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the price of loving you (literally) ♡

in which choi soobin tries his best to be the best boyfriend in the world and tries his hardest to get you - his perfect girlfriend - the perfect gift, not knowing that you only want him for the holidays

word count : 11.4k (it was supposed to be 5k and under oops!)

pairing : choi soobin x fem!reader, highschool au + established relationship

warnings : mentions of food, awkward soobin (my fav kind of soobin), swearing, like a couple freaky jokes but like its more implied so like is it really freaky, tired to not explicitly state christmas all the time as i know not everyone celebrates it but it is an extremely minor detail that is mentioned

playlist: sweet dreams by tomorrow x together, wishlist by tomorrow by together, light by ateez, lock me in by hojean, flowers in may by haneul , first snow by exo, echoes by enhypen

part of : a very merry kpopmas event

prompt : (choi soobin + gift giving)

a/n: thank you so much to @breakmeoff and @angel-writes-skz-here for having me! + happy (late) soobin day!

header : @cursed-carmine

Choi Soobin wasn’t used to having a girlfriend.

Don’t get him wrong—he liked you very much.

In fact, he’d been pining after you ever since the day you offered him a tuxedo-Sam band-aid after he fell at the park when you were both twelve. From that moment on, you’d taken up permanent residence in his thoughts. His decisions, his clothes, even some of his life choices quietly revolved around you.

But when it came to actually functioning around you—speaking, breathing, doing anything at all—Soobin was completely at a loss.

If he had to explain it, Soobin would say it was because you were so utterly perfect that acting normal around you felt impossible. Anyone who could act normal clearly didn’t appreciate your beauty. You were sweet—not just to him, but to everyone. You were funny. You were just mean enough to tease him, but sensitive enough to know when to stop. And you were the cutest thing alive whenever you tried to keep up with whatever his current hyperfixation happened to be.

And that was just your personality. When Soobin thought about your face, he had to actively fight the urge to blush and kick his feet like some lovesick cartoon character. You were so beautiful it felt like it should be illegal. Whenever he remembered that the two of you were still in high school—and that you were only going to get more beautiful as you grew up—his heart practically stopped. He couldn’t stop his mind from imagining you in your late twenties, his pretty wife.

Was he horrifically down bad for a seventeen-year-old in his first relationship?

Yes.

But Soobin wore it like a badge of honour.

The more he realized how perfect you were, the more he felt he needed to step up—be the perfect boyfriend, just for you.

This meant spending hours watching the most predictable, cliché romance movies just to see you smile. It meant being ahead in math class and pretending he actually enjoyed it, all so you’d ask him for help. It meant replying to your messages instantly, even when he couldn’t be bothered to answer his brother’s demands for food. He’d blow his allowance on snacks for you just to make sure you stayed well-fed at school.

He would do anything for you.

And the thing was—it wasn’t difficult.

You simply made him want to be the best version of himself he could possibly be.

However, the month of December was approaching.

His first December with a girlfriend, and not a girl who he was awkwardly trying to make more than friends.

Which meant that it was his first birthday with a girlfriend, and his first holiday season with a girlfriend.

He wasn’t worried about his birthday; if anything, he was excited. You’d been hyping the day up for weeks, and he’d practically melted with happiness when he learned that both of your parents had agreed to let you spend the day together at the downtown holiday market. It meant the two of you could finally live out your shared dream: ice skating hand-in-hand, eating overpriced sweet treats, and ending the night with his friends and family at his favourite restaurant in the city.

It was perfect.

It was the day after his birthday when the real problem finally hit him—thanks to Yeonjun, of course. Yeonjun, his favourite cousin, who was home from university and had taken over the guest bed like he owned the place, glanced up from his phone and said, far too casually:

“I wonder what you’re gonna give your girl for Christmas.”

Soobin paused the Khan Academy video he was watching on integrals—just to get ahead so he could help you in class, though no one needed to know that—and turned to face Yeonjun, eyes wide.

“A Christmas gift?” he echoed, his voice a little higher than usual. Yeonjun was now fluffing up the pillows on Soobin’s bed with full intentions to lie down in it and wrinkle the sheets, because of course he was.

Yeonjun nodded. “Yeah. You know… something that shows how much you know and love her.”

Soobin’s throat went dry. He had been thinking about the holidays, sure—but he’d been so wrapped up in his birthday excitement and trying to be the perfect boyfriend for you that the thought of a Christmas gift had completely slipped his mind.

He blinked, turning back to face the screen that was showing heinous math equations.

‘A gift shouldn’t be too hard,’ he told himself.

He ripped a page from the back of his math notebook, completely abandoning his earlier mission of learning integrals. With a big blue pen—your favourite color—he wrote at the top: WHAT MAKES A PERFECT GIFT.

He grabbed the pencils you had given him (you insisted you should have matching stationery since his old dinosaur pencils were dollar-store quality) and started brainstorming.

To make the perfect gift, Soobin would need to:

Have knowledge of the things you liked (done—he even had a notes folder dedicated to it).

Make sure it was something you didn’t already have (he always took note of your shopping hauls).

Make it personal (he had a pretty good track record, thanks to past Mother’s Day gifts).

The last thing he needed to find the perfect gift was… money.

Soobin slumped in his chair at the realization. He winced, remembering that he’d already spent his previous allowance and birthday money on gaming add-ons and hoodies—leaving him with nothing even close to a worthwhile gift.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, already picturing Yeonjun laughing at his suffering.

‘How hard could it be to make some money?’ he thought to himself.

And just like that, a plan began to form—a plan born of sheer desperation and an empty bank account.

He would make that money.

And he would find you the perfect gift.

ATTEMPT #1 : CUSTOMER SERVICE CALLS

Soobin hated talking out of line.

It was one of the things you’d once admitted you liked most about him—something he secretly treasured more than any exam score he’d ever gotten.

You’d told him this during what he liked to call a pre-date: the two of you sitting in the bubble tea shop near school, sharing tapioca and warmth and stress-induced ranting. He had already ordered both of your drinks without asking, because he knew your go-to by heart, and you had launched straight into your newest tragedy: the English assignment.

“Mr. Han grouped me with them, Binnie,” you groaned, dramatic as ever. “Because apparently I’m a ‘good influence.’ Like I’m some charity project.”

He blinked. You leaned forward, voice rising.

“He doesn’t let anyone talk! His ego is so high Zeus looks up to it!”

Soobin tried very hard not to laugh—mostly because you looked genuinely seconds away from throwing a tapioca ball at someone. He’d talked to the guy you were complaining about, Lee Chaewon. Cool on the outside, migraine on the inside. Every sentence the boy spoke made Soobin feel like hitting his own head against a locker.

And now he could see the same fate befalling you.

You threw your hands up again. Soobin quickly grabbed them, gently lowering them before you could smack a passing freshman. “Maybe if you talk over him? Say your ideas firmly and he’ll have to listen?”

You stared at him like he’d announced he was moving to Mars.

“I try, Binnie! Every time I talk, he nods like he’s listening and then goes, ‘Actually, I have another idea,’ and then repeats my idea but with SAT vocabulary! I swear he thinks he invented words.”

Soobin had never seen you this frustrated—not even when you confessed that your math grade was dropping fast enough to require a tutor immediately.

He opened his mouth to comfort you, but then you said something that made his entire brain short-circuit.

“You know…” Your voice softened, your hands relaxing in his. “You’re like… my favourite boy. Because at least you let me talk.”

Your favourite boy.

The words rooted themselves in his chest, glowing.

He didn’t say anything—partially because he was shy, and partially because he was terrified that if he opened his mouth he’d let out a sound that wasn’t human.

From that moment on, his ability to stay quiet when needed wasn’t just a habit.

It was something he prided himself on.

Which is why his hand was trembling as he pulled up the customer service number for the Taobao clothing haul he’d… impulsively bought.

He silently cursed himself for getting overexcited—if he had just waited seven more hours, he would’ve had the money to buy you any gift in the world. But no. Now half his allowance was sitting in a virtual shopping cart, and the other half was en route to his dorm in the form of unnecessary hoodies.

He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen.

His finger hovered dramatically over the screen.

This was it. His first step toward financial redemption.

He pressed the dial button.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then a click.

“...Hello, thank you for calling Taobao Customer Care,” a monotone voice droned, somehow sounding bored and irritated at the same time. “What do you want?”

Soobin stiffened. “Um—h-hi. I wanted to… cancel an order?”

A long, suffering sigh blasted through the speaker.

“So you’re one of those.”

Soobin blinked. “One of… what?”

“People who buy things they don’t need,” the agent replied flatly. “Happens a lot when you’re heartbroken. Are you heartbroken?”

“What? N-no!” Soobin sputtered, his ears already turning red. “I’m not heartbroken—I have a girlfriend!”

A pause.

A judgemental pause.

“Well, la-dee-da,” the agent said. “Good for you. Must be nice. Anyway, what’s the order number?”

Soobin read it out quickly, praying the agent wouldn’t ask more questions.

“Mhm. Yep. Got it,” they muttered, keys clacking lazily. “This order is already being prepared for shipment. You can’t cancel.”

Soobin’s heart dropped. “B-but I placed it last night!”

“Yeah, well, our system is fast. Unlike my coworkers,” the agent said. “But, ugh, fine. Let me see if I can do something. Why are you canceling?”

Soobin hesitated.

He could lie.

He could say he clicked the wrong thing.

But no—he was Soobin: honest, nervous, down bad.

“It’s… for my girlfriend,” he admitted softly. “I need the money to get her a Christmas gift.”

The agent snorted. Snorted.

“Awwww. Young love. Disgusting.”

Soobin wheezed. “I—what?”

“Listen, kid,” the agent continued, “girls don’t care about gifts. They care about emotional support and communication. Buy her a rock or something. My ex got me a rock once.”

A beat.

“Then dumped me. But the point stands.”

Soobin’s eyes twitched. “I—uh—I don’t think she’d like a rock.”

“Fine, get her socks.”

“Socks?”

“Girls love socks. My sister stole all of mine because they were ‘cute.’”

Soobin wasn’t sure if he should take notes, hang up, or simply perish on the spot.

“I mean, the last resort,” the agent continued breezily, “would be to take your relationship to the next level and get physical.”

Soobin froze.

The silence was deafening.

The agent added, as if giving instructions on how to assemble a bookshelf, “Girls love a man who can take control.”

Soobin physically recoiled from his phone. “I—I’m a minor,” he managed to choke out, face heating up so fast he thought he might combust.

The agent clicked their tongue, entirely unfazed. “Anyway. Do you want this order canceled or not?”

“Yes! Please!”

“Okay,” the agent sighed, “I’ll submit a request. It might get approved. It might not. Depends on whether the system likes you today.”

Soobin blinked. “The system… likes me?”

“Yeah. It picks favorites. Not me though.”

A bitter sniff.

“Is that all?”

“So… I just wait?”

“Yep. Just like you’ll wait for this girlfriend to eventually break your heart—”

“WHAT—?!”

“Have a nice day. Or whatever.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Soobin stared at his phone in traumatized silence, wondering if this was truly worth ₩668,000…

And then he remembered your smile.

Yes. Yes it was.

Turning to his laptop he opened the order page and refreshed it.

Nothing.

He was refreshed again.

Still nothing.

He waited five minutes, pacing in circles, muttering to himself, chewing on his sleeve, praying to every higher power he’d ever heard of.

Then—

A new notification.

He gasped, snatching his phone so fast he nearly dropped it.

“Your cancellation request has been reviewed.”

YES. YES. YES—

He opened it.

“Status: Denied.”

Soobin froze.

Then reread it.

Then reread it again.

Denied.

Underneath, in smaller text:

Reason: Order already packed and ready for shipment. Have a lovely day! 😊

The smiley emoji felt like a slap.

His soul left his body.

He dropped onto his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“…I hate emojis,” he whispered.

Then—DING!

A second notification.

From Taobao Customer Care Chat Support.

He clicked it.

Agent 1092: “Hey. Just a heads up, your cancellation didn’t go through. Told you the system hates me.”

Agent 1092: “Also told you girls don’t need fancy gifts. You should’ve gone with the rock idea. Just saying.”

Agent 1092: “Anyway, good luck with your relationship. You’ll need it.”

Soobin let out a noise that was half-groan, half-cry.

Not only was the order shipping, not only was his refund denied, but now he had unwanted aftercare from the world’s worst customer service agent.

He face-planted into his pillow.

And as if the universe wanted to truly finish him off—

Yeonjun walked by his door, paused, and said:

“Why do you look like you just witnessed your future fall apart?”

Soobin groaned louder.

ATTEMPT #2 : COLLECTING “REAL” DEBT

You had always said that you liked people who were into giving.

Soobin found this out during a so-called “study session” at his house (in reality, the two of you were sitting at the dining room table while his brother lurked in the living room, pretending to watch TV but actually making sure Soobin didn’t become a “real man” at sixteen and ruin family dinners forever).

He was supposed to be explaining the tricks and tips of trigonometric relations, but the lesson flew out the window the moment you asked for a break.

A break led to conversation. Conversation led to comfortable laughter. And comfortable laughter led to Soobin blurting out, far too casually to be casual:

“What… what type of people do you like?”

He remembered the way you blinked slowly, processing the question.

He remembered the small pout that formed on your lips as you thought about it.

He remembered sitting there across from you, heart thudding against his ribs, silently begging the universe to hand him an answer he could see himself in.

“I like people,” you began, looking unfairly pretty under the harsh dining room lights, “who are sweet, kind, and understanding. They should be funny, too. But also know boundaries.”

Soobin had stopped breathing. I can do that. I can be that.

You weren’t done.

“I like people who love to give,” you continued thoughtfully. “People who understand they might not always get something back, but they try anyway. I think that says a lot about who they are.”

Then you giggled. “Like you, Soobin.”

His heart flatlined.

“You’re tutoring me right now,” you said breezily, “even if the only thing I can offer is my company in return.”

You hummed, completely unaware of the tomato-red boy dissolving in front of you.

“You’re like… my favourite kind of person.”

Which… did not help his guilt when he called an emergency meeting with his friends the day after the failed customer service call, all because he’d decided it was finally time to collect payment for every favour he’d ever done for them.

But he was broke. Desperate. And in love.

A terrible combination.

The plan was simple—or as simple as Soobin’s panic-fueled brain could make it: meet all the boys after school, while you were busy helping the drama club prep their stage sets for the spring , and politely demand (read: beg on his knees if necessary) that they finally pay him back.

Which was how he ended up here, two weeks before the winter break, standing in the only study room the school library had to offer—a room barely bigger than a broom closet, with flickering fluorescent lights and a suspiciously sticky table.

He dropped his backpack onto a chair with a thud, exhaled shakily, and pulled up the “speech” he’d written in the Notes app during biology class. (He had been supposed to be learning about mitosis, but honestly? Emotional deterioration felt like a better representation of what he was going through.)

Now, pacing the room like a man about to negotiate a hostage situation, he muttered under his breath:

“Hello, valued friends. I have supported you through emotional turmoil and academic despair… and in return, I humbly request—no, confidently assert—that you repay your debts to me as soon as possible…”

He paused, grimaced, and rewrote the line in the air with his hands.

“No. Too aggressive. They’ll run.”

He cleared his throat and tried again, voice barely above a whisper:

“Hi guys… um… remember when I helped you all? And… yeah… if you could possibly, maybe, potentially—”

He winced.

“That’s pathetic,” he whispered. “I sound like a customer service rep apologizing for breathing.”

He took a deep breath, straightened his sweater, and gave his cheeks a light slap to hype himself up.

“Why are you slapping yourself?”

Soobin spun around so fast he nearly tripped. His hands went clammy and dropped uselessly to his sides when he saw Taehyun and Beomgyu standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” he blurted—far too loudly. The librarian’s glare cut across the room like a laser.

He hurriedly motioned for the two boys to shut the door. They slipped inside after exchanging a look—somewhere between concern and disbelief.

The younger two, who had met Soobin through family friends (Beomgyu) and school orientation (Taehyun), were genuinely horrified. Their normally calm, collected friend now looked like someone who’d just learned his parents discovered exactly how much of his allowance had gone toward you.

“Are you okay?” Taehyun asked carefully.

Soobin inhaled again, ready to launch into his entire panicked monologue—when the door burst open hard enough to be a crime.

Huening Kai tumbled in, dragging a panting Heeseung behind him. Heeseung looked like this was the first time he’d done physical activity in the past year, maybe two.

Soobin flinched at the slam, then frantically shushed them—as if that could undo the librarian’s brand-new hatred for him.

Kai only shrugged as Soobin rushed to the door, poking his head out to give the librarian a guilty, apologetic smile. Her expression made it very clear she would never let him borrow a study room again.

Soobin grabbed his two younger friends and sat them down.

Which made the cramped study room look less like a casual hangout and more like Soobin was allowing the Council of Fate (his four friends sitting in a row in front of him) to decide whether he would continue to have a functioning social life—and a relationship—in the new year.

Once they were all seated, Soobin cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, clasping his hands together like a man about to deliver terrible news at a family meeting. “Thank you all for coming.”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t come. Kai dragged Heeseung, and Taehyun and I followed the sound of you yelling ‘Hi’ at a volume that could break windows.”

Soobin chose not to acknowledge that.

“I’ve called this emergency meeting because… I need something from you guys.”

Four pairs of eyes blinked slowly at him, the exact expression of people who knew they were guilty of something but not sure which crime was finally catching up to them.

“It’s about money,” Soobin announced.

A collective groan echoed around the room.

Heeseung, still recovering from being dragged across campus, rubbed his forehead. Kai slid further down his chair like he could escape through the floor. Taehyun pinched the bridge of his nose, already bracing himself. Beomgyu stared at the ceiling as if spiritually ascending.

But Soobin pushed on—he had practiced this speech in biology class, and he refused to die without delivering it properly.

“I have helped all of you,” he began, pacing like a stressed soccer mom. “I have edited essays. I have explained math. I have provided emotional support during your crises. I have rescued you from academic disasters of your own making—”

Beomgyu raised a hand. “To be fair, they were creative disasters.”

“—and in return,” Soobin continued firmly, “I am politely demanding that you all finally pay me back.”

Kai winced. Heeseung let out a sound of pure financial agony. Taehyun muttered something that suspiciously sounded like “I knew this day would come.” Beomgyu dramatically clutched his chest.

Soobin opened his Notes app with the seriousness of someone unveiling crucial evidence in court.

“The combined total you all owe me,” he said, pausing for effect, “is about… roughly the price of a new winter coat.”

Silence.

Horrified, guilt-ridden silence.

Heeseung cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter, and asked with the dignity of a man preparing for bankruptcy court:

“What if… we’re,” he paused, searching for a word heavy enough for his tragedy, “broke?”

Soobin blinked at him. Once. Twice.

“You literally asked me three days ago how much ramen you should buy if you wanted money left over for skins on League.”

Heeseung immediately deflated, sliding down the chair like wet laundry.

“Okay, but what if I spent it already?” he mumbled.

“Return the ramen,” Soobin said flatly, his voice stripped of all hope.

Heeseung winced—physically winced—then rubbed his stomach over his hoodie with the sadness of a man sharing a war story.

“I can’t. I… ate it all.”

Soobin stared at him, horrified.

“You ate a month’s ramen in two days?”

Heeseung smiled sheepishly.

“I was hungry yesterday.”

Before Soobin could decide whether to scold him or cry, Beomgyu leaned over and held out a fist, solemnly.

“Respect.”

Heeseung fist-bumped him without hesitation.

Soobin felt his eye twitch so violently he briefly worried he was developing a condition.

He turned to the other three.

He sighed and clasped his hands together, desperation radiating off him in waves.

“Please tell me you can help my case.”

He looked at them—Taehyun, Beomgyu, Kai, and Heeseung—all four suddenly finding the floor, ceiling, walls, and even their own shoelaces infinitely more interesting than his face.

Just like his shoulders slumped down, all his hopes sank with them.

Taehyun was the first to crack.

He lifted a finger—slowly, guiltily—like he was admitting he didn't do the homework in Mrs.Song's class.

“So… the thing is… I may or may not have bought a new pair of wireless earbuds.”

Soobin blinked. “You already have wireless earbuds.”

“These ones have a case that lights up,” Taehyun admitted, shamefully proud.

Soobin inhaled through his nose.

Then he turned to Kai.

Kai raised both hands like he was being arrested.

“Before you say anything—I have a very good explanation.”

Soobin waited.

Kai hesitated.

“I spent mine on… puzzle figurines.”

“…What kind of puzzle figurines?”

“Uh… the… limited edition penguin ones?” Kai mumbled.

“THE ONES THAT WOBBLE?” Soobin’s voice cracked up an octave.

Kai nodded slowly, looking like a child caught stealing cookies.

Before Soobin could even begin processing that, Beomgyu let out the most dramatic, suffering-filled sigh.

“Soobin,” he said, placing a hand over his heart, “I would love to pay you back—really, truly—but I’m experiencing an… emotional financial block.”

Soobin stared. “…What block?”

“You know how my mom grounded me for buying that $75 shampoo?”

“So… you’re grounded.”

“Yes,” Beomgyu nodded gravely.

“So she took my debit card.”

A pause.

“And my emergency cash.”

Another pause.

“And my piggy bank.”

“…You had a piggy bank?”

“That’s not the point,” Beomgyu snapped, offended.

Soobin pressed his palms to his eyes, contemplating his life choices.

This meeting was not going the way he had scripted it. Not at all. The one thing he’d forgotten to factor in was that he wasn’t the only dumb boy who spent all his money on dumb things—they all did.

He turned to face the group again… only to find them passionately debating whether they should get bubble tea on the way to Heeseung’s house or actually study.

It was a one-sided battle: Taehyun desperately trying to argue the importance of reviewing advanced functions, versus three boys loudly making slurping noises as their counterargument.

Soobin pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced at the clock.

3:45.

He froze.

He had promised he’d pick you up at 3:40.

His stomach dropped. He’d left you alone and stranded for five minutes.

In a flash, he grabbed his bag.

“You’re all lucky I’m too tired to lecture you about your irresponsible spending habits,” he muttered, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“As if you aren’t the same as us,” Beomgyu snorted.

Soobin narrowed his eyes as he backed toward the door.

“At least I don’t blow it all in two days,” he hissed—aimed directly at Heeseung, because seriously, twelve packets of ramen in two days should be medically studied.

He shut the door behind him and practically sprinted through the hallways. Thankfully, the school was mostly empty—allowing him to run (well, speedwalk aggressively) without witnesses.

And then he saw you.

Leaning against his locker.

Scrolling on your phone.

Holding his jacket in your arms, carefully folded like it was something precious you were safeguarding for him.

He forgot all about gifts, money, and debt collectors disguised as friends.

He walked toward you, soft and happy, and tapped the top of your head with the confidence afforded only by his ridiculous height.

You flinched like a startled bunny, and he had to stop himself from cooing.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he said, voice warm like hot chocolate in winter.

You smiled. “Of course. Who else is going to protect me from the snow outside?”

He glanced at your thin jacket—the one that never zipped properly—and frowned.

“It’s freezing. Wouldn’t you get cold?”

“Maybe I won’t,” you hummed, “if you hold my hand on the bus?”

He smiled. “Doesn’t mean I’ll let you walk home from the bus stop cold.”

You pouted. “Or… you could walk me home. And do your homework there?”

He sighed, pained.

“As much as I want to, your parents would definitely not want me over when you have an accounting test tomorrow.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you use my schedule against me?”

He laughed—and made up his mind instantly.

Gently, he placed his hands on your shoulders. You melted on the spot, leaning into his touch, practically purring like a cat.

He guided you aside and opened his locker—making you whine softly when his hands left you.

From inside, he pulled out the cozy blue scarf—the scarf, the one he bragged about because his brother had bought it for him in London.

You watched him in quiet awe as he approached you.

He placed the scarf around your neck with the precision of a surgeon who had trained his whole life for this exact moment. He arranged your hair carefully so it wouldn’t irritate your skin, fluffing the fabric just enough so it framed your face perfectly for any future selfies.

You couldn’t stop staring.

Your lips parted.

Your cheeks warmed.

Your heart thudded so loudly he would’ve heard it if he’d leaned even an inch closer.

When he finally tied the scarf neatly and looked up at you for approval, he froze.

Your eyes were soft.

Too soft.

Dangerously soft.

And he blushed.

You stepped forward—quick and warm—and pressed a kiss to his nose, giggling when he jolted like he’d been electrocuted.

“That’s not fair,” he sputtered, flushing. “I try to keep you warm and you laugh at me?”

He pulled on his jacket, now that it was back in his hands, letting you quietly play with the matching keychains hanging from his zipper—the ones you bought together at the mall.

“How was your day?” he asked, needing to hear your voice again.

You rambled about an annoying classmate, his scarf snug on your neck, your hand brushing his arm. He absently patted the empty space where the scarf should have been on his own outfit—but seeing you wearing it, looking warmer and prettier than anyone had a right to, he didn’t mind the incoming interrogation from his parents.

Finally, the two of you headed toward the bus stop.

He laced his fingers through yours.

Listened to you talk.

Felt warmth spread through his entire chest.

He would get you the perfect gift.

He didn’t care how long it took—or how many schemes he had to come up with.

Because you were worth it.

ATTEMPT #3 : OPERATION LEARN HOW TO PUT THOSE LONG FINGERS TO USE

Soobin was terrified the first time you met his parents as his girlfriend.

Soobin was practically petrified the first time he met your parents as your boyfriend.

But if he was being honest, he couldn’t deny that he fell for you even more after that fateful dinner.

It was a Friday evening in March when he’d come over to your house to formally meet your parents. He still remembers the day before: panicking over his economics test, panicking over how to impress your parents, panicking in general—basically cycling through every synonym for “fear” that he hoped would make his English teacher think he was a literary genius.

He was scared. Petrified. Horrified. Alarmed.

Any dramatic words from a thesaurus? Yes, he was that.

When the clock struck five and the sky was already turning dark, Soobin remembered standing at the door, waving his brother away like he was being shipped off to war. In his hands were a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine—both of which his brother had shoved at him with the confidence of a man who believed he alone was responsible for why his girlfriend’s parents liked him.

Soobin wasn’t sure he believed that logic, but his brain was already melting from nerves. So he held the flowers. Hold the wine. Held onto the rapidly fading hope that he would somehow survive this.

He remembers ringing the doorbell.

He remembers you opening the door, looking so pretty in the cozy sweater he’d saved up three months to buy you.

You beamed at him, reaching your hand out to pull him inside—but Soobin was so scared he just stared dumbly at your outstretched hand like he’d never seen one before.

You shook your head, smiling, “Are you going to stand there the whole night?”

He blinked back into reality. “Can I?”

You laughed—a soft, sweet sound that melted every nerve he had. “All the food we made is going to get cold,” you warned, eyes glimmering, “which would make my mom absolutely hate you.”

That snapped Soobin back into survival mode. “Right. We can’t have that.”

“Nope,” you agreed. “That is absolutely unacceptable.”

So Soobin stepped inside, carefully taking off his shoes and placing them next to yours—something he never bothered to do until he noticed you always did it.

With his heart in his hands (along with the bouquet and the wine), he stepped into your house.

He’d been there before…but back then he was just your tutor.

Not your boyfriend.

He remembers standing stiffly at the dinner table, unable to properly function without you hovering somewhere nearby. It didn’t help that the first pair of eyes he met were your dad’s—sharp, unreadable, and scanning him up and down like he was a suspicious package left unattended.

Soobin bowed, nearly dropping the flowers. “H-Hello, sir,” he stuttered.

Your dad hummed. A sound that held judgment. Deep, ancient judgment.

Then, without blinking, he asked,

“Are you an alcoholic?”

Soobin’s soul left his body.

“No!” he blurted—loud enough that he heard the muffled giggles of you and your mom from the kitchen.

Your dad raised a slow eyebrow. “Then would you like to explain why you’re holding a bottle of wine?”

Soobin glanced down at the bottle like he’d never seen it before in his life.

He wished his brother were here so he could strangle him.

He felt his hands become sweaty, his body working against him as if to make him drop the bottle.

His palms grew sweaty—so sweaty it felt like his own body was actively trying to make him drop the bottle.

He cleared his throat, voice wobbling. “I—I brought it. My parents told me that you should bring a gift when visiting someone’s home for the first time, so… My brother made me bring this. For you. Sir.”

He paused, proud of himself for getting the sentence out without fainting, but still far too terrified to make eye contact.

Your dad crossed his arms. “And the flowers?”

Soobin quickly raised them, presenting the small grocery-store bouquet like it was a royal offering. “They’re for your wife, sir.”

Your dad blinked once. Slowly.

“Are you trying to woo my wife, Choi Soobin?”

Soobin’s soul dropped further into the abyss.

“No!” he yelped, voice cracking.

From the kitchen came a bright, familiar laugh—yours.

“Dad, stop teasing him! He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

At that moment, Soobin had never wanted to hug someone—other than his mom—so quickly in his life.

You appeared from the kitchen holding four plates, and Soobin immediately panicked. Not because you were holding plates, but because it gave him an excuse—any excuse—to move, to do something, to not sit here under your dad’s laser-beam stare.

He practically slammed the wine and bouquet onto the table so he could rush to you and take the plates from your hands.

You beamed at him, squeezing his arm in a way that sent all his vital signs into chaos.

“Do you need any help in the kitchen?” Soobin asked hopefully, watching as you turned to head back in to grab the rest of the dishes.

You shook your head with a small, amused smile. “Nope. You stay. Bond with my dad.”

Soobin would have rather melted into your carpet like a stressed candle.

But you disappeared back into the kitchen—leaving him alone. With your father. Who was still staring at him like he was trying to figure out whether Soobin was a suitable boyfriend or a potential tax fraud case.

Resigned to his tragic fate, Soobin slowly returned to the dining table and sat down across from your dad, the bouquet and bottle of wine resting between them like awkward peace offerings.

The silence was immediate. Heavy. Suffocating.

Your dad leaned back in his chair.

“So,” he said, tone neutral and somehow threatening anyway, “you tutor my daughter, hm?”

Soobin swallowed, then nodded.

This was it. This was how he died.

Thankfully, salvation arrived in the form of your mom sweeping into the dining room with a warm smile and a serving tray.

“Soobin, dear! It’s so nice to finally have you join us for dinner,” she said, setting down the side dishes with practiced elegance.

Soobin immediately stood and bowed so low he probably looked like he was auditioning to be a butler.

“H-Hello, ma’am! Thank you for having me!”

Your mom laughed softly, patting his shoulder. “Such a polite boy. No wonder our daughter likes you.”

Your dad coughed sharply, looking personally offended by the compliment.

You walked in right after, holding a platter of steaming dumplings. The second your eyes met Soobin’s, relief washed through you both.

You took your seat beside him—thank God—and bumped your shoulder gently against his. “You okay?” you whispered.

“No,” he whispered back immediately.

You stifled a laugh.

Your mom began arranging the dishes on the table and sighed dramatically. “I spent the whole evening in the kitchen. I hope you’re all hungry. Though I’ll admit,” she chuckled, “I’m always jealous of girls who date boys that cook. Imagine coming home to a homemade meal.”

Your dad scoffed. “If I cooked, this house would’ve burned down in 2003.”

You snorted. “Dad, I literally watched you burn toast last week.”

He pointed his chopsticks at you. “That toaster is too strong.”

Your mom ignored him with the skill of a woman long-practiced. She turned to Soobin with a friendly tease. “Do you cook, Soobin?”

Soobin froze. Completely.

“I—uh—I can… assemble cereal?”

You laughed, but your mom only hummed politely.

“That’s alright,” she smiled. “Cooking can be learned. And honestly, making something with your own hands is always more meaningful.”

You perked up at that, leaning forward.

“Exactly!” you said. “If someone made something for me, like actually made it with their hands, I would melt on the spot.”

Soobin’s head snapped toward you so fast he almost strained something.

You shrugged, completely sincere and sweet. “It’s just… thoughtful, you know? When someone puts real effort into something for you.”

Your mom nodded approvingly.

Your dad narrowed his eyes across the table at Soobin, silently mouthing, You hear that? Effort.

And Soobin, already sweating through his nicest sweater, felt his heartbeat pick up.

He smiled at you, taking in that information and storing it in his brain, in case it ever came up.

Which it did.

Soobin had no money.

None.

He had exhausted every possible option to acquire money for your gift—asking the boys (financial disasters), checking his bank account (financial apocalypse), considering selling his soul to Taobao (Agent 1092 said no).

Which led him to his current situation:

Sniffling in bed three days before winter break, wrapped in three layers of blankets like a damp, oversized burrito. His nose was red, his throat was sore, and his eyes were burning—but not from the fever.

From watching YouTube videos titled “BEGINNER-FRIENDLY CROCHET BUNNY (NO SKILLS NEEDED!)”

…and failing spectacularly at all of them.

Turns out, while giving you his scarf made him extremely boyfriend-coded, it was not helping his immune system.

His cold was feeling cold.

He was pretty sure his cough had developed its own personality.

Still, he stubbornly replayed the video, squinting at the instructor’s overly cheerful voice.

“Just yarn over—”

“What does that MEAN?” Soobin croaked back at the phone, voice cracking like a twelve-year-old boy in a coming-of-age movie.

His fingers—long, elegant, piano-like—were apparently useless when it came to yarn. Every time he tried to start, the hook tangled, the yarn knotted, and somehow, inexplicably, the ball of yarn rolled off his bed and hit him in the face.

He sniffled pathetically and muttered,

“I’m doing this so she melts. I’m doing this so she melts. I’m doing this—” ACHOO “—so she melts.”

He paused the video again, rewound it for the eighth time, and forced his trembling hands to attempt the magic ring.

The yarn slipped.

The loop fell apart.

Soobin collapsed face-first into his pillow.

If love required skill, he was doomed.

But he refused to give up.

Not when he could still hear your voice, soft and warm, telling his mother that you melted when people made things for you.

He dragged the blanket tighter around himself, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and tried again.

His fingertips were numb, his nose was running, his fever was rising, and nothing about this situation screamed “romantic gesture”—but he was determined.

Because he wasn’t just making a plushie.

He was making your gift.

And he was going to make you melt if it killed him.

(Which, at this rate, it just might.)

When his magic ring mutated into a catastrophic lump of knots, Soobin groaned, snapped, and threw his thirty-second attempt across the room—

—directly at his sister.

He winced at the sharp inhale that followed.

He immediately bundled himself deeper into the blankets for survival as she placed a tray of hot soup on his desk.

Soobin was scared of three people in his life: his parents… and his sister.

If he had to rank them, one being the most terrifying, the list would go:

his sister,

his mom,

his dad.

He had established at age seven that his brother was a crybaby, so he didn’t count.

“Soobin,” she said, voice dangerously calm for someone who currently had a red mark forming on her forehead from a flying crochet hook, “would you like to explain why I just got nerfed in the head with my yarn and my hook?”

Soobin flinched under her gaze, pulling the blanket up to his chin like it was a shield.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” he stammered, eyes wide.

“You didn’t mean to what? Attempt to murder me with yarn?” she asked, eyebrows raised, voice dripping with mock accusation.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Words were failing him. This was worse than any interrogation from your dad.

She crossed her arms, peering at the pile of tangled yarn and half-formed bunny on his desk. “And what exactly are you doing?”

He swallowed hard. “I’m… uh… making a gift.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A gift?”

“For… Y/N,” he muttered, voice barely audible, scarfing down the last bits of pride he had left.

She blinked at him. Then, very slowly, she walked over and crouched beside his desk, eyes scanning the lumpy disaster of yarn. “You mean… this?”

Soobin nodded furiously, hands fluttering in protest at her inspecting the crime scene.

She grabbed the hook gently from him, holding it up. “Okay, first of all… this is a mess. How are your long fingers so… useless?”

“They’re piano-like!” he defended weakly.

“Piano-like my foot,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I can’t even tell where the ears are supposed to be.”

Soobin winced.

“Second of all,” she continued, poking at the lumpy knot, “your tension is… terrifying. And these loops? Absolute anarchy.”

He groaned, curling into himself a little.

“But!” she said, leaning closer, voice softening just slightly, “you don’t need this to be perfect.”

His head shot up. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me. Gifts… don’t need to be flawless,” she said, tapping the pile of yarn with one finger. “They just need… effort. Thought. Heart. And I can tell—” she waved at him dramatically, “—that you’ve put all of that in already.”

He blinked.

“You’re making something for her, Soobin,” she continued, eyes glinting, “with your own hands. And trust me, she’s going to melt whether it looks like a bunny or a… very lumpy cloud.”

Soobin swallowed, heat rising in his cheeks. “I… I just… I want it to be… nice…”

She smirked, tapping him lightly on the forehead with the hook. “Nice doesn’t mean perfect. And if she’s anything like you say, she’ll love it exactly because you tried. Now, put down the blanket and let me teach you how to do the magic ring properly before you accidentally summon Cthulhu instead of a bunny.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed, as she started untangling the knot for him. “I… I have to… I can’t mess this up…”

“Relax,” she said, shaking her head. “If you put your effort in, that’s all that matters. She’ll see that. And trust me… Y/N will melt.”

Soobin nodded, trembling fingers hovering over the yarn, and finally, for the first time, felt a little spark of hope amidst the chaos of loops, knots, and a rapidly dying immune system.

It took three more attempts for his sister to tell him the truth: he was absolute trash at crocheting.

He slumped in his bed, bits of yarn scattered throughout his bed, and his sister rubbing his back in consolation while moving the now-cold soup in front of him.

“Eat Soobin,” she gestured to the meal, “you can’t give her anything if you're sick.”

Soobin sighed miserably.

He will get you something.

He has too.

After all, he would be seeing you in five days to give it to you.

FINAL RESULT : EVERYTHING IS A GIFT WITH YOU

Soobin loved the holiday season.

He loved the way everything felt brighter, warmer, and just a little bit magical—even when the snow made his hair stick to his forehead or his hands freeze while carrying gifts.

Every year, he’d call all his friends over, and they’d spend at least two days at one of their houses, playing games, watching movies, and showing off the new toys they got from Santa.

It had started with Beomgyu and Yeonjun coming over, slowly adding Heeseung, Taehyun, and Hueningkai into the mix. Even as they grew older, the tradition remained—a constant in Soobin’s life, grounding him amid the chaos of exams, schoolwork, and growing up.

And yet, here he was, panicking about Y/N’s gift when he should have been focusing on the most deceitful Mario Kart game played in the history of mankind.

He stole a glance at the screen: Beomgyu was cackling like a maniac, Hueningkai was somehow flying off the track without anyone touching him, and Soobin? He was mentally calculating how much money he had left to make something for you—his brain split between drifting through Rainbow Road and crocheting a bunny that, so far, looked more like a tangled cloud.

Your family had planned a road trip to spend Christmas with your extended family. That gave him a few more days—just enough to hope for a eureka moment.

He clutched his mug of hot chocolate, feeling equal parts excitement and dread.

The last five days had been a blur of stress: emailing teachers at absurd hours, messaging you between classes, juggling assignments, and—worst of all—racking his already fragile immune system trying to find the perfect gift for you.

It got so bad that his mom and sister eventually formed a temporary alliance just to pry his phone and laptop away from him. They practically staged an intervention, dragging him out of his room and forcing him to “touch grass” and “drink water like a normal teenager.” Soobin obeyed… mostly because his sister threatened to change his lock screen to an unflattering picture of him mid-sneeze.

Now here he was, stuck on the couch, trapped in holiday cheer and Mario Kart chaos, still internally panicking about you.

He let out a long, dramatic sigh—the kind that carried the weight of fourteen undone assignments and one unfinished gift.

Beomgyu, currently serving a well-deserved time-out for swearing too much, slowly turned to look at him.

“Is everything okay?” Beomgyu asked cautiously.

Soobin let out a dramatic groan and practically collapsed onto him, forehead thunking against his shoulder.

“Still haven’t found a gift for her?”

Soobin nodded miserably.

“She’s perfect, Beomgyu,” he said, voice muffled into Beomgyu’s hoodie. “And I don’t know what to get her that actually shows how much she means to me.”

Beomgyu hummed, giving him a few awkward pats on the back—the signature I’m-being-supportive-but-I-don’t-know-how gesture.

“And,” Soobin continued, words spilling out in a panicked rush, “every time I even think about getting her something, it falls apart. And I haven’t even really tried, because I don’t even have the money for a real gift! I’m useless and broke and—”

Beomgyu cut him a look.

“Is this why you asked all of us for money at school?”

Soobin nodded again—somehow even sadder than before. His ears burned bright red.

“I even tried to crochet something for her,” he mumbled into his knees.

Beomgyu slowly turned his head. “…How did that work out for you?”

Soobin just shook his head. That alone was enough of an answer.

“Yeah. Thought so,” Beomgyu sighed.

He gently shoved Soobin off of him—careful, but still dramatic enough to make a point—stood up, walked toward the TV, picked up the remote, and shut the whole Mario Kart tournament down.

The room went silent. Six teenage boys stared at the now-black screen like someone had pulled the fire alarm.

“What the hell, Beomgyu!” Heeseung snapped, scandalized. He had been milliseconds away from securing his first win of the night—his only source of pride.

Beomgyu ignored him, clearing his throat like he was about to deliver a presidential address.

“As you all are aware,” he began, hands clasped behind his back, “Soobin is the only one out of all of us who has a girlfriend.”

Taehyun raised his hand.

“Actually, I’m talking with the student coun—”

“—doesn’t count,” Beomgyu cut in immediately, not even looking at him. “You exchanged three emails about a bake sale. Sit down.”

Taehyun slowly lowered his hand, offended but unable to argue.

“So,” Beomgyu continued, pacing like a general preparing for war, “it has come to my attention that our dear leader—” he jabbed a finger dramatically at Soobin “—is down BAD and broke, and thus cannot purchase a proper gift for his beloved.”

Soobin let out a noise that sounded like emotional roadkill.

Hueningkai gasped. “He’s broke? Like… broke?”

“So broke,” Yeonjun added from the couch, “that he tried to borrow five dollars from the cafeteria lady.”

Soobin stared at the scene unfolding in front of him, absolutely mortified. His friends were discussing his tragic love life like it was a group project worth 40% of their grade.

Taehyun crossed his arms, even the voice of reason.

“Even if you magically got money right now, anything you buy would cost extra. It’s two days before Christmas Eve. That’s peak desperation pricing.”

All the boys deflated at once—like six balloons losing air in perfect, miserable harmony. Whatever ideas had been forming on their tongues disappeared instantly.

Yeonjun sighed dramatically, pushing his hair back.

“As the eldest here, obviously my advice carries the most wisdom.”

“Who?” Beomgyu shot back, disgusted.

Yeonjun ignored him with the practiced skill of someone who had done it many, many times. He turned to Soobin instead.

“I think you should prepare something she wants to do, not something she wants to receive.”

Hueningkai snapped his fingers in agreement.

“Yeah! Whenever Lea gushes about her boyfriend, it’s always because he takes her out to do something together.”

Soobin felt something click in his brain.

Do something… not give something.

The idea swirled, forming a shape.

“What could he do though?” Heeseung asked, frowning. “It’s not like he can take her out-out.

He’s broke, and there’s no way her parents would let her go anywhere.”

“What if he brings her to stay in?” Beomgyu suggested, plopping back onto the couch.

Taehyun blinked at him.

“Who the hell gives someone an invite to their house?”

“Isn’t that literally what happened in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?” Hueningkai asked.

“No, that was a factory tour,” Taehyun said, offended.

“A factory is just a big house,” Hueningkai insisted.

They devolved into an argument about industrial zoning and fictional candy empires.

But Soobin didn’t hear a word of it. Because somewhere between “do something” and “stay in,” the perfect idea had hit him—

Clear, warm, simple.

He knew exactly what to give you.

And for the first time all night, his heart didn’t feel like it was being squeezed by both Santa and his reindeer.

He waited for everyone to leave and talked it over with his parents - who had agreed after yelling at him over his poor financial responsibility.

The plan commenced the next day.

He had messaged you merry christmas eve and had in fact attempted to call you, only for your little cousin to jump in the call and tease her for the dorky looking boy in your phone.

It is safe to state that the plan did not start off great.

Then he did the most daunting part of the plan.

Calling your dad.

Soobin dialed the number, hands shaking so hard he nearly hung up three times before the call even connected. On the second ring, your dad picked up.

“Hello?”

Soobin—out of pure muscle memory—bowed.

On a phone call.

Where absolutely no one could see him.

“H-Hello, sir,” he said, voice already cracking.

“Yes, Soobin?”

“I was wondering if I could ask you permission about something, sir?”

“Carry on.”

Soobin took one deep breath. Then another. Then a third because the first two didn’t work.

“You see,” he began, eyes flicking to the notebook in front of him—filled with word-for-word, panicked Soobin handwriting—“I have been unsuccessful in finding an adequate gift for your daughter who is my girlfriend.”

Your dad hummed in a way that made Soobin grip the edge of his desk.

“I see.”

“Which is why,” Soobin continued, heart beating at a medically concerning speed as he launched into the speech he wrote last night at 2 a.m., “I would like to propose a request that I believe will make her very happy and—”

“Son,” your dad interrupted, coughing pointedly, “take a breath.”

Soobin slammed his mouth shut.

“Let me discuss it with her mom,” your dad said. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

And then he hung up.

Soobin stared at his phone like it had personally betrayed him.

Now he had to wait.

Which he could do.

(He absolutely could not do this.)

He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the screen as if he could make it vibrate through sheer force of anxiety.

Thirty minutes later—it did.

A single message.

From your dad.

“You’re allowed. Tell me if you need anything.”

Soobin gasped.

And then celebrated so violently that he pulled a muscle in his side and had to lie on the floor for an hour, clutching his ribcage like a Victorian maiden fainting over a scandalous ankle.

Once he recovered, he moved to phase two.

Backup.

Backup that consisted of the five biggest dumbasses he knew.

He opened his laptop, started a group call, and screen-shared the elaborate, color-coded, stress-born plan he had built to make sure his gift would be perfect.

The boys reacted exactly as he expected:

Taehyun — skeptical.

Hueningkai — practically vibrating with excitement.

Yeonjun — proud like a delusional soccer mom.

Heeseung — analyzing every detail like this was NASA mission prep.

Beomgyu — terrified, looking like he was being recruited for a heist against his will.

Soobin cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said, voice shaking, “I need you all for the next part of the plan.”

And with that, the chaos officially began.

Then came the next phase.

Seeing you.

Soobin practically sprinted to your house the moment you messaged him, “I’m waiting :)”

He didn’t even let the typing dots finish before he grabbed his jacket, his backpack, and the envelope that held the Pinterest-worthy card he’d rewritten six times because the first five looked like a toddler’s handwriting.

Inside the envelope was also the second part of his plan—something only for you.

Something he’d triple-checked five times before leaving the house.

He’d already ensured that everything else he needed for the gift was on its way to your place.

Coordinated.

Timed.

Planned like a high-stakes heist operation.

All that was left was him.

And the bus ride.

Which, unfortunately, gave him twenty uninterrupted minutes to overthink every possible way his “brilliant plan” could go wrong.

What if your parents changed their minds?

What if his parents changed their minds?

What if he tripped on the walkway and the envelope flew into a snowbank and he had to dig through it like a deranged raccoon?

What if you didn’t like the card?

What if—God forbid—you thought the gift was lame?

He pressed his forehead against the cold bus window.

‘Whatever,’ he told himself, inhaling deeply like he was about to perform on Broadway. ‘It’s too late for regrets.’

When the bus finally stopped near your neighborhood, Soobin stood up so fast he nearly face-planted on the stairs.

Soobin stepped off the bus and started speed-walking toward your house, his heart pounding louder with every step.

He rang the doorbell, heart practically trying to punch its way out of his chest— and then you opened the door.

Just like that, every single nerve in his body dissolved.

You were here.

You were smiling.

You were absolutely perfect.

“Hey,” you said, grinning at him from inside the house like you hadn’t just completely rearranged his entire heartbeat.

“Hi,” he managed, already forgetting every line he practiced on the bus.

You stepped back and motioned him in, watching carefully as he shrugged off his jacket and bent down to unlace his boots. He even lined them up neatly beside yours, which made you raise a suspicious eyebrow.

“What’s in your bag?” you asked, the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips.

Soobin only smirked—smug, teasing, terrified.

“You’ll find out later.”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed his hand anyway, dragging him straight into the living room. He barely had time to drop his bag and the envelope at the foot of the couch before you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him with enough force to knock the wind out of a less prepared man.

He let out a surprised laugh as he stumbled back a step, instinctively catching you. And then his arms were around you too—warm, steady, holding you just as tightly as you held him.

For a moment, he forgot about the nerves, the envelope, the plan, everything.

It was just you.

You, hugging him like he was already the best part of your Christmas.

“Missed me that much?” he asked teasingly.

You pulled away from the hug only to smack him, “Don’t even joke about that.”

He smiled at you, gently pulling you in for another hug, “It’s okay, I mean I missed you too” he admitted with his face turning red.

He heard you say, “I’m sorry I got you sick,” against his chest.

Making him click his tongue, “I gave you the scarf, that was a me decision not you, it’s not your fault.”

You nodded, still hugging him.

He was the one who pulled away this time.

He grabbed the envelope, and put it in your hands.

“Can I open it”, you asked.

Soobon nodded.

Inside, with card, was a paper on which he had used all his crafting skills on that said, “SOOBIE BOOBIE COUPON : ONE DAY OF WHATEVER GIRLFRIEND WANTS (NO COMPLAINING)” accompanied by any and all stickers that were winter related in his house.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what to get you,” he started, “but I’m dumb and didn’t plan well enough in time and I didn't know what to get you. I’m sorry.” He paused, gauging your reaction. When all he saw was you holding the coupon like it was delicate, he continued. “Consider this an IOU, I promise to get you something, but unfortunately this is all I have for today.”

He hung his head down low, waiting for a reaction.

All he heard was a giggle, “Soobin, thank you.”

His head sprang back up, confused.

“At least you were honest, Yunjin was telling me the other day about her situationship gave her a lip tint he got as a freebie while shopping for his sister and tried to play it off”

Soobin failed to see how that related to this, but he stayed silent and listened.

“Thank you for being honest and trying baby,” you smiled at him, “that’s all I’ve ever needed”

Soobin blinked, still holding his breath. “Really? That… that’s enough?”

You nodded, tucking the coupon gently into your pocket. “Really. Any time spent with you is the gift I want. Honestly, Soobin, this is perfect.”

A mix of relief and pride swelled in his chest, and he finally let himself grin. “Okay… well, in that case…”

He reached over and took your hand, tugging you gently toward the kitchen. “Let’s make the most of this gift, yeah?”

You laughed softly and let him pull you along. Soon, you were surrounded by flour, cookie cutters, and a mountain of gingerbread pieces.

“Soobin,” you said, picking up a snowman-shaped cutter, “you do know these are supposed to look like snowmen, right?”

“Of course,” he said confidently, squinting at his dough. “See? Perfect snowman. Totally symmetrical.”

You peered over his shoulder. “…That looks like it got run over by a reindeer.”

“Soobin!” he protested, sticking out his tongue. “It’s abstract!”

You giggled and dabbed a little flour on his nose. He froze. “Hey! That’s cheating!”

“Cheating? No, it’s festive,” you said, grinning. “And also a warning: don’t mess up the icing this time.”

“I’m not going to mess it up!” he said, though the frosting on his fingers suggested otherwise. “I just… need a little more precision!”

“Precision my foot,” you laughed, smearing a tiny bit of icing on his cheek. “There. Now it’s festive AND accurate.”

Soobin squeaked in surprise, swiping at your hand, but you dodged. “You’re making this too easy,” you teased.

“Easy?! I’m a disaster!” he said dramatically, eyes wide. “Look at this snowman! It’s… it’s… abstract art!”

“Abstract art is fine,” you said, grinning. “I like it. It’s… you.”

He froze for a second, blinking at you. “…Really?”

“Really,” you said softly, putting the last candy eye on the snowman. “Now your abstract snowman is officially approved.”

“Soobin,” you said, leaning over to grab some cocoa, “you’re going to need a taste test for your ‘abstract art’.”

He raised his mug with mock solemnity. “A true artist always tastes their work.”

You laughed, clinking your mugs together. “Cheers to disastrous snowmen and hot chocolate.”

“You know,” Soobin said, sipping, “I think the marshmallows are doing all the work here. My artistic skills are… questionable at best.”

“Questionable?!” you snorted. “You’re killing it. Look at the frosting on your nose—pure genius.”

“Soobin, it’s on my nose,” he muttered, touching it cautiously.

“Exactly! It’s an accent. Adds character.”

By the time the last cookie went into the oven and the final marshmallow floated into your mugs, the kitchen was a blur of laughter, flour dust, sticky fingers, and tiny accidental snowmen casualties.

“Soobin,” you said, sitting down cross-legged on the floor with your cocoa, “we should definitely decorate the living room next. Maybe string some lights over there?”

“Living room… lights… got it,” he said, eyes lighting up. “And maybe we can… um… build a little fort?”

“You mean a blanket fort?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” he said, nearly tripping over a rolling pin in his excitement. “A… cozy, Christmas-y blanket fort! We could watch movies in it. With hot chocolate.”

“Okay,” you said, grinning. “But only if you promise not to spill hot chocolate in it like last time.”

“Last time was… a learning experience,” he said defensively. “I will be careful. Pinky promise.”

You laughed, scooting closer to him. “Pinky promise, then. And Soobin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for this. Even if it’s just cookies, cocoa, and a messy fort, it’s… perfect because it’s with you.”

Soobin’s heart swelled. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” you said, sipping your cocoa and giving him a warm look. “Honestly, this is the best gift ever.”

And in that moment, surrounded by cookie crumbs, marshmallows, and the smell of cinnamon, Soobin realized that being with you, making memories like this, was the gift that mattered most.

After a few hours, the sky went from pale blue to dark blue.

Soobin and you were on the couch, you cuddled into him while Love Actually played on screen.

You glanced at the windows, seeing the time.

You sighed, hating that goodbye was near.

“Soobin,” he heard you say.

He hummed in acknowledgement, too comfortable to open his mouth to form words.

“It’s time for you to go.”

Soobin heard you, but decided to ignore it in favour of pulling you closer to him.

You smiled at your clingy boyfriend, “Soobin you need to go before your parents yell at you about curfew again.”

He sighed, “Fine, I’ll head out," he started to get up, “only if you’ll humour me and head to the basement with me?”

You blinked at him, squinting in confusion. “The basement?”

He nodded, trying to look casual but failing miserably. “Yeah… I just… I wanted to show you something. It’s… uh… part of your gift.”

You tilted your head, suspicious but amused. “My gift? So this is like… a bonus? Should I be excited or terrified?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Excited. Definitely excited.”

You raised an eyebrow but let him tug you along, your hand slipping into his as you followed him down the stairs.

The moment you reached the bottom, your jaw nearly hit the floor. Twinkling fairy lights were strung along the walls, blankets were draped over chairs to form a cozy fort, and pillows were scattered everywhere, creating the ultimate high school dream sleepover setting. A few hot chocolate mugs waited on a small table, along with plates of gingerbread cookies you had decorated earlier.

Your eyes went wide. “Soobin… what is this?!”

He shuffled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Well… I asked our parents if I could spend the night, and… and I thought, why not make it special? Just… us. A proper Christmas Eve sleepover.”

You blinked at him, feeling your heart melt faster than the marshmallows in your cocoa. “So… this is for me?”

“For you,” he said softly, stepping closer. “I know it’s not… a huge gift, but I wanted to… you know… make it something we could enjoy together. Because that’s what I really want.”

You grinned, throwing your arms around his neck and spinning him in a hug. “Soobin, this is perfect. I don’t care about presents. This… this is all I want.”

He laughed, hugging you back tightly. “Good. Because that’s exactly the plan.”

You stepped back to take it all in. “Wait… did you do all of this yourself?”

He waved his hand vaguely, trying to downplay it. “I had… a little help.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A little help?”

Just then, from behind a blanket fort, a muffled cheer erupted. “Surprise!”

You squealed as Beomgyu, Yeonjun, Heeseung, Taehyun, and Hueningkai popped out, all wearing silly Christmas hats and holding leftover fairy lights.

“We made the fort look extra cozy for you two,” Beomgyu announced proudly, wiggling his eyebrows a little too suggestively.

Yeonjun nodded. “Your dad is terrifyingly good at ensuring the structural integrity of pillows.”

You giggled. “My dad helped?”

All five boys nodded, looking like they had gone through shared trauma.

Heeseung muttered, “Soobin better not let her go. He won’t make it if he does.”

Soobin buried his face in his hands. “I’m never letting them help with anything ever again.”

Then he suddenly straightened, grabbed a couch cushion, and started smacking his friends with it. “Alright, OUT. The gift phase is over. Goodbye.”

“Bro, we just built this—” Taehyun started.

“Out.” Soobin repeated, physically herding them toward the basement door like offended geese.

Beomgyu made a betrayal face. “We do all this and you kick us out?!”

“Yes,” Soobin said, pushing him through the door. “Goodbye.”

“Think of us—!” Yeonjun tried.

“Nope.”

“Watch Love Actually for us—!” Hueningkai added.

“Nope.”

“We’re taking the leftover gingerbread—” Heeseung threatened.

“You touch anything and I’ll block you all,” Soobin said, slamming the door.

Silence.

He watched his friends all leave, getting giddy at the thought of actually staying the night with you.

Until he heard Yeonjun’s voice, “Remember your one ground rule, don’t let your parents become grandparents.

Soobin choked on air.

He heard Beomgyu scream in the distance.

Within seconds, the basement was clear, the five idiots scrambling upstairs while Soobin shut the door behind them with the energy of a fed-up single father.

Then you burst into laughter while Soobin pretended to be unbothered, brushing imaginary dust off his hands like an overworked, underpaid babysitter.

He returned to your side, flopping onto the blanket pile beside you.

“…Anyway,” he murmured shyly, bumping his shoulder against yours, “This night is for us.”

You leaned into him, soft and warm.

“And it’s perfect,” you whispered.

And as the fairy lights twinkled above, the two of you settled in for a night of laughter, Christmas movies, and quiet moments that didn’t need any gifts—just each other.

Wrapped up together in the blanket fort—warm, safe, comfortable—you felt the kind of moment that didn’t need fancy gifts or perfect planning.

Just you and Soobin, drifting off in each other’s arms, your fingers intertwined.

And before sleep pulled him under, Soobin whispered into your hair:

“Next year… I’m getting you every gift you want. I promise.”

And for now—this was more than enough.

If the price of loving you was going through the stress of gift giving a thousand times a year, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Because you, his perfect girlfriend, lying down next to him and smiling at him was worth all the effort.