BIRTHDAY UPDATE!! :D

Hyukjae drew his arms back under his thin, holey jacket and huddled closer to himself as he waited about the streets for any passers-by, just so he could finish selling his matches and go home to his little hut to sleep off the cold, winter night. Sure, his leaky, droughty hut didn’t seem much like a home, but it was at least a roof over his head. And he could always bury himself under the hay if it got too cold inside. 

Unfortunately for him, it was an unexceptionally cold Christmas night, and zero people were out and about, let alone buying matches from a scrawny little boy in the corner of a deserted street in Seoul. Hyukjae’s only source of warmth came from the lonely, dingy little streetlamp flickering so badly it could trigger an epileptic fit, and he didn’t want to stray too far. He sighed and checked his full stock of sorry-looking matches in his worn-out backpack again, wondering how he’d be able to afford to buy even a single warm bun from the bakery halfway home like he’d planned, as a little Christmas treat for himself.

He could literally feel his fingers turning into ice. Perhaps lighting up a match wouldn’t be that bad, he thought, at least it wouldn’t feel like his fingers would drop off. Hyukjae fished out the smallest and least presentable box he could find, took out a match, and struck it against the side of the box.

“Fwoosh!”

Hyukjae looked up and saw a warm, inviting hot tub waiting for him to take a dip. Intrigued, he got up and started walking towards the hot tub, but then a chilly gust of wind blew out his match, and immediately the vision disappeared. Quickly, he took out another match and struck it again to try to get the hot tub back, but instead this time he saw a wonderful strawberry feast laid on a banquet table, complete with a strawberry cake, strawberry pie, warm strawberry jam, strawberry scones, strawberry pudding, and fresh strawberries with cream. Hyukjae couldn’t stop himself from drooling as he envisioned himself tucking into the feast…

“Honk! Honk!”

Just in time, Hyukjae jerked backwards and landed on the sidewalk as a truck lumbered past him, barely missing him by a few inches. His burning match fell into the snow and extinguished, along with the strawberry feast. 

When Hyukjae picked himself up from the snow, he realised in dismay that he’d spilt the rest of his matches onto the snow and that they were all wet and useless now. He sat back down onto the pavement and cried, mourning the loss of the only source of comfort he had to get by this dreadful night. With his clothes and shoes wet, he should probably just go home and wait it out until they dried so he could come back tomorrow to sell his matches again. He pressed a hand against his rumbling stomach and willed for it to quiet down, dreams of warm buns and leftover pastries dashed to a million pieces.

He sadly gathered up his spoilt matches and reached for the box — before realising that there was one more good match left inside. Hyukjae fumbled with his frozen fingers to take out the last match and light it up again. The match flared to life at once. Eagerly, Hyukjae lifted his eyes again, looking for the vision.

This time, he saw a good-looking man walking up to him with a warm, kind look on his face, empathy in his eyes, and a loving smile on his lips. Hyukjae stared at the man, stunned by the man’s beauty, seeing a whole galaxy of stars contained within his bright, twinkling eyes. His long, auburn hair framed his handsome face, falling messily over his eyes, and peeking out from under his furry jacket hoodie.

The man approached slowly, smiled at him, and offered a bag of warm buns to him. Thinking it was still part of the illusion, Hyukjae let his guard down and reached for the bag, silently thanking the man with a nod of the head, and bit into the bun.

The glorious taste of warm, strawberry-centred milk buns filled Hyukjae’s mouth and he greedily gobbled down the rest of the food, having had nothing to eat since a leftover cheese crumpet from yesterday’s dinner.

“Slow down, you’ll choke yourself.”

“Mmh,” Hyukjae replied, mouth full of strawberry jam. “Didn’t want it to disappear.”

“You look like you haven’t eaten anything in a while,” the man said, crouching down to meet the boy’s eyes. “Where’s your family?”

“Dead,” Hyukjae replied, some jam from his fingers. “It’s just me, myself, and I.”

“Oh,” the man replied, and Hyukjae couldn’t tell if the look in the man’s eyes were still of empathy or now of pity. He didn’t exactly need either, anyway. He was usually just fine on his own. Still, Hyukjae let the stranger tie his scarf around his throat because it felt extra warm and cosy. He returned the empty bun bag to the man with a slight smile. “Thank you, mister. I’m glad my last match brought you here — at least I can pretend I ate something tonight.”

“Pretend?” The man looked confused. “What match?”

Hyukjae froze when he realised that his match had long gone out and he was just holding a charred stick between his fingers. “… you were real?” Fear crept into his eyes as he stared back at the man in disbelief. “W-why… I’m sorry I ate your stuff. I-I can pay you back next week after I manage to sell the rest of my matches, I promise!”

“Whoa there, why are you so scared of me?” the man caught Hyukjae’s arm before he could run away and frowned when Hyukjae flinched. 

“Please, don’t hurt me! Let me go…” 

Too many times had he accidentally come across menacing characters on the street, and he’d suffered through too many beatings with all the bruises as proof. The stranger let him go as soon as Hyukjae started to cry, and the boy tumbled to the ground in a foetal position, covering his head and shaking in fear.

“Hey,” the stranger said again, this time only briefly touching Hyukjae’s leg, which also flinched away on instinct. “I’ve said that I’m not going to hurt you, and I mean it. But please don’t run away from me.”

“I won’t,” Hyukjae sniffed, peeking from under his arm. “I’ll do anything, just p-please don’t hurt me.”

“Well,” the man started, “you could start by telling me your name, perhaps?”

“H-Hyukjae.”

The man smiled at the soft, feeble answer. “Nice to meet you, Hyukjae. My name is Donghae. And once again, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Okay.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen, but I’m turning sixteen in a few months.”

Donghae smiled when he saw Hyukjae’s head peeking out a little more with his reply. “I’m twenty-one. Just a little bit older than you.”

“Oh.”

“Won’t you get up?” Donghae asked. “The snow’s really wet and cold. You might get sick.”

Hyukjae warily got up from the ground and tried not to wince when Donghae brushed off some snow from his clothes. “T-thank you.”

“F