‘What?’ Donghae says, faintly. ‘H-Hyukjae, what are you doing here?’

‘These- these are for you,’ Hyukjae says, holding the flowers out. He’s trembling, and the little flowers wobble in their mustard-colour wrapping. Donghae just stares at him.

‘I-’ Hyukjae tries again. ‘I had to come, Donghae. Even- even if you tell me to leave, I couldn’t let another Christmas go by without seeing you.’

Donghae is still trying to comprehend that Hyukjae, the man he has only seen in the glossy pages of magazines for two years now; Hyukjae, his ex-boyfriend is somehow standing there outside his hotel room in New York.

‘You got my message,’ Donghae says, and Hyukjae looks down, quickly.

‘Yeah,’ he says. Donghae is doing the math, counting the hours, eyes growing wider.

‘You idiot,’ he says, voice rising. ‘So you went and got on a plane and flew here all the way from Seoul?’

Hyukjae is still staring at the carpet at his feet.

‘Not exactly,’ he whispers. ‘I uh- I only got your message an hour ago, when the plane landed.’

It takes Donghae a moment to realize what that means.

‘You were already on your way here,’ he says, and he doesn’t know what to feel. He leans on the doorframe and stares at Hyukjae.

‘I had to see you,’ Hyukjae says again, and his eyes are filling. ‘I don’t- I don’t have any expectations, Donghae. If- if you are willing for us to try to be friends again, that’s- that’ll be enough for me. But I couldn’t- I couldn’t let another year go by, I-’

A group of guests walk past, looking at them curiously, but Hyukjae doesn’t even notice they’ve got an audience. He swallows hard and straightens up.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ he says, pulling a little box out of his back pocket. The onlookers gasp and nudge each other as they hurry past, thinking they are witnessing a proposal. But Donghae-

He's remembering a Christmas years ago.

When Hyukjae and he were teenagers and had had their first serious fight. Remembering how his dad had sent him out to see Hyukjae, even though they weren’t speaking to each other, because Hyukjae was waiting at the end of the driveway, nervously clutching a little box.

It's a different box this time, but Hyukjae's expression is the same.

Donghae takes the box and opens it, and his eyes fill with tears.

Somehow, impossibly, nestled in the black velvet interior is the friendship bracelet he had bought all those years ago. Donghae touches it with one fingertip and the leather is worn and thin. It’s his, he recognizes it easily after having worn it so long. Hyukjae’s had a broken clasp, while Donghae’s had been repaired with a new strand of leather, and he can still see that strand, slightly different to the others

‘Where-’ he asks faintly. ‘How-’

Hyukjae pulls his sleeve up and Donghae sees that around his slim wrist is the matching bracelet, the one Donghae had presented to him on their very first Christmas.

‘Lee Donghae,’ Hyukjae says shakily, ‘You mean the world to me. And- and if it’s not too late, I want to be part of your life again.’

The onlookers are smiling and clapping, not sure what they’re witnessing but eager for a happy ending.

‘Hug him!’ one of them says, and so Donghae does.

There’s a moment where it’s partly to keep the onlookers happy, because Donghae doesn’t know what he wants or what to do, but the instant he has Hyukjae in his arms again it’s like the whole world shrinks down to just the two of them. He has his arms around Hyukjae’s neck and Hyukjae is holding him just as tightly, face pressed into Donghae’s shoulder, and they just fit.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Hyukjae says, and he’s crying into Donghae’s crumpled shirt. 'I missed you so much.'

‘Me too,’ Donghae says, and maybe he’s crying a little bit too, and they just hold each other right there in the middle of the corridor. When they finally separate, the onlookers have dispersed and they are alone. Hyukjae has red eyes and is sniffing, and Donghae is in the clothes he wore to bed, and there’s far too much between them to just solve it with one hug, but it’s a start.

‘Do you want to come in?’ Donghae asks, stepping back, and Hyukjae smiles at him, watery but genuine.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Can I?’

It’s only when he goes to move and his legs nearly give way that Donghae realizes how exhausted he is. He quickly grabs him and helps him in, elbowing the door closed. Hyukjae is thinner than he remembers, all angles beneath his jacket, and it’s almost too easy for Donghae to half carry him to the bed.

‘Sorry,’ Hyukjae murmurs, collapsing bonelessly into the rumpled bedding. ‘I’m kind of tired.’

‘Kind of tired?’ Donghae is pulling the other man’s wet shoes off, noticing for the first time the dark shadows under his eyes. ‘When did you last sleep? Or eat? Why didn’t you sleep on the plane, you idiot?’

‘I was thinking too much,’ Hyukjae says, and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. ‘It’s been a few days, I guess. I had to find you. Leeteuk helped. Do you mind if I have a little nap and then we can talk?’

‘Wait,’ Donghae says. Only Hyukjae would travel a thousand miles to see him then fall asleep as soon as he got there. ‘Don’t sleep yet, Hyukjae! I’ll get you some water, and something else to wear-’

It’s too late. By the time Donghae rummages through his bag for something clean for Hyukjae to wear, the other man is already fast asleep, curled up on Donghae’s unmade bed like he belongs there. Donghae just stands there beside the bed for a long time, looking down at him.

He still can’t believe it’s really Hyukjae.

Worn and exhausted, in desperate need of a shower, but still Hyukjae. He’s always slept with his mouth open (part of the curse of having such gorgeous lips, Donghae supposes) and he’s drooling a little into Donghae’s pillows. Donghae’s heart squeezes so much he has to walk away for a while. He has his laptop so he turns it on and tries to focus on uploading some photos. But even sitting on the other side of the room with his back to Hyukjae, he’s still so aware of his presence. He turns the TV on low as some background noise and tries to work out what he’s feeling.

Joy? Apprehension? Confusion? Frustration?

All of the above?

A little whimper from the bed distracts him and he quickly glances over. Hyukjae is still asleep, but his brows are creased and he’s stirring a little. Donghae mutes the TV in case it’s worrying him but in the ensuing silence, Hyukjae’s muffled little whimpers are more obvious.

‘Hyuk?’

Donghae tiptoes over to peer at the man on the bed. His hair is a tangled mess over his face, and worried he’s getting sick or something – when did he stop taking care of himself? – Donghae carefully smooths back his hair and lays a hand on Hyukjae’s forehead to check his temperature.

He feels normal; warm beneath Donghae’s fingertips but not unnaturally so. Donghae should take his hand back now, but- but he isn’t. He’s alw