Because we all need a Christmas miracle, no?

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“I spent sixty-thousand won on this special edition concert album. This better be good,” you grumble as you place the first CD into your six disk CD player and wait for the pan to rotate so you can put the second CD in. As you plop back down onto the couch, you gently pick up the album and take out the extra ten photocards it came with. Naturally, your eyes linger longer on Jongdae’s photocard and even more so on his photos in the photobook.

After many minutes of staring out your apartment window and sipping on your custom-made peppermint hot chocolate courtesy of whip cream, marshmallows, a candy cane, and chocolate syrup, your ears catch onto Jongdae’s unique voice and you sit up to search through the tracklist. Displeased that you missed the beginning of his song, you press the skip back button on the remote to the stereo and there’s a dull pause as it jumps to the beginning of the track.

In your mind, you recall Jongdae’s figure decked out in a black leather jacket and tight jeans, his Rolling Stones shirt visible to all the fans as he bounds up and down the stage, bending over to where he is just mere inches from them. The hands shoot up to try to grab onto anything of him, whether it be his shoe or even the slightest piece of fabric on him. And you jump with him, only because the fans are jumping, too, and you keep your gaze trained on him.

But you’re not screaming, just observing because Jongdae is, in many ways, simply perfect and beautiful. Maybe he’s sick of the constant ballads he’s assigned, though he can’t deny that he has the perfect voice for it. And you observe how free he seems to be on stage, doing and singing something completely different from what SM assigns him. His high notes resonate throughout the concert hall and your feet falter in their landing, causing you to stumble a bit and apologize to the fan you had grabbed the shoulder of to steady yourself.

And maybe you’re bluffing yourself, or being extremely delusional, because when you look back up, it’s only to see that his eyes are locked with yours, one hand keeping the microphone in front of his moving lips, the other outstretched into the air as if to grab someone’s hand. Flawless, he is, you decide at that moment (after many other moments of deciding the same thing), and you unwillingly rip your gaze from his and leave the arena with a heavy heart.

The words “Excuse me” leave your lips about a million times as you weave through the crowd, aware that Jongdae’s solo stage has come to a close and the next act is about to appear. You can’t remember if it’s Kyungsoo or Chanyeol or maybe you’re just completely off because you just know you have to get out of here, now.

But that was months ago, and now you’re stuck here with the special edition of the concert album, reminiscing. Jongdae’s track has long been over and Sehun’s voice slowly filters into your ears, gradually tearing you out of your flashbacks. At that moment, your phone rings and you pick it up before pressing your thumb on the green pickup button and swiping right. Your fingers lift the device to your ear and you answer, “Hello?”

“I thought cellphones came with caller ID,” Luhan’s voice rings in your ear after a short second and you can’t help but break out in a genuine grin. “Hello to you, too, Lulu,” you greet softly. “How’s the actor life?”

“Doing okay,” Luhan hums. “Are you going to watch the movie? I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“Will you tell on me when I find a pirated version of it on Putlocker or something? Or Viki? I won’t fly all the way to China to see it, no matter how much I love you, Lu.”

“I won’t tell,” Luhan chuckles into the speaker and you laugh along with him. “How’s everything with you? Same old?” You look back at your snow-covered window and nod to nothing. “Same old. Still the same as the last time we talked.”

“So still…” Luhan hesitates in the speaker. “Yeah, still,” you quietly confirm.

“You wanna talk to Kris? He’s been making a ‘call me’ signal for the past two minutes,” Luhan interjects after a few minutes of casual conversation and takes your chuckling as a yes. There’s a rustle and a quiet “You look desperate stop it” before Kris’s voice flows in. “How’s my favorite sister doing?”

“Same old, as if you didn’t hear Lulu earlier. Though I have to say, the blonde hair suits you quite nicely,” you refer to his recent showing at the fashion awards.

“Please, I look good with anything—”

“Aaaanndddd the arrogance strikes again,” you cut and grin at Yifan’s indistinct mumbling. “I’m kidding, Yifan. Tell me about what’s going on.”

A few minutes later filled with embarrassing stories, Luhan desperately trying to get his phone back. also probably with Kris using his long arms to his advantage to keep Luhan a good distance away, the three of you fall into a comfortable silence.

“Do you hear knocking on your door?” Kris asks and you place your phone against your sweater to hear the door. Indeed, there is light knocking and you puzzledly glance at the phone screen before gracefully removing yourself from the couch to open your dark cherry wood door.

The person standing there is someone you weren’t expecting at all, one that you didn’t expect to see ever again. Your hand trembles and shakily brings your phone to your ear before stuttering, “K-kris, I’ll t-talk to you lat-t-ter, ok?” The thumb hitting the “end call” button without even waiting for an agreement on the other end.

“Can I come in?” The person asks and you dumbly nod before moving to the side to let the figure in. Talk about unexpected. The visitor settles onto your couch like it’s their millionth time and you bring back a cup of red tea from your kitchen and set it in front of him while sitting next to it on the coffee table.

“I never expected to see you again,” you confess quietly after a few minutes of the concert album playing in the background. Surprisingly, there is no tension, just a sad atmosphere settling in.

“You left, and I chased.”

“I ran.”

“I know.”

“Why are you here then?”

“Because I chased you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” you murmur before looking away then back down to your feet. Suddenly, two warm fingers, despite the weather, are under your chin and nimbly direct your gaze to the owner of the fingers. Out of shame and embarrassment, you keep your eyes trained on anywhere but the person in front of you.

“Look at me.”

I can’t.

“________, look at me,” the figure says a little more forcefully.

I don’t deserve to. Stop.

“Look. At. Me,” he grits, though there’s more desperation and pleading than anger laced in the words.

Tears burn your eyes as you attempt to stop them from overflowing, but your tear ducts refuse to stop and cause salty trails to form on the skin of your cheeks. Those warm fingers from under your chin disappear and just before your heart can feel the pain, warm hands are cupping your face as if you would shatter like glass hitting a pavement and thumbs wiping the wetness away.

You can no longer escape from his gaze and your eyes tear at an inhuman pace, sobs threatening to break out from your lips.

“I love you,” he whispers and you shake your head because he shouldn’t. “I love you so much, and I’d be triple damned if I said I didn’t want to find you again.”

“You shouldn’t,” you whisper back brokenly. “I don’t deserve any of your lo—”

“Don’t you dare say you don’t deserve any of my love. Whether or not you receive it is my choice, and my choice is to shower you with all the love I have in this body of mine. Please stop running from me, I beg of you.”

By this time, his forehead is pressed against yours, his minty breath ghosting your lips and making them tremble. It’s so, so hard to not kiss him right then and there, to feel the familiar skin on yours and feelings pouring through such actions.

“Do you know how much I panicked when you suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth after we broke up? And then I thought I saw you at the concert, but maybe I was hallucinating because how could you have been there when you were nowhere to be found just the day before? I—”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did you think you saw me at the concert?”

“The second one in Seoul,” he replies in a heartbeat. “During my solo, I—”

“That was the last pleasure I allowed myself,” you confess, eyes fluttering close to avoid his passionate eyes, orbs full of emotion that would break you down to everything and nothing.

“What are you talking about?” The confusion in his voice is so heartbreakingly evident and your hands clench into fists in your lap.

“I told myself that before I leave, I’d see you one last time. It was rash and hasty, but I needed to. I did, and it was more than I needed, and thought it was just all a really bad idea. And then I left.”

“So…so you were there?”

Nod.

“During my solo.”

Hesitant nod.

“We made eye contact.”

Nothing.

“And then you turned around and left right before the end of my solo.”

“I’m so sorry,” you softly cry.

“Don’t—”

“I’m sorry that I was a coward and left at one of your most important times. I’m sorry for breaking and not being able to be strong for you when you needed me, just like you were when I needed you,” you blubber, eyes still shut to prevent yourself from looking at the disappointment on his face.

“I’m not mad, ________. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Coaxed by his sweet voice, your eyes open and gaze into his, expecting the disappointment despite his earlier statement. But he isn’t lying, soft lines and features molding his face and it takes everything in you to not place your hand on his cheek, eager to feel his warmth again.

“I’m really not mad. I don’t blame you, and somehow, I knew I’d find you someday. Do you know how much hope you gave me at the concert, even though you could’ve been a figment of my imagination? That’s what you do to me. That was when I knew I would love you no matter what happens.”

“If—”

“If you don’t let me kiss you right now, I think I’ll go insane,” he mumbles and leans in closer with his lips just hovering over yours. You can feel the static and your bottom lip shake before leaning up to press your lips against his.

And nothing was more beautiful than that moment.

In a matter of minutes, his hands have travelled from cradling your face to grasping your waist and your hands from your lap to winding your arms around his neck, desperate to have him closer and never be apart from you again. For much needed oxygen, he pulls back before attacking your jawline with light kisses and moving down the column of your neck, onto a spot every once in a while as you instinctively lean your head back to give him more skin to work on, breaths leaving you in long intervals of inhaling and exhaling.

His top lip drags up your neck before he breathes into your ear, “Merry Christmas.”

This: love, forgiveness, forever, all in one day, is definitely a Christmas for the books and one of your most memorable presents because you got everything you have wanted for the past seven months.

You got Jongdae.

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