching some corny holiday film.

Waking up on Hoseok's couch used to feel awkward. The discombobulation of getting your bearings and realizing you had let your guard fall so far with someone who was not your partner always set off panic in your guts.

But as you sit up in a daze, still drunk and wrapped in a soft, thick blanket, you smile at the sight of a sleepy Hoseok stirring below you. As he opens his eyes and his lips crack into a soft grin, endearment blooms and bursts behind your ribs.

"You should get to bed," you grumble, poking at his sides.

"Don't want you to leave," Hoseok whines, tugging you closer.

You sigh; you also do not want to leave. "Soon," you say, pushing away from Hoseok's warmth and stretching your limbs. "I'll be ready to stay the night with you soon. And not cramped up on the couch."

Hoseok whines, and you will yourself to stand, tugging on his arm to encourage him to sit up. "Go to bed and stretch your limbs. I'll text you in the morning."

With a groggy smile, Hoseok nods and says, "Okay."

He stands, stumbling slightly on his feet, then wraps you in a warm, tight hug, grumbling, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond with a chuckle, full of warmth. "You'll hear from me as soon as we wake up."

The next week breezes by in a flurry of trips to the local Korean market without Hoseok catching wise or tagging along. Christmas is on Sunday, and you want to surprise him with a homemade pot of kimchi jjigae.

Luckily, Hoseok claims he has to make something special for the holiday, doing a very bad job of hiding the fact that he is planning a gift for you, as well.

Several mornings are spent with one of you showing up at the other's front door with coffee in hand, or an invitation to trudge out to some cafe nearby. Most evenings are spent curled on one of your couches watching movies, either after breaking apart in the afternoon for a few hours or seeing each other for the first time, that day.

The closer it gets to the holiday, the more Hoseok seems intent on sitting in front of the television, not voicing many thoughts or emotions, and you wonder if the weight of being away from home is starting to overwhelm him.

You give Hoseok as much space and pampering as he needs, doing your best to pick up on cues for when he seems to need attention versus alone time. Hoseok is usually pretty forthcoming with his emotions, but some things are harder to voice than others, and you understand that better than anyone.

The night before Christmas, Hoseok is particularly quiet, hinging on difficult to read. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close before leaving for the night, drowsy after having woken up on his couch, curled against his side.

"Are you alright?" you ask, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

Hoseok nods, but his eyes stay trained on the floor, and you pull him in for another embrace, muttering, "I miss my family too."

At this, Hoseok squeezes you tight and sighs. Then, he releases the hug and takes a step back, offering a soft smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect this week to take so much out of me. It feels like everything has passed by in a blur."

You nod and rub your palms up his long yellow sleeves. "I agree. But tomorrow should be nice. And if you need to talk about anything, you know I am here to listen, okay?"

"Okay," Hoseok responds. "Talking would be nice. I do have some things I need to tell you, and I have been trying to wait for tomorrow."

"Grand romantic gesture?" you tease. "I'm so shocked."

And with that, Hoseok pulls you into a hug, kisses your forehead, and wishes you good night. You feel a mix of sadness and happiness settle over you as you pad your way to your apartment. But also, hopefulness. Tonight, you have a gift to wrap before you can go to bed, and you really hope Hoseok will like it.

On Christmas morning, you wake up with a smile on your face and begin to prepare, marinating the pork belly in rice wine and black pepper, and putting two servings of rice into the rice maker. Then, you shoot off a text to Hoseok—

You Ho, Ho, Hoseok, good morning, and merry Christmas!

—smiling like an idiot at your phone as you type.

Everything has to be perfect, and you have each ingredient needed for two servings of stew already separated and kept neatly in the refrigerator. While on your various outings over the past week, you found a very adorably ugly hand-embroidered red sweater with a giant Christmas tree and gifts on the front, complete with ribbons hanging from the various ornaments and boxes to give it a nice 3-dimensional feel.

You add a little glitter above the eyes, apply some mascara, and really take in your reflection as you stand before the mirror in all your glory. If Hoseok isn't instantly charmed by this nonsense, you truly do not know what will work. A ding from your phone pulls your attention, and you nibble on your lip as you read it.

Hoseok I guess the hot cocoas that I am cradling as I type this are not the only sweet treat I have to look forward to, today. Marshmallow, you made me laugh so hard, I embarrassed myself in public.

You Cute.

Hoseok Be there in 10? Or do you need more time? I was hoping to surprise you, but I also don't want to rush you.

You Be here now, for all I care. I'm ready for you.

Hoseok See you soon. ;)

You walk to the living room to plug in the Christmas tree, stopping in your tracks at the sight of two gift boxes sitting below it. Earlier yesterday, Hoseok had come by to drop off your gift, sternly insisting that you not shake it. The recipe for kimchi jjigae was up on your laptop, and you rushed to the dining room table to close the screen, nearly letting Hoseok in on your surprise prematurely.

And today, in mere moments from now, the two of you are going to exchange gifts. Yours wrapped in gold with pastel pink dots—a paper Hoseok helped you pick out back when you were buying ornaments and still not certain you would have any gifts to actually wrap this year—and his in shimmering green paper with little red bows. You plug in the tree and stand, marveling at the pastel colors and big, bright star.

Everything feels surreal. The past several weeks have felt like a hurricane swept in and completely washed away traces of your former self, leaving you in ruins. But in a good way. You still have a huge mess to clean, and you are still not sure what the aftermath of the storm will entail, but as the sunshine breaks through the clouds, offering warmth and light, you can sit in the wreckage and smile. You can be ready to rebuild.

Four rhythmic knocks on the door jolt you from your thoughts, and you gasp as you stand up straight. It has definitely not been ten minutes.

As you prance over to the front door, giddy to finally get to see Hoseok, worry begins to stir in your guts. Worry that you are moving too fast, that your gesture is too big and too romantic, that you are not cut out for this at all—especially not so soon after a breakup.

But you grin and swing the door open wide, ready to accept Hoseok into your heart and into your life as more than just a friend. And judging by the endeared smile Hoseok gives you as he eyes up your sweater and glances at the lit-up tree behind you, you think that perhaps, he is just as ready as you are.

Hoseok is dressed in a green sweater that has poorly puff-painted ornaments covering it, and you huff out a laugh at how precious and ridiculous it looks. He wears khakis and slip-on shoes, and his hair is tousled somewhat messily.

"You are full of surprises," Hoseok muses as you take a step back and allow him to enter the small space.

"I am," you respond, biting back a grin.

Hoseok toes out of his shoes, handing you a nice, large paper cup of hot chocolate, and you turn to make your way through the apartment, to the couch. You are eager to open the gifts, especially when you turn to find Hoseok sniffing the air with a squint in his eyes, already on the path to discovering what his will be.

"I smell rice."

You hum, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. "I read that Koreans eat rice for breakfast."

Hoseok's eyebrows lift, and he smiles playfully. "Just rice? How thoughtful."

"Not just rice," you tease in return, rounding the sofa and kneeling on the cushion to face Hoseok. "Come, open your gift."

Hoseok, nosy as ever, takes a step into your kitchen and leans over the counter to observe the plastic wrap-covered bowl, holding the marinating meat. Then, he lifts his head, cocking it to the side as he peers over the small island. "What's in here?"

With a huff, you stand and stomp over to Hoseok, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him toward the couch. He only puts up an ounce or two of resistance, giggling as you drag him along. With him settling down, you grab his gift—which is a bit heavy—and place it on the table in front of him.

"Open at the same time?" Hoseok asks, and you smile and return to the tree, grabbing your featherlight shoebox-sized present and bringing it back.

Once you sit, you make a show of shaking your box while grinning at Hoseok, who gives you a wide, surprised gasp. There is some movement inside, but it is simultaneously too heavy and too light to give itself away.

"Awe, you bought me socks," you chide, "how charming."

Blush creeps up Hoseok's neck, and he leans to pick up your gift, attempting to shake it before realizing how heavy it is and muttering something in Korean under his breath.

"What is in this?"

You arch a brow and say, "Open it and find out," then take the edges of the shimmering green paper under your nails and begin to dig your fingers in.

"Wait," Hoseok says, reaching a hand out, and you stop, looking up to find a worried expression. "I just—I don't want you to—" he takes a breath, "I made this for you. So...just don't expect something extravagant and expensive, okay? It's—it's not a big deal."

Your heart soars at the thought of Hoseok making you a gift, and you rip the paper open, clawing at it like a wild beast. Hoseok clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head as if ashamed, but a shy smile creeps across his face as he watches you.

"Open yours too!" you insist as you pull a plain brown box from the shredded paper, curling your fingers under the lid but waiting to lift.

Hoseok tears at the taped paper flaps, opening his gift much more carefully and calmly, setting every nerve of yours alight with anticipation. Once enough paper is torn away, you begin to lift the lid from the box much more slowly than you ripped into the wrapping.

"Oh!" Hoseok exclaims, examining the photo of the ceramic hot pot on the box. "This is great, but...I feel so bad telling you this...but I have one of these."

"Of course you do," you respond with a cheeky smile. "But I didn't have one, and that's...technically not your actual gift."

Hoseok cocks his head, and you watch the wheels turn. Then, he bursts out laughing. "You made me unwrap something that you're keeping?"

With a cheeky grin and squint you lean in and say, "Your gift is what I am going to make in that pot once I open this box."

Hoseok's mouth drops, though he still hasn't seemed to figure it out, and you smile as you return to your task. As you lift the lid, you find a neatly folded pile of black knitted fabric with dots and lines of various yellows and golds—like shooting stars against a pitch-black sky. You lift it, and it unravels into a thick, beautiful infinity scarf, knit in a chevron pattern of deep v's.

Tears well in your eyes, and you hug the scarf close, rubbing the soft fabric against your cheek. It smells like Hoseok, and you bury your face against it, taking a sniff as a sob chokes from your chest.

"You made this for me," you whimper, overwhelmed by affection.

When you open your eyes and glance up, Hoseok is smiling soft and sweet. You can tell he is nervous about the gift, but that he no longer feels the need to apologize. You wrap the scarf over your head twice and bury your nose once more, shamelessly filling your senses with your favorite musk.

"Hoseok, this is—I love this. Thank you."

Hoseok sets the hot pot on the table and opens his arms, and you accept the invitation and throw yourself against his chest. Nobody has ever handmade something like this before, and you cannot fathom how long it must have taken him.

Suddenly, your gift feels silly. A meal is hardly a tangible thing, not compared to a scarf. Fresh tears threaten your eyes, and you sit up, rubbing them away before they can form streaks on your face.

"Now I have to finish making your gift," you say shyly, taking Hoseok's hands in yours. "And while I do that, you should put on The Battle of the Dads. This time I won't fall asleep."

Hoseok laughs and nods his head, and you let go of his hands and sit back, reaching for your hot chocolate to savor a nice, warm sip. Then, you take the hot pot and make your way to the kitchen, setting it on the counter and opening it up. You give it a quick wash and dry, then place it on the stove.

First, you take the prepped container of kimchi and tofu from the fridge and set it close to the stove, then you light a burner beneath a small skillet and take out the kimchi to warm and soften over the heat. After a few moments, movement comes from the living room, and you shut off the burner and turn in time to find Hoseok sliding into the entry on socked feet.

"I smell Kimchi," Hoseok announces with wide eyes. Then, he glances again at the bowl of marinating pork, this time moving the plastic wrap from the edge, and back at you.

"I know it won't taste like the soup your mother makes," you say shyly. Tears form in Hoseok's eyes, and he brings his hands to his mouth. "But I wanted to try. I know your heart has been sick for home lately."

Hoseok strides through the kitchen, wraps one arm around your back while the other comes up to gently take your chin. "I'm going to kiss you," he mutters softly, so close you can smell the cocoa on his breath.

You nod and smile, tilting your chin in an invitation, and Hoseok closes the space between you, brushing his lips gently against yours. A light exhale leaves your lungs—a sigh of relief and joy and so many things left unsaid—and you wrap your arms around Hoseok's neck and pull him ever so slightly closer, slotting your lips between his and smiling as he lets out a sweet, contented groan. You kiss Hoseok slowly and steadily, movements languid and soft as if you have all the time in the world.

Hoseok turns you, maneuvering you away from the stove to press you against the countertop as he rests his forehead against yours. You open your eyes to find him looking down at you while tears streak his pretty face.

"Be mine," Hoseok mutters an inch from your lips. "Please."

"Are you sure it's not too soon?" you ask, and Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head.

"I should be asking you that."

Fondness and desire fill you with warmth, and you pull Hoseok closer, kissing his lips fully and eagerly. "I'm ready if you are," you mutter against him.

Both of Hoseok's hands take you gently by the head, cradling you as he licks over your lips—as he grins against your mouth at the sound of your soft whimper. You push your fingers into his hair and part your lips, inviting Hoseok to have more, but he sucks your bottom lip gently between his teeth then releases, sliding his hands to your shoulders and pulling you into a firm embrace.

"I want to kiss you until we're both dizzy and out of breath, but I am also very hungry," Hoseok mutters softly against your temple.

You laugh, overcome once more with emotion as hot tears fall down your cheeks, and you sniffle as Hoseok steps back to give you space to turn on the burners and resume preparing his gift. You expect him to return to the movie—which he has left playing in the living room—but he sits on your counter and watches as you work, asking about where you picked up this and that ingredient, impressed that you memorized the recipe—which you have stored on your phone, just in case.

"It's an easy recipe," you tease as you pack the tofu and kimchi on top of the pork and scoop in the rest of the ingredients.

"It is, but everyone comes up with their own spin. My mom always adds a dash of sesame oil, something not everyone does."

With a frown, you chew on your bottom lip. The recipe you memorized didn't call for sesame oil, and it is not something you have cooked with before. Hoseok hops down from the counter and approaches, giving your forehead a kiss as he mutters, "Be right back," then slips on his shoes and runs out the door.

As the pork cooks, you bring the scarf back to your face and smell, closing your eyes and smiling. Hoseok kissed you. Here, in your kitchen, on Christmas morning, Hoseok kissed you, and it made you feel more precious than any single kiss has made you feel in a good long time. Hoseok kissed you and the clouds parted and the birds began to sing and the sun warmed your cheeks.

Several minutes pass and Hoseok returns with sesame oil. He helps with the rest of the ingredients, measuring the water and scooping bowls of rice. Once the soup is ready, Hoseok uses oven mitts to carry it to the living room, where he has set out a pot holder, bowls, and utensils.

"I was supposed to do all this," you complain with a smile as you walk to the living room empty-handed, "this was supposed to be my gift to you."

Hoseok sets down the soup, slides off the oven mitts, and places them on the table. Then he approaches you and gently places his hands on your cheeks.

"You've already been my gift," Hoseok says softly, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. "Bringing me along for your errands, welcoming me into your home...I haven't felt this happy during the holidays since I left Korea. For weeks, you've been light," Hoseok kisses the tip of your nose, "warmth," he kisses your cheek, "home."

Tears spill as you wrap your arms around Hoseok and kiss his lips, chin, and cheeks in quick, wet smacks, one after another after another until he is quaking from laughter and pulling away.

"Soup first, then more kisses later," Hoseok proposes, holding his hand out toward the table. The Battle of the Dads plays on the television, and you smile widely, feeling truly at home in this apartment once again. Finally.

"Deal. Soup first, then kisses later."

“To return to love, to get the love we always wanted but never had, to have the love we want but are not prepared to give, we seek romantic relationships. We believe these relationships, more than any other, will rescue and redeem us. True love does have the power to redeem but only if we are ready for redemption. Love saves us only if we want to be saved.” ― bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions

writing this fic was incredibly cathartic, and even made me cry at times! thank you so much for reading. i love you and i hope you have a safe and happy new year!

please don't be a silent reader! comments and kudos go a long way and likes are always appreciated.

tags: @1dsn @btsiguess-kpop @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki

#hoseok x reader #hoseok angst #btswritersclub #btscarnivalnet #btshoneyhive #hoseok fluff #hoseok hurt/comfort #bts fluff #bts angst #bts hurt/comfort #fic: hope for the holidays #non-binary afab reader

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