Author: [REDACTED]

Giftee: kunstpause

Length: 4235

Rating: M for language, offensive phrases.

Genre: Christmas-fic, and I want to say romance but!—more like an aggressive, reluctant romance between two guys in their mid-twenties who don’t quite…click but feel that there’s something. 

Note: SO SORRY FOR LATE. I owe you something better! I know you really wanted a sci-fi, and did have a couple of ideas brewing but they were of the long multi-chapter sort—will let you know when I get onto writing them. Hope you’ll still like this, eventually falls under the ‘fluff’ in your req. Happy New Year, lovely. 

Six months earlier. 

On a still, stifling June night stands a man behind the counter of a tobacconist, watching with a straight face the cars that passed his little store on the corner of a mildly busy street in the city. Having freshly restocked the shelves behind him with rows of little coloured boxes, and with no influx of customers for the longest while, his gaze shifts to the clock; he’d close the shop at nine, go home, take a bath. An actual bath, cool water, scented candles, and he’d play ballads to drown out the game-fuelled hollering of his housemates until his fingers went pruney. 

Trouble strolls in some five minutes after the city clock strikes a loud eight, his hair a tell-tale electric blue and stuffed under a studded cap, patched up bomber jacket, pierced ears and bottom lip, pale hands doing up his fly like no one was watching. 

“Hello,” says Donghae, the shopkeeper, unenthusiastically. The customer looks to be of a similar age as him, and Donghae’s self-importance bolsters when he’s reminded that he’s made enough good life decisions to be sitting calmly behind the counter of his own store. 

“Hey, how you doing?” The blue-haired guy his lips.

And Donghae’s sight catches on the thin metal piercing in his lip. “Good, thanks. How can I help you?” 

“Uh…packet of Marlboro ice blast.” The customer requests offhandedly, eyes dark. 

“Twenties, twenty-fives?”

“Small one.”

“Mhm. Anything else?” Donghae says in habit. 

“Yeah, could I have a look at those?” He points to the showcase behind the counter that held the range of cigars. “No one sells them around here.”

“Yeah. I import them from Central America.” 

“Yeah? Wow.” He leans over the counter to get a better look. 

“Yeah.”

The blue-haired guy snorts, laughing a short peal, and his eyes crinkle and up and he looks kind of cute as heck, but he’s not Donghae’s type. No, he’s definitely not Donghae’s type. 

He asks Donghae which are the best, he says he wants to buy them for his brother’s wedding. Donghae tells him that price correlates to quality, the more matured, the more mellowed the flavour. The customer then asks for the second most expensive cigars, sniffing the aroma of one and saying, “I’ll have the box.” 

“Got ID?” the shopkeeper asks, setting the thin, cedar box of ten onto the counter.

“Yeah, yeah, no prob.” The blue-haired customer quickly hands him his driver’s licence. 

“This isn’t you,” says Donghae, after squinting and looking hard for facial semblance, but as soon as he looks up he sees the guy’s back, fleeing with the expensive box of some of his finest cigars.`“.” And he leaps over the counter, drops the shutter and runs after him, his faith in humanity sinking like a stone in filtered water. 

He should have known better than to place valuable goods out on the counter like that before receiving payment, he’d become far too trusting over the last couple of years. It had been so long since the store had last been subject to theft. What a rude awakening, he thinks, as he runs hard to catch up, tearing around the block. He sure as hell isn’t letting that piece of get away with it. 

The air is thick and heavy and not so easy to breathe. He sees the thief clearly, standing at the edge of the road some hundred metres away, turning his head side to side in panic, looking for the quick mode of escape he must’ve planned beforehand. Unable to take flight, the blue-haired male turns to fight, punching the approaching shopkeeper in the mouth twice and whacking the light cedar box against his straight nose, shoving the corner of the box into his face and stabbing it under his eye. 

Donghae hisses in pain and tackles him down onto the concrete sidewalk, and the thief throws the box as he falls, sending it flying and it hits the closest wall, cracking open and sending the premium cigars rolling out. “You thieving little , I’ll ing—!” The shopkeeper’s sentence is cut off with a wrenched cough when he receives a jab to the throat by the thief's hand. In return, with hands busy holding down shoulders, he lands a hard, booted kick between the other’s legs. 

The blue-haired guy kicks his legs in agony, clutching at his crotch, and shouting at the top of his lungs, “! I’m sorry alright! They made me do it! My freaking friends made me do it! It was a bet!”

“Well would you look at that, no getaway car. Did your friends leave you?”

“Let me go, you ing bastard!” he cries, “I don’t want my parents to find out!! I’ll never do it again, and I’ll pay you back however much that stupid box was worth!” 

“Shut it!” He holds the defeated figure in place, taking out his phone and making a call. 

The cops arrive within four minutes, having been on patrol in the area. And Donghae is vehement when he lets go of the thief’s collar and gets on his hands and knees to collect the cigars that had rolled away, he wouldn’t be able to sell them all soiled and sullen, he’d have to give them away to someone, perhaps a regular customer. He’d incurred such a loss, and his face stung like hell. There’d be bruises.

“Goddamned lowlife,” he mutters venomously, looking down at his hands after being hurriedly interviewed about the attempted larceny, declining when asked if he wanted to press charges on battery—he’d probably inflicted enough damage. He was not able to catch the tear-stained face of anger that glared at him through the tinted window of a police car before it takes off down the street. 

-

Present

A frosty evening, a little after sundown. The air was crisp and fresh, cold draughts sweeping through open doors, the snow was thin on the ground. Donghae deals with the little queue that had formed, bidding all with seasons greetings and his lovely smile. 

Merry Christmas! Have a great New Year! 

He enjoys keeping the store open till late on public holidays and special occasions, nicotine addicts coming from near and far when there were but few other stores to choose from. No competition. Christmas Eve was always a little different: no one would be out and about past a certain time, and as he couldn’t miss out on joining his family and their friends for a Christmas feast, it all worked out just perfectly. Their festivities were to start at six. This year, he was only half looking forward to it. He told his parents he’d be there a little late, perhaps by an hour and a half. 

The rush eventually subsides as people make their way to parties and dinners, to eat and drink and celebrate the night away. The road empties, no cars, few people, only shouting, cheering and fragments of music clashing and reverberating through the streets. 

A group of dressed-up young women walk out, and a young man walks in cautiously, wearing a cable-knit sweater in cream and a pair of faded jeans, shiny black hair laying delicately over his forehead. He looks embarrassed, to say the least, perhaps even sheepish as he glances around the shop with his hands in his pockets. The ear-tail of a furry beanie hangs out from his back pocket, grey pom-pom swaying. 

Donghae likes the look of his lips, full and pink and slightly shimmery.  “Merry Christmas,” says he, only a little bit entranced.  

“Merry Christmas to you too…” the man replies with a hesitant waver in his voice, stretching out the words while meeting the shopkeeper’s eyes and looking all over his face for longer than normal. “’come you’re still open?” he asks with a shy inquisitiveness; most other shops in the city had closed early for Christmas Eve. 

“Might as well be. What would you like?”

“Anything…don’t really care.”

“Can I see some ID, please.”

“…You really don't recognise me, do you?” A crooked smile lifts the corners of his mouth; he hands over a scrunched note to pay. 

“Should I?” says Donghae with a raised brow, taking the money and returning the change as the other digs around torturously slowly in his back pocket for his identification. 

“You must have a pretty bad memory…” says the slim male with a sigh, handing over his driver’s licence and taking the cigarettes into his hand without waiting for approval. Donghae inspects it quickly, nodding, his date of birth was fine. But then he wants to remember this guy who claims to know him, bringing the card closer to his face under the light, he reads the name and sees the picture properly,

Lee Hyuk Jae. And a little, smirking picture of the very same person with his hair a bright, electric blue, and a piercing in his bottom lip. 

“Y-you!”  Donghae jumps, dropping the card onto the counter, “This is trespassing! Get out of here, before I call the—” 

“You’re a ing wimp, you know? Calling the cops for everything. They’re probably out trying to have a nice Christmas Eve, then pricks like you call them up for like ‘trespassing.’ I’m not doing anything wrong.”

Donghae growls, gritting his teeth to keep from shouting; he looks down and counts to three, looking back up to see the male popping open the pack of cigarettes he’d just paid for. “I can’t believe you’d have the audacity to show up here again. Did you go to jail?”

“Yeah, for a month. And fined two-hundred.”

“Only one month?! Only two-hundred?! Did the damn judge have any idea how much a box of Montecristo’s are worth after tax and freight costs? God almighty!”

“Sadistic . I got four months of community service too, if that makes you feel better.”

“Good.” Donghae crosses his arms. “You messed up my face for a whole month.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I’m sterile now. Thanking you very much.” He holds up his middle finger calmly, giving the shopkeeper a good long look and a clear message. 

“Whad’you mean?” asks Donghae, averting his eyes. 

The slimmer male flares up suddenly, “Because you ing crushed my nuts, , that’s what! I hope that makes you feel real great, son of a . You owe me big time.”

“What? I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Donghae apologises gruffly, feeling incredibly guilty for inflicting such serious damage, but also remembering the reason why he’d done so, “Maybe if you hadn’t tried to steal from me, you rotten dog .”

“You literal bastard…” The black-haired guy drawls with a disappointed voice, flicking at a lighter from the rack on the counter. “And here I thought you were all righteous and forgivable. Look at you.”

Donghae stands frozen for a moment, stringing the words together in his head before saying them out loud, “I’m…really sorry for kicking you there. That was pretty low.” He fiddles with his fingers. “Sorry, man.”

“Well, look on the bright side, at least we won’t have to worry about you getting pregnant.”

“The ? Get out.”

Donghae’s about to say more, but an old lady walks in and he drops it, smiling kindly at her and asking her what she wanted. 

“I’ll just wait around here then,” the so-called Hyukjae says, taking advantage of the presence of a third party. He meanders around the small store, playing with the shaving sets, unscrewing the hip flasks, touching everything on display and causing a rise in Donghae’s blood pressure. 

It’s probably for the best that this guy’s DNA isn’t entering the next generation’s gene pool.                    

The whole while Donghae spoke to a customer about the quality differences in his expensive humidors and those cheaper available online, Hyukjae watched him like a hawk. For some reason, it annoyed Donghae that he wasn’t wearing a childishly smug or conceited look; he seemed genuinely interested, tilting his pretty head and listening in. 

Donghae ends up closing half an hour earlier than planned because the other male’s presence is more than slightly disconcerting. He tells himself that the other isn’t his responsibility, and that he has no obligation to speak to him, eventually shooing him out and packing things up. He turns off the shop’s lights, sets the alarm and locks the shutter into place, glancing aside as he does so. He tries to ignore the other leaning against the dark window of the neighbouring shop with a lit smoke in hand. 

Donghae puts on his knitted gloves and zips up his track jacket, all the way up to his chin, turning and taking innocuous baby steps in the opposite direction. 

But for some reason he can’t walk away, he can’t walk more than a damn yard without feeling a pull so strong that makes him want to jump on the other, pull him along by the hand. Run down the street until they’re both breathless. He stops in his tracks, looking at his shadow as it’s casted by the lamppost, feeling the other male’s gaze on him and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. 

“You know,” the other begins, shoulders hunching forward as he picks himself up from his leaning position, “Every other day I’d think of how badly I wanted to get back at you. But two things. Firstly, it was all my own fault, no doubt ’bout that, and I need to acknowledge that so I can move on and become a changed man. Hate to admit, it wasn’t the first time I’d…it was always smaller things from bigger places. And secondly you’re so dear, you precious little , how could anyone want to hurt you?” 

Donghae doesn’t know how to respond to this. “Of course it was your own fault, head.”

“What’s your name anyway, rude bastard? Now you know mine.”

“Lee Donghae,” the brunet grumbles on an exhale, turning around and receiving a face-full of smoke. “What happened to your…” Donghae touches his own lip to gesture the piercing, “you took it out?”

“What, did you like it?” Hyukjae flicks off the end of the cig, his lip. “Hard enough to find a job as it is. Criminal record and all.” He blows the smoke right into Donghae’s face again.

Donghae coughs in annoyance. “So now what? What do you want to do, Hyukjae? If that’s even your real name, filthy scammer.”

“’Course it is. I don’t with the same guy twice.” He rubs his chin. “Lee Hyukjae. That’s me. For sure.” He adds his answer, “Wherever you're going. Since you haven’t got any friends and all.”

“ are you talking about? I’ve plenty.” Donghae shakes his head in disbelief, feeling like an angry foul-mouthed garden gnome, slinging his nylon drawstring bag over his shoulder. Hyukjae hadn’t actually missed the mark entirely; Donghae didn’t have anyone who wasn’t a blood relation that he trusted fully, no one he could truly count on when he needed it. “And I sure as hell don’t want a friend like you. Believe me, I’d much rather be alone.”

“Shut the hell up, !” He grabs the front of Donghae’s jacket, once again quick to anger. “I just made a mistake, and I’ve paid for it already! What more do you want?”

“I don’t want anything.” Donghae yanks his clenched hand off roughly, glaring. “You’re the one following me around.”

“Y-you looked like you needed company, you soggy turd! It’s Christmas Eve, and you were alone so I thought…” He extinguishes his cigarette. 

“You thought wrong. I’m going to dinner at my parents house in half an hour.”

“Right. Guess it’s just me.” Hyukjae grimaces, turning his face away from the shopkeeper, tugging out his festive-patterned beanie from his back pocket and putting it securely on his head. 

Donghae feels a deep twinge of sadness, he touches the other’s shoulder lightly and blurts out on impulse, “Stay with me.”

Hyukjae freezes. “What do you mean ‘stay with you,’ …” he mutters.

“Come have dinner with us.” Donghae shrugs.

“Eh…?”

“Yeah, you should come. It’ll be…nice.” Donghae rocks on the balls of his feet, gloved hands tucked into the front pockets of his jacket. 

“What the hell, man? Are you sure? I could just go home and watch a movie or something. Maybe we could hang out later when you’re not doing anything like, I don’t know, after New Year’s?”

“There’ll be heaps of people, you won’t feel like an intruder. Not too far from here either.” Donghae tugs up the sleeves of his jacket. “Not gonna ask again.”

“You sure they won’t mind?” Hyukjae bites his lip nervously.

Donghae snorts. “Do you actually care about offending people? Under the impression you didn’t. Anyway, I’ll drop you home afterwards if you want.”

“Wow. Alright…is this a like a date? You owe me one,” says Hyukjae. “You owe me until you can get rid of me.”

“Restraining order sounds nice about now.”    

Hyukjae titters. “I’m kind of into you,” he mopes, changing expression and kicking at the ground. “In a weird, angry kind of way. I want you.”

Donghae looks around, clearing his throat. “I was, ah, planning to go home and change. Home’s just few streets away.”

“Okay.”  They cross the road, Hyukjae walking beside him. Five minutes of small talk later, they reach a white two-storey city house wedged between others of a similar make. Donghae unlocks the door and takes off his shoes, looking to Hyukjae who quickly says, “I’ll wait here.”

“Come in if you want,” Donghae gulps dryly, slightly afraid that the other would try to swindle him again, try stealing something from his place. Leopards never change their spots, do they? 

Hyukjae senses the distrust and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Nah, I’m alright out here.” He makes a detailed observation of the yard while he waits, from the tipped over watering-can to the shiny, cherry-red motorcycle that stood between two old cars in the driveway. He can hear a few other loud, merry voices emanating from the house—or bachelor pad. 

Donghae comes out a quick ten minutes later, wearing a suit blazer over a t-shirt in place of a dress shirt in a nice attempt at smart casual, his clean, damp hair gelled back. He kicks up the stand and walks the motorcycle out into open space. He hands the only helmet to Hyukjae. 

“You look good.”  

“Thanks.” Donghae can’t help but smile a little, swinging his leg over his motorcycle and starting the engine. “Get on.”

Hyukjae complies, getting on behind him, fastening the helmet. “And I’m sorry for trying to steal from you…,” he says quietly into the collar of Donghae’s jacket, locking his hands around his waist as they speed off. 

Cutting every traffic light, they arrive at Donghae’s parent’s house in ten minutes. Hyukjae enjoyed the refreshing ride; it’d been a while since he’d been on a motorbike. With a speeding lunatic.  

Their house is beautifully decorated, robotic reindeer made of wire and fairy lights ‘eating grass’ in the front yard, moving specs of green and red light dancing about the face of the house via projector, lit-up candy canes along the driveway, stars on the roof and silver icicle-like lights lining the balcony. 

“How pretty. Did you help set it up?”

“Yeah. Every year.”

The oak doors are wide open and the heating system is working a charm. They walk through, Donghae greeting everyone he sees,

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas! How’s my handsome young man?”

“Good, thank you. How are you?”

Repeat. 

Hyukjae lingers awkwardly behind him, avoiding being introduced to anyone save when Donghae insists that Hyukjae meet his parents. “Ma, this is my new friend Hyukjae.”

“How lovely! Don’t be shy, alright Hyukjae?”

Hyukjae feels a precious little buzz over ‘new friend,’ despite the fact that it makes him laugh on the inside. The food is amazing. He drinks too much punch. And with the downstairs bathroom occupied, Donghae escorts him up. 

He comes out and catches Donghae standing at the doorway of a bedroom while waiting for him, “This is your room?” The walls are painted a medium blue and the quilt cover has cartoon fishes on it. 

“Yeah.” He grins. “More like was. Moved out ages ago. Now it’s my little nephew’s whenever my brother comes to visit. Still sleep here sometimes.” Donghae crosses the room to the window and winds the blinds the up, and opens the jarred window with slight effort. “Hey, turn the light off. Come look.”

Hyukjae obeys, flicking the switch so that the room is dark; his eyes adjust quickly and everything is visible in the moonlight and the coloured lights changing and blinking in the yard. He stands by Donghae, looking out the window and at the sweetly decorated houses from this perfect vantage point. 

“At least they’ve still got it.” Hyukjae says to himself, looking out across the street in admiration. 

“Still got what?” 

“You know. Christmas spirit.” He glances at Donghae, who’s got his glossy eyes fixed on the giant inflatable Santa in the neighbour’s yard. “Your tag is sticking out. Here,” Hyukjae reaches around Donghae’s neck, tucking the swatch of fabric back under his collar. 

“Your shoelace is undone,” says Donghae, not wanting to be beat, he kneels and ties the laces of Hyukjae’s left sneaker.

Hyukjae places his hands on Donghae’s head, running his fingers through his neatly set tresses to make the style more natural. “You need to go easy on the hair-gel, Romeo.” Donghae looks up to protest—

“Oooh my goodness,” the door opens accompanied by a gasp, a wide band of light spilling through and the silhouette of Donghae’s middle aunt, “So sorry to…interrupt you boys! But dessert is ready if you’d like to come down.”

“Goddammit.”Donghae clamours to the door.

“Classic.” Hyukjae guffaws loudly, following him out the door and down the stairs. “D’you think it would have been more embarrassing or less if you were on the receiving end?”

“Shut up, now.”

“Come on, which is worse?”

“Both equally bad, ’ight?”

Hyukjae laughs again, covering his mouth with a curled fist as they make their way through the crowded lounge area. 

Donghae feels two hands push his back so he’s standing under a clump of mistletoe, a foot away from Hyukjae. 

“Kiss him, kiss him!” The ladies around them cheer; the ‘news’ about them must have spread faster than automated air-freshener. 

“No, no, no.” Donghae waves his hands, shaking his head in disapproval. He smiles awkwardly, perhaps looking a little constipated, ducking out of the centre of attention and making his way to the dinner-table laden with a variety of cakes and pretty desserts mostly prepared by his mother. He’s full but there’s always room for dessert. 

He hands his new friend a paper plate.

“Bit soon for a kiss, right?” Hyukjae asks casually as he dishes out a large serving of chocolate gateau, feeling no shame amongst strangers. 

Donghae scratches the back of his neck. “It’s a stupid mouldy weed hanging off a string, why should anyone have to kiss someone standing under it?” He takes a slice of choc-orange torte and blueberry cheesecake, looking back at the other defensively.

“Why’d you,” he sticks the spoon in his mouth, “’nvite me here if you really don’t like me?”

“Slow down, why don’t you? I’m still getting over our differences, but I…I do…”

“Heh,” Hyukjae takes two scoops of vanilla ice-cream, and puts one in Donghae’s plate too. “You like me.”

“Let’s—let’s just get out of here alright?” Donghae stuffs the rich cake into his mouth, “We eat, say bye to my parents, then we get the hell out of here. Can’t think properly in all this noise.”

And so they rode down to the pier, the wind stinging their eyes, and they sit with their legs dangling over the edge of the jetty, high above the dark water. Donghae unwraps a block of coconut chocolate, breaking off a row and handing it to Hyukjae who takes it, making sure to touch his hand for as long as possible within the bounds of normal.

“Hey, look over there!” says Donghae’s new friend. 

Donghae turns his head. And he feels a hand on the side of his face, feels a pair of soft lips pressing against his cheek, just as the clock tower begins to strike twelve somewhere in the distance. 

“M—erry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”