Semi being bright and full of life almost worried Xiumin more than finding her trying to climb over the balcony railings while drunk.  There wasn’t exactly anything wrong with being cheerful, and he also couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was that made him so uneasy about it, but considering what had happened over the past few days and her normal state of mind, it just didn’t seem natural.

That, and it just added to his irritation and frustration about his inability to work out a way to get rid of or at least corrupt the microchip in his arm.  The police having the phone meant that they’d be looking to move in on Luhan as soon as possible, which meant that Luhan would want Semi out of the picture as fast as possible.  He was confident in Luhan’s ability to keep himself hidden, even if Lay was on the case, but Xiumin had to be out of harm’s way before anything happened to Semi, and the microchip was making life difficult.  Then there was the phone, too, but Luhan was already trying to work on that.

He wished there was more he could do about the microchip without it looking suspicious, but all that he could do was confirm it still worked because it messed with the small Christmas cracker compass he had sitting on his wrist.  Semi was whistling to herself as she moved Christmas ornaments around.

“Semi,” he said, picking morosely at the shallow scar where the chip had been inserted, “I think you should see a therapist.”

The whistling stopped.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I shot someone dead in front of you and you appear to be completely unaffected by it.”

She stared at him.  “He wasn’t the first person I’ve seen killed right in front of me.”

“Among other things,” Xiumin finished up.  “At the moment you’re so happy it’s almost like you’re high, you get severely depressed when you’re drunk, and….”  His voice trailed off.  She’d been sleeping a lot better over the past four nights, and it had been noticeable.  Before Christmas, while she hadn’t woken up from nightmares if he was there, she was still restless in her sleep.  Now, though, she’d stopped stealing the covers the entire time and her nights were clearly peaceful.  She even smiled in her sleep.

“That was before Christmas Eve,” she said dismissively.  “I’m fine now.”

Xiumin raised an eyebrow and pointed to the snow that was visible plunging past the balcony.

“Provided you don’t mention snow,” she grumbled.

“What’s specific about it being Christmas Eve?” he demanded.

She clammed up and her face went blank.

“See?  You’re not happy.”

“I never knew that constituted being mentally ill.”

He wanted to point out that Christmas joy didn’t suddenly wipe up things like PTSD, but what came out instead was: “Are you sure you’re not bipolar?”

Semi snorted.  “I’m the bipolar one?”

It made Xiumin consider.  “Fair play,” he acknowledged.  “But still, Christmas Eve?  Not Christmas Day?”

“I’ve already told you I spent Christmas Eve with a fr—”

It suddenly clicked, though, and Xiumin held up a hand.  “Let me guess.  Car crash?”

Semi’s face went white.  She dropped the bauble she was holding and it smashed against the ground.  Xiumin’s gaze followed it and then met hers, one of his eyebrows cocking up.

“It’s still triggering you,” he pointed out.  “That’s why you need to go.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she snapped.

“Running is like digging yourself a hole.”

Her eyes were suddenly glistening with tears.  “God dammit, Minseok, I was just trying to enjoy my day!”

“And anger and irritability are symptoms of PTSD.”

“Would you please just off?” she shrieked, bursting into tears.  Xiumin had to fight back an insane urge to laugh.

“I think that’s the politest way somebody’s ever sworn at me,” he said.  “Okay.  Come here.”  He stopped picking at his wrist and patted the spot on the sofa beside him.

For a moment, he wondered if he’d misjudged the situation as she glared at him, but then she dropped down onto the sofa, folding her arms.  He reached out and tugged her hands away.

“You need a hug,” he explained.  “And a massage.  Your shoulders are up by your ears and you’re probably going to get a tension headache.”

Her body froze and then went almost limp as he wrapped his arms around her, surreptitiously feeling for her pulse as he pulled her head into the crook of his neck.  Her heartbeat was light and racing, and he cocked an eyebrow.  Granted, she was feeling emotional and he’d probably have to check again sometime when she was calmer, but from the way her body was reacting, there might have been some truth in what she’d said while she was drunk.

“You know,” he murmured, “even if you don’t want to talk about anything, you can always ask for a hug and a shoulder to cry on.  I’m not going to deny you those.”

She let out a choked sob, but her tears we