“Let me off here, please.”
The taxi came to a stop in front of Seon-woo’s apartment building. The fare on the meter was no small amount. Instead of going through the hassle of flagging down a new cab after leaving the restaurant, he’d kept the driver waiting with the meter running. Fortunately, traffic was light after the dinner rush, so he arrived home earlier than expected. Still, they had already missed the movie, and cancelling the tickets had been inevitable.
As the driver completed the payment with the card Seon-woo handed over, he turned and spoke just before Seon-woo stepped out.
“Merry Christmas, sir.”
Seon-woo froze for a moment. Maybe it was the hefty fare, but the sight of a driver working through Christmas Eve, still smiling and offering a warm greeting to his passengers—it left a good impression. His mood softened as he replied.
“…Yes. Merry Christmas.”
The moment he stepped out of the car, he took off running again. He had already been sprinting with the cake in hand before getting in the cab, so the custom-made cake was probably squashed by now, and his disheveled appearance must have looked awful. Still, the thought of slowing down didn’t cross his mind. It was all because of Seung-hyeon—he couldn’t stop thinking about him waiting.
He couldn’t bring himself to believe that things were okay.
Practically flying through the building entrance, Seon-woo jumped into the elevator. It was so slow that he wondered if it would’ve been less stressful just to run up the stairs.
Finally, he stood at the door. Panting, cake thoroughly ruined in his hand, Seon-woo knocked. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the passcode to his own home—he just wanted it to be this way. He wanted Gwak Seung-hyeon to open the door.
And he did—almost immediately. He must have rushed to the door, because urgency still lingered on his face.
Seung-hyeon’s expression was a complicated blend—first, the unmistakable joy of seeing Seon-woo, then surprise, and beneath it all, a trace of bitterness he couldn’t quite hide. Why was he looking at him like that? What had he been thinking while waiting?
Seon-woo stood frozen on the spot, unable to move. Seung-hyeon stared back with a strange look—part relief, part puzzlement, part resignation, as if he already understood everything. Then, without a word, he grabbed Seon-woo’s wrist and gently pulled him inside.
“Why did you run like that? You could’ve taken your time.”
“It’s freezing outside, and you didn’t even close your coat…”
His quiet voice, spoken so calmly, somehow stung unbearably. Slowly, Seon-woo reached out and cupped Seung-hyeon’s cheek. He wanted to use both hands, but one was still holding the cake, so he couldn’t.
“Your hands are cold.”
Seung-hyeon murmured with a small smile. Seon-woo wished he’d say more. That he’d waited, that he was disappointed, that he was upset Seon-woo had ditched him to obediently follow the chairman around. Even if he wasn’t mad at Seon-woo, he could at least be annoyed at the chairman for tricking him into going. Words like that.
He said nothing, and with that, Seon-woo had no idea what to say either. Should he apologize for being late? Or flip it around and ask why Seung-hyeon had even gone so far as to cancel the restaurant reservation? But the latter had never even crossed his mind as a real option, and the former didn’t feel right either—it wasn’t enough.
Standing there awkwardly, unable to speak, Seon-woo hesitated, then began unwrapping the cake he held. He didn’t even think to walk it over to the table.
“I brought a little something. Rushed over with it, so… this is how it turned out.”
As expected, the cake was a disaster—so squashed and messy it was hard to tell what it had originally looked like. Something like Santa Claus or Rudolph might have been cute, but it felt too childish, like a gift for a kid. On the other hand, writing a sappy letter on the cake to confess his feelings had felt way too embarrassing. The bakery had suggested inscribing initials instead, so he’d gone with that. But now, it was impossible to tell whether the smeared writing had once been letters or Chinese characters.
Letting out a sheepish sigh, Seon-woo stared at the ruined mess. All that was left was an unappetizing, meaningless lump of cake.
“I was late because I went back to pick it up from the restaurant.”
Seung-hyeon looked down at the cake with a blank, surprised expression. Seon-woo wouldn’t have been surprised if the shock was purely from how bizarre it looked. After a long silence, Seung-hyeon finally spoke.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have canceled the restaurant reservation.”
“No… it’s my fault for being late.”
“But it’s not your fault, Director.”
Seon-woo actually wished Seung-hyeon would blame him. Just once. Instead of always bottling things up like this.
Watching Seung-hyeon gaze down at the ugly, misshapen cake with what seemed like genuine emotion—hiding every trace of his bitterness—made Seon-woo’s chest ache even more. It could have been the perfect Christmas. If it had been, maybe he wouldn’t have had to see that expression—the one trying so hard to suppress everything negative.
But if things had gone perfectly… would he have been able to say what he was about to say?
“…Seung-hyeon.”
His voice trembled, thick with hesitation. He had said that name a hundred times in his heart, but this was the first time it had left his lips. He saw Seung-hyeon’s eyes widen with pure surprise. Looking straight at him, Seon-woo mustered the courage to speak.
“If you’re hurt… then say you’re hurt.”
Seung-hyeon didn’t reply. He said nothing—just slowly reached out his hand.
Gently, like he was handling something fragile, he wrapped his fingers around Seon-woo’s wrist. Then, in complete contrast to that delicate touch, he shoved Seon-woo hard toward the floor. Bracing his fall to keep his head and body from slamming against the cold marble, Seung-hyeon pressed him down—laying him flat on the floor, right by the entrance.
The cake landed next to Seon-woo’s head. A chill crept up his back from the cold surface beneath him, but it was nothing compared to the burning intensity in Seung-hyeon’s eyes. At some point, Seung-hyeon dipped a finger into the smushed cake and licked it clean.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“I was hurt.”
“Of course I was. How could I not be? I’m not as easygoing as you think I am…”
Seung-hyeon paused for a moment, silently gazing down at Seon-woo. When their eyes met, Seon-woo could see his own reflection in Seung-hyeon’s gaze. In a voice barely above a whisper, Seung-hyeon spoke again.
“Turns out… I love you more than I thought.”
A confession like that, in a moment like this—there was no way to handle it. Seon-woo let out a quiet, breathless laugh. Seung-hyeon looked at him with that usual warm tenderness in his eyes, then lowered his head, burying his face against Seon-woo’s shoulder. The heat of his lips on Seon-woo’s neck burned.
“Even when I know you’ll come back, I still find myself worrying about things that won’t happen.”
It was the darkest confession Seon-woo had ever heard from him.
“It’s not your fault, Director… I’m not mad at you. I wasn’t disappointed either. It’s just… tonight, the waiting felt different. Coming home alone while listening to carols—it felt kind of strange.”
Before he even realized it, Seon-woo reached out and wrapped his arms around Seung-hyeon’s back. A moment later, Seung-hyeon lifted his head, tapped Seon-woo’s nose playfully, and smiled.
“But I’m okay now.”
“Because you came. You even planned a little surprise—like someone falling in love for the first time.”
His face crinkled with embarrassment, but Seon-woo couldn’t exactly deny it. He had gotten overly excited, like a lovestruck teenager planning his first romantic gesture, obsessing over what to buy until he ended up purchasing a dozen neckties. He knew he’d gone overboard. So instead of making excuses, he spoke slowly.
“It might sound a little childish to talk about the ‘meaning’ behind a gift…”
You could look up stuff like that online and find all sorts of cliché explanations written in gaudy fonts.
A ring means, ‘You’re mine.’ Perfume means, ‘Don’t forget me.’ A necklace, a scarf, gloves… all kinds of symbols layered with sappy meaning. Seon-woo had never paid attention to that sort of thing in his life—but for some reason, this Christmas, he wanted to indulge in that kind of sweetness. Just like any other couple.
“Still… it’s how I feel.”
Shifting to the side, he pulled a neatly wrapped necktie from the shopping bag and removed the packaging. He looped it around Seung-hyeon’s neck and tied it himself, then clipped on the tiepin that came separately. The knot wasn’t perfect—he’d tied it in a rush while lying flat on cold marble, after all. But the way Seung-hyeon stood above him, with the tie still perfectly in place—it was a sight that Seon-woo liked.
Not exactly the kind of thing you say while lying on a stone floor. But the place didn’t matter.
Meeting Seung-hyeon’s eyes head-on, Seon-woo smiled as brightly and warmly as he could manage.
“Merry Christmas.”
Seung-hyeon blinked in surprise, but soon mirrored his smile. The corners of his lips trembled as they rose, but that uneven smile—so unfamiliar—was the happiest Seon-woo had ever seen on him.
