It was around nine o’clock in the evening when I’d convinced my parents that Kyungsoo and I were fine and unharmed, safe and sound from whatever it was that they’d imagined would injure us. The parental concern package consisted of many “Thank goodness you’re okay” and “Are you hungry” and “Are you hurt anywhere” and “Are you sure” with the rather peculiar yet very much applicable “Do you need a nebuliser, please answer me”. It was with a great sigh of relief that I thanked Kyungsoo for asking the authorities involved to not inform his folks that he’d been trapped in a lift for two whole hours since “they’re dealing with some more important issues right now”. Had he not done so, three (or possibly four) utterly anxious and concerned hearts would be taking turns repeating themselves and fussing. Umma wasn’t very impressed, though.

“You’re lucky I understand your point, young man,” she scoffed, sharp and squinted eyes shooting at Kyungsoo’s face.

The transitory power outage shut down only the hospital’s second floor and a couple of elevators. Shortly after hauling us out, the firemen blamed faulty generators, explaining in detail while I eagerly nodded and purposely filtered the jargon out. Kyungsoo and I were both drained and extremely thirsty, so when fireman number one had stopped chattering and my thermometer bluntly checked by nurse number three for the fourth and final time, I’d managed to chug down a litre and a half of distilled water.

However, the mood from the amorous scenario we had just created while waiting for rescue was undoubtedly suppressed by the huffing, puffing and fussing. But we were both completely fine.

Heck, we felt rather… invincible.

--

“I’m proud of you.”

A large cup of caffé gelato – his personal favourite – in one hand, and an overpriced plastic spoon on the other, Kim Jongin sat across me with an amused grin emblazoned on his expression. It was a beam that possibly played in between acceptance and the difficult process of humbling oneself. It was tempting to feel sorry for him, but doing so would only obliterate what little of his pride was left. Jongin, to me, had become my heart’s mentor and a rather handsome wake-up call; no more, no less. We were in mutual agreement with that fact, and we were both thankful for each other’s company.

“I’m really proud, Hyemi. Well done for manning up,” he smirks while mocking applause.

I kicked his foot. “A brave heart for brave things, right?”

“I taught you well.”

“That seems to be the case.”

“We’re moving to Osaka next week. For good.”

But I’d only just realised how much I cared for him dearly, because as far as I was concerned, Osaka was in Japan, roughly one thousand two hundred kilometres away from the outskirts of Gangneung.

Too far for regular hang outs at Gustavo’s.

In fact, too far for anything.

“Japan?”

“My Dad is being relocated for the third time in less than two years,” he swirled his spoon, “and I think I’m getting used to it.”

I felt rather sad. Jongin came along as a stranger, but he’d leave as someone significant. The feeling of being left behind was foreign to me, because I’d never really been left behind in the past. Even more so, Jongin had a noteworthy impact in my life in such a short amount of time, and the little but rare wisdom I had reaped from it I will treasure forever.

“Wow,” I heaved a thoughtful sigh, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Hyemi. You listening to and putting up with my sentiments – that’s more than enough.”

“Have you told Kyungsoo?”

“Of course, I have,” he chuckled, “he’s more important than you are.”

I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance.

“Oh, before I forget,” Jongin shifted in his seat and reached for a paper bag underneath the table, “here’s my Christmas present.”

I was about to protest that he really didn’t have to because I hadn’t even gone to shop for any presents yet, but in the end I just held back because that would have made me even more selfish than I already was being.

“Gee, thanks,” I fumbled with the carefully wrapped parcel, subtly trying to feel and guess what could possibly be hidden inside, “can I open it now?”

“No, don’t,” he shook his head eagerly, “it can wait until the actual day.”

“But that’s still a week away! Don’t you want to see me opening it?”

“No, I don’t. Patience is key, Hyemi.”

I sighed in defeat. “If you say so, senpai.”

--

“Yeoboseyo?”

“Hyemi-ah.”

I was in the middle of wrapping his present. It was nothing much, nothing special, since I was never good at capturing sentiments and translating it into a material object. I simply thought a woollen jersey would keep him warm during the winter season – nothing more, nothing less.

Despite the call being his fourth one since saving ourselves from denial, my bodily reactions were still that of a hormone-induced adolescent. Kyungsoo’s effect on me was inimitable – the very sound of his voice is bliss in another form.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Did you really just call to ask me this?”

“Maybe,” he mused in a playful tone, “maybe not.”

Ten minutes ran by – spent exchanging an irrelevant load of sweet nothings and a few rambling and ranting about hectic parents during yuletide season – before airports, surprises and Kim Jongin were brought up. Kyungsoo suggested that we should give him a little surprise at the airport simply by “showing up and showering him with our presence on Christmas Day.”

“So I’ll meet you at Terminal 3 tomorrow?” I probed to reconfirm, and also to drop a hint that I needed to hang up promptly to finish the mandatory seasonal errands.

“Okay. Terminal 3. Don’t be late.”

“Okay, bye, see you tomor-”

“Wait, Hyemi-ah.”

Before I could ask why, I heard him stifle a giggle on the other end, followed by not-so-subtle throat clearing.

“Mmm?”

“You love me.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Placing my thumb on the end button, I got ready to hang up, and then settled for the response I knew he wanted.

“You love me, too.”

--

It was my first time setting foot inside Gangneung International Airport on a Christmas Day. Apart from the overplayed carols, garlands crawling on railings and walls, and authorities faking a smile that came with a not-so-merry “Merry Christmas”, the place buzzed with people of all sorts from everywhere. Kyungsoo got there earlier, and apparently I was “late”.

“Stop whining, they aren’t even here yet.”

“Well, they are now,” he pointed at the main entrance.

Jongin beamed as soon as he caught sight of us. I met his parents for the first time – Jongin looked so much like his father.

“Surprise!” Kyungsoo and I flailed our arms in the air – the gesture slightly embarrassing Jongin as his cheeks began to redden.

“Merry Christmas, you two,” he nudged Kyungsoo’s shoulder and lightly gave mine a squeeze. “Have you opened them yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. I suggest you open them together.”

The boarding call for “Osaka, Flight KLN3497” rang through the PA system, interrupting our thoughts and reunion. After bowing to his parents and addressing final goodbyes and formalities, Jongin was really leaving for Japan.

“Take care,” Kyungsoo pulled him in for a hug, “and keep in touch, alright?”

“Take care, hyung. Take care of Hyemi.”

“I will. Always.”

“Bye, Hyemi, annyeong!”

“Go forth and grace Japan with your wisdom!”

With a final, short and warm embrace, we said goodbye and wished him well. It had been almost three months and a whole autumn since first meeting a somewhat cocky Jongin, but to me, he left as a loyal friend, a wise comrade, and a brave heart.

Kyungsoo reached for my hand, and we walked out of the vicinity with tears of joy, laughing on a sunny Christmas Day – together.