4:27 P.M.

“Excuse me,” Xiumin head is bent down with his right hand in front of him. Xiumin’s trying to get away from the packed crowd that seems like it wants to squeeze the life out of him. I’m at the entrance of the mall, meet me here. Yixing sent him a message while he’s in the midst of last-minute shopping. Yixing had asked where he is, and Xiumin replied with an embarrassed text. Xiumin has a very bad case of procrastination and. more often than he would life, it leads him to difficult situations. For example: having to feel sweaty, foreign bodies pressing against each other inside the mall.

“Thank God,” Xiumin smiles when he’s safely out of the crowd.

“Not again,” Yixing shakes his head. Xiumin looks up to see a condescending glint in Yixing’s eyes. There are moments when Xiumin simply wants to punch Yixing because he’s Yixing. Xiumin thinks that Yixing is like a car crash—sudden, rash, and something that everyone wants to watch.

“Just shut up.” Xiumin does what he’s known for and puff his cheeks.

“Baozi,” the younger bites into the temptation. “Merry Christmas, where’s my gift?”

“It’s with Kris already. Wait, why are you dressed like that?” He only notices the extravagant outfit.

“It’s for Kris.” Yixing straightens his back, and announces proudly. Xiumin scoffs, and Yixing hears him whisper; It’s always for Kris and he smiles. “Oh, and our Jonginnie wants to ask a favor.”

“What is it?”

Yixing sashays closer to Xiumin, helping him with the shopping bags. “Nothing big, just deliver this letter to Kyungsoo. Jonginnie says that Kyungsoo’s probably cooking something now. He’s on his place.”

“Jongin’s really crazy when it comes to love.”

“You once ran around the neighborhood wearing nothing but Jongdae’s clothes, and yelling “It smells so nice oh my gosh. Jongdae is mine!’ you’re not one to talk.”

5: 12 P.M.

Kris is lazy. When he was still twelve with gangly knees and bruised elbows, he told himself that he’s going to grow up, marry someone who likes to clean, and live happily ever after. And now he’s twenty-two, he grew up, and has someone but that someone unfortunately, detests cleaning just as much as he does, and it looks like he’s not going to run off to the sunset anytime soon.

Kris walks around the small apartment that he shares with Yixing, groaning about how things are scattered everywhere, but not doing anything about them. Tonight, he’s going to out with Yixing for dinner, and maybe have a meal after that—if you know what he means. Kris is thinking about all the details; the food, the time, the weather, when he accidentally trips over something not-so-small. It’s a box, wrapped in brightly-colored paper, and tied properly with a large, red ribbon. It’s pretty obvious that it’s all Yixing’s plan.

Last week, they both agreed to open their presents together at the of midnight. But Yixing isn’t here now, and Kris is dying out of curiosity. What if he tries to open it, and then wrap it up immediately? Yixing won’t know, right?

Kris shrugs off the cries of his conscience, and feeds his gnawing thoughts. He opens the present, then wishes that he didn’t.

5: 23 P.M.

Xiumin and Kyungsoo had the weirdest first encounter ever written. These two met a year ago, when Xiumin was just a struggling painter, and Kyungsoo a distressed English major. Kyungsoo still didn’t know what to do with the rest of his life, and Xiumin already had the hots for Jongdae, one of his singing friends.

It had been during one of those wild parties thrown by their mutual acquaintance, Luhan, during summer. The air was humid, sweat made fabrics cling to stranger’s skin, and there had been couples who don’t know each other’s names grinding against one another in the living room. Xiumin had been one of those wasted people, and he had been talking to a man called Jongdae.

You’re cute, can I kiss you? Jongdae had asked with a confident smirk that tells Xiumin that he’s going to kiss him whether or not he agrees. Under the influence of two bottles of alcohol and four cigarette sticks, Xiumin had pulled Jongdae and smacked his lips against the taller guy’s that night. They kissed. Jongdae tasted the bittersweet taste of Xiumin’s tongue, and Xiumin doesn’t mind the fact that he doesn’t even know the guy’s last name. By the time that Jongdae successfully inserted a hand inside Xiumin’s shirt and the side of the elder’s jaw, Xiumin doesn’t even remember that he doesn’t know the guy’s last name.

But a year ago, Jongdae was a tease and he left Xiumin just as he was about to really get into it. ually frustrated and enraged, Xiumin proceeded to please himself in the bathroom upstairs. And this is how Kyungsoo had first found him: with Xiumin’s pants down, his breathing ragged, and a hand pleasuring the thing that would enable him to father kids.

Needless to say, Kyungsoo had been polite enough to close the wooden bathroom door shut, and offer Xiumin a box of wipes afterwards. They became close friends since then, and none of them felt comfortable talking about their first encounter.

Xiumin was thinking about this as he knocked on the door to Kyungsoo’s house. He realized how much things can change in just a year—he and Jongdae are lovers, Kyungsoo just graduated, and now they’re surrounded by friends who may or may not want to kill him. On times where he’d steal glances to Sehun, he’s actually wondering whether or not Sehun had just got out of jail.

“I hope you’re the last one,” was Kyungsoo’s hello when he opened the door to let Xiumin in.

“Jongin’s being extra cheesy.” Xiumin hands the letter to Kyungsoo. Getting straight to the point was one of Xiumin’s valuable traits. Jongdae keeps on praising him because of that. Xiumin’s nose scrunches as they’re filled with a pleasing scent that could only be associated with Kyungsoo’s cooking. “What are you preparing?”
 

“Oh nothing, just a few dishes for tonight. I just want to thank Jongin for his hard work and of course, for the twelve of us. Speaking of twelve, have you seen Junmyeon?” He guides Xiumin into the kitchen.

Xiumin lets himself grab a bite of the garlic bread on the plate; he knows it’s for Yixing. He likes how every single one of their favorite dishes is here in the table. Kyungsoo is thoughtful that way. Xiumin looks around; searching for something, then furrows his eyebrows together when he doesn’t see it. “Kyungsoo, why isn’t there stockings or socks hanging around?”

“I don’t know how it works,” He admitted, piling on viands on a table with rice. He hands it to Xiumin.

“It’s pretty cool actually; you just pile it with sweets and all. When I was younger, my parents used to pretend to be Santa and fill our stockings. What about you? Any Christmas traditions when you were a kid?” Xiumin asked because frankly, Kyungsoo could share about anything in his life, aside from his childhood and it always puzzled Xiumin.

“I . . . . was in a car accident when I was younger.” Kyungsoo shares and Xiumin listens in fear that he’s never going to hear Kyungsoo talk about this ever again. “My parents always tried to fill in my memories, but none of that worked. So I guess you could say that I was a new person after the crash.” He shakes his head, and laughs bitterly. “Anyway, I shouldn’t be bothered about it since I got out alive, right?”

Xiumin locks his lips together and nods sympathetically. When he saw Kyungsoo try to open the letter, he gives him privacy and focus on the food in front of him.

—

Three. Three words. I love you.

Here’s a list of reasons why I do:

-You’re Kyungsoo.

-You once sacrificed an entire summer just to patiently teach me how to swim. Yes, it was painfully awkward, but thank you.

-You like your ice cream chocolate-flavored.

-You cook food using recipes straight out of heaven. It tastes like paradise.

-You’re not too sensitive.

-You listen to me, and try to understand.

-You call me out when I’ve done something wrong.

-You stand up for me, and to me.

-You know all the words to my favorite songs; I don’t have a lot of favorite songs.

-You have eyes I could easily get lost in.

-You’re hot: figuratively and metaphorically.

-The way you say my name is love.

-You’re Kyungsoo.

—

5:42 P.M.

If you think hard about it, Jongin and Chanyeol are in the same boat; except that Jongin is luckier and it seems like his part of the boat isn’t going to sink. Like Jongin, Chanyeol is in love with someone. Unlike Jongin, the possibility that the one he loves, likes him back is not favorable. Jongin is lucky because he’s got something that Chanyeol wants. Add another level of lucky, because Chanyeol is just so understanding and selfless that he doesn’t hold a grudge against his best friend.

Park Chanyeol is in love with Byun Baekhyun, and even a blind man five blocks away can see that. Baekhyun doesn’t; he’s still the same naïve soul who thinks that Chanyeol’s naturally kind to everyone. Baekhyun can’t see the way Chanyeol’s cheeks and neck redden when their skins touch, can’t hear Chanyeol as he stutters and bites back words of love and praise, and he can’t feel the warmth of the thick blanket that Chanyeol would drape over his sleeping figure, just to make sure that Baekhyun doesn’t get sick. Byun Baekhyun doesn’t know, and Chanyeol figures that Baekhyun’s too busy fussing over Jongin to ever notice his longing feelings.

“Should I be scared?” Baekhyun has his arms crossed in front of him as he glances at the strawberry cake in Chanyeol’s hand. Strawberry cakes meant disaster. Strawberry cakes meant comfort for the time that Baekhyun’s father died, and Chanyeol has to run through the rain just to reach the former. Strawberry cakes meant reassurance for that time Baekhyun got rejected in an audition, and Chanyeol dressed up as a chicken just to make his beloved smile.

“It’s nothing. I just want to give you a strawberry cake.” Chanyeol steps inside Baekhyun’s large room, closing the door behind him with his converse-clad foot.

Baekhyun doesn’t buy it. “Come on, tell me.”

“Really, it’s nothing. Can’t I give you a cake just because I want to?”

Baekhyun retorts to his last option. He sighs and gives Chanyeol the please, be honest with me eyes that he knows his friend can’t ever resist. It worked, and Baekhyun regrets doing it once he heard Chanyeol’s hurried explanation.

Jongin’s going to ask Kyungsoo out tonight. He got letters delivered to Kyungsoo, and it looks like nothing’s stopping him, since he’s so fluffy. Chanyeol’s lips are quivering.

As expected, Baekhyun turns and tries to go out of the room. ‘Tries’ because Chanyeol ran after him, securing a long arm around Baekhyun’s waist from behind. ‘Let me go, Chanyeol.’ Baekhyun squirms out of Chanyeol’s arm, but that only caused the taller one to wrap his free arm around Baekhyun’s chest. Three minutes of Baekhyun fighting and Chanyeol restraining lead to tears and hollow sobs. ‘Don’t stop me. Don’t you ing stop me!’ Baekhyun’s words are nearly incoherent, and Chanyeol realizes that he’s hugging Baekhyun.

He gets mad, and yells at Baekhyun; something that he could never imagine himself doing before. “And what?! What if I let you go?! What would you do, huh, Baekhyun? Do you think that Jongin won’t do it just because you tell him how you feel? He loves Kyungsoo. Why are you hurting yourself more?”

Baekhyun stops fidgeting, and slumps against Chanyeol’s chest. He keeps quiet. They both know that Chanyeol is right. Chanyeol can actually hear himself gulping before his shirt started to feel damp. Baekhyun’s crying. He loosens his hold on Baekhyun, but doesn’t let go. They stay like that for what felt like an eternity. Chanyeol doesn’t cry, but feeling Baekhyun’s hot tears running down his chest like a salty spring river, made him feel like sobbing because of the sore feeling in his heart.  

“Everything will get better. Everything will get better. Everything will be better.” Chanyeol whispers, but he doesn’t believe in his own words.

6: 10 P.M.

In his flimsy red dress and high heels, Yixing makes his way to the door of the apartment he shares with Kris. There are plastic bags on his hands containing the ingredients for the food he wants Kris to taste. Yixing wants to make tonight special, and to surprise Kris.

Too bad that the tables have turned when he opened the door and found Kris walking around with the military-style pants that are identical to the one in the movie ‘Magic Mike’. The costume was supposed to be Yixing’s gift, but upon seeing how Kris is all groomed; Yixing gathers that Kris appreciates it. And when Kris examines Yixing’s outfit—his eyes went as wide as Kyungsoo’s. Surprise, surprise.

“What?” They both asked at the same time, except that Yixing is cunning and he ran to Kris without further invitation. The added height makes it easier for Yixing to Kris’s lower lip. Disregarding their outfits and the situation, Kris wraps his arms around Yixing’s waist, kissing him back. Their fingers trace lines and patterns along each other’s flesh as they deepen their kiss. They both knew each other’s body better than their own. Kris suddenly starts spinning them in a slow dance—to the direction of the living room.

Yixing had kissed a lot of people in his life, some who he loved, and some of which he thought he loved. Kris fell in neither category. Truth be told, Yixing doesn’t know what to make of Kris sometimes. He doesn’t dwell on that, though. Kris has this uncanny ability to make Yixing’s mind fly to mars and back with just the pressure of his lips on the younger’s neck. It always smudges the line between love, and lust, and caring.

Seems like Kris liked the girly get up, after all.

7:12 P.M.

“And you’re bugging me again.”  

“Don’t worry hyung. This is the last time, I promise.”

“Fine, what is it?”

“Uhm, can you sing?”

“Did you just insult me? Of course I can sing!”

“No, I meant can you sing tonight?”

“Why? Does it have to do with Kyungsoo again?”

“Don’t talk about him that way; of course it has everything to do with Kyungsoo.”

“Okay fine, but you owe me dinner for this.”

“Would next month be okay? I’m sort of digging holes in my pockets today.”

“Next month it is then, but a promise is a promise, okay?”

“Yeah, hyung. I’ll meet you outside of Kyungsoo’s place at eight-thirty. I’m on my way to Yixing-hyung’s house so I’ll give you a call later. Thanks.”

7:34 P.M.

One of the things that Jongin wants to change about himself is his bad habit of barging into places. He also likes to reprimand and boss people around, but experience had taught him that walking through doors without bothering to knock first can get him into more serious trouble. Jongin should have known better when he decided to let himself inside Yixing and Kris’s place right after he find out that the door is unlocked.

He should have started to run for his life once he heard the ‘faster Kris’’ plea in Yixing’s voice. But he didn’t and now he regrets it. On the carpeted floor, Yixing and Kris are splayed ; a tangle of sweaty limbs and erratic breathing. When Kris and Yixing both turned their heads to face Jongin with synchronized movements, Jongin froze on the spot.

7:42 P.M.

“I’m seriously worried about him. He’ll be okay, right?”

“He should be.” Kris doesn’t even spare a glance to the stupefied Jongin, whom Yixing is fussing over as he dons on a shirt. They both know Jongin’s peculiar habit, but Kris mentally reasons that he and Yixing were doing the deed in the protection of their own place; so it’s technically Jongin’s fault. “Maybe he was shocked at how hot I am .”

“Yes, you are.” Yixing agrees, and Kris leans down to give him a quick peck on the lips. The sound of smacking soft flesh wakes Jongin back up to his senses.

“You guys are sick.”  Jongin whines, and stares at the floor as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. He thinks that he won’t be able to look at Yixing and Kris straight in the eye without recalling this awkward encounter. “Thanks to you, I won’t be able to forget that disturbing image out of my mind.”

“Don’t try to act all innocent.” Kris starts; he’s the only one that can shove Jongin’s bad traits to his face. Kris is fearless, the only person that Jongin seems to respect. “It’s not like you’re not going to do it with Kyungsoo once you guys are together.”

“Hey! Kyungsoo and I are hotter! Let’s stop talking about this, okay?” He still doesn’t look up, even though he knows that they’re both fully clothed now. “It’s time.”

Kris doesn’t understand what Jongin’s talking about, but looking at Yixing’s scrunched eyebrows and grinning lips, he could tell that his lover does. There are no doubts rammed in his mind, because whatever it is that can cause Yixing to smile, must be something that he’s going to like. This is one of the effects of love, Kris ponders while following Yixing and Jongin out of the door, and you become such a changed person. So selfless, so carefree, that you can hardly recognize the person that you were before you met the one that changed the course of your life.

Staring at the small curls on Yixing’s neck (which Kris knows is very sensitive), Kris feels that tingling feeling in him again. The feeling of having so much love for someone, it actually makes your chest burst with stardust that lands on your veins, down to your arms, then to your fingertips that would itch to touch your lover. Yixing’s left hand is dangling on his side as he walks; Kris grabs it softly and locks it with his own. Like a plant reacting to sunlight, Yixing adjusts his hand into Kris’s—something so natural, he’s sure that the universe ordained it.

8:01 P.M.

Jongdae is rubbing his hands together to keep warm. He’s perched outside of Kyungsoo’s building and he’s right on time. At a young age, his parents had drilled the importance of punctuality into his cranium so deep he swears that he can hear their whiny voices in his head whenever he’d be three seconds late to an appointment or class. He’s the only one in his circle of friends that’s meticulous and precise with time. Even Xiumin, who usually share Jongdae’s beliefs, isn’t fazed with the minutes.

“What are you doing? It’s cold outside. You’ll catch a cold. Come inside for a bit.” It’s Junmyeon—Kyungsoo’s neighbor, their senior of two years, and the dubbed ‘grandpa’ of the campus just because he’s got a bit of a maternal side in him. People had to be blind to not see Junmyeon’s caring touches and soft glances. He’s kind, and Jongdae silently resents him for that. Junmyeon’s the guy that everyone likes and hates at the same time.

“Oh no, I’m fine.” Jongdae would rather freeze to death than accept Junmyeon’s kindness. Junmyeon sighs and Jongdae wonders how it’s possible to be even mad at him. He looks at Junmyeon, and that hate is back once more. He gets it now, Junmyeon’s just too perfect to like—his skin is ivory-white, he’s got rose petals for lips, and constellations are peering behind his iris. Junmyeon is the upgraded, male version of snow white. 

When Junmyeon extends his kindness i.e, offering Jongdae a thick jacket to borrow as he waits for whatever it is, Jongdae tries to think of ways on how you can poison apples. He’s seriously contemplating to give Junmyeon red apples as a gift.

It’s the thought that counts.

8:15 P.M.

“At the count of three,” The youngest out of the group of friends turns back, holding up three fingers.

Jongdae hands are clutching the microphone beside Jongin, Yixing is the one in charge of the guitar, Luhan, Sehun, and Xiumin make themselves useful by promising to sing along (Kris refused to join them, murmuring about how the chilly air is going to make his skin dry.). By the time that Jongin’s fingers turn to fist, Yixing starts strumming. 

8:16 P.M.

A serenade? That’s sweet. Kyungsoo thinks. He’s in his living room, and even the sound of the couples arguing inside the television isn't enough to drown out the seemingly sweet melody calling out to him outside his window. Kyungsoo guesses that it might be for a girl who lives next door or something, but intrigue lead him to peeking through the slit in his curtains. 

His eyes take on that traditionally wider range once he saw who it was that's singing on the road. It's Kim Jongin, and Kyungsoo feels like there are ants on his feel, ready to bite and conquer his sweetened veins and tendons. He rushes down, and receives a paper personally from Jongin.

Three. Three words. I love you.

Here’s a list of reasons why I do:

-You’re Kyungsoo, and I'm Jongin.

-I'll never forget the things that you do.

-I like my ice cream in vanilla.

-I try to cook, and I could also set the whole building on fire on the process.

-You’re not too sensitive; I am.

-You listen to me, and try to understand. I try to do the same.

-You call me out when I’ve done something wrong. I call you out on everything you've done right.

-You stand up for me, and to me. Thank you. 

-You know all the words to my favorite songs; I don’t have a lot of favorite songs. You sing them anyway.

-You have eyes I could easily get lost in. And I already got lost in. 

-You’re hot: figuratively and metaphorically.

-The way you say my name is love.

-You’re Kyungsoo, and I am Kim Jongin.

9:17 P.M.

“I’m not even going to ask you why you’re doing this.”

“I’m not even going to ask you why you’re still beside me.” Baekhyun replies, eyes transfixed on the scene unraveling before him. Their friends Kris, Yixing, Junmyeon, Xiumin, Jongdae, Luhan, and Sehun are already off to different places to do god-knows-what. An hour ago, Baekhyun pestered the details out of Chanyeol. They both didn’t know what the other would do when their feet step on the pavement meters away from where Jongin is delighting in Kyungsoo.

“They look so good together.”

“Yeah, they do.” Chanyeol agrees despite the bitterness in Baekhyun’s voice. He loves Baekhyun enough to not lie to him. He takes a step closer and peers at Baekhyun. Baekhyun’s crying silently, muted tributaries pouring down to the curve of his cheeks down to the line of his jaw. Chanyeol covers Baekhyun’s eyes with his hands. “You don’t have to look at it you know.”

“I could still see them in my mind.” Baekhyun cries, hating himself more for that. He doesn’t want to appear weak in front of anybody, but Chanyeol is persistent, and through the years; Baekhyun has learnt to depend on Chanyeol like a frail old, man would to his trusted crane. “It hurts, Chanyeol. It hurts.”

Two years ago, Baekhyun had shared that when he was younger and he’s hurt, his mother would rub small circles on the area where it hurts. It doesn’t do anything, but knowing that there’s someone out there that’s willing to share warmth on places where agony resides, makes Baekhyun think that everything will be better somehow. Because Chanyeol notes down everything that Baekhyun says, he lifts a large hand to start drawing small circles on Baekhyun’s left chest—where his heart is placed. Breaking, shattering, he doesn’t know about the organ’s condition, all he knows is that Baekhyun sobs harder with every circle. When they start to subside, Chanyeol takes Baekhyun’s right hand to place fingers over his right wrist.

Baekhyun feels his pulse throbbing beneath his nimble fingers.

“You’re alive and it hurts and knowing you, you wish that you’re dead, right? You never wanted to experience things like this.” Chanyeol’s usually-loud voice is now as soft as a hummingbird’s wings. “It’ll all be better; just don’t ask me why or how.”

Baekhyun takes a deep breath, cold air zigzagging down his lungs. He doesn’t say or do anything—what else was there? He’s never been good with comforting people with words the same way Chanyeol is. “Chanyeol,” Baekhyun whispers, closing his eyes. Chanyeol, he murmurs again because it’s the only thing in his life that remains upright when everything around him are zooming in circles.

11:59 P.M.

“You’re really persistent, but I want to kiss you right now.”

“Believe me, I’m really fighting the urge to kiss you, but just wait for one more minute.” Jongin smiles and it’s different from the one that he normally walks around with. Their friends just left Kyungsoo’s place right after dinner (well, it was actually Jongin who tried to shoo everyone away to have some private time with Kyungsoo.) They’ve grumbled, made catcalls, and whistled loudly it made Kyungsoo’s ears turn red.

And now, Jongin thinks that there isn’t a perfect place on earth, but being in Kyungsoo’s balcony, their legs and arms tangled with each other atop a thick blanket and their eyes drilling holes into the indigo sky; he feels like this is the closest to paradise. “Come on, tick faster.”

“Three.” Kyungsoo starts once he saw how close the long arm is to twelve.

“Two,” Jongin continues.

“One,” Kyungsoo looks at Jongin.

12:00 P.M.

When Jongdae and Xiumin are alone together, one of these two things happen: cheesy pillow talk, or primitive action that leads hitting the bed and pillows. Now, it’s somewhere in between. Jongdae’s arms are around Xiumin’s and they’re both staring intently at each other, as if blinking would cause one of them to vanish.

The weather man said that the temperature tonight would be around 10 degrees Celsius, but as Xiumin locks the space between his body and Jongdae’s, every single fact is disregarded. Xiumin is lukewarm. Jongdae doesn’t have a problem with that. “Merry Christmas, love.”

12:00 P.M.

Loud, carefree laughter enchants heads to turn to the source of the sound. The street is aligned with bright-orange fairly like lights that illuminate the concrete road along with the faces of pedestrians who happen to spend the first minute of Christmas day outside. Sehun and Luhan originally planned to make it to Luhan’s place before midnight, but unfortunately, Luhan’s fickle mind and Sehun’s inability to stay focused had them behind schedule.

It’s not really easy to attempt to climb walls, and throw rocks at random windows at this time of the night. Luhan looks like a mannequin come to life, and Sehun resembles a possessive shop owner.

“You know, we should start to go home.” Sehun voices out, but who the heck is he lying to? Anywhere with Luhan is fun. “Carry me on your back.”

“You sound drunk. How many bottles have you stolen at Kyungsoo’s place earlier?”

“I didn’t steal them! I just took them and forgot to ask permission. I took about three or four, or five. I can’t really remember.” Sehun slurs and Luhan inhales the scent of alcohol coming from Sehun’s mouth. It feels like it’s burning his nasal pathways.

“Let’s get you home.” Luhan bends down to let Sehun’s arms tangle itself in his neck and shoulders. Contrary to what he looks like, Sehun is pretty light.

“You’re very handsome.” Sehun breaks the silence that’s marred with the sound of Luhan’s shoes scraping the ground and snow.

“You’re just saying that because you’re drunk, dear.”

“I maybe drunk,” Sehun starts a line at the base of Luhan’s ear and connects it to Luhan’s jaw. Luhan fights the urge to shiver in pleasure. “And you’re handsome. By tomorrow I’ll be sober, and you’ll still be handsome.”

He doesn’t say anything else, because he’s knocked out and tumbling down wonderland three seconds later. Luhan smiles. Merry Christmas.

12:00 P.M.

“I think I ate too much. I feel so full.” Yixing lies down on the corridor of Kyungsoo’s building. Kris is as good as dead beside him. These two lovers are lucky that no one is around to witness them lying on the cold floor with their eyes closed. Yixing thinks that he must have eaten an elephant, and Kris is sure that Satan is vacuuming him to the ground, making him unable to stand up. He doesn’t even try.

“Merry Christmas,” Kris says after looking at his wrist watch.

When Yixing doesn’t reply, Kris looks at his sleeping face and plants a kiss on Yixing’s lips.

12:00 P.M.

The very second the clock ticked twelve, no air molecules could slither between Kyungsoo's lips and Jongin's. When you kiss someone, you don't think about fictional things, you don't think about facts. You think of the things in between these two: Kyungsoo's lips are so soft, they're like fluffy marshmallows. Their lips and tongues know their way around the other, almost as if they were both Hansel and Gretel who left breadcrumbs for them to find their way back home. 

Kyungsoo tastes like the peppermint candy canes that Jongin doesn't like. Jongin carries the holidays behind the curtains of his eyelashes, and that unnerves Kyungsoo. When their lips part unwillingly, Jongin wonders how he could have survived for eighteen years without Kyungsoo's lips on his. 

"Merry Christmas," Kyungsoo greets, and Jongin replies with a billion poetic words, all summarized in another smile and kiss. 

"I love you,"

"That's better." Jongin smiles. "I love you, too and I don't have to wait for another 365 days just to say that again."

F I N 

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