⎯ CHRISTMAS BLUES a Hwang Hyunjin fiction
🎄 : Hwang Hyunjin x implied! fem. reader
TROPE. enemies to lovers, exes to lovers, reader is a writer, one bed au, forced proximity au, hyunjin is an artist(not mentioned a ton), coincidences
WORD COUNT. 7.3k words ☆ 40 minute read
WARNINGS. cursing, angst galore, mention of sex (non desc.), breakup, hurt feelings, making up, mentions of getting drunk
AUG'S NOTES. this is a stupidly lovestruck hallmark christmas mindset talking, whatever you read below is definitely not me… definitely. anyway, happy holidays to everyone that celebrates! this has been sitting in my drafts for months now, initially planned to be a smau, then a fic!! hope this fic exceeds your expectations, feel free to leave a reblog or comment of your thoughts!
PLAYLIST.
SYNOPSIS. You thought getting a call from Hyunjin was the last thing you needed during the holidays, but when he reminds you of your non-refundable tickets to Paris you had booked seven months prior to your earth-shattering breakup, you realize that his call was the least of your problems.
or alternatively :
Just a week over Christmas with your ex in Paris, what could go wrong?
Every circumstance has a question that goes along with it.
How did I get so lucky? Why did you leave?
As for yours, it’s fairly simple.
Where did we go wrong?
December 18th – Seoul, South Korea.
Holding onto what could’ve been is stupid, you agreed upon that mindset a long time ago. However, the past, Him being the past, lingered around you like the scent of citrus still clinging beneath your fingernails even after washing your hands. Everywhere. He was everywhere. And no matter how hard you tried to erase the memories of what was, they served their memory purpose and disfigured your mind all the same.
And so, you replaced it.
Replaced the hurt, the searing burn, with someone else. Who turned into someone else, and someone else after that till the only thing sufficing any weekly relationship was a no-strings attached notion.
Until you met Seungmin.
He was your vice, the person dragging you out of your self-made hole of false sanctuary and safety. He laid all his flaws on the table, showed himself to you. Seungmin was gentle and kind, he was patient— more patient than anyone else in this world— and loving. Oh so loving.
But behind your undying affection for your boyfriend, he saw something you didn’t. Perhaps in your eyes, perhaps in your soul, bared to him on an onslaught of occasions.
Longing.
He saw longing in your treasured hues, longing for someone that wasn’t him.
Because some scars take longer to fade away, but yours hadn’t even begun to heal. Masked with his many layers of band-aids only to never staunch the cut, the one Hwang Hyunjin left on you.
“Seungmin I’m so sorry—“
“You love him, I know,” He nods his head, a sad, soft smile holding place on his lips.
Tonight was the night he officially talked about it. The unforgivable thought continuing to incessantly plague his mind.
Although, he didn’t regard you sourly for it. That connection you had with Hyunjin was something no other person could return nor deliver, and he had to accept that if he really loved you.
If Seungmin really loved you, he wanted the best for you, even if that meant the best were when you weren’t with him.
You were shocked when he brought up the matter, asked if you really missed him, asked if you still loved him. Yes, you had of course discussed your previous relationship, but never to this extent, never so blatantly.
Though the absolute kindness in both his tone and the way he looked at you, seated at the dinner table, kept you from lying.
It’s not fair. Not fair for Seungmin, your boyfriend, to have to take responsibility for your tormented feelings. But here he is, assuring you nevertheless.
Because he’s known. He knew from the start you weren’t over Hyunjin. Knew that, despite so much ache and anguish he caused, your heart can’t help but beat at his pace, fruitlessly connected.
And he knew in the end things would fall apart just like this, and his spot as a placeholder would fall apart along with it.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.
“He hurt you, but you love Hwang Hyunjin, I know.” He whispers, fingers tightly twined beneath the table. There’s a sort of hiccuping sound bubbling up from your throat. You stave it down.
“I’m sorry.”
He smiles, smiles when you don’t deny it, reaching forward for your trembling hands to take in his own.
“I want you to be happy, Y/N. I’m not the one you’ll be happy with though.”
A soft squeeze before he rises and curves to where you sit, free-flowing tears threatening to cascade past glossy eyes.
Without hesitation you wrap your arms around him in a hug, chest wracking with unfiltered sobs. Guilty. Guilt is devouring your soul. You don’t deserve Seungmin, nor does he deserve to be hurt so cruelly by someone he loves. But here you are, ruining him.
He’d never admit it, but the pain in his eyes—the ones you’ve stared at countless times—will always remain evident. No amount of smiling or laughing can hide that.
Pulling back while your arms stayed hooked upon his shoulders, you savor the kiss he places on your lips, the ones he delicately pressed to each of your wrists.
Sad. It’s a sad kiss. A kiss that causes your entire body to wilt against him, crashing deeper and deeper into his warmth, his comfort. He’s not false, he’s real. A real, unadulterated love you’re undeserving of.
Guilty.
“If you’re happy,” He breathes, leaning in to land gentle pecks all over your face, forehead connecting with your own. “I’ll be okay.”
December 20th – Seoul, South Korea.
Your room is still exactly as it has been. Pillows faced the same way, sheets still tousled and hanging halfway off the bed. Hell, he hasn’t even touched the blinds — staying open throughout countless nights, your perfume lingering.
Like he was afraid his touch would break apart what he had left of you.
He hopes, swallowing down the remainder of wine in his glass, you’ll be able to look back and laugh at what used to be, find the matter childish and ridiculous.
What you used to be.
Lovers.
Not kids anymore, you taught him once before. You also taught him how deep a love could be. There’d always be a space for you here, just as you left it. Although, he doubts you’d come back. In fact, you’ve probably moved on with your life. Found someone else to fill the space he did.
But maybe, if he keeps the room as it was for long enough, your room; if Hyunjin keeps those tiny paper notes you wrote for him long enough, you would come back.
What a lie.
Wishful thinking takes you far then drops you into festering despair over and over, he’s learned this the hard way.
Starting with a text.
He blinked once, then twice, then three times—picking apart his brain in order to recollect anything, any details whatsoever that could decipher this random message on a Monday morning.
Paris.
Paris?
Paris.
It hits him, evidently.
Immediately clutching his head and simultaneously slapping an aghast hand over his mouth, a sensation recognizable as utmost horror obliterates his soul into pieces, quite literally rocking his world.
Months ago, he remembered.
You’d been stupid, you’d been drunk, and impulsively booked the tickets, laughing off the “no refunds” reminder as if nothing would’ve ever happened.
It did though. And now he’s dealing with the karma in return for that idiotic decision. Soon enough you both will.
Non refundable tickets to Paris, two days from now, together.
What were the chances?
Blindly tapping his password into his phone, he (just as blindly) jams his finger to the first caller he sees, who turns out to be Minho, seeming like both a blessing and a curse in unison.
Never before had Hyunjin so clearly lost his mind and control of his words, but there’s always a first time for everything, right?
“Minho, what the hell am I supposed to do? She hates me and the flight is booked two days from now. This is just.. Fuck!” Hyunjin pours, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, burying his head into the leather as if that would magically make his endless desperation disappear.
He didn’t usually curse, so when he did, whatever had happened was serious. He carried his words elegantly, proficiently.
He'd be the last picked candidate for elegance right about now.
“If I were Chan I would’ve said you should still try talking to her about it, but in my opinion that wouldn’t change a thing. So suck it up Hwang, it can’t be that bad.”
Ah. Remind me why I ever decided to call you hoping for advice.
‘Hwang’ was the name his friend had reserved for him, coming from a long line of tissues in the mouth and other ways Minho would pick fun at the blonde. But he was at least trying to help, somewhat.
How he got himself into this situation is honestly laughable, situation being your nasty breakup and a plane to Paris.
Great. Paris is great, right? Wrong.
Because this stupid, stupid trip to Paris isn’t one he’s going on alone to enjoy the sights and delicacies there, it’s one with you, the girl who ripped his heart in half two months ago. The trip you’d planned while you were still head-over-heels, not hating his guts.
Oh, and your tickets were nonrefundable. Couldn’t forget about that part.
“.. What am I gonna do?”
“Suck it up, duh.”
“And please enlighten me on how the hell I'm supposed to ‘suck it up’ in a plane seat right next to her for thirteen hours and spend every day glued to the hip, your honor.”
The mental picture of Minho’s fraud-innocent face through the line grated his nerves like nothing else. Brows lifted, mouth slightly open. He wanted to punch that imaginary face so badly right now.
"Then follow Chan’s tutorial on making it up to your now-ex. You asked me for my opinion, and you got it. Look, all I’m saying is this is a good chance to get some level ground between you two, even if you still fly back hating each other—"
“I don’t hate her,” Hyunjin quickly quips.
Honestly, truthfully, he doesn’t hate you, he can’t hate you and he doubts he ever will. You were the one responsible for years upon years of the best moments of his life, how could he hate you for that?
Although, by the way you looked at him that night, he doubts your response would be the same.
Minho sighs.
"Even better, you could fly back with her hating you slightly less."
For once the snarky man he was spilling his problems to had provided decent reason, it was terrifying.
From a spectators point of view, his utter fit had to be quite a sight. For the record, witnessing thee calm and collected Hwang Hyunjin go insane in his car wasn’t a sight you’d see on a regular day.
But today wasn’t a regular day. Instead, it was the day he found himself trapped in a loophole of love and war with his ex.
What were the chances?
There’s no book that could wholly describe Hyunjin.
Even as a writer yourself, not even Shakespeare could depict him to the full extent. He’s flawless but so flawed, kind and yet malicious in terms of his brilliantly unfair beauty.
Every day you run into Hwang Hyunjin. The first few times, you called it coincidence, told yourself his meeting happened to be at the same time, maybe he was headed to a neighboring coffee shop.
Well, before those few days turned into every day on your commute.
And when a breakup is as nasty as yours was, it’s not too refreshing constantly seeing your ex on the daily afterward.
Today, Hwang Hyunjin is wearing a tan trench coat that reaches down to his knees. He’s wearing the same tennis shoes as always (except his usual camera is absent from the picture), and his hair is pulled up, soft, sandy strands framing either side of his face. He stands on the other side of the crosswalk, occupied with his phone while you internally ridicule him.
Staring daggers into his frame, the frigidly cold beverage in hand doesn’t aid in warming up chilling temperatures burning your fingertips, signs of winter’s impending approach.
He looks up.
You avert your gaze to your shoes. You can feel his eyes on you; feel them traveling over your body, then to your face, boring into your skull. He’s waiting, watching.
And somehow, you know you’ll eventually have to make eye contact. Because on your normal route, your turn left on Harrison street, then right on Fords. He’s there. Unbelievably, wildly, he’s there.
It’s the one factor in your (almost) perfect life without him that makes things hell.
Back then, you were like clockwork. Not a minute going by without someone being awake. You taking a nap after spending two hours searching synonyms on Thesaurus, Hyunjin just waking up, heading out with his signature Canon camera loosely hung around his neck.
Two perfect oppositions leaving their cluttered love scattered all over a cheap apartment.
For Hyunjin, it was the mug you’d gotten him last christmas labeled in bold font: “ART WHORE”, while yours was an equally degrading “SHE WOULD RATHER FUCK THE MEN IN HER BOOKS” sticker print slapped on the back of your laptop.
Little did you know you’d be desperately scraping the sticker off seven months later, that you’d leave your chapter unfinished since breaking up and that he had likely thrown away that mug.
Or maybe not. Maybe he painted over it, scribbled it out and somehow made it look good. Hyunjin has a way of making anything catastrophic look pretty.
You, on the other hand, are an erupting volcano. One that cries its lava onto the earth and doesn’t leave a pretty photograph. One that froths and rumbles, and destroys things as it goes.
Perfect opposites, exactly.
Now for the real question, the monumental “where did we go wrong” part that served as an explanation.
Three little words.
I love you.
You lied.
Those are big words, big words for somebody. Big words for yourself, words you spoke to Hwang Hyunjin, looped in his apartment, making love on the couch.
Big words he didn’t return.
Big words that kept your heart stilled in your chest, left your lips blue, drowned as you collected your discarded clothes off the floor.
And you left.
You didn’t need the awkward silence, the “let me think about it”, the bullshit they spouted Kissing-Booth-style. You needed him, his reassurance when you were your most vulnerable. His three words that told you your three years together weren’t one sided, not wordlessly confessed through actions though too scared to say aloud – a feared incantation.
Words he never said. Because you did love Hwang Hyunjin, so much it consumed you into his favorite muse, him your inspiration. Then came the doubt. The recollection of your favorite, dearest moments. Was it all a lie?
Those hour-long seconds, tangled on his sofa, kept that incessant anxiety alive.
You thought you found the one when your drunk night didn’t turn into an orgasm you can’t remember, but rather being coaxed into a warm shower despite your complaining about your pants being too tight.
Somehow, you can still feel his tender kisses like a ghost of a presence, littering the skin of your shoulder instead of the sloppy alcohol ridden ones you’d known before, and for once you had woken up beside the person responsible — not to a note saying they had to leave early.
He was the one responsible for teaching you how to paint, propping you in his lap, hand guiding your own while tracing careful strokes on the canvas. It was hardly possible sitting on his stool together, though neither of you noticed (nor cared), too busy savoring the intimacy of the moment.
That was Hyunjin. He was the glass of water placed in front of you after one too many at happy hour. He was the relaxing bath when everything hurt, the shoulder to cry on.
But you were mistaken. He wasn’t the one. Seungmin was the one, the one you had left behind only to chase after a toxic remedy.
In fact, Hyunjin never was the one.
And it fucking hurt remembering that.
December 21st - 22nd – Seoul, South Korea.
The last news you’d anticipated slammed into you like a bus.
Cozied up at your desk, a number pops up on your screen, interrupting the one moment of silence you managed to enjoy. Most people didn’t call during your work hours, except Seungmin, who, for the record, called before work.
The number you’d memorized by heart was not normal either.
Him.
“Before you curse at me,” He begins, and your hand hesitantly hovers over the call button, jaw clenched beyond reason, silence shouting loud. No strength in your bones allowed you to reply. Was it fear, hatred? Both most likely.
Taking the time to continue, his silky tone lulls along the line.
“Do you remember the tickets?”
Hatred seemed the dominant factor.
“What are you talking about?” You rhetorically snap, obviously annoyed albeit confused.
Tickets? It’s been three months, why the hell are tickets the first thing he’s mentioning?
He sighs. “The tickets to Paris. You remember, don't you?”
It takes you a moment, then, aha.
How could you forget? The tip of the iceberg of what two naive, lovestruck idiots thought would be forever. Little did they know everything would slip past their fingertips.
”Well um, did you know they’re non-refundable?”
Huh.
“WHAT?!”
You’d just managed to convince yourself free of Hyunjin, but he simply dragged you further into his labyrinth.
Or so you thought.
You had grown since he broke you (with the help of your better-ex, Seungmin). You evolved better (or so you told yourself). So out of the plentiful lessons you’d learned during your reflection, the factor that stuck with you most was that nobody is there to pick up for you. No matter how much you think they will.
You swore yourself into the belief Hyunjin would mend you, but you lived blind to the truth that he was just as broken as you were, a dog chasing its tail.
And so, you dealt with it.
In ways.
Whether that was incessantly talking to yourself, fanatically checking the date, contacting Felix on the verge of tears for him to laugh and then attempt at consoling your doom, or googling the best ways to run away from your predicament, fate had it out for you.
A disgustingly impertinent, unfairly fair fate.
Packing wasn’t all too stressful, unless you count trying on an entire entourage of outfits descending from dinner to snow-attire, then focusing on simple.
And it really shouldn’t have been so awful getting into your car, nonetheless waking up to realize today was the dreaded day, but it was, and you seriously deserved an award for the amount of times you checked your clock.
Although, you at least expected to have a little bit of time before having to face him again. Talking and interacting, not just drilling holes into his head. Little bit of time as in, a few years at least.
You were wrong.
Not the first time that’s happened.
“Hi Hyunjin.”
Answering his awaiting call with unsteady pitch, your eyes immediately gravitate to the blond-haired man. Taller in stature, leaning against a nearby pillar by your gate, staring directly at you.
Never had it felt so terrifying.
“Hey.”
You hesitate, never breaking eye contact with the man you’re speaking to a few meters away.
“Are we…Are we doing this again?”
He’s solemn. He’s not the same. Different.
“I don’t know. You decide for me.”
Never for a second does your gaze stray to his lips that barely move as he utters the line. Not the same either.
Before, you’d always been mesmerized by his lips. Then he’d notice and tease you prior to delivering the long-awaited kiss, again and again till you were breathless and your head became dizzy.
But this wasn't before; this is now, filled with grudges and sourness.
“You know I can’t make big decisions.”
That isn’t him. Isn’t the Hyunjin who would always provide endless tips and support, opinions unable to be held back without duct tape.
“Because you don’t want to get hurt knowing we chose this?” He whispers, and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth hard enough to bleed.
“Because I want better for us.”
“Y/n,” He sadly laughs, and your name rolling off his tongue sends an ache clawing your chest. It’s humorless, bitter in his throat.
“There is no us, only you and me, remember? So who do you want better for?”
There’s no twinkle in his eyes or his charming smile, it’s dry and painful, like he’d been crying.
You don’t want to think about that.
“Tell me something, okay?” Holding your phone to your ear with an iron grip, you slowly inhale through your nose, sparing a fleeting glance to the floor.
“Anything.”
“If I cry, will you hug me?”
“Do you want that?”
Question after question. He reaches in further, ripping out pieces of your soul with each inquiry. Stupid, sure. But genuine, all the way from the shrouded depths of your mind did you ask.
Of course you want that, want what’s so bad for you. No strength can make you admit it.
He knows the answer.
You hang up the call, fiddling around with your suitcase prior to wheeling the blundering thing over and ensuring you find a comfy spot out of Hyunjin’s sight.
Only five minutes of talking and you already feel as if your body is splintering into little pieces he’ll arrange into the perfect puzzle, ideal and pleasing.
He won’t. Not anymore he won’t.
And in that stead you’ll remain shattered.
What a shame.
Now boarding Group Five. All passengers in Group Five are welcome to board.
The hailing announcement earns a muffled groan through your mask, begrudgingly rising to your feet while directing your attention solely upon the bridge and your tightly held boarding pass. Luckily, Incheon International Airport isn’t half as hectic as you anticipated, but you have a gnawing feeling Paris will have a lot more to say.
Truth be told, you thank every lesson on task focus you once deemed useless as you shuffle among Paris-goers to find your seat.
One that obviously had to be right by Hwang Hyunjin.
“How’s you and Seungmin?” He fixes the length of his headphones, sparing a quick look at you while speaking. You despise how easy he treats this, how easy he’s treating everything at the moment.
Unfortunately, booking this hell-on-earth back when either of you were in your demented fantasy-land meant sitting beside each other also, in assigned seats.
Cupid really needs to give up by now.
You grunt beside him, uttering a hushed, “We broke up.”
Tilting his head, Hyunjin presses his face closer, craning. Close enough that you hold your phone up as a barrier, shrinking away nearer to the window.
“…Who broke up with who?”
Asshole.
Sighing boisterously, you shove in your own earbuds, rolling your eyes. Hyunjin, cocking a brow, dejectedly slouched back. Although he doesn’t ask any more questions, and you successfully get through your first three hours in silence.
Well, prior to the flight attendant strolling by with her cart, mandatorily beckoning orders from each row.
Wheeling her cart over where your seats are, Hyunjin takes a ginger ale and the customary pretzels they hand out. So when she gets to you and you order a Sprite, the man to your right’s head snaps to you, giving you quite an incredulous cock of his brow.
“No ginger ale?”
You wrinkle your nose.
“I don’t like it,” Biting back, you interrupt him upon accepting the canned soft drink, expression bitter and unwavering.
“You always got it when you were with me” or “Wasn’t it your favorite” was what you expected to come out of his mouth, positively obliterating any ounce of peace of mind remaining inside your rattling skull. You weren’t about to sit another seven hours sulking about something your ex said.
The ex you were very much over.
Right.
Your new goal? Avoid genuine conversation for as long as possible, at least on this flight.
So, given the chance to be deep in thought, you came to a conclusion.
You were clockwork, just like before. Except now instead of just equaling the time of day, he was the hour hand and you were the minute hand, always chasing after one another only to briefly touch and start all over again in an endless cycle of time.
Although the rockier the air gets and the more your grip squeezes the armrest does your initial goal falter, finding his considerate gesture asking if you were alright practically impossible to keep from responding to.
Especially when a huge drop has his hand racing atop yours, both too nervous to truly let go.
Just the circumstances, you blame, as if this plane was the sole cause of your slamming heartbeat.
Bullshit.
Four days and this trip was going to be one for the books for a multitude of reasons, that’s for sure.
Let’s just hope you can land first.
December 23nd – Paris, France.
His assuring hold on your hand guiding you through the bustling crowds of visitors and locals storming Charles de Gaulle Airport gives you this disgusting nostalgia, festering in your gut the longer you focus on his dark head of hair in front of you, kind, magnificent almond eyes flickering back to catch sight of you time and time again — like you’d magically sift from his grasp.
It’s a miracle you managed to hit ground in one piece, nevertheless end up with the notorious artist-jerkface named Hyunjin navigating you through an supremely overpopulated airport.
Perhaps it’s the scent of wispy pine or faint cigarette smoke that tinges the atmosphere such a rosy hue, perhaps everyone’s anticipation for the holiday’s. Either way, it certainly doesn’t help fuel your “absolutely NO touchy-feely-ness Hyunjin agenda”.
Well, you had no doubt you’d have to stick to your morals on this trip in the first place, and it’s not like the odds were supposed to work in your favor. Although, a little assistance would‘ve been nice.
Guess you’ll just have to make due.
Lovely.
“Thank you!” You shout, forcing your voice to sound chipper speaking to the Cab Driver (opposing the twenty-two hours of traveling you managed to survive through). Except now, you didn’t know what to do nor what to say standing outside the hotel entrance, especially not when Hwang Hyunjin was going to be biting your ass for the next few days.
Much to your luck though, it seemed he was just as clueless as you, both prioritizing just checking into your room first and foremost.
Thankfully, the sights are a wondrous source of distraction, and you devise a plan to go walking more often than not (and not just to avoid Hyunjin). Each building appears as if it’d been expertly carved from stone, historically aged beige, awnings titled a bottomless array of Grand Seiko and Jaeger-LeCoultre.
To add, huge paneled windows are placed in each room, allowing a breathtaking view of the city as evening dawns. Whether it’s a quaint bakery hitched right below a bookstore or the bell tower seated comfortably in the middle of a square—you could never get bored.
Seems your interest tore you away from an unwelcomed reality until Hyunjin cleared his throat, thick eyebrows raised questionably.
“..We could go ice-skating?” He offers, index pointing to the huge rink a few blocks to the left.
You don’t have to speak for him to know your response, unzipping your suitcase to gather a new change of clothes without a word.
“Look, I know you want nothing to do with me, but I doubt either of us will ever have enough money to come to Paris again, so just, do it for the experience, not for me.”
That’s it.
“For you? You think I’m doing this for you? Are you really that conceited to think I’m still catering to you, Hyunjin? I’ve changed whether you like it or not, and I’m not the girl that’s willing anymore,” You toss your clothing to the side, giving him a downright venomous stare. Loathing. “I’m not yours anymore.”
“In fact,” Spitting poison, you stab your index to his chest, causing him to back up the more you advance forward. “You don’t know shit about me.”
He appears torn. His nose scrunches, and his lips form a squabbled line upon his face, evidently troubled.
Somehow, those actions that normally earned your sympathy only reared your deftly oiled gears more, angrily roaring without fail.
“Because if you did, we wouldn’t be like this.”
Gesturing around, you retreat back a few steps, arms slapping your sides irritably. Meanwhile, the tall man remains silent, attention magnetically directed down at his shoes. And for a swift moment, mere seconds, you feel sorry — apologetic even.
It makes you sick to your stomach.
You exhale. “I’ll go, and not for you. Understood?”
Hyunjin doesn’t reply, biting his cheek as he watches you disappear into another room.
You thank the refreshing scent of peppermint for its momentary relief upon entering the bathroom, practically drenching your face in ice cold water over and over as if it’d clear your head.
For you; you’re doing this for you, nobody else, you remind yourself, prepping a washcloth and your toiletries whilst praying the warm shower water eases your blaring jet-lag.
Yet, you didn’t expect a visitor to suddenly pop in while you were mid-shampoo, and it seemed he didn’t expect it either.
You swore the prolonged eye-contact went on for centuries, absolute terror embracing every aspect of your face through the clear shower door.
“Fuck! Get out!”
Scurrying like a character off a cartoon, Hyunjin manages – through spilling apologies – to blindly ram himself into the door, hands gripping his skull.
Suddenly, he pauses, hesitating.
“Wait but I’ve seen you naked befo–”
“GET OUT!” You scream.
“Okay! Okay.” He hurriedly slips out, leaving you to rethink every decision made with his name involved. A recurring thought at this point.
And with that, you quickly accept that your jet lag isn’t even close to gone and likely won’t be as long as the artist sharing your hotel room is within a six-foot radius.
Oh, and you don’t know shit about ice-skating.
Of course, Hyunjin is a natural on ice. He glides like a snow spirit, freer than ever. Meanwhile, your nails are embedded into your vice of a railing, knees shakily attempting at balancing with little success.
He’s the princess, and you’re the frog. It’s decided. Walking while you crawled, running while you walked. A step ahead that was at some point motivating, now plain humiliating.
The ice rink is jam-packed, citizens and tourists alike savoring the crisp winter, the faded twinkling of lights glittering in the distance.
“C’mon, just one?”
You, clawing the icy edge, confusedly avert your focus to where the voice came from.
It’s Hyunjin, gesturing to his camera while you piece together his request before childishly whining your despair. He lifts his toboggan upward, a few endearing tufts of golden peering out to hang over crescent moon eyes, evidently smiling.
Leave it to this man to test your sanity. How could anybody say no when he looked that cute.
“Fine, one.”
Not like I could run off anyway, you mentally consider, finding the fact your legs are quite literally flailing as a good enough sign to give in.
“Yes!” He chirped happily, hurriedly fiddling with his camera.
Watching him with that kind of expression, you witness your Hyunjin again, fumbling around, so excited about the smallest of things.
It hurts.
“I..” He trails off, voice barely audible whilst winking to see through the lense. “Don’t want to miss a moment of you.”
“What was that?”
The camera flashes, and you wonder if you heard him correctly.
“Oh nothing.” His lips curl into a sheepish grin, easing toward you and unexpectedly prying your hand into his own, involuntarily pulling you along.
Panickedly, you clutch onto any article of clothing available (another goodbye to your no-touchy-feely-ness Hyunjin agenda) similar to the handrails, squeezing your eyes shut while painfully awaiting a harsh slam against rock-hard ice.
A harsh slam that never happens.
You cautiously open an eye.
“One, two, one, two.” He counts steadily, soaring across the ice, unable to contain the huge beam the longer he watches you. Captivating.
You fight the urge to smile, the sensation of wind whipping your hair and his warm, reminiscent touch setting your nerves into a dopamine frenzy, making the routinely frown much harder than need be.
Nevertheless, perhaps staying in Hyunjin’s grasp would’ve been the safer option. Because with confidence comes failure (at least in your book of life), and your knees would’ve definitely appreciated not getting ruined.
“Are you alright?” Hyunjin murmurs, sympathetically regarding your black and blue frame, looking worse for wear, skates in hand.
“Amputation has never sounded more tempting,” Grumbling, you hobble to return your skates, the man tailing behind you choking back his giggle, kindly waiting in case you stumble.
From the way things are going, the probability is high. Except, Hyunjin walks on eggshells, worried you might rip his head off in the case he asked the question sitting tentatively on the tip of his tongue.
Keeping himself contained had never been as unbearable as when with you, constantly having to refrain from wrapping your precious self into his arms, witness those warm, beautiful hues blinking at him like globes.
Five minutes into the walk back and your near-face-plant-turned-catastrophe was his last straw.
“Can I at least carry you?”
Your head snapping back was almost comical, ogling at Hyunjin as if he told you he’d been neutered or something.
Insane. He’s officially gone insane.
So have you, apparently. Because after getting all too familiar with the icy side walk for a fifth time, you give in, stifling your thoughts from erupting out of your skull—feeling like your entire earth was slowing down on its axis when he easily swept you off your feet.
Cute, hell, romantic too, until you arrive back at the hotel and the curious looks sent your way have your cheeks burning.
“This is so embarrassing.” You whine, burying your face in your hands. Of course, Hyunjin just laughs.
You missed his laugh.
And he cares for you that night, transporting you from room to room in his arms despite your complaints you could do so yourself (although you secretly preferred it, and no, not because it was Hyunjin, only because of how bruised your legs were).
Plus, the mental exhaustion was practically debilitating, sleep beckoning you into its cozy embrace as the clock ticked on the wall. The man before you knelt in front of where you sat on the side of the bed, gently applying antiseptic to your cuts while you blanked in and out of consciousness.
Any common sense had completely abandoned you. Certainly, since you hadn’t noticed only one bed sat dead center in the room. Nor had you noticed through your half-asleep eyes how sweetly he maneuvered you around, pulling the comforter snug over your body.
His hand strays, wistfully smoothing some hair from off your eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” He whispers, gathering spare pillows and blankets.
He’ll sleep on the floor.
December 24th – Paris, France.
Apparently, there was much more to this Paris dilemma than just the “going to Paris” part (excluding, y’know, the havoc that’s occurred over the past three days).
This fantastic surprise came in the form of a booked Louvre Museum date, now a bit more like a punishment with your current state of soreness merely rising up from bed. And, in turn, seeing Hyunjin sawing logs on the floor below, an action you were inaudibly grateful for.
You two are a different kind of romantic if that’s what you want to call it, especially when Hyunjin practically barricades the bathroom door, nonsensically shouting that he won’t make the same mistake of walking in ever again.
Sweet gesture, but it gets a tad bit irritating when you have to basically charge the door in order to move the chair situated behind it, making you doubt if it was to keep Hyunjin himself out or keeping you in instead.
Yeah. Different kind of romantic. Exes kind of romantic.
Once 5pm rolls around, you’re already dressed and ready to leave, trying your darndest to pretend you’re doing something on your phone to evade conversation. A middle school move, though your ego is on the brink of becoming extinct anyway.
Seems the final act is when Hyunjin steps out of the bathroom, wearing that tan trench coat he always did.
He notices you analyzing, stifling a very tempting smirk.
“I thought you’d like this jacket. Y’know, since you stared at it all the time.”
With a sentence you watched your endangered ego obliterate in real time, embarrassment swallowing you whole. The cycle is neverending.
Thankfully, at least one factor in your unsolvable equation proves itself useful, the factor being your already purchased tickets, granting an earlier entrance into what felt to be a new world.
A new world you recognized as Hyunjin’s world. Vast, expansive. A place you can get lost in and be okay with. Stories hidden behind gold-rimmed frames, so much to tell if only you’d listen.
He lingers by the Psyche and Cupid sculpture longer than usual. Briefly, he told you about them many moons ago. Their love awakening from something much more tragic, apocalyptical.
What a coincidence.
You spend what feels to be days in there, daylight from the lengthy windows overhead falling dark by the time you’re finished. The temperature dropped exponentially while you explored, ignorant to the frigid conditions till realizing you still had your trek back.
Curse the taxi service for not running twenty-four hours.
“You grew your hair out.” You comment, but it’s not really a comment, more like an observation you already knew and felt the need to point out for some odd reason. The awkward silence is suffocating enough.
Granted, you’d known his hair had grown. You saw him every day coming to and fro from work, so any adjustments he made you saw, some of which you remember loving oh so much.
This adjustment was his hair.
Hyunjin’s lips quirk ever so slightly, fingers straying up to tousle a strand.
“You used to love it when I grew it out.”
He continues to walk ahead, ignoring how you had stalled behind, numb grip desperately clutching your puffer jacket as if it’d magically allow you inhalations.
“You would tie it up for me, and stick my paintbrushes in the bun.”
This time, he spins around, seemingly unaffected by your (both literally and figuratively) frozen finger that simply blinks at him — robotic-like.
Like Hyunjin is a stranger. Like your Hyunjin, the old one you were mad for, is now a stranger.
“And I,” He sniffs in, his exhale causing a cloud of air to comprise in its stead. “Really wanted to marry you.”
There’s your breaking point.
He’s pulled you thread by thread closer to an unthinkable free fall, a freezing free fall. Unfurling your strings of yarn to no point of repair. So as you teeter on the edge, your defense mechanisms kick in. And before you can logically consider your options, you smack him.
Right. Across. The face.
He’s stunned, you don’t blame him for that, but there’s also a crinkle in his brows, a look of utmost hurt beginning to stain any somber expression left.
“You have no right to say that when you’re the one that caused all of this.” Your volume increases, unaffected by the glances from passerby.
You have no doubt the two of you are quite a scene, though common sense had long abandoned you, and no thought but fiery rage curls around you, tendrils alight.
“Why the hell did you want to marry me if you can’t even love me? Quit hurting and confusing me Hyunjin, I can’t keep doing this.” Practically pleading, he pulls his palm from where it babied his cheek, instead retreating to your wrists, keeping you in front of him.
“Listen.”
“No!” You screech, trying your hardest to escape.
“Listen.”
You pause, gingerly allowing him to adjust the scarf over your pink nose and ensure your gloves trap warmth for your fingers.
He bites his lip, gaze dancing across your features.
“I love you.”
You shakily exhale, wishing everything would just stop. Time would simply diminish into nothing but stillness, easiness.
Your anguish and anger was easy, and staying mad was a whole lot easier than this—confronting the pains of meeting him again, nonetheless this trip.
He’s finding the pieces to your puzzle.
You want to hide.
Worst of all? Especially hearing him say the words that ended you two months prior.
Cruel.
“I loved you,” His voice wavers. “More than anything, Y/n. And I still do. But when you said that, I got scared.”
He shakily inhales, the grip on you lessening a bit.
“Because when I say I love you back, that means I have someone to lose.”
It’s hypocritical, you know.
Hell, you know what it’s like to be a hypocrite more than anything right now. From hearing the godforsaken news to sitting in an airplane together after wholeheartedly promising yourself you’d never let him have you once more.
Yet here you were, dragging him by his collar into a kiss.
He kisses you back, like an idiot, childishly grasping his clothing-cladden frame against your face and savoring the small bit of heat huddled between where your lips meet.
His trench-coat, you remember, despite so many adjustments, is the same as usual, and it’s almost comforting to find he smells the same as well—floral, with hints of jasmine (mainly thanks to his favorite perfume). You remember that too.
Guess some things never change.
Perhaps he kept that mug after all, drank from it every day like he used to.
And perhaps, right now, he’s wishing back all the time you’ve spent apart, just like you are. Wishing you would’ve just talked like mature, capable adults. Figured things out.
Newsflash, you’re not mature adults. You’re two broken lovebirds fighting to find their song after being caged together, searching high and low for the perfect pitch when all you needed was a single note, a single start.
Positioning you where an arm wraps around your back, the other holding your cheek, he dips you as if in a ballroom dance, not kissing beneath a street light.
Everything is pretty in Hyunjin’s presence.
“Hwang Hyunjin,” You whisper, nostrils burning the longer you’re surrounded by snow, falling in hefty sheets at this rate.
He hums into your lips, maneuvering his head to kiss away the chilled tears beginning to froth upon your waterline. And in those moments, you feel so fragile, so weak in his touch.
Almost instinctively, his grip tightens oh so slightly.
“I really don’t want to lose you.”
And he laughs, a muffled laugh that nonetheless causes his shoulders to shake before delving further into your kiss, melting away every bit of anguish you felt, all the hurt and ache. Dissolved into nothingness by his lips.
Figures briefly illuminated by the light of the street lamp, you remain ignorant to the encroaching nightfall, the way the stars seamlessly blend with white snowflakes. Something out of a fairytale.
You’re certain you could’ve stood there forever, all numb and freezing cold.
But in love. So very in love.
For him you would’ve stood there. And the you still in denial without understanding this entire story would’ve died before admitting that.
This time, you’re okay with letting him finish the puzzle, create a song as lovebirds.
“You won’t, I promise,” He traces your cheek with his thumb. “Now let’s get someplace warm, shall we?”
Landing an affectionate peck to your burning red nose, he takes your hand, guiding you through climbing snow toward your hotel, sign reading “Hôtel de Vendôme” glittering in the distance.
In your opinion, however, it was too fleeting. A kiss you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for until it actually happened, till you pathetically craved it again and again.
Although, that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy gaining feeling back in your fingers and toes, treasuring the flicker of the fire crackling beneath a brick mantel. A few guests litter the lobby, dishing paper cups of hot chocolate left and right, taking the opportunity the mistletoe hanging above a long forgotten stairwell provides.
Christmas Eve and you’re beside the ex you swore you’d never spend it with, spend any time with generally. So surreal you simply cannot stop thinking about it, enough that you become too distracted to notice the mischievous glint in Hyunjin’s vision.
Well, before he points upward and you notice the dangling mistletoe.
And he kisses you again just like you wanted. Deeper, slower, like separating would cause you to break apart, carving your kiss into his memory for a second time.
Standing there, too lost in him to ever consider anything better than this, you begin to think maybe you’ll be able to finish that stagnant book of yours. Maybe it’ll be about two lovers turned two exes, whose trip to Paris might just have been the cherry on top to hurt feelings and broken love. Because, at the end of their tribulations, Cupid falls in love with Psyche.
And you begin to think—as the clock’s ringing announces midnight has arrived—maybe this Christmas will pass by on a good note.
No, you’re certain of it.
sunboki, may 2022 ©
FIC TAGLIST. @slut4colinbridgerton @armystay89 @shujohajohaminnie @minhosbitterriver @callmedarlingsstuff
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