a countdown of days in between, for a sungso new year!
snapshots around seoul, little moments of their holiday season from her perspective
she’s never really been one for the christmas season—not the spirit of it, giving and family and all that. it’s hard to believe in it, when most of what she remembers of her childhood christmases amount to little more than empty giftboxes and a missing dad, the happiness blurred out in her memories. sorin passes stained glass display windows of what winter ought to be, and feels the cold that seeps through the glass instead.
but sungho’s somehow managed to drag an entire tree into their apartment, and she ends up in the shop instead of out of it, looking for decorations. she gets tinsel and fairy lights and a million different baubles that catch the light and spill out their glittery christmas cheer into their apartment, smiling when she finds him already setting up. a kid on christmas, she thinks, throwing her weight into the hug from behind. “i’ve got our decorations,” she says, hanging one onto his glasses with a laugh, a gasp when he gets his revenge with a daisy chain of fairy lights and an absolutely horrible photo she lets him talk her into.
she doesn’t tell him, but she takes a quick little photo of sungho, placing the star on the top of their tree. a sliver of his tummy peeking through, face turned away from her and focused on getting the ornament just right. her new lockscreen for december, she decides, smiling when she opens up her phone—and hey, guess she’s getting into the holiday spirit now.
but their work knows no holiday spirit, unfortunately. it’s a rare day that they’re both scrambling to get ready in the morning, 5ams the single, horrible commonality they share. morning kisses are coffee stained and hurried, in between untangling their lanyards and sorting out papers ( hers ) and files ( his ). sorin grumps through the morning, barely held together by her pencil skirt and sungho’s hugs, bleary-eyed for the most part.
her eyes are closed as they hold hands all the way to their cars, letting sungho drag her along to the right spot. there’s wind breezing through the open concept garage ( thanks, mrs eom? ), snowflakes falling against her cheek.
sleepy eyes blink open, wide awake now. they’d missed the first snow last year, and she knows it’s just silly superstition, but... “it’s our first snow!” tugs on their joined hands, tilting his head up with a nudge. they’re falling slow, fluttering onto dark hair and their coats, delicate in this dawn. sorin grins and sticks out her hand to catch one, smiling back at sungho. unexpected snow’s as good a reason as any to turn up a little late, after all.
sungho will have you believe she’s absolutely useless in the kitchen. he’d be mostly right, but she’s been practicing. sort of, in pockets of time caught when her work wraps up early and he’s stuck in the hospital, wasting a whole lot of eggs to perfect that fluffy, buttery french omelette. but she’s finally got it, she swears. it looks beautiful, at least.
so she pounces on her boyfriend, still dead to the world, peppering his face with kisses. their morning in is turning into afternoon, and her best attempt of an omelette’s going to go cold and gooey in a bad way soon. it’s not often she gets to be the one waking him up, but call it a christmas miracle. breaks aligned, a cooperative ( unresponsive ) smoke detector, and the hours of practice she put into this omelette finally paying off. “wake up, babe, baby,” a playful chomp on his bare shoulder, finally getting some kind of reaction of him. “breakfast in bed,” sorin announces, snuggling up to him and placing the tray carefully over the covers.
( as it turns out, she’d used sugar instead of salt, and maybe there weren’t meant to be so many scorched bits to the inside of the omelette, but sungho manages a whole three bites instead of the usual one. a christmas miracle indeed! )
"look!” a satin ribbon sits on the crown of her head, a little too excited about the horribly cheesy line she’s about to spring on sungho. it’s payback for all the cheesy lines he’s pulled on her. “i’m your present!”
there’s silence in their apartment for a beat, unwrapped presents wincing with bated breath. somewhere in the background, ariana grande’s voice floats around them. her lower lip pushes out into a pout, mock offense scrunching up her face, as sungho starts laughing. “hey! stop it, oh my god, i regret it already,” she groans, leaning over to cover his mouth with her hands, even though his laughter is silly and infectious and a smile’s starting to crack under her facade. presents forgotten, she scooches close and sits on his lap, the most natural thing in the world as she seals up his laugher with her hands, though it can’t hide the blushing fondness in her expression.
he pulls her hands away gently, kissing the palm of one before she can protest too much. “and my future,” he teases, pulling her in closer and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. it’s cheesy and too sincere, her pout wobbling in its place, inordinately touched. “you’re so lame,” she complains, and that’s his only warning before sorin tackles him down. they’ve got a whole future’s worth of kisses ahead, but there’s no better time to start on them like the present, right?
“what d’you want for christmas?” casual question, not very helpful answer. more time together ( and immediately acting on it for the night, because she’s a goddamn go getter ) isn’t really something she can gift sungho, as much as she’d like to. they’ve got presents wrapped for everyone else, the sort of annoying couple that’s starting to come as a pair, with love from sungho and sorin, but she can’t exactly rely on sungho for his own christmas present. she does have a cute, mesh and silk set for the night of, but that’s more a present for herself than sungho, if she’s honest with herself. though she knows he’ll certainly appreciate it anyway.
sorin manages to talk herself out of giving up on the whole thing. gifts aren’t her strong suit, and she’s pretty sure sungho doesn’t place that much importance on them either, but... it’s christmas, and she’s not half-assing it. though she is sneaking around it, borrowing sungho’s phone to peek at what he’s been eyeing. she ends up going with the vacheron constantin, sleek and intricate with a leather strap that’s butter smooth, and casually deletes that item off his cart. hopes he loves her enough not to call her out on it.
sometimes, she misses him a lot more than she’s comfortable admitting. it’d been safer, her own walls surrounding her, propping her up, with no space for anyone else other than sorin in her life. but it’s been a while since she’s been alone like that.
so she catches the earliest flight home at some ungodly, horrible hour, just so she can see him sooner. it’s not that bad, really. the high of a clinched deal and anticipation to get back home keeps her a little more sane; she breezes through the movie she’d fallen asleep to, and still ends up dozing off before she gets to the end. good luck, kevin—but that’s not going to be her holidays.
( 💬 › SUNGHO ) babe i just touched down!!
( 💬 › SUNGHO ) u better be asleep tho
communication’s turning into a habit for them. sorin catches a restless nap in the back of the cab, then drags her weary, tired as fuck body over and snuggles on top of sungho. it doesn’t make sense, how she sleeps the best when she’s in his arms, but she thinks, right before she passes out, she’s home.
cookies are in the oven, repeat, cookies are in the oven... finally, after a failed batch or two, don’t look at her, ugh. sungho commandeers the kitchen and saves their sugar cookies, the scent of vanilla and brown butter warming their home. she sneaks back into the kitchen and hugs him around his waist while he washes the dishes, face pressed into his shoulder. “hurry up,” sorin whines, yelps when he flicks soapy water at her in response. “i’ll help, ugh,” dries her cheek off on the side of his shirt, taking up a cloth to dry the dishes.
and she’s completely and utterly betrayed when he abandons post to retrieve the cookies, leaving her spot by the dishrack to run over too. it’s dumb, but she’s never had this with anyone else, and sorin breaks into a grin on her exaggerated inhale, ineffably happy.
sungho passes her a little piping bag of icing, and they get to work. it’s ridiculously tricky, contraption needing two hands to get a steady line consistency she likes, but sorin comes out of it with cookies that aren’t half bad. she’s getting good at piping icing hearts, does a little one on his cheek, though it’s ruined when sungho turns his head at the feeling of cream on his skin. but she just giggles and kisses it off before he can take his revenge, pulling him in for something much sweeter.
she gets him back in time for christmas. right before, actually, but he looks so exhausted that sorin doesn’t have the heart to make him stay up and wait for the clock to strike midnight. they’ll do that in a week, anyway. still, she pouts for a minute to make him sweat before she breaks and wraps him up in their duvet, kissing his forehead. “sleep,” she insists, sprawling her body on top of his, and falls asleep to snowfall and his steady breaths.
and christmas morning brings something much better, warmth under the covers before she lets him pull her out of bed and into actual, respectable human clothes for a winter wonderland date. it’s cliche and crowded, and they end up running out of there within the couple of hours, cute christmas photos obtained. the rest of their day is no better, the streets packed and sugar sweet, sorin keeping their hands linked throughout like she might lose him in the crowds, squeezing his hand once in a while just in case.
“merry christmas, babe, i love you too,” a little peck on his lips, covering up the slight guilt she feels when she realises how much effort he’s gone to for christmas this year. resolves to do better for their next one, curled up on their couch and listening to his low, soothing voice explain the picture frames. there are old photographs she’d forgotten about, new ones she’s never even seen yet. it’s so very them, right at home with the many pictures that decorate their walls. and so is sorin, settled in sungho’s arms; she’s home, and there’s no better place to be for the holidays.
they’ve hit that liminal in-between of christmas and new year, and a week of clearing out all her backed up leave. a break, finally, for sleeping in and snuggling up, lazy mornings well overdue. it’s a week of remembering and relearning parts of him she hasn’t caught up on, tangled up together more often than not. the week floats past as she presses kisses to his skin, sighs slipped against his tongue.
it’s less takeout in between than she thought, but she’s very lucky to have found someone who’s good in the kitchen ( and out of it, but that’s her biased little heart talking ). sorin laughs and grabs his hand, nabbing the last bite of spicy bulgogi before sungho can tease her with it. it’s good, she hums as she chews, taunting him with a grin and an empty mouth. immediately regrets it, too, when he just scoops her up and tosses her into the air once, twice, sorin shrieking and hugging his neck. laughter bubbles up when she finds them face to face, close enough to count his eyelashes if she wanted to. she leans in and closes those last few inches, one kiss turns into two, turns into three and dishes forgotten on the counter.
she saves these moments for when she’ll need it, when they’re off in different parts of the world figuring out their careers and missing each other. they’ve got a year’s supply of memories to pick from, and they’ll only make more, won’t they?
the countdown’s starting, new year’s crowd in full swing. they’re at their favourite bar, the one where it all started, tangy booze and sweet chatter. she's got resolutions in her fist, ready to go. last year’s countdown had been panicked, frantic, kicking off with resolutions that’d felt too big and insurmountable, but look at them now. everything did work out—not all that perfectly, but she's happy, and that's something lim sorin hasn't been able to say for longer than she's proud of.
she can say it now, and she does, cupping sungho's face in her hands. “thank you for being with me, babe,” and she hates how sappy it sounds, sincerity bleeding through her embarrassment, “i wouldn't have made it through the year without you. i love you.” it's all the words she didn't get to say last year, and the times she'd forgotten to over this one. not enough, not even close, but she knows he'll understand.
and now there’s shouting, a countdown of their moments all around them. sorin tangles her hands in his, leaning in on her barstool. there’s heat from the radiator against her legs, chilled fingers against his callused ones. warm, fuzzy fondness when he pulls her onto his lap, the numbers on their last legs. she wraps her arms around his neck, foreheads touching. three, two... she kisses him a little early, and through to the new year.
