A/N: In celebration of Moonbyul’s 24^th birthday and the upcoming Christmas, here’s a little addition to the MoonSun fluffiness. It’s kinda gross and all, but in dedication to greasy Moonbyul anyway. Hope y’all enjoy it and happy holidays! (:

-

White, puffy clouds dot the dull sky as balls of snow coat the branches of trees in the cold winter. The freezing temperatures burn through the air despite its thickness, howling in silence as the cold earth comes rushing up to meet them. The cold pavement is filled with puddles as a result of condensation of tiny snowflakes continuously descending from the sky, some of the icy water cruelly seeping their way through the boots of unlucky individuals, while some dash down drains and drip into dreary gutters. The streets of Seoul are less crowded than usual, as many either stay huddled in their warm houses or hid themselves inside cafes and restaurants.

Kim Yongsun drags her soaked boots as she walks, her soggy socks occasionally making squishy noises and her toes wrinkle in them. On her shoulders hung a guitar in its black case, and her fingers are curled inside the pockets of her winter coat. She sighs as she spots her expecting wooden bench overlaid with a layer of white snow, leaving no brown spot empty. Busking was never an easy job for Yongsun. Living alone was her very own decision five years ago, when she vowed to be independent. Paying rent and feeding herself was manageable, if Yongsun was careful and made sure she didn’t slack, and she didn’t.

Yongsun groans. She slips out both hands from her pockets; stares at them for a full minute before she notices her fingertips are pink from the cold. She eyes the surrounding and not one person is in sight. Yongsun reaches out her numb fingers and wipes off the snow on the bench, and plants herself on it. Her guitar knocks the ground but she pays no attention to it as she lifts both her palms to and exhales into them. She cups them to her frozen cheeks as her eyes start to sting and grew watery due to the cold, or maybe it wasn’t due to the cold. She pulls her scarf up to her nose. She wouldn’t be able to perform today anyway, judging by the weather and the absence of audiences.

For what feels like eternity, her eyelids flutter close and she allows herself to sink into her fantasized imagination, what Christmas should feel like, with presents hidden under a Christmas tree decorated with speckles of gold and silver, and a dining table sprawled with a baked turkey and a prettily designed log cake. Yongsun opens her eyes and realizes herself smiling. She regains her composure and shakes her head back into reality. Christmas is in fact nothing but a dull, lonely festive, and a weather as cold as blixen. Yongsun, after a moment of contemplating, decides to abandon the idea of strumming her numb fingers against the brittleness of the guitar strings. She stands up, but-

Poof!

Humiliation. Embarrassment. Anger. Confusion. A wave of jumbled emotions fills Yongsun such that her fists are clenched, her lips are pressed and her eyes shut. She opens them slowly and dusts the snow off her face. Then, she swivels around.

“I-I’m so sorry!”

A girl with straight, blonde hair, which trails down her shoulders and almost covering her eyes, raises a red mitten and waves in her direction, her face flushing pink from embarrassment. Her knees are halfway sinking into the ground and a pile of snow is gathered in front of her, and Yongsun guesses she must have been in the process of some sort of digging.

“I’m fine.” She strains a smile as her harden cheeks restricts her facial movements.

“Hey.”

Yongsun whirls around again, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Want to help me build a snowman? You see, I’m actually having some trouble doing it alone.”

“Sure.” Yongsun says after a few seconds of hesitation.

Yongsun trots towards the other as the latter breaks into a sheepish grin, her teeth flashing as she beams widely.

“Thank you!”

Yongsun feels heat rising up to cheek, and she wonders how it’s possible in the cold.

The pair squat themselves in the middle of a patch of white emptiness, the breezy cold howling in their ears and a messy pile of snow gathered before them, which is nowhere close to looking like a snowman. Yongsun wonders what she was thinking to have come to this pathetically tragic state, but somehow it doesn’t feel too bad.

They start working, the duo takes turn in gathering a fistful of white fluffiness and piling them up on an empty circumference. Turn around, pile it up, turn around, pile it up, they continue the repetitive steps in silence, until the blonde-haired girl clears .

“What’s your name?”

She stops everything she was doing and plants her onto the snow, her hazelnut orbs staring deeply into Yongsun’s eyes, and she smiles at her as though she’s looking at someone she loves. Yongsun blinks uncomfortably.

“It’s Yongsun, Kim Yongsun.” Her voice trails off at the end before she realizes she doesn’t know her name either.

“Yours?”

“Byulyi, Moon Byulyi.”

Yongsun doesn’t realize when her lips unconsciously part in awe, doesn’t realize when her heart starts to race a little, doesn’t realize when heat starts rising to her cheeks. Yongsun realizes she’s pretty fond of the girl. She wonders the reason Byulyi’s out during Christmas in the blistering cold alone, but doesn’t ask.

“I threw the snowball at you on purpose, I’m sorry if it hurt.” Byulyi admits as she lowers her head. A moment of silence sweeps over the both of them.

“Are you not going to ask me why?” Byulyi asks.

“Why?” Yongsun echoes before she has time to think.

“Because you were pretty.”

Yongsun doesn’t answer, but is unable to hide the reddish hue spreading from her cheeks to her ears and neck. She scoops a handful of snow with her trembling hands, now white from the cold.

“Let’s just go, you’re too cold.”

“What about the snowman?”

“We can always build it another time.”

Yongsun is unable to process her brain in time but Byulyi is tugging her up by her arm, and her hands are now gloved with a pair of red mittens. She looks back at the halfway built snowman and wonders if it should be left abandoned at where it is, but Byulyi is already crossing the road with Yongsun’s guitar slung over her right shoulder. She scurries over.

They settle down at a café where Yongsun orders her usual flat white coffee, while Byulyi decides to go with a cup of espresso. Yongsun has both palms cupped around her drink, and Byulyi sits across her, fidgeting occasionally and her face plastered with a look of curiosity.

“Why do you carry a guitar around?”

Byulyi gestures towards the instrument that rests at the side of their table, its black case now coated with snow.

“I, uh, perform with that.”

Byulyi nods slowly as if she’s trying to register the information, but Yongsun can’t seem to comprehend the complicatedness of her reply.

“You don’t rest at all? Not even in Christmas?”

Yongsun shrugs before shaking her head. A look of compassion floods the other’s face, and Yongsun decides to divert the topic before she receives unnecessary pity.

“What were you doing out there alone?”

“I was trying to build a snowman.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah?”

“… Really?”

Yongsun quirks her left eyebrow in doubt, and Byulyi breaks into fits of laughter.

“I don’t have any family in Seoul, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Byulyi’s face starts to soften and her eyelids droop a little, and she starts to play with her fingers, her drink still untouched.

“You don’t like your coffee?” Yongsun queries, and Byulyi looks up instantly.

“Huh?”

“Your coffee,” Yongsun indicates with her chin, “Do you not like it?”

“Ah…” Byulyi blushes, her fingers going out to grab the handle of her mug. She takes a sip and Yongsun does likewise. Again, silence washes over the duo, but awkwardness no longer linger in it.

-

An ominous bank of dark clouds loomed overhead as they hung like tattered grey curtains over the inky indigo midnight sky. Byulyi has both hands in her jacket while Yongsun has one on her guitar and the other curled up in a fist. They stroll down the sequestered streets of Seoul, where darkness now lay. The pubs and malls are now closed, and the only forms of light are from several houses where families are squealing over their gathering with candle lighted suppers, as well as the sodium gleam of the street lamps, or the flickering striplight from a sleepy minicab stand. Buildings, monuments and statues pulsate mysteriously in the absence of people, and Yongsun is thankful that Byulyi is by her side; otherwise she’d scurry like a whimpering rat home.

“Why are you walking me home?” Yongsun suddenly asks, not realizing the lack of intelligence in her question.

“It’s on the way, I live pretty nearby.”

They walk up hill without any form of conversation; the only sounds produced are from the shuffling of their feet and the breathless pants in the cold winter. They take a few steps before arriving at Yongsun’s house, and she stops to face the other.

“Thank you.” Yongsun says. “For today.”

Byulyi smiles back and retrieves her right hand from her pocket to run her fingers through the soft locks of Yongsun’s brown hair. She takes out a black marker from inside her pocket and Yongsun wonders where she got it.

“How about you close your eyes?”

Yongsun opens to utter something but closes it instead when Byulyi shakes her head. She closes her eyes.

Fingers smooth themselves on the inside of her wrists, and Yongsun feels the edge of the marker on her skin, stuff being scribbled on it. The scribbling stops, and just when she’s about to allow her eyes to flutter open, soft, warm, lips are pressed against her very own. She tastes bitter from the coffee but it’s sweet otherwise, and Yongsun grins when Byulyi whispers against her lips.

“Merry Christmas, Yongsun.”

She opens her eyes and watches as Byulyi trails away, her blonde hair flowing in the wind. Yongsun doesn’t bother hiding her smile, and as her freezing fingers come into contact with her hot cheeks, she thinks she’s in love.

Yongsun is up in her apartment within seconds, and as she stares out of her window to witness snowflakes sticking onto the glass panes, she spots Byulyi hailing a cab at the road junction nearby. Byulyi must’ve been good at lying. She watches until Byulyi crawls herself at the back of the taxi, and she’s reminded of the scribbling. She lifts her right wrist and on it is inked with a string of numbers, Byulyi’s number. She giggles when she sees the messily written call me right below the numbers. She draws the curtain when the taxi is no longer in sight, and she takes a moment as she wraps herself with her blanket, running through the day’s events like a movie. Yongsun closes her eyes and when she sees only Byulyi’s face in her head, she knows she’s in love.