It is 11.57pm and my laptop screen continues to glare at my face, papers and thick volumes are strewn 180 degrees around me.  The night outside is harsh and cold, a contradiction to the festive spirit created by children’s laughter and smiles in the street.  The moon peers shyly from behind wisps of clouds, watching over Seoul this frosty night.  I’m working in my room, my back leaning against the bed for support, and hoping against hope I could finish this by Boxing Day.  It is impossible- absolutely hopeless, to finish writing a 6-page editorial in three days.  My boss is not being reasonable for setting this deadline; I cannot have it done in such short notice- I am not a Superman.
Sighing, just as I pull off my glasses and toss it with the papers, the front door opens and I hear a ring of keys being placed on the small glass table near the doorway.  Muffled footsteps are moving toward my room and as I turn around, YunHo-ssi pops his head around the doorframe, a bemused smile on his face.
“Hey, you,” his eyes are sparkling in amusement, entering our bedroom and slides across our bed, creasing the cover, “still working, I see.”
“Yes,” I say, obvious irritation in my tone, “the imbecile who is my boss wants me to hand in an editorial in 3 days’ time.  Not any editorial, but a 6-page editorial!  Goodness knows I have no life because of that silly man.”
“Hmmm...” YunHo-ssi leans over my shoulder, I feel his familiar warmth and the smell of his clean clothes mixed with his smell. 
Even after a year, I still cannot believe I’m dating this guy.  Jung YunHo is too good to be true.  During our time together, I’ve always had this horrible thought niggling in the back of my mind that YunHo is out of my league. He is very thoughtful: fame does not bother me since as far as the world is concerned, YunHo doesn’t have a girlfriend.  He did discuss with me about keeping this a secret; he reassured that it’s for the purpose of the media leaving me alone.  I hope that’s the only reason and not because of the fact that he’s growing tiresome of me.  I hate this sense of insecurity.  I’m the type that wants her boyfriend to take her out every now and again, share secret jokes with, and above all, say that he loves her if only once.  YunHo-ssi doesn’t like these gestures; however, when we are alone in the evening occasionally he would prop his head on my shoulder and lock his fingers with mine.  It’s not because I don’t appreciate the small pieces of love which he shows me from time to time, but I want more. 
Am I being too clingy, too greedy?
”What a grim article,” he comments, his eyes scanning the 968 words which I’ve written so far, “why does he want you to write an article on poverty and famine?  It’s Christmas: shouldn’t it be something optimistic and cheerful?”
“I swear he doesn’t like me.”  I drop my head backwards.
“Well,” he withdraws from me and climbs off the bed, slipping to the ensuite, “good luck.  I’m going to bed.”
Great, no help there.
I flip over my watch.  “But it’s only 12.”
“Yeah, well,” I hear muffles as his electric toothbrush cleans his teeth, “remember we’re going to see my family tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh bother!  Can you give my apologies to them?  What with this work, I won’t be able to go tomorrow as pre-arranged.”
“But you have to go,” I hear water running, my eyes fixed on my laptop once more, “the old folks are dying to meet you.”
“Well, I can’t abandon this.”
I hear him switch off the bathroom light and feel a small judder as the bed moves.  I look around to see him in his baby blue pyjamas quickly disappearing beneath the brown sheets of cover. 
“You’re not going to help me, are you?”
“Nope.”  He reaches over to snap off the bed light beside him.  “Goodnight.”
“Mean person.”  I mumble.
The room turns dark; the only sources of light are the lamp beside my side of the bed and the monitor’s glare.  Swallowing a moan, I resume my editorial.  Pursing my lips, I spread my fingers and type a few sentences or two, sometimes replacing a few words with a synonym for better way of expression. 
‘... children from less-developed countries continue to endure the hardship that is to come and live the hopeless life that the world fails to acknowledge.  These victims...’
The bed shuffles behind me and before I know it, I squeak at a pair of strong arms coils around my neck. 
“Come to bed.”  Comes YunHo-ssi’s sleepy voice.
“You scared me.”
“Come to bed.”
“Why?  Are you feeling lonely up there?”
“No,” God, he’s blunt, “your lamp is preventing me from going to sleep.”  This guy has zero appeal.
“I can’t, I have to do this, okay?”
“You’re tired...”
“I’m not.”  I say a little too quickly.
“I felt your jaw moving from stifling a yawn.”  Damn this man.  “Look, how about this: we go to my parents’ tomorrow morning, then we leave earlier and I’ll help you as much as I can tomorrow afternoon, hm?”
“You’re not saying this just to get your sleep, right?”
“Yes, and because I want you to come to bed this instant.”
“Fine.”  I surrender. 
I switch off my laptop and rise to use the bathroom.  Changing into my nightie, I quickly pad across cold wooden floorboards and hop into bed.  I click the light off and snuggle to the softness of my pillow.  Why is the bed freezing?  Turning away I close my eyes, but they open again at the sudden feel of YunHo cuddling against me.
“Finally...” He murmurs sleepily, “I can never get the bed warm like you do.”
“What am I: your bed-warmer?”
His arms fold me closer to him, and I feel his lips stretch into a smile on my nape.  “Did you know,” he whispers after a while, ignoring my sarcasm, “in two days’ time we will have our first Christmas together.”
I remain silent.
“I’m glad I’ve finally moved out and live here.  I don’t know why, but I’m really excited to spend Christmas.”
My heart flutters at those words.  It’s as good as saying ‘I love you’. 
“Is the person beside me Jung YunHo?”  I roll on my other side so I’m facing him, facing this pair of eyes which twinkles with love and happiness.  He nuzzles against my cheek, our noses touch.  I close my eyes and breathe into his scent; the smell of him is familiar and comforting. 
“I know I haven’t been the boyfriend of the year,” he whispers, “I realize I haven’t been there for you when you needed me, that I’m usually missing because of my work, that you miss out the fun that most couples have at the beginning of a relationship, and that I’m not the tidiest person in the world.”  I smile at that.  “But you still put up with me anyway.”  He locks me tightly so I can’t move away, his eyes hold mine.  “I can’t tell you how happy and fulfilled you make me, how blessed I am to come home to see you in your top and shorts, your glasses lost amongst the sea of papers around you, and fed-up with your boss and yet you still manage to find a smile for me.”  My heart is beating so fast that I think YunHo can feel it.  And there it is: the moon shines on the child-like smile which spreads across his face showing his white teeth, forming shallow dimples on either side of his face, the smile that made me fall deeply for him in the first place.
He slowly leans over and plants a light kiss on my lips; for one moment the world stops and our hearts beat in perfect harmony.