Chapter Text
Seonghwa woke up slowly, wrapped in warmth. It radiated through him gently, seeping into his bones and lingering for a moment. There was a weight against his back, breath brushing the top of his his, the steady rise and fall of another chest pressed close to his.
He kept his eyes closed a few minutes longer, afraid that opening them would somehow break the spell.
Hongjoong was still asleep, holding him close without realizing it. Seongwha opened his eyes just enough to look up at him, careful and quiet. His hair was mussed beyond repair, sticking up in soft defiance, lashes resting gently against flushed cheeks. One arm was thrown across Seonghwa’s waist, loose but possessive even as he slept, fingers curled faintly into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring himself. Their legs were tangled under the blanket one of the others must have placed on them in the night, comfort shared freely, easily.
Seonghwa’s chest ached in the quietest, happiest way. This feeling was what he’d been afraid to hope for.
The apartment around them was still dim, pale winter light filtering in through the curtains in thin, silvery stripes. Somewhere in the other room, something clattered softly. A muffled laugh followed, then another. The low murmur of voices drifted through the air, familiar and fond, carrying the warmth of people who belonged.
He felt himself smile as he realized they were the last two asleep.
Seonghwa shifted just enough to check the time, careful not to wake Hongjoong. It was later than he expected— well past the hour he’d normally be up, already halfway through his morning routine. Instead of panic though, the thought brought only a soft sense of indulgence.
Christmas morning.
He brushed his thumb gently against Hongjoong’s sleeve, a thoughtless, tender gesture. Hongjoong stirred immediately, a quiet sound escaping him as his nose nudged closer to the back of Seonghwa’s neck. His arm tightened slightly, pulling Seonghwa in before loosening again.
“Mm…” Hongjoong murmured, voice thick with sleep.
Seonghwa froze, breath held.
Hongjoong blinked once, lashes fluttering as his eyes cracked open just enough to register warmth, closeness, familiarity. For a second, he looked confused. Then his gaze softened, recognition settling in.
“Oh,” he whispered, barely audible. “Hi there.”
Something in Seonghwa’s chest gave way. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured gently. “It’s okay.”
Hongjoong hummed in response, forehead resting briefly against Seonghwa’s shoulder. His fingers flexed once more at Seonghwa’s waist, a silent confirmation, before his breathing evened out again. Just like that, he drifted back under.
Seonghwa stayed still, letting the moment stretch. Letting himself memorize the weight of him, the warmth, the trust implicit in the way Hongjoong had woken and relaxed all over again without fear.
Incredibly carefully, Seonghwa eased himself free, adjusting the still-sleeping man into a more comfortable position before tucking the blanket more securely around Hongjoong’s shoulders, then standing.
He cast one last look over his shoulder, heart full and steady. Then he padded quietly toward the kitchen, carrying the warmth of the moment with him.
***
Mingi was at the stove in an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder, flipping something that smelled suspiciously like pancakes with far too much confidence for someone who usually slept through mornings. The batter splattered slightly with each turn, and he hummed under his breath, off-key and unbothered.
Yunho hovered nearby like a benevolent assistant, handing him ingredients at just the right moment and sneaking bites when he thought Mingi wasn’t looking.
“I saw that,” Mingi said flatly, without turning around.
Yunho didn’t even pretend to look guilty. “Quality control.”
“At least wait until they’re cooked.”
“They are cooked,” Yunho argued, holding up a corner of pancake. “Mostly.”
At the table, Yeosang and Jongho were quietly sorting dishes, arranging them into neat stacks. Their shoulders brushed now and then, unhurried, unintentional in the way only comfortable closeness could be. They spoke in low voices, smiles soft and unguarded, laughter barely more than breath when Jongho nudged a plate slightly out of alignment just to see Yeosang correct it.
On an empty counter, Wooyoung sat cross-legged with a blanket draped around his shoulders, dramatically directing San, who was surrounded by mugs, on how to make the perfect hot chocolate.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Wooyoung declared.
San didn’t even look up. “We both work at a café.”
“Yes,” Wooyoung said. “Which means I know when you’re doing it wrong.”
“There’s no way I’m doing it wrong.”
“Well you are. I’m watching you.”
San sighed and adjusted the whipped cream. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.” But he leaned over to place a kiss on San’s cheek anyway.
Seonghwa paused against the doorway, unnoticed for a moment, and took it all in.
These people were his home. The realization settled deep and sure inside his heart. Everything felt a bit different like this— crowded, alive, laughter spilling into every corner. Some of the people hadn’t been there a year ago, but somehow, without him noticing, they had become family in every way that mattered.
“Hyung,” San spotted him first, grin immediate and bright. “You’re awake.”
“Barely,” Seonghwa said fondly, voice still thick with sleep.
Wooyoung’s gaze flicked over him, sharp in the way only someone who loved you could manage. “You look more rested than you have in weeks.”
“I don’t have anything keeping me up anymore,” Seonghwa replied calmly.
The words surprised him with how true they felt.
Mingi snorted, finally turning around. “Now your something keeps you all to himself ‘til ten.”
Seonghwa opened his mouth to respond, thought better of it, and simply smiled.
Yunho stepped in smoothly, handing Seonghwa a mug without asking. It was tea. Steaming, lightly sweetened, exactly the way he liked it.
Seonghwa blinked, touched by the quiet thoughtfulness of it. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Yunho smiled. “Of course.”
They moved around each other easily after that— setting plates, stealing food, nudging shoulders, trading quiet glances and louder jokes. It felt practiced, natural, like they’d been doing this for years instead of stumbling into it piece by piece.
At some point, Hongjoong wandered in. His hair stuck up in every direction, sleep-soft and completely unstyled, eyes still hazy as he paused just inside the room. He wore the spare sweater Seonghwa had thought to bring, sleeves too long, collar slipping slightly off one shoulder.
The room seemed to brighten when he walked in, but that might’ve just been Seonghwa.
Hongjoong took in the scene slowly, gaze moving from the stove to the table to the counter, lips parting in quiet wonder before he laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Wow,” he said. “This is… a lot to wake up to.”
Wooyoung beamed at him from his place on the counter. “Merry Christmas, Appa.”
Hongjoong flushed instantly. “Merry Christmas Youngie.”
Seonghwa pressed his lips together, failing to hide his smile.
Hongjoong’s gaze turned to Seonghwa’s face— sleep-soft, open, content in a way he rarely allowed himself to be seen. Something in Hongjoong’s expression gentled, the edges of him smoothing out like he’d finally exhaled.
“You okay?” Hongjoong asked quietly, pitched low so only Seonghwa could hear.
Seonghwa nodded. “I am now.”
Hongjoong lips tugged up into a small smile as he reached out, fingers brushing Seonghwa’s hand before curling around it properly. He tugged just enough to pull Seonghwa closer, foreheads nearly touching.
Seonghwa didn’t pull away. For a brief, suspended second, the rest of the room faded out into the background, leaving only warmth and the shared breath between them.
Hongjoong murmured, “I missed you when I woke up. Next time I want to open my eyes to you.”
Seonghwa’s chest tightened. “Anytime,” he replied, voice steady despite the way his heart thudded. “Any day.”
Hongjoong squeezed his wrist once, a quiet promise, then leaned in to press a soft kiss just beneath Seonghwa’s temple, barely anything more than a brush of lips against skin.
It was meant for only the two of them, but they didn’t try to hide it.
When Hongjoong pulled back, Seonghwa’s hand remained warm where he’d held him, grounding him in the moment.
Wooyoung cleared his throat loudly. “I see. So this is what we’re doing today.”
San smiled into his mug. “It’s sweet.”
Mingi glanced over his shoulder. “I’m happy for you,” he said, then flipped a pancake too aggressively. “But if you two start making out before breakfast, I’m going back to bed.”
Seonghwa laughed softly, warmth blooming in his chest all over again.
Hongjoong stayed close after that. His shoulder brushed Seonghwa’s as they moved through the kitchen, fingers finding his sleeve whenever he passed.
Seonghwa found himself adjusting without thinking, stepping just slightly to match Hongjoong’s pace, angling his body instinctively to keep him within reach. It felt easy. Familiar. As if this closeness had always existed and they’d simply taken a while to notice it. He didn’t feel the need to question it anymore.
Around them, the apartment grew busier, the morning spilling outward in sound and motion.
Mingi announced that the pancakes were finally ready with an air of triumph, which immediately sparked chaos. Yunho confiscated the spatula on principle, filled a plate for Mingi before he could protest, and firmly steered him toward a chair.
“Sit,” Yunho ordered gently. “You’ve done so much for us already.”
“All I did was make some pancakes” Mingi muttered, sitting anyway.
Wooyoung demanded whipped cream, and San, determined to be helpful, lunged for the fridge and promptly knocked over a chair in the process.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” San said to the chair, righting it immediately. “Are you okay?”
Wooyoung stared at him. “You apologized to furniture.”
“It startled me.”
Seonghwa blinked, laughter bubbling up before he could stop it. And when he glanced at Hongjoong, he saw the same warmth reflected back at him.
The quiet, private bubble between them loosened then, stretching wide enough to include everyone else. It made room for noise, for movement, for the messy joy of being surrounded by people who loved them.
Plates were passed hand to hand. Someone turned on music too loud, then too quiet, before finally settling somewhere in between. Chairs scraped against the floor. Mugs clinked. Voices overlapped in a warm, familiar tangle.
Breakfast was loud and messy and perfect.
The pancakes turned out wonderfully. Someone nearly spilt all of the hot chocolate. Wooyoung tried to stack the remaining pancakes into a tower and failed spectacularly, earning both applause and ridicule. Jongho ate enough to alarm everyone, completely unbothered by it. San kept sneaking bites off other people’s plates and was scolded every single time.
Seonghwa watched it all with a quiet fondness in his chest, love pooling low and steady.
At some point, Hongjoong leaned in close, shoulder pressing lightly into Seonghwa’s as he murmured, “Is it always going to be like this?” There was something like hope in his eyes.
Seonghwa glanced around the table— at the laughter, the easy closeness, the way everyone fit together without trying— and then back at Hongjoong.
“Maybe,” he said honestly. “I think I’d really like it to be.”
Hongjoong’s smile softened, something tender and certain settling into his expression. He didn’t say anything else. He just stayed close, warm and steady at Seonghwa’s side.
They lingered like that for a while: shoulders touching, knees brushing beneath the table as breakfast stretched lazily on. Conversation ebbed and flowed around them, sometimes loud, sometimes dissolving into comfortable quiet. At some point, the music shifted to something slower, softer, the kind of song that felt like it belonged to winter mornings and second cups of tea.
Seonghwa let himself sit in it.
The warmth. The noise. The way Hongjoong’s knee pressed lightly against his, grounding him without effort. He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence or escape it. For once, the moment didn’t feel fragile.
Eventually, habit pulled him to his feet. He found himself collecting plates without being asked, movements automatic from years of closing routines. Hongjoong followed him instinctively, lifting dishes from the table and stacking them at his side. They worked in quiet synchrony, no words needed, bodies adjusting around each other as naturally as breathing.
When their hands brushed at the sink, neither of them flinched away. Hongjoong simply bumped his hip lightly against Seonghwa’s in silent reassurance. Still here.
Seonghwa felt it settle in his chest.
The table slowly cleared. Chairs were pushed back. Someone opened a window just a crack to let out steam, letting cold air rush in briefly before it was shut again. Outside, snow continued to fall, soft and relentless, blanketing the world in quiet.
“Oh,” he said suddenly, straightening like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Is it time?”
San perked up immediately. “Time for what?”
“For this,” Wooyoung replied, already scrambling off the counter. “I refuse to let us eat pancakes and then not move directly into the most important part.”
Yeosang blinked. “Gifts?”
Wooyoung pointed at him. “Yes. That. Exactly that.”
Mingi smiled. “I actually tried this year.”
Mugs were abandoned on side tables. Someone nudged wrapping paper back under the tree with their foot. The group drifted toward the living room in an unspoken agreement, settling onto the floor and couches in uneven clusters. Ornaments clinked softly as branches were jostled, catching the light.
Seonghwa hesitated only a moment.
Hongjoong caught it immediately, fingers curling briefly into the sleeve of his sweater. “Come on,” he said gently.
Seonghwa nodded, heart full and steady, and followed him to the tree.
They settled around the lightly crooked, overly decorated, Christmas tree. Presents were passed around amid teasing and exaggerated reactions. Someone cried over a picture frame. Someone else cried over a beautifully written letter. Mingi pretended not to care and then very obviously did.
Seonghwa watched it all like it was something precious, something he didn’t want to blink and miss.
When Hongjoong handed Seonghwa his gift, his hands shook just a little.
“It’s not much,” he said quickly. “I just— the melody got stuck in my head and thought of you.”
Inside was a small CD case. Seonghwa held on to it carefully, like it might break if he didn’t. The room seemed to soften around them, noise dimming to a gentle hum as he turned it over in his hands. His name was written on the front in messy, familiar handwriting.
He looked up. “You made this?”
Hongjoong nodded, throat bobbing. “Yeah. I didn’t know how else to—” He stopped, huffed out a quiet laugh. “I didn’t know how to say everything.”
Seonghwa opened the case.
Inside was a handwritten track list— only one song— and a folded slip of paper tucked carefully behind it. He didn’t unfold it yet. He didn’t trust himself to read anything else before he understood what this meant.
“You… wrote me a song,” Seonghwa said softly.
Hongjoong’s ears turned pink. “It’s rough,” he said immediately. “It’s not mixed properly or anything. I recorded it late one night when I couldn’t sleep and— I know you can’t listen to it right now. And you don’t have to listen to it at all if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to have it.”
Seonghwa felt something in his chest give way. This was Hongjoong’s heart. Laid bare in the way only music ever allowed him to do. He thought of all the things Hongjoong had been afraid of losing, all the ways he’d been taught to guard himself, to ration honesty like it was something dangerous. And here he was, offering it freely.
“Of course I’ll listen to it,” Seonghwa said quietly. “I always want to listen to you. I want you with me when i hear the song.”
Hongjoong’s eyes flickered, glossy and uncertain. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I know,” Seonghwa replied. “But I really do mean it.”
For a moment, Hongjoong looked like he might cry. Instead, he ducked his head, laughing softly under his breath. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
Seonghwa reached under the tree then, fingers closing around the small package he’d tucked near the back. He handed it to Hongjoong gently.
“This is yours.”
Hongjoong blinked. “Oh. You didn’t—”
“I did,” Seonghwa said, smiling.
Hongjoong unwrapped it carefully, reverently, peeling back the paper until the leather-bound notebook rested in his hands. It was the color of dark espresso, smooth and warm, with the faintest embossing pressed into the cover of tiny stars scattered across the surface, subtle enough that you might miss them if you weren’t looking closely.
Hongjoong froze.
“Oh,” he breathed.
Seonghwa watched his thumb trace the cover, slow and awed. “I know it’s simple,” he said. “But you’re always writing. Even when you think you’re done for the day, you’re still… composing. I wanted you to have somewhere safe to put things. When your current notebook runs out of space.”
Hongjoong swallowed hard. “I like the stars.”
“Yes,” Seonghwa said. “I thought you would.”
Hongjoong opened it, flipping through blank pages like he was afraid they might disappear. His voice came out rough when he spoke again. “I’ve gone through so many notebooks,” he admitted. “It feels like a disservice, knowing how quickly I’ll waste this one.”
Seonghwa shook his head. “You wouldn’t be wasting anything. And I’ll always be here to get you a new one when this one runs dry.”
Hongjoong looked up at him through his lashes and something settled between them. Understanding. Gratitude. Something frighteningly close to permanence.
He leaned forward without thinking and pressed his forehead briefly against Seonghwa’s shoulder, a quiet, grounding touch. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For… seeing me.”
Seonghwa rested his cheek against Hongjoong’s hair, just for a second. “Always.”
Around them, the others carried on teasing, laughing, pretending not to notice the moment taking place right in front of them. Wooyoung wiped his eyes dramatically. San kicked his ankle under the table. Mingi made a noise that was suspiciously emotional and blamed it on the room being too warm.
But for Seonghwa, the world had narrowed down to a song he hadn’t heard yet, a notebook waiting to be filled, and the quiet certainty that him and the man in his arms were building something real.
Under the glow of the tree, with wrapping paper scattered like fallen snow, Seonghwa felt it settle deep in his chest.
Wooyoung stretched dramatically and flopped backward onto the floor with a groan. “Okay,” he announced to the ceiling. “I’m emotionally fulfilled. Time for something else.”
San leaned over him, amused. “You were just crying a few minutes ago.”
“I said fulfilled,” Wooyoung replied solemnly. “Not stable.”
Mingi snorted from the couch. Yeosang reached for the stack of discarded wrapping paper, folding it into a neat pile out of habit. Jongho gathered empty mugs and nudged them toward the kitchen, already halfway to standing before Yunho intercepted him and took them instead. The room began to move again, small, thoughtful motions layering over one another until the stillness dissolved into something easy.
Seonghwa shifted slightly, Hongjoong still close at his side. Their knees touched; Hongjoong didn’t move away. Seonghwa didn’t need him to. The warmth of his presence was steady, grounding, exactly where it was always meant to be.
Someone turned the music up a notch. The tree lights blinked softly, reflections dancing across glass ornaments and half-torn ribbon. Outside, the snow kept falling, quiet and unwavering, like it had all morning.
Wooyoung popped back up suddenly, eyes bright with mischief. “Wait. I’ve decided.”
San sighed fondly. “That’s never a good sign.”
“I have cards,” Wooyoung continued, already rummaging through a bag. “It will be so much fun with this many people.”
“Oh no,” Yunho said immediately.
“Oh yes,” Wooyoung replied cheerfully, dealing cards with absolutely no regard for fairness or explanation.
They settled into uneven clusters around the living room. Seonghwa found himself on the floor with his back against the couch, Hongjoong beside him, close enough that their thighs brushed whenever they shifted. At some point, Hongjoong draped an arm lightly behind Seonghwa— not quite around him, but close enough that his fingers occasionally traced along Seonghwa’s shoulder absentmindedly.
San sat beside Wooyoung, patient in the way only someone deeply in love could be, translating rules mid-play and gently intercepting Wooyoung’s attempts at chaos.
“Wooyoungie,” Yeosang said calmly for the third time, “that’s not how the game works.”
“Yes it is,” Wooyoung replied without hesitation. “It’s how I play.”
San laughed, fond and helpless, and leaned in to kiss Wooyoung’s temple before quietly stealing his cards and winning the round on purpose. Wooyoung protested loudly, then immediately curled closer to him, victory forgotten.
During a lull, Hongjoong leaned in and whispered, “Do you understand this game?”
Seonghwa shook his head, lips twitching. “Not even a little.”
Hongjoong smiled anyway and rested his head briefly against Seonghwa’s shoulder, the weight of it warm and unguarded.
Cards were played incorrectly. Accusations were thrown wildly. Someone laughed hard enough to tip backward onto the rug. Through it all, Hongjoong stayed close, fingers occasionally curling into the hem of Seonghwa’s sweater, their knees pressed together whenever the room shifted.
Across the table, Jongho and Yeosang had settled shoulder to shoulder on the floor, cards fanned neatly between them. They spoke quietly, voices overlapping only occasionally, hands brushing when they reached for the same card. Every so often, Jongho would glance sideways like he couldn’t quite believe Yeosang was really there, and Yeosang would return the look with a small, reassuring smile.
Through his watching, Seonghwa started to notice Jongho lagging.
“Eat something,” Seonghwa said gently when Jongho began to eye the leftover pancakes.
Jongho looked up, startled for half a second, then broke into a grin. “Yes, Eomma.”
Seonghwa sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.
Hongjoong leaned in then, close enough that Seonghwa felt the warmth of him before he heard the whisper. “Don’t pretend like you don’t love it.” His breath brushed Seonghwa’s ear, soft and conspiratorial.
Seonghwa shot him a look that held no real heat. “You’re encouraging them.”
Hongjoong just laughed warm and bright, unguarded in a way that still surprised Seonghwa. The sound settled easily into his chest, something loosening there as it always did when Hongjoong laughed like that.
Wooyoung watched them with narrowed eyes. “Oh, absolutely not.”
San blinked. “What?”
Wooyoung pointed between Seonghwa and Hongjoong like he was drawing a crime scene outline. “That. Whatever that was. That whisper? Illegal.”
Hongjoong straightened, blinking innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You leaned in,” Wooyoung insisted. “You used the voice.”
“The voice?” Hongjoong echoed, genuinely confused.
“Yes, the voice,” Wooyoung said. “The one you only use when you’re trying to make him flustered.”
Seonghwa cleared his throat. “I am not flustered.”
Mingi snorted so hard he nearly choked on his drink.
Yeosang tilted his head, studying them with quiet interest. “Hyung,” he said carefully, “your ears are red.”
Seonghwa lifted a hand to cover his ears on instinct. “It’s warm in here.”
“You have three blankets,” Jongho replied calmly.
Hongjoong laughed again, softer this time, and didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned closer, shoulder brushing Seonghwa’s arm as if it belonged there. “You’re really bad at lying,” he murmured, just loud enough for Seonghwa to hear.
Seonghwa shot him another look, this one sharp enough to suggest consequences later. Hongjoong only smiled wider.
Wooyoung made a gagging noise. “I’m serious. This is getting unbearable. You’re so gross.”
San gasped. “Oh my god. They are.”
Yunho, who had been quietly watching from the arm of the couch, smiled into his mug. “They’ve been gross all morning.”
“That’s worse,” Wooyoung said. “Why didn’t anyone stop this?”
“Because,” Jongho said, far too pleased, “it’s funny.”
Seonghwa pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth. He felt Hongjoong as he subtly shifted closer, his arm a warm weight against his own. Safe.
Hongjoong dipped his head again, voice warm and fond. “See?” he whispered. “They’re just jealous.”
Seonghwa exhaled, resignation threading through his fondness. “You’re impossible.”
Hongjoong beamed. “You like that about me.”
Seonghwa didn’t deny it.
Around them, the room filled with noise again— laughter, groans, playful accusations— but Seonghwa stayed where he was, letting Hongjoong’s warmth linger at his side. Letting himself be seen. Letting himself be teased.
Later, Yunho emerged from the kitchen carrying two mugs, pausing when he spotted Mingi sprawled half-asleep on the couch. He hesitated only a second before draping a blanket more securely over Mingi’s shoulders and setting one mug down on the table within easy reach.
Mingi cracked one eye open. “Is that for me?”
Yunho smiled, soft and unassuming. “I remembered how you take it.”
Mingi stared at him for a beat too long, the sleep slowly draining from his expression as he pushed himself upright, suddenly more awake than he’d been all morning. “You… didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Yunho replied simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Something quiet shifted there, too small to be seen unless you were already looking. Just a look held a moment longer than necessary. A smile that lingered. Mingi reached for the mug, fingers brushing Yunho’s as he did, and neither of them pulled away immediately.
Seonghwa noticed it and filed it away gently. Some things bloomed best when left undisturbed.
He found himself back on the armchair again not long after, Hongjoong tucked into his side as naturally as if he’d always belonged there. A blanket was draped over both of them by one of the younger kids— Seonghwa was unsure of which— and Hongjoong’s legs were tangled with his beneath the fabric, warmth shared freely. Hongjoong’s fingers traced idle, absent-minded patterns against Seonghwa’s sleeve, grounding and familiar.
“Eomma,” Wooyoung called suddenly.
Seonghwa didn’t even look up anymore. “Yes?”
“Tell the others to stop judging my movie choices.”
Across the room, Wooyoung and San were locked in a dramatic argument over which Christmas movie to put on, voices overlapping and growing steadily louder.
“That’s not even a Christmas movie,” San insisted.
“But it could be,” Wooyoung shot back. “That counts.”
Hongjoong shifted beside Seonghwa, lips brushing his ear as he murmured, amused, “Do you want me to take over this time?”
Seonghwa snorted softly before he could stop himself. “You’re encouraging this.”
Hongjoong grinned. “I’m embracing my role.”
He raised his voice just enough to carry. “Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung froze mid-rant. “Yes, Appa?”
San blinked. “You’re just accepting this?”
“Absolutely,” Hongjoong replied, unfazed. “Now. We’re watching something everyone can agree on. Or I’m confiscating the remote.”
There was a beat.
Then Jongho, from the couch, said calmly, “Home Alone 2.”
Yeosang hummed in agreement.
Mingi lifted his mug. “I support this decision.”
Wooyoung groaned. “Traitors. All of you.”
But he handed over the remote anyway.
The movie played eventually— Home Alone 2 filling the screen after far too much debate. Someone turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the glow of the tree and the flicker of the television.
One by one, people drifted closer together. Jongho claimed the last empty spot on the couch. Yeosang leaned back against it, encased comfortably by Jongho’s legs. Yunho settled near Mingi again, close but not crowded, their shoulders brushing when Mingi shifted.
Laughter softened. Commentary quieted. The room grew heavy with warmth and the low hum of contentment.
At some point, Hongjoong shifted, turning slightly so he could look at Seonghwa properly. His gaze was open, unguarded in a way that still caught Seonghwa off-balance.
“This feels…” He searched for the word, then laughed quietly. “Unreal.”
Seonghwa followed his gaze around the room to the mismatched blankets, the half-empty mugs, the way everyone fit together without trying. He thought of the café, the long nights, the quiet loneliness he’d mistaken for peace. He thought of how carefully he’d built a life meant to never ask too much of him.
“It’s real,” he said gently. “You’re here.”
Hongjoong nodded, eyes shining. “I want to keep this.”
Seonghwa didn’t hesitate. He shifted just enough to press his temple against Hongjoong’s. “You will.”
Hongjoong exhaled, a sound halfway between relief and joy, and let himself settle fully against Seonghwa’s side. Seonghwa adjusted the blanket around them without thinking, holding the moment like something precious but sturdy.
Around them, the movie played on. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else shushed them without conviction. The storm outside pressed quietly against the windows, but inside, the world felt held.
***
The movie ended sometime later, but the room stayed dim. The tree lights blinked softly, casting gentle shadows across half-asleep faces. Someone shifted, someone else yawned, the sound spreading like a ripple. The storm outside had softened, its earlier fury dulled to a steady, patient fall.
Seonghwa became aware of the stillness first. Hongjoong had gone quiet beside him, breath slow and even, his head tipped slightly on to Seonghwa’s shoulder. Not quite asleep, but resting in that in-between place where the world felt safe enough to loosen its grip. Seonghwa didn’t move, content to let the moment stretch.
Across the room, Yeosang had slumped sideways at some point, head resting against Jongho’s knee. Jongho didn’t move, just reached a hand down to run through the other’s hair, soothing him even in sleep. Yunho sat nearby, half-turned toward Mingi, who had fully surrendered to sleep now, chin tipped down, blanket bunched under his jaw. Yunho watched him with a quiet fondness, fingers absently tucking the edge of the blanket back into place.
Wooyoung lay half-sprawled over San, blanket tangled around them both. San’s hand traced absent circles against Wooyoung’s arm, soothing and familiar. Wooyoung pretended not to notice, but the tips of his ears were faintly pink.
Seonghwa felt something settle in his chest— quiet, full, steady.
Eventually, Wooyoung broke the silence with a soft gasp. “Wait.”
Everyone groaned on instinct.
“What,” Mingi muttered, eyes closed.
Wooyoung sat up, blanket slipping down his arms. “It’s still snowing.”
That did it.
San was on his feet immediately, already halfway to the window. “Oh— it’s really coming down.”
Yeosang stood more slowly, peering over his shoulder. Jongho followed, curiosity pulling him upright despite his earlier drowsiness. Yunho drifted closer too, hands tucked into his sleeves.
Seonghwa felt Hongjoong stir beside him.
“It’s beautiful,” Hongjoong murmured, blinking awake properly now.
The word beautiful felt too small for the way the world outside had been transformed— streetlights haloed in gold, snow layering everything into something soft and unrecognizable, the city held in a rare hush.
Wooyoung turned back toward the room. “We’re going out.”
“That’s not a suggestion,” San added.
Mingi cracked one eye open. “I just got warm.”
“You can be warm outside,” Wooyoung replied.
There was a flurry of movement after that as blankets were peeled away, socks pulled on, coats retrieved from wherever they’d been abandoned the night before. Laughter rose again, light and unhurried. Someone complained about cold hands. Someone else stole gloves and was immediately chased down.
Seonghwa stood, stretching slowly, feeling the pleasant ache of having stayed in one place too long. Hongjoong rose with him, close enough that their arms brushed.
“You okay?” Seonghwa asked quietly.
Hongjoong nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Just… don’t let go of me.”
“I won’t,” Seonghwa said, and meant it in every way that mattered.
They layered themselves against the cold with scarves, gloves, shared hats. Wooyoung fussed over San’s zipper, fighting to get it unstuck. Yeosang wordlessly fixed Jongho’s scarf when it slipped, tucking it safely back into place. Yunho handed Mingi his gloves before Mingi could ask.
“Hyung,” Wooyoung said suddenly, tugging his beanie down. “Tell them to wait, I forgot my phone.”
Seonghwa opened his mouth to reply, but Hongjoong beat him to it.
“Youngie,” Hongjoong said, voice calm but fond, “we are not going back upstairs for a phone.”
Wooyoung stared at him. “You’re really doing this.”
Hongjoong smiled. “Just take pictures with your eyes. I promise you’ll survive.”
San laughed. “Oh, he’s good at this.”
Seonghwa felt his mouth curve before he could stop it. Hongjoong glanced at him, eyes bright, like he’d just discovered something new and was delighted by it.
The apartment door opened, letting in a rush of cold air that smelled clean and sharp and new.
The city was muted beneath the snow. Footsteps crunched softly. Breath fogged the air. Snowflakes clung to eyelashes and sleeves and hair almost instantly.
Wooyoung laughed first, spinning once just to feel it. San followed, already scooping up snow with reckless enthusiasm. Jongho ducked as a snowball sailed past his head, retaliating immediately. Yeosang laughed quietly, caught in the crossfire despite clearly not intending to be. Yunho shielded Mingi with his own coat, earning a sleepy, grateful smile in return.
Seonghwa stayed where he was for a moment, Hongjoong beside him, both of them taking it in.
The lamppost nearby cast a warm, golden circle over the sidewalk, snow falling thickly through the light like something out of a memory.
Hongjoong leaned closer, shoulder brushing his. “It feels like the world slowed down just for us.”
Seonghwa watched the others— laughing, shouting, alive— and then looked back at Hongjoong.
“Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe we finally learned how to stop running.”
Hongjoong smiled, wide and unguarded, and stepped fully into Seonghwa’s space, fingers curling into his sleeve the way they always did.
Around them, laughter echoed, bright against the falling snow.
“Hey,” Hongjoong said, quieter now. “Thank you. For letting me find you.”
Seonghwa lifted his hand, brushing snow from Hongjoong’s hair without thinking. “You didn’t just find me,” he replied gently. “You came back.”
Hongjoong inhaled, sharp and soft all at once.
Around them, laughter rang out— Wooyoung shrieking as San tackled him into a snowbank, Jongho protesting loudly while Yeosang laughed behind his hand, Mingi yelling something unintelligible as Yunho dragged him backward through the snow.
Under the lamppost’s glow, with winter pressing close and joy echoing behind them, Seonghwa leaned in.
Their lips met softly, warm and unhurried. Snow melted against their cheeks. Hongjoong’s hands found Seongwha’s, tangling together, grounding and real. Seonghwa rested his forehead briefly against Hongjoong’s when they parted, breath mingling in the cold air.
Somewhere behind them, someone screamed.
“Eomma—” Wooyoung started.
“Not now,” Seonghwa warned, but there was laughter in his voice now.
Hongjoong laughed too, bright and free, and leaned back in for one more kiss anyway.
And as the snow fell and the night held them close, Seonghwa knew, without fear, without hesitation, that this was love that would last.