Wine is not Yangyang's thing—mulled wine, even less so. He learns that on December 23rd, when the first sip gets stuck in his throat, at precisely 6:54pm. One clammy hand squeezes around the glass with a golden rim—the glass that never seems to empty, no matter how many reluctant sips he takes.

Chit chat blends over Christmas songs in the living room; the guests started arriving about twenty minutes ago. Yangyang, despite calling this place his home, feels anything but at home. With his back pressed against the wall, Yangyang stays in the corner, taking slow sips of the mulled wine—pretending to be enjoying it, while sending polite nods people's way, is the only thing to cover up for his discomfort. Both in the company around him, and the suit he lent from Renjun for the occasion. It's like it's tight in all the wrong places. At least he didn't wear the ugly Christmas sweater Mark suggested, it is definitely not that kind of party.

Christmas dinner in the world of Xiao Dejun, is of course anything but whatever Yangyang has ever experienced before, but somehow it doesn't surprise him anymore. Christmas food made into fancy-looking appetizers, placed neatly on silver trays, and wine. Lots of wine. The living room has transformed into a winter wonderland of white, gold and pine. Just like Dejun it is simple yet overwhelming.

Speaking of Dejun...

"You've changed your hair?" Dejun's voice suddenly catches Yangyang's attention. Coming from the kitchen with a punch bowl in his hands—the red liquid swashes, chasing the edge of the crystal bowl, when Dejun abruptly stops walking to take a closer look. He looks without seeing, Yangyang feels, as their eyes never meet and Dejun's stare seems distant even up close.

"Yeah... Roots..." A sheepish smile, Yangyang points towards his own hair. Like a real dork. His hand falls slowly towards his side again. Hair, now dark-brown, parted in the middle—Yangyang knew it was only a matter of time before Dejun would have frowned at the roots showing more and more in the previously blonde hair.

Not that Dejun's opinion should matter, Yangyang tells himself. But he is lying, because it does.

A simple nod, Dejun walks away just as his presence starts to feel suffocating. It has been days since they last talked, since the night at the atelier. A night, which stays with Yangyang—and solely with Yangyang, it seems.

They walked home together that night, and for the first time Yangyang found comfort in the silence. Being close to Dejun was more than enough. Back at the apartment with rosy cheeks from the cold and hair ruffled by the wind, they hung their coats and Dejun's voice was soft when he said good night. The sound of it keeps echoing in Yangyang's head, even now. And then—albeit only for a mere second—Dejun's eyes stroked their gaze across Yangyang's lips. But it was long enough for Yangyang to notice.

Just like Yangyang now painfully notices how Dejun doesn't look at him, at all. It's been three days since Yangyang got his hair dyed, and Dejun hasn't noticed until now. It hurts even more when Dejun greets the two newest arrivals. Sicheng and Junhui—strutting into the apartment like they were on a catwalk, wearing expensive designer suits and their stupid, perfectly styled hair. It makes Yangyang feel like nothing but an insecure schoolboy.

Maybe it's the, by now, countless amount of times he has stalked Junhui online, maybe it's simply the smug look on Junhui's face, and all that he is—but Yangyang hates him. He really, really hates him.

Hates the way his hand slides down Dejun's back, hates the way he makes Dejun laugh. Hates that their conversation is just out of hearing-range, and Yangyang doesn't know if Junhui is genuinely funny, or if Dejun only laughs out of pity. Yangyang hopes for the latter, of course. They chat for a while, every second is like another knife to Yangyang's heart. Junhui admires Dejun's look for the night, who wouldn't? Dejun, who looks absolutely gorgeous in a red suit with a black shirt underneath—mesh, thin, glistening. Unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest. Yangyang stares from across the room, how can he not, when it feels like forever since they last saw each other, and Dejun is like a feast for Yangyang's starving eyes?

Yangyang, forever greedy about anything when it comes to Dejun, even though he knows he has no right to, saves the night at the atelier like a dream only meant for him. Dejun's laughter and Dejun's smile—everything he is and everything Yangyang wants to have. Even in his sleep it shows up, it washes over him like waves crashing against his skin, and he is drowning in all the things he will never have.

All the things about Dejun he has fallen in love with.

Another self-pity sip of mulled wine, Yangyang scrunches his nose at the taste, it's not even warm anymore and it somehow makes it even worse. Slow steps of feet that try not to drag along the floor; Yangyang moves around the room, wondering if anyone would notice if he simply slipped into his bedroom and didn't return. Dejun surely wouldn't...

Ten minutes later a whiff of luck finally finds its way to Yangyang, when Hendery finally shows up. Or, so Yangyang thinks...

"Yangyang!" Hendery grins from ear to ear—but his wide smile is about the only thing that makes him recognizable for the night. Dressed in an ivory suit and with his dark hair pushed back, he looks nothing like the Hendery Yangyang has previously met. Even his shoes are freakishly shiny.

And then, there is Karina. Yangyang has seen a photo of her before, but meeting her in real life is something else entirely. Arm linked around Hendery's, her long dark hair falls in soft waves down her shoulders. Big eyes, small face, perfect smile and diamonds sparkle under the warm light—nothing less than goddamn, fucking stunning. Yangyang smiles nervously as the couple approaches him, Karina is a goddess dressed in red and the feeling of being an insecure schoolboy only grows bigger.

"Hi, I'm Karina. You must be Yangyang, I've heard so much about you!" Her voice is warm and so is her embrace. Karina greets Yangyang with an unexpected hug, it nearly makes him stumble over his own feet as it happens.

"My darling, it is wonderful to see you." It is Dejun's voice, pulling both Yangyang out of his thoughts, and Karina away from the hug. Yangyang doesn't even have time to answer her. "Always so beautiful in red," Dejun adds.

"And likewise," Karina smiles, as she and Dejun greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. "And I apologize for being so late, I had to drag this one out the door."

Karina pats Hendery's chest, the diamond ring on her dainty finger glistens as her hand slides against the navy silk shirt, while all three of them laugh. Yangyang stands awkwardly next to them, biting into a dry flake on his bottom lip—wondering if he should simply sneak away as silently as possible, when Karina suddenly looks at him.

"My brother is visiting," she then says, as if to fill Yangyang in. It's nice of her, Yangyang thinks, and he finds it unexpected as well. "Which means I barely see my fiancé at all. Sometimes I wonder if he should simply marry my brother instead."

They laugh again, this time Yangyang forces a strained smile. The information made him feel less of an outsider, but only barely.

"Well, better let me know in advance," Dejun says through his laughter. "I'd have to refit the entire dress then."

"Hey! You're supposed to be on my side," Hendery complains, although with a smile. "I guess I know who I am not bringing backstage to the concert in two weeks then!"

"Oh, no, I am devastated ." Hand to his chest, Dejun exaggerates a disappointed sigh that causes Hendery to roll his eyes.

Said eyes then shift their focus to Yangyang, who still finds it hard recognizing the laid back Hendery in tonight's outfit. Even his posture seems different, straighter, had they met for the first time tonight, Yangyang would probably have felt as intimidated as when meeting Sicheng.

"Yangyang, you wanna go with me?" Hendery asks and his wide grin makes it hard to say no, even when Yangyang still has no clue on what the others are talking about.

"I- I'm sorry, but w-what are we talking about?"

"Karina's brother is Christian Yu, the singer," Dejun replies right away, his shoulder gently bumping against Yangyang, most likely unintentionally, but the touch makes Yangyang flinch.

"Wow, really?" Yangyang clears his throat, as his voice comes out way more squeaky than he wished for. The others must think he is such a dork. Christian Yu is a big deal and Yangyang even has some of his songs on his playlist. "I-I mean- S-sure, that'd be cool."

Warm laughter has filled the apartment, just like the alcohol has spread warmth to Yangyang's body. His fingers tickle as he holds a beer tightly in his hands. Ten has arrived, sitting squeezed against Yangyang on the couch—but while Ten is engaging in conversations with anyone who comes close, Yangyang sits completely silent.

Now and then he feels a soft touch against his skin, Ten's subtle way of giving him attention without being too much. Yangyang appreciates the subtleness. They have texted throughout the week, but nothing too major. Nothing too flirty. It made Yangyang feel both relieved but also guilty. And a little confused. Ten's scent is as lovely as the last time, filling Yangyang's lungs every time he inhales.

He looks beautiful tonight, of course he does—Yangyang doubts that Ten ever looks bad. His long hair is a little wavy, and his shirt is as see-through as the first time they met. It would be hard not to stare, if Yangyang's attention wasn't stolen by something else.

There is a tight knot in his stomach, and it hurts. Opposite of him is Hendery and Karina, busy telling everyone about their upcoming wedding. But it's the way Dejun looks at her every time he thinks no one is watching. Yangyang sees it. Every. Time. It's the softness in his dark eyes, a gentleness Yangyang has never seen, one that almost glistens with a glimpse of hurt. It's the way Dejun's eyes narrow when Hendery holds her hand, when her fingers elegantly stroke down Hendery's sleeve. Their small smiles and laughter reflect in Dejun's eyes, turning his expression cold until she looks at him.

No. No, no, no. Yangyang pulls at a loose edge of the label on his beer. It couldn't possibly be... Could it? The reason why Dejun has shoved the photos of him and Hendery into his drawer, instead of putting them up or in an actual album. Neat and organized Dejun, who has known Hendery since forever.

Dejun... In love with his best friend's fiancé?

No. No, don't be an idiot, Yangyang thinks to himself as he empties his beer. But the thought stays at the back of his head.

The conversation stirs away from the wedding-talk, into the discussion of Christmas—of celebration or the lack thereof.

"What about you? Do you celebrate Christmas with your family?" One of the other guests suddenly asks, and Yangyang flinches when he realizes the question is meant for him. She looks curiously at him. Her name is Minjeong, if Yangyang remembers correctly, she arrived together with Taeyong—who Yangyang now knows works at the atelier with Dejun, like a co-designer or something. Both he and Minjeong are too pretty for this world, and Yangyang is starting to wonder if Dejun only knows pretty people.

"Yeah, no, they live in Taiwan," he shyly says, the beer label is almost pulled off entirely by now. "We-we don't really speak."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. Been that way for long?"

"Like 3 years maybe," he replies without thinking twice. He really should have.

Dejun suddenly looks at him, stares, eyes narrowing down. And Yangyang then remembers.

"You bought flowers?"

"Yeah, I... It's... They're for... For my mom..." 

Yangyang hears the buzzing of people talking around him, but he doesn't catch a single word of it. The world stands still, there is no air to breathe when Dejun is staring directly into his eyes. It has felt like forever since the last time, since Dejun gave him that particular look. Like there is no one else in the world but him. It's hard to swallow, hard to even blink. Shivers wash over Yangyang's skin like wild waves—God, how he has missed burning under Dejun's stare.

"You want another beer? ...Yangyang?" A gentle touch at his thigh, Ten's voice is so close yet so far away.

Dejun then blinks, the look in his eyes changes—a quick glance, catching the hand resting against Yangyang's thigh.

"I have made a few alterations to the last drawings, would you like to see them?" Dejun asks, reaching his hand out towards Karina—his voice is low, only meant for her, but Yangyang hears it. Loud and clear.

"Oh my God, of course! Do you have them here?"

"Yes, if I may steal you away for a minute." Dejun gets up, smiles politely as he gestures to her to follow him. Which she does, eagerly. Follows Dejun to his bedroom. And it makes Yangyang anxious for several different reasons.

"Yangyang? Are you okay?" The gentle hand on his thigh gives a small squeeze, Yangyang finally pulls himself out of his Dejun-trance and turns towards Ten next to him.

Beautiful Ten, who seems so nice and whose lips are so dangerously close. Yangyang clearly remembers how they feel, how they taste. Maybe it wouldn't be all that bad to feel them again?

"I... Yeah, sorry, I'll just go grab a beer myself. Do you want anything?"

No. It would be bad. Leading someone on isn't cool, Yangyang tells himself—although one side of his drunken brain kind of disagrees. And Ten seems different too tonight, like he feels the same as Yangyang but neither of them knows how to say it. I'm sorry, I'm just not that into you. Yangyang gets up, staggering through the living room towards the kitchen—bumping into Sicheng on the way. A cold glare is all that Sicheng lets him have, not that Yangyang minds. Maybe Yangyang's simply too drunk, but Sicheng has looked even more pissed than usual tonight.

There's too many people tonight, way more than at the housewarming. The housewarming. Yangyang pinches his eyes shut as his hand clenches around the open refrigerator door. The cold strokes against his heated face, but little does it help. The memories flood his mind, it is overwhelming and unstoppable. Dejun's lips, his touch and warm skin. The way he whispered Yangyang's name with his eyes closed. The cold bathroom floor against Yangyang's knees. Parted lips that let him dive into a kiss of desire he had never felt before.

"Shit..." Yangyang slams the refrigerator shut.

Everything spins as he returns to the party, a beer in each hand—handing one over to Ten, but this time Yangyang sits down on the armrest of the couch, instead of squeezing down next to Ten.

"Okay, who did this?" It is Dejun, returning from his bedroom with a wrapped gift in his hand, everyone turns their heads to look at him. "I have told you guys many times, I don't want any gifts."

"Don't look at me, I didn't do it," Hendery says, hands held up in front of himself.

"I am aware of that much, Dery, but thank you."

"Maybe it's Santa," Ten laughs into his beer, resulting in a small whistle sound coming from the neck of the bottle.

Dejun sighs, rolling his eyes as he leaves the still wrapped gift on the bookshelf near the door to his bedroom. The party goes on, and everyone has soon forgotten about the secret Santa moment. Everyone, but Yangyang.

On December 21st Yangyang dragged Mark through the city, shoving their way through the crowded streets. Through malls where Christmas music played from every corner, and small bookstores spread across the city. From vintage boutiques where the books were older with loose spines, to newer places with glass facades and fancy illustrations on the book covers.

The only thing all those places had in common was Mark's non stop complaining.

"Yo, are you done yet? I'm fucking starving, man!"

"Just one more stop, I promise."

"What are you even looking for?" Mark had asked, leaning against the bookcase next to the one Yangyang was squatting down in front of. Scrolling on his phone, Mark had shown to be absolutely no help in Yangyang's quest.

"I already told you a million times."

"Okay, let me rephrase. Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why don't you just order it online? Why are you wasting valuable chicken-and-beer-time? Why are you trying to impress your roommate, when you went on a date last week? Why?"

"I-" Yangyang looked up, pointer finger hooked at the top of the spine of a book. "How did you know?"

"Ningning told me."

"Seriously? I can't trust any of you, Jesus..."

Mark was kind of right with all his questions, but Yangyang wouldn't say that out loud. A yawn, exaggerated by intention, Mark scratched his head causing the pom pom on top of his red, knitted beaning to bop around.

"And I'm not trying to impress him, okay? It's not that kind of Christmas dinner, actually I don't think anyone else is bringing gifts. I just thought it'd be nice, you know, as a thank you for hosting-kind of thing, you know? I am just being polite, dude!"

"Cool story, bro," Mark simply said, eyes still glued to his phone—probably watching some dumb reels on Instagram.

"Oh my God!" With his voice louder than intended, Yangyang startled both himself and Mark. "I fucking found it!"

His hand trembled when he slowly pulled the book from the shelf. There must be a million versions, but this was the one he had been searching for. Hardback in a slip-case, burgundy cover with roses and planets drawn in gold on the cover. The Little Prince.

Hours into the party Yangyang knows he should have gone to bed long ago. His head is spinning, his vision is blurry and all those beers have left a bitter taste in his mouth. He has talked way more than he could've ever imagined, the alcohol must have helped him. And Hendery too, of course, dragging Yangyang into a million conversations all at once.

Yangyang has lost the perception of time at this point, he only knows that it is late. The first guests have left, the party slowly turns smaller, quieter. Hendery and Karina soon leave as well, Hendery reminding Yangyang about the concert saying "I'll text you about it tomorrow, 'kay?"

Time has passed by way too fast for Yangyang to notice, but at the same time excruciatingly slowly. Awkward moments with Ten have occurred one too many times, leaving Yangyang feeling stressed out. A few gentle touches now and then but nothing more than that. Ten has been occupied as well, apparently having some beef with Sicheng, which the two of them had to discuss alone outside earlier. Yangyang feels like he should care, but he doesn't.

Instead he stays inside, watching when Dejun suddenly withdraws himself from a conversation with Taeyong, to circle closer and closer to the bookshelf. Seems like even Dejun can't control his curiosity. His fingers gently pull at the ribbon Yangyang spent way too long tying into a bow, and Yangyang swears he could drown in his own nervousness.

Dejun wasn't supposed to open it now, not when there's still guests around. Yangyang snuck into his room earlier, placing the gift on Dejun's bed, thinking that a perfect host like Xiao Dejun wouldn't leave his party to go to his bedroom. But apparently Yangyang was wrong...

When the wrapping paper is removed, carefully folded and placed behind the gift, Yangyang is running out of oxygen. His heart is racing and whatever is said next to him goes completely unnoticed, all he hears is his own heartbeat. Like thunder through his ears.

Dejun just stands there, staring at the book in his hands, for an unnatural long time. Or, to Yangyang it certainly feels that way. A tilt of his head, Dejun studies the cover for an eternity, his fingers carefully stroking against the surface. Yangyang slowly gets up from his seat, closing the distance between them with dragged out steps. His mouth feels dry, what is he even going to say?

"So, do you like it?"

Dejun looks up, the shadow of a smile quickly fading.

"It's from you?" he asks, eyes squinting a little.

Junhui stands tall and flawless in front of Dejun, it causes Yangyang to stop moving only a few steps away from them. A hand brush through blonde hair, Junhui smiles but to Yangyang it looks wicked. The way Junhui looks at Dejun makes Yangyang feel sick—just as much as the way Junhui looks at Yangyang makes him flinch. Feeling utterly exposed, Yangyang is caught under Junhui's sudden stare—a stare which burns in all the worst ways. And then he leans in, closing the distance towards Dejun to whisper in his ear. Yangyang watches with a lump in his throat, sweat gathering at the back of his neck. It feels like forever goes by. Dejun barely reacts, a small cock of his brow, as if he doesn't know what to say to whatever Junhui is whispering to him.

"Thank you for a wonderful party. Good night, Dejun." One hand strokes down Dejun's arm, when Junhui finally pulls away and his voice turns loud enough for Yangyang to hear again.

Air returns to Yangyang's lungs, but the alcohol in his blood still delays the reaction time of his body. Yangyang takes one simple step back, only to stumble over his own feet, nearly falling over when a hand catches him by the shoulder —keeping him up

"Oops, careful," Ten laughs, his fingers gently curling into the fabric of Yangyang's shirt.

"Thanks."

"No problem." A smile slowly spreads across Ten's lips, as he points towards the ceiling. "Oh, mistletoe," he laughs.

"Yeah..." Yangyang whispers, a failed attempt of a laugh himself—cheeks already red.

Yangyang fiddles his fingers into the hem of his sleeves, it's just a kiss. A kiss under a mistletoe, it's like a tradition, it doesn't have to mean anything. But Ten stands still as well, looking almost uncertain on what to do. Then, a gentle kiss, soft lips against his own, Yangyang's eyes are half-closed, stopping from falling shut when they catch the fire burning next to him.

Sicheng. Such long legs don't need many steps to close any distance, his tall figure shadows over Yangyang only a second later.

"The cab is here," he says at the same time he turns around.

Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Yangyang recalls how Ten asked Sicheng earlier to share a cab home, but with no response. An interaction that definitely didn't change Yangyang's impression of Sicheng. Neither did this one.

"Well, Merry Christmas," Ten softly says, a small squeeze of his hand around Yangyang's upper arm. "Bye, Yangyang."

Ten and Sicheng are the last to leave, and a silence that feels heavier than ever before spreads as the door closes behind them. Yangyang nervously picks up his blazer from the backrest of the couch, about to return to his much neglected room. Every step across the floor feels heavy and nearly impossible.

The door handle is cold, squeezed in Yangyang's hand. The door creaks when opened, a step into the darkness that is ready to swallow him whole, Yangyang can't help but feel like something is missing.

"Yangyang." Dejun's voice is calm, soft, as it breaks the silence.

"... Yes?"

As he looks over his shoulder, Yangyang's heart drops a little. Dejun stands behind him, beautiful against the background of a perfectly decorated wonderland. His fingers slide against the table when he slowly draws closer. But not too close.

"When you bought those flowers," he says. "The white lilies."

Yangyang freezes. Heart pounding in his chest, about to break every bone in his ribcage. The air feels thicker with every breath, it is suffocating him—just like the way Dejun is looking at him.

"They were for me, weren't they?"

There is no reason for Yangyang to tell the truth.

But there is no reason to lie either.

One hand around the door handle to his room. Yangyang swallows, his voice is weak, almost inaudible, and he answers at the same time as he closes the door between them.

"Yes."

The late night turns into early morning, but Yangyang is still awake. Lying flat on his bed he stares at the ceiling in the dark. Early winter mornings let the sun wait for a little longer. Yangyang listens to Dejun roaming around outside the door, cleaning up, and taking a shower.

Then, silence for a while and Yangyang almost falls asleep when he hears a faint knock on the door.

"Yangyang?" Dejun's voice on the other side sounds hesitant. "Are you asleep?"

"No. You can come in."

The door creaks when opened, Dejun slowly steps inside. A mint green pajama set and damp hair pushed back. Yangyang quickly sits up on his bed, pulling the covers higher as he is only wearing a pair of sweatpants.

"Thanks... For the book," Dejun says and he shakes his head with a smile.

"Who said it was from me?"

The bed bounces when Dejun sits down on the edge, it's not much but Yangyang feels like he could've fallen off right then and there. Dejun in his room, sitting on his bed.

"Yangyang... I'm not an idiot," Dejun laughs, nudging Yangyang's arm with his own. The touch makes Yangyang instantly blush.

"Glad you like it," he replies sheepishly.

"I do. I really like... It..."

They sit for a while, silent and with the last shadows of the night chasing over their skin. Yangyang swears his heartbeat is loud enough for Dejun to hear. His hands clench around the sheet and his brain is struggling to come up with the right words to say, when he hears a subtle sniffle.

"Is... Something wrong? Are you okay?" he manages to ask, confused he looks at Dejun next to him.

"I'm sorry. Christmas just makes me so sentimental. It's stupid, sorry!" Dejun is half-laughing, half-somewhat-crying. He dries his eyes with the back of his hand, quickly like he doesn't want Yangyang to notice. But he does.

"It's not stupid. I get it..."

And Yangyang really gets it, and maybe, for the first time, he really gets Dejun too.

There is a difference between being alone and feeling lonely, and the latter is no stranger to Yangyang. Maybe it isn't to Dejun either, even with all his friends around—Yangyang instantly recognizes that particular look reflecting in Dejun's eyes, even in the dark.

"Well, I'll let you get some sleep," Dejun then says, about to get up, and a sudden rush of courage streams through Yangyang's body.

"Do you... Want to just... Hang out? We can watch a movie or something," he says.

"Okay..." Dejun replies, and Yangyang's heart is about to explode. "But don't look at me if I start crying again, okay?"

"Sure. I have napkins on my nightstand." No, why did you say that? Yangyang cringes, that could easily be interpreted completely wrong.

A random movie plays on the TV hung in front of Yangyang's bed, the first and best movie that popped up on Netflix—Yangyang isn't really paying much attention. The later it gets the further Dejun slides down. His soft hair tickles against Yangyang's arm. Yangyang adjusts himself on the bed. A little drunk, a little tired as well—attention not at its highest. His fingertips stroke over something soft, unconsciously as his eyes are focused on the movie, without the watching it at all. Something soft and warm.

Dejun's hand.

"Oh, shit! I-I'm sorry," Yangyang whispers in pure panic, jerking his hand away.

"It's okay," Dejun replies in a way too calm voice. The pillow crinkles under his head as he looks up. A soft smile, dark eyes softer as well—gazing up at Yangyang. Luring him in. Closer. "It felt nice."

And closer.

Dejun turns his head back to look at the screen—Yangyang tries doing the same. A deep breath, then another. Heart racing, about to explode as his fingers meet soft skin again. Careful strokes, testing, drawn along the back of Dejun's hand. Eyes staring at the screen—Yangyang tells himself that if his hand gets rejected now, it doesn't actually happen if he isn't looking at it.

Then, his heart might as well just explode already. Dejun's hand turns, letting Yangyang slide his finger in between his. Intertwine.

Dejun falls asleep not long after, but his grip around Yangyang's hand doesn't loosen.

And Yangyang hopes it never will.