On the 24th the first snow falls. Slowly, quietly—white flakes glisten against flashing LED billboards, all beautiful in their stark contrast to the busy concrete hell outside Yangyang's window.

A ragged yawn echoes in Yangyang's ears, as his body stretches across the bed. He feels lighter than usual, somehow, not counting the obvious hangover hitting him, the second he opens his eyes. Still, something is different, better—an evanescent moment that shatters when he realizes he is alone in his bed.

He wasn't alone when he fell asleep...

Tired eyes stare at the white ceiling until they feel dry. One slow blink, and everything comes back to him in vivid flashes. Washes over him like the waves he is fighting every time Dejun has been close to him. Yangyang lives through it all, all over again. Every second, every hesitant breath stuck in his throat. How he lied in bed all awkwardly, completely still and terrified to move. How he counted every heartbeat, while fearing his hand would turn sweaty and gross. His hand around Dejun's hand, their fingers carefully, but securely locked around each other's, while Dejun's warm breath fanned across the skin of Yangyang's upper arm, leaving invisible burn-marks.

But the night has come and gone, and Yangyang is alone. He is alone every day, sure, but today feels worse than usual. Like he is even more alone than before. The bed seems bigger, emptier, the air dry and heavy, his body cold and lonely—longing for a touch that probably was never meant for him anyway.

As he sits up on the bed, back pressed against the cold wall and legs pulled up in front of him, hugging them tightly, Yangyang sighs into the duvet wrapped around his body. Once again it turns out he has learnt absolutely nothing, still falling for the same stupid ideas in his head that tell him Dejun might actually like him. Want him.

"Stupid..." he mumbles, bitterly and quietly. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..."

For a while he just sits there, listens to the sounds of Dejun roaming around outside the door, while replaying whatever happened last night. Christmas makes Dejun sentimental, he said so himself, but even without saying anything it is clear as day. Whatever reason Dejun has to not celebrate the Holidays with his family, is none of Yangyang's business unless Dejun chooses to share it with him. A sudden thought, a racing heart—Yangyang flies out of the bed in an instant, stumbling across the floor. This means he and Dejun will possibly spend Christmas Eve together. Just the two of them.

As he is about to choke on his heart sitting in his throat, pounding so hard it's about to break through the soft skin, Yangyang gets dressed, stumbling around his room while trying to pull a white t-shirt over his head. It's almost 2pm already, the living room has almost returned to its former self, the Christmas decorations are still up though, but all the mess from last night is gone. There's Christmas songs playing on the radio, blending with the sounds of Dejun in the kitchen.

"Hey... Merry Christmas..." Yangyang says, as he enters the kitchen—avoiding eye-contact, because that might kill off his sudden confidence. He quickly grabs the kitchen towel from its hook on the wall. "I'll help you."

Dejun looks up, Yangyang senses it without seeing it, his hands in the yellow rubber gloves are almost completely submerged in bubbly water. He doesn't reply, he simply observes as Yangyang grabs one of the clean, wet glasses next to the sink and rubs it in the kitchen towel.

From the side of his eye Yangyang notices it—Dejun's disapproving stare. The frown, the scrunch of his nose.

"What?" Yangyang asks, as nonchalant as he possibly can't.

"What?" Dejun repeats.

"What am I doing wrong?"

"I never said you're doing anything wrong."

Yangyang scoffs, placing the glass in front of him and leaning across the kitchen island. Closer to Dejun. Close enough to inhale his cologne. It was probably a mistake, Yangyang feels dizzy already, but he won't let that distract him.

"You're giving me that look," he says and Dejun's frown only grows bigger.

"What look?"

"That look you make whenever something displeases you."

"W-what do you mean?" Dejun huffs, the water splashing against the edge of the sink, as he scrubs the plate in his hand aggressively.

"You do this... Like..." Yangyang makes a frown, making sure to exaggerate the way his brows pull downwards while he scrunches his nose. "Like this."

"I don't do that!"

"You're doing it right now."

"I-" Mouth falling open, but no words come out. Dejun just stares at Yangyang with the most disapproving look Yangyang has ever seen. It almost makes him laugh out loud. Dejun looks so offended, it's too adorable.

Yangyang smacks his lips, grabbing another glass to dry—in his apparently very wrong way of doing so. Then, one more and another after that. Dejun lets Yangyang help him with the rest without complaining.

"So what... What are your plans for... Tonight?" Yangyang swallows way too many times for such a short sentence. It's like he suddenly has too much saliva in his mouth. Like he could drown in it.

"I-" There's a slight pause when Dejun is busy putting the plates back in the cabinets. "No, it's lame," he then mumbles against the clanking of porcelain.

"Are you... Going out?" As he asks, he regrets it straight away. Yangyang swallows a lump, when he realizes it might actually be so. He won't spend the night with Dejun—Dejun would probably much rather go out with Sicheng. Or Junhui...

Hands clench around the edge of the marble top on the kitchen island, the music on the radio seems so distant now, all Yangyang hears is his own pulse drumming through his ears, as he waits for Dejun to answer.

"No." A shake of his head, Dejun carefully picks up the first few wine glasses, without looking up.

"Are you having guests over then?"

Yangyang hears his own voice escaping from his mouth and floating around the kitchen. He hears the desperation laced into every word he lets out. Dejun must find him so annoying, with all those questions.

"Not tonight. Majority of my friends are with their families, Ten's with Sicheng and-" Dejun abruptly pauses, a quick glance shoots Yangyang's way. "I... I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry."

Just a small nod of his head. Yangyang already caught onto that last night. Sicheng was glaring at Yangyang every time he was close to Ten—the glaring alone was weird enough, since Sicheng usually acts like Yangyang doesn't exist at all. That, the sharing a cab and how the two of them were gone for quite a while during the party.

"It's cool, I kinda figured."

"Really?" Dejun closes the kitchen cabinets with a loud thud, it startles him. Obviously he didn't mean to slam it like that, Yangyang's answer took him by surprise. The thick brows draw downwards, a tilt of his head follows. "I thought... You liked him."

"I did, I mean, I do... B-but not like that... I guess..."

"Hm, I see."

And suddenly it is like an avalanche of emotions comes crashing down over Yangyang. Dejun knows the flowers were for him, the book also, he held Yangyang's hand all night. But now? Now he is acting like nothing happened, just like he always does, while Yangyang is about to crumble completely right next to him. Maybe Yangyang is simply overthinking everything again? He bites his lip when he suddenly remembers the way Dejun looked at Karina last night. A knot forms in his stomach, it hurts. It really fucking hurts.

"Well..." When Dejun suddenly looks up, has his eyes burn into Yangyang's, Yangyang feels as if the floor is swept away right under his feet. "Sicheng and I actually didplan to go out tonight, but since he is busy... Maybe you'll come with me?"

Time passes, people change, but one thing is certain: Yangyang is burning. Burning, burning, burning under Dejun's gaze—fire dancing across his skin, lungs crumbling like the world around him whenever Dejun looks at him.

"W-what?" he only manages to whisper.

"You don't have to, of course. My other plan was to do puzzles and drink wine at home, and I am perfectly fine doing so, even if it makes me feel like I'm 80 years old."

"I'll go out with you!" Mental face-palm for the choice of words. Way too much eagerness in his voice, Yangyang quickly clears his throat and backpedals. Not that it helps much at all. "I-I mean... I-I'll go out... A-and you'll be there. Also. Obviously..."

Yangyang subtly tries to pull at the collar of his t-shirt, it's like it's trying to suffocate him while every inch of his skin turns warm and clammy.

Another tug at his collar, Yangyang feels another reaction to the panic erupting inside of him. Words, too many words. Clogging up his throat, filling his mouth—making it impossible to keep it shut.

"I just... Is it something fancy? 'Cause the blazer from last night was Renjun's, and I think I spilled something on it. I only have my work blazer then, but-"

"I'll find something you can wear," Dejun cuts in, a small chuckle hidden in his voice.

"... Cool."

Yangyang never imagined himself as a person who spends Christmas Eve in a nightclub. But, as he has come to learn tonight, surprisingly many people do so. It is just another night, after all—and to be quite honest, Yangyang feels way more excited this year than last year with Mark and his family. Although Mark's mom did make a killer tteokguk.

He also never imagined himself, as someone who'd wear shoes that made a clacking sound, nor someone who'd wear very tight-fitting pants and a glittery shirt. But, it is what Dejun chose to style him in, and that twenty minutes of, somewhat awkward, bonding time was worth it all. Dejun had put glitter in his own hair, at his sharp eyes too—some of it somehow ended up in Yangyang's hair as well.

It is a newly opened place downtown, owned by a former member of Kun's staff—or something like that, Yangyang didn't hear most of what Dejun told him on the way there. And it certainly isn't the kind of night club Yangyang is used to. It's all black and gold, mirrors and heavy curtains draped down the walls. Beautiful girls in short dresses serving bottles at the tables, and drinks in tall glasses with a dainty stem. The first drink is strong, as if Yangyang wasn't already feeling tipsy from the wine he and Dejun shared before leaving. Well, Dejun drank 3/4 of the bottle by himself, while Yangyang struggled with the rest.

Everything and everyone is in fact beautiful, but to Yangyang nothing and no one will ever be more beautiful than Dejun. The loose, see-through, shirt unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and tucked into the faux leather pants Yangyang remembers all too well. A simple diamond choker sits around Dejun's neck, and Yangyang can't stop staring—wishing he could let his lips stroke down that soft skin, just once more. Dejun looks so goddamn expensive.

"What?"

"What do you mean?" Yangyang asks, although he already knows the answer. He was definitely not subtle with his staring this time.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Dejun laughs, his breath tickles against Yangyang's ear, as he leans in closer to speak over the loud music.

"Let's do some shots!" he suddenly hears himself shout back, trying to change the subject. Dejun looks at him in surprise, and one step sideways extends the distance between them, before Dejun turns around to face the bar right behind them.

One deep breath, then another, Yangyang exhales slowly. His fingers work against him, as he tries to roll up the sleeves of the shirt he borrowed from Dejun. Is it just him, or is it hot in here? Yangyang should have said yes to wear that see-through shirt instead, even if he'd feel way too self-conscious in it. At least he wouldn't be sweating to death. How much does a human-being have to sweat, before dying of dehydration?

A gentle tap on his shoulder, his attention is brought to the bar counter behind him. To whatever Dejun has just ordered. But Yangyang doesn't have to wonder for long, he instantly sees the lemon slices lying on top of each tall shot glass.

"Tequila?" he asks, like it isn't obvious.

Dejun simply smirks, slowly sliding the first shot towards Yangyang. They cheer, salt onto the back of their own hands, Yangyang winces as he swallows the clear liquor—and even more when the sour lemon juice tickles over his tongue. Why did Dejun order four of those?

"You know..." Dejun then says. "We never got to do that body tequila."

As his eyes catch a hold of Yangyang's, making it impossible to look away, Dejun moves closer. His fingers brush along the buttons of Yangyang's shirt, until they reach the first one. A quick move of his hand, and Dejun's has unbuttoned the upper three. Yangyang just stares at him, unable to move, unable to speak. But he doesn't really mind. A lemon slice is stuffed between his teeth—and then he feels it. Like actual fire running across his skin. Dejun's tongue, warm and soft, leaving a wet spot on Yangyang's neck.

There is an ugly groan caught in Yangyang's throat, one he fights to keep down. Salt drizzles onto his neck, and everything happens so fast—Dejun's lips sucking the salt from Yangyang's skin, causing a very intense and instant reaction in Yangyang's pants. First shot glass is emptied, and then, their lips brush against each other. Dejun bites into the lemon wedged between Yangyang's teeth, the juice dripping onto his bottom lip.

Left breathless, Yangyang lets the lemon fall from his lips and into his open hand. Did Dejun really just do that? To Yangyang? In public? Fuck, the pants feels sotight right now.

"Your turn."

Yangyang feels his hand shake when he grabs the next slice of lemon, and a small salt package. Dejun's shirt is already so unbuttoned Yangyang doesn't have to do anything to find a good place on his glistening skin. Choosing the more modest way, Yangyang decides to rub the lemon against Dejun's skin, right in the middle on his chest, before drizzling salt onto the same spot.

Sweat has gathered at the back of his neck, his heart is about to explode—and his dick just the same. The diamond choker sparkles under the neon lights. Fuck, Dejun would look even better with Yangyang's cum smeared around his neck instead. Slowly, Yangyang leans in, licks the salt off of Dejun's skin. Dejun hums at the feeling, Yangyang knows from the way the warm chest vibrates against his tongue. The tall shot glass is almost spilling over in Yangyang's nervous hand. He empties it, although in two halves—like he can't swallow right the first time. Then, their eyes meet and Yangyang bites into the lemon placed too far inside Dejun's mouth for their lips not to touch.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The glass has barely even touched the counter top again, before Dejun suddenly grabs Yangyang's hand.

"Oh, I love this song! Let's go dance!" he shouts, already dragging Yangyang to the crowded dance floor, leaving him with no time to process what the hell just happened.

Xiao Dejun is of course also a really great dancer, Yangyang shouldn't even feel surprised. His body moves in all the ways Yangyang has only ever imagined in his head, but now it is real. Elegant, fluid, sensual.Yangyang on the other hand moves awkwardly, drunken movements and the tight pants pressed against his hard-on doesn't make things easier. Gentle fingers sneak around Yangyang's wrists, pulling him closer and closer—so close he can feel Dejun's chest against his own, feel the way Dejun's body sways to the music, pressed against him. It would be impossible for Dejun not to feel the raging boner in Yangyang's pants.

The music is loud, a heavy bass pumping through his veins, until every sound suddenly disappears—until everything around him is gone. And all he sees is Dejun. Dejun's endlessly dark eyes, his glossy lips that are so dangerously close, his soft skin that is washed over with vivid neon colors. Everything happens so fast, but at the same time it feels like time is standing still. Dejun lets go of Yangyang's wrists—his hands slowly stroke up Yangyang's arms, over his shoulders until they can twist around the locks of his hair.

Yangyang follows the best he can. With a racing heart his trembling hands slide around Dejun's waist, unintentionally digging his nails into Dejun's back. When it happens, Dejun lets out a gasp, one that has his entire chest give in—one that has Yangyang's cock twitch painfully.

"I-I need to get some water..." Yangyang has to pull away, even though he doesn't want to. But he needs to. "I-I'll be right back... Sorry..."

As he shoves his way through the crowd of dancing people, Yangyang regrets his decision a million times. He reaches the bar, clinging onto it as if his life depends on it. Everything is spinning, his pants are about to pop open and every part of his skin is burning. The bartender is impossible to get a hold on, Yangyang sighs into his hands pressed against his warm face. The water was just a bad excuse, but he could really use some right now.

"Hi!" An unfamiliar voice suddenly says next to him. Yangyang ignores it, it probably wasn't meant for him anyway. Then, a tap on his shoulder.

"Hi?" he questions, as his eyes meet with a pair of big, sparkling brown ones. A girl in a tight red dress and long curly hair is looking back at him.

"You're really hot!" she slurs, her drink spilling over the edge of the glass in her swaying hand.

"Thank... You?"

"So, are you like, here with someone, or?" she shouts, probably to be heard through the music, but her voice is way louder than that—everyone in the club should've been able to hear her.

"He's with me." A shadow slides in and so does a glass right in front of Yangyang. Dejun, holding onto his own glass, matching the one he just gave Yangyang—water with lots of ice cubes. His eyes have narrowed down, glaring at the girl standing next to Yangyang.

"Oh..." the girl looks confused at first, her huge eyes darting between Yangyang and Dejun. "OH!" she then exclaims. A strange wave of her hand and she stumbles away on her high heels. Onto the next guy she can find.

Not that Yangyang cares, he barely even notices as she leaves. The only thing left in his head is Dejun's words. He empties the water in one go, it clears his head just enough for him to find the exact right words—possibly for the first time in his entire life. Don't be a wuss, he tells himself, and the alcohol in his blood helps his confidence grow.

"I'm withyou?" he smirks, turning to face Dejun.

"You know what I mean..." Dejun backtracks quickly, his lips immediately finding the edge of his glass.

"Actually, I don't... Are you... Jealous?"

"Jealous?" Dejun laughs, exaggerated. "Please. Besides, you don't swing that way," he adds, a nod of his head in the girl's direction.

"Well, tonight I might try it."

"Oh really?" One brow raised, Dejun scoffs at Yangyang's absurd claim. He is definitely jealous, and Yangyang absolutely revels in it.

"Why not? Give me one good reason I shouldn't?" he says, sliding his empty glass across the counter of the bar. Dejun's obvious jealousy has lit a spark inside Yangyang. And he is going to make the best of it. Distance is closing in, the air gets even thicker. Yangyang lets his fingers stroke down the collar of Dejun's shirt, their eyes never leaving each other. "Or maybe you can't?" he taunts.

"You're playing with fire, Liu Yangyang..." Dejun's voice is deep, overwhelming, overpowering. Dark eyes narrow down as he moves even closer, fingers slowly curling around Yangyang's shirt. Tickling, teasing, soft fingertips dig into the skin still exposed on Yangyang's upper body.

"Yeah?" he whispers back. A daring fingertip tracing along Dejun's sharp jaw.

"Yeah. Let's go home. I'll give you a very good reason then."