Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Santa, tell me if you're really there
Don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year.”

The speakers were blasting Christmas songs again throughout the mall. It was that time of the year. As Ricky listened to the song, he couldn’t help the thought that slipped out:

Yeah, Santa, do tell me.

But he didn’t really have time for romance. Not this year. Not the year before. Not the next, or the next after that, or whatever year came after all of those. Love—if he could even call it that—had long been redirected into something safer, something measurable. His job. His work. His responsibilities. He could admit, at least to himself, that it was toxic in its own way. But it was dependable. It didn’t ask for anything back.

The Christmas season was felt not only in the coldness of the weather or the sharp wind that brushed past people whenever the automatic doors slid open, but in the sound itself. It wrapped around everything. Every corner spoke of Christmas. Every speaker hummed or sang or rang out with cheer, as if silence itself had been temporarily banned.

And Ricky just needed to get used to it.

Eventually, he knew, they would play the classics. All I Want for Christmas Is You, looping endlessly, stitched together with other carols that refused to leave the air once they arrived. ’Tis the season to be jolly, it seemed. Or at least, to pretend convincingly enough.

They said Christmas was the season of giving—giving gifts, exchanging cards, and believing that Christmas is truly in our hearts. And it was true. Ever since the ber months had started, something in the air had shifted. But this December felt different somehow. Heavier. Louder. Brighter in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

That might have been the reason why Ricky now had an entire cart of gifts waiting to be wrapped. And when it came to many, it wasn’t the kind meant for a single big family. No, this was the kind of quantity that looked like it belonged to a whole company.

Which, in truth, it did.

His mother dearest—his only boss—had tasked him with the ordeal of picking out gifts for various people. Clients. Employees. Everyone in between. She had said it lightly, like she was appointing him as her own personal version of Santa Claus.

Oh Santa, Ricky almost thought bitterly, what would be your gift for me this year?

She’d reasoned that everyone else was busy, especially now that it was the holiday season. Sales were up. Schedules were tight. People moved like bees in a hive, bustling and buzzing from one thing to the next without pause.

Ricky, apparently, was the only one with a relatively free schedule.

Fine. Alright. Whatever. What could he do differently, anyway?

So here he was, standing in the mall, surrounded by music that had already changed again.

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock—”

Everyone else seemed happy with the selection.

Ricky adjusted his grip on the basket and took a breath, letting the sound wash over him whether he wanted it to or not. The music blended into the hum of the mall. In front of him, the shopping cart was already full of boxes, and inside those boxes were, drumroll please… mugs.

It was a classic gift. Reliable. No one could really have too many mugs in their household, right? Ricky lingered for a moment, looking down at them as if counting might make the number smaller. It didn’t. It looked like he had put a hundred mugs into his cart—well, quite a few carts, really. Still, he decided it was enough. Enough for the first batch of Christmas shopping, at least.

So he headed to the cashier.

The cashier lady stationed there was wearing a Christmas hat, and he noticed that the others nearby had Santa hats on as well. Red, white, fluffy at the edges. They really looked the part this season, as if the mall itself had dressed its people accordingly.

She took only one mug and counted the number of boxes in his cart. Once she reached a hundred, she simply entered the quantity into the register without missing a beat.

“That would be a total of 1,250,000 won,” she said with a polite smile.

Ricky paid without comment. Then came the question that was almost expected this time of year.

“Would you like all of these to be wrapped?”

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

And just like that, all of his mugs were delivered to the neighboring room, marked clearly with a large sign that read: Gift Wrapping. 

Watching them wheel the boxes away, Ricky felt a small flicker of guilt for asking them to wrap so many items. Even if it was part of the service they offered. Still, he decided it was fine. There were three staff members inside, and only a few customers before him, each with just a handful of items in their carts.

That was when he noticed it; the three of them were wearing reindeer headbands.

Maybe they were allowed to wear whatever they wanted. Maybe some of them were even dressed as Santa’s elves elsewhere in the store. It felt festive in a soft, endearing way.

Ricky didn’t need to do anything at all. They immediately began wrapping the gifts, hands moving efficiently, paper folding neatly, ribbons curling without hesitation. He figured he’d sit nearby and wait while answering some emails. It would probably take at least thirty minutes. He could wait.

So he scrolled through his phone. Read a message from his mother. Opened a few emails. Time passed easily like that, slipping by without much notice, until a voice cut gently through the noise.

“Mr. Shen.”

He looked up.

What is it about? he couldn’t help but think. Were they done already? Already?

Ricky glanced down at his watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed.

He stood and walked toward them, still a little puzzled. The tallest among the three spoke—the one standing on the far right. The one Ricky found himself approaching without really thinking about it.

“All your boxes are now wrapped, Mr. Shen. If I must say, it is quite a lot.”

The wrapper staff was wearing a reindeer headband, the soft antlers tilted just slightly. His hair looked just as soft, a shade close enough to the color of the headband that it almost blended in. And when Ricky met his eyes—wide and warm and impossibly gentle—it felt like they were pulling him in.

Doe eyes.

Like from that Disney film.

Bambi.

No, no. Why was he paying extra attention to this man?

There was a much more important question he should be asking.

“How are you so fast?”

“Oh—uh, we do our best!” the man replied, eyes bright, like everything about him had been turned up a notch. And Ricky felt his heart do a very embarrassing double take.

Oh my god. Shut up.

“Thank you,” Ricky said, clearing his throat. “But there might be more tomorrow.” He sounded apologetic as he glanced at the mountain of golden-wrapped boxes stacked neatly in front of him.

“We’ll look forward to it,” the boy said again, smiling, while the other two just stared at this Bambi-looking guy like they already knew something Ricky didn’t.

“Bye,” Ricky said courteously.

He turned and walked away, staff helping him carry the mugs out to his car. But as he took the steps toward the parking lot, he felt his ears burn. Heat rushed up his neck, and he had the sudden, overwhelming urge to hammer his head against something solid.

Goodness.

He hadn’t even learned that man’s name. It was right there—on the nametag. He had only needed to read it. And yet, his mind had gone completely blank.

He wasn’t really thinking at all.

And why was he thinking so much about that man anyway? Hadn’t he just told himself he didn’t have time for romance?

Whatever.

The mind could change as easily—and as inconveniently—as it wanted.

And Ricky, it seemed, had no choice but to listen.

Another song drifted through the speakers: Frosty the Snowman.

How very festive.

There was such variety in their choice of songs, clearly meant to please everyone, especially children. And how coincidental it was that Ricky found himself picking out snow globes for his second batch of Christmas presents at the same time.

Not the most practical gift, no. But they kept the Christmas feeling alive, somehow.

And it had something to do with the shape of them. Circles.

Ricky found himself thinking about circles more than he should. About how circles were wrapped. About how quickly they could wrap something with no edges, no clear beginning or end. Circles that just… continued. And suddenly, this whole present thing felt like it had only just started. He realized, quietly, that he didn’t want it to end.

As if he could already see the future.

A future with that Bambi guy, perhaps.

Okay. Ridiculous.

Ricky shook his head, trying to clear the madness from it—if only for a short while.

He lifted one of the snow globes and looked at it more carefully. It was a good one, he thought. A lone snowman standing at the center of all that snow. When shaken, tiny crafted flakes swirled around it, decorating the space in soft white chaos.

For today, he told himself, he would hold back.

He only bought fifty.

Great. Still many.

Maybe, he did it so he’d have a reason to spend more time at the gift-wrapping station.

That had to be it.

And so, here he was again, standing near the gift-wrapping area, watching very obviously as they wrapped the globes in their hands. The staff were still wearing their reindeer headbands, just like before. And this time, Ricky wasn’t subtle at all when he looked at the man’s nametag.

Gyuvin.

Finally. He knew.

He stood closer than necessary. He wasn’t sure if it was strange, or noticeable, or inappropriate, but he couldn’t help it. When Gyuvin glanced up, Ricky only received a smile in return.

He took it as permission.

“It’s interesting,” Ricky said, genuinely in awe. “How you wrap it so easily.” Everything seemed to follow clear steps, smooth and efficient, every piece of wrapping paper used so well. “How do you do it so well?”

“You’re talking to me, are you, Mr. Shen?”

Bambi—no. Gyuvin—said it with a smile still resting on his face, looking just as amused by Ricky’s fascination as Ricky himself was. And yet, his answer was the same as yesterday.

“We just do our best,” Gyuvin said.

Wow. That smile.

Ricky was certain he wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

“But we do get that a lot,” Gyuvin added. “Many people come to watch. They’re interested in this small activity.”

And Ricky was already far more interested than he had any right to be.

“I am interested,” Ricky said without pausing. “In knowing you.”

The words left his mouth before he could catch them, before his mind could stop his heart from speaking first.

When Ricky looked back at Gyuvin, he saw him frozen in place, eyes wide, expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. And it was only then that Ricky realized what his thoughts had conjured into the world.

“Oh—uh,” Ricky cleared his throat, trying to recover, trying to sound professional. It didn’t work. Not when the tips of his ears were already burning red. “Is it done yet?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. They were clearly finished.

Gyuvin seemed to shake himself out of his stunned state at the question, responding almost too quickly. “Yes. It’s done now, Mr. Shen.”

“Ricky.”

“Sorry?”

“Ricky,” he repeated softly. “Call me Ricky… if you’d like, um, Gyuvin-ssi.” Then, as if compelled to say it out loud, Ricky added, “And I like your headband. It’s cute… like Bambi.”

He held Gyuvin’s gaze, wanting him to know he meant it. Then, as if to disguise how much he was looking forward to seeing him again, he turned to the other two staff members and addressed them by name as well.

“And thank you too, Taerae-ssi. Matthew-ssi. I’ll come back tomorrow. So—see you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Wait—uh,” Gyuvin said suddenly, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “I like your tie too.”

His tie.

The one he wore almost every day with his suit. Ties were nice. He had a whole collection of them.

“Thank you,” Ricky said, deciding that was the most appropriate response as he turned and left—quickly, just like yesterday.

It was such a shame that today’s wrapping had only taken ten minutes. Much shorter than yesterday. A real shame. But there was still tomorrow. He found himself wondering what he could possibly buy next just to stay a little longer, even though everything would probably be wrapped in record time anyway.

And if Ricky heard laughter behind him, soft slaps, teasing words exchanged just after he left the room—he didn’t hear it clearly. He was already rushing away, faster than the steam he was certain was radiating from his body.

The moment the door clicked shut behind Ricky, the room imploded.

Matthew burst out laughing first, with the kind of laughter that bent him in half. Taerae followed a second later, his laughter ringing bright and sharp, echoing off the walls in a way Gyuvin absolutely did not need right now.

“Yah—!” Gyuvin hissed, mortified, glancing instinctively at the door as if Ricky might somehow still be there, lingering, listening. His ears felt hot again. Everything about him felt too exposed. “You’re too loud.”

“Oh, Gyuvin,” Matthew managed between laughs, slapping a hand against Gyuvin’s back with far too much enthusiasm, far too much joy at his expense. “Go take your chance already.”

Taerae leaned against the table, eyes sparkling, voice pitched impossibly high. Gyuvin couldn’t tell if he was genuinely thrilled, cruelly teasing, or, most likely, both. “And what was that?” Taerae continued. “‘I like your tie.’” He mimed the words dramatically. “Just tell him you like him. End of story.”

Gyuvin pressed his lips together, heart still racing, mind still caught somewhere between the look in Ricky’s eyes and the way his name had sounded when Ricky said it. 

Gyuvin-ssi.

“It’s—” he started, then faltered. He exhaled slowly, searching for words that felt truthful enough. “It’s an unexplainable kind of pull.”

Matthew scoffed immediately. “Yeah. And I’m Cupid.”

Gyuvin shot him a look, but it didn’t have any real heat behind it. Because was it nonsense, really? After yesterday—after everything—it was all Gyuvin had been able to talk about. The absurd number of gifts. The way someone could come into your life like that—unexpectedly, but not unwelcome. The way he listened, like he meant to remember.

How could anyone forget someone like that?

Gyuvin swallowed, fiddling with the antlers of his headband, fingers brushing the felt absentmindedly. “I—he said he’ll come back tomorrow,” he said, quieter now. “Ricky said he’ll visit tomorrow.”

Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. First name basis already?” He grinned, delighted. “Gyuvin, you know you only met him yesterday, right?”

“He said to call him that,” Gyuvin replied quickly, defensively—then softer, more honest. “And what if it was only yesterday?” His lips curved despite himself. “He’s cute.”

Taerae made a sound, something between a laugh and a gasp.

“And he called me Bambi,” Gyuvin added, warmth blooming in his chest again, unstoppable now. He smiled down at his headband, tugging the antlers gently as if they might understand him. “How delightful is that?”

Matthew groaned. “You’re gone.”

“Completely,” Taerae agreed, shaking his head fondly before clapping his hands together. “Okay, okay—wrap it up. We still have so many customers.”

Gyuvin nodded, reaching for the next gift, but his hands moved on autopilot. His thoughts had already wandered to that tie, that smile, to ten minutes that felt far too short.

Tomorrow, then.

Tomorrow felt like something to look forward to.

With all the gifts he had bought, Ricky kept a running list in his mind—what should he get next? It had to be practical, or at least make sense in some logical way. In his mind, clothes would have been the obvious choice, even if it wasn’t specifically written anywhere. But clothes required measurements, and measurements required questions, and questions required… effort. So, not clothes. But something related—clothing accessories. Ties, belts. Things people could actually use. Because yes, snow globes and mugs were undeniably delightful, perfect for Christmas. But maybe, some recipients preferred something a little more practical.

If someone else were here, someone with an objective mind, they’d point out the obvious: Ricky already worked in a company that made clothes. They had an entire clothing business at their fingertips for Christ’s sake. But Ricky’s mind didn’t work that way today. Today, he was thinking about gifts, yes, but also… time. Time spent watching Gyuvin wrap.

And long gifts like ties and belts weren’t wrapped individually. They went into bags, folded, sealed—done. No intricate folds, no delicate corners, no ribbon gymnastics. Simple. Efficient. Quick.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5… 30… 50… 100… Done. It really was that simple. Pick up the item. Put it in the bag. Fold. Seal. A stapler here, a crease there. Done.

Ricky glanced at his watch. Record time again. “Oh,” he said before he could stop himself, clapping once, involuntarily, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “You’re done again in record time.”

“Umm, Ricky-ssi.”

Oh. Gyuvin was calling him. Using his name. Really his name.

“Yes?” Ricky answered, a little too quickly, a little too eagerly.

“It is quite a lot of gifts this time again,” Gyuvin said, voice soft, careful, like he was measuring every word. “And you’re our only patron who buys this much.” He hurried to add, almost nervously, “Not that I’m being nosy—you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”

“It’s company gifts. I was tasked with it,” Ricky said simply, shrugging slightly, trying to sound professional, but not hiding the little thrill he felt at hearing Gyuvin talk to him like this.

“I see. I wish we could have more time to talk to each other,” Gyuvin added quietly.

Ricky let that settle. Just for a moment. Then he smiled, feeling his chest lighten in a way it hadn’t in weeks. “I’ll come back tomorrow with more gifts,” he said, letting the excitement slip into his voice, brighter than usual. Then, with a teasing tilt of his lips, he added, “Too bad. You’ll have to see me more.”

“No, that’s good! The best thing, actually,” Gyuvin said immediately, and the warmth in his tone made Ricky’s heart stutter for a fraction of a second.

Matthew, standing off to the side, couldn’t help himself. A small laugh escaped him as he tapped Gyuvin’s shoulder lightly. “It seems he’s just too excited,” he said, grinning.

Ricky waved this time when he left—a proper wave, longer than usual, letting the fingers linger a fraction longer, just a tiny bit. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a smile.

Tomorrow. More gifts. More minutes. More of these little conversations that felt so small and yet so enormous. They couldn’t really afford long talks, but tomorrow, there would be time again, even if just a little.

Ricky was staring at the mountain of gifts he had amassed. The quantity—well, it was… questionable. There were certainly a lot of gifts, yes, but the amount he had bought wasn’t really necessary for the whole company. And honestly, it was far too much for the task his mother had given him. She had asked for gifts for a set number of people, a manageable number. Not this—this entire fortress of boxes and bags sprawled before him.

There was a whole tower of mugs stacked neatly, almost daring him to tip it over. A circle of snow globes lay on the floor, arranged in an accidental snow-angel shape, as if the little frosted spheres themselves were celebrating the season. And the bags of ties and belts were piled just so, orderly yet overwhelming.

Ricky sank into a chair, dazed, letting his eyes trace the chaos he had created. For the first time, he actually tried to think through what he had done. Truly, what had he done? His mind, normally so meticulous when it came to work, seemed to have completely abandoned him here. The one thing it was supposed to do—think properly—was nowhere to be found.

“Wow.”

Hanbin’s voice cut through his reverie, soft but amused. He was walking over, curious, clearly trying to make sense of Ricky’s side of the world at this moment.

Yes. Wow was really the only word for it. Because wow, Ricky had bought… a lot. Too much, even. And yet, to him, every single item had felt necessary in that precise moment.

Hanbin moved closer, shaking a box to confirm what was inside, tilting his head to inspect the snow globes in their accidental angel formation, peeking through the top of a gift bag to spot the neatly folded ties and belts inside. Ties and belts. Their employees might not even need them. The company already provided complementary ties and belts every Christmas, designed to match the dress code. There was no need to buy more.

“No need at all,” Hanbin said carefully, though a little incredulous. “Ricky, you do know we don’t need more of this. And they had the same types of gifts last year.”

“I know,” Ricky said softly. His voice was slow, drawn out. Because yes, he knew. He knew it perfectly well.

“And Ricky, our dearest Ricky, you do know we don’t need this much, right?”

“I know,” Ricky repeated, the words lingering. He knew. He really did.

“You could’ve just had it all delivered straight to the company, by a truck, no fuss.”

“I know, Hanbin-hyung,” Ricky murmured, almost apologetic but mostly… conflicted. “I know very well. But I just wanted to… try shopping by myself. See how this whole Christmas shopping thing would turn out. But then… one day turned into two, and two turned into three… and now…” His eyes swept over the mountain of gifts again. “…here we are.”

Hanbin raised an eyebrow, leaning against the table, waiting patiently for Ricky to continue.

“So… the reason?” Hanbin prompted, soft, knowing, gently coaxing the confession out.

Ricky’s lips twitched, a small, almost imperceptible smile forming. “The reason… there’s this cute deer…” 

He trailed off, letting the words hang in the air, because just saying it out loud felt both ridiculous and thrilling. His heart felt a little faster than usual, and he couldn’t tell if it was from excitement, nervousness, or a mixture of both.

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” Hanbin’s voice carried a gentle finality, but it wasn’t harsh—it had that knowing, the kind that told Ricky he understood exactly who this was for without needing details. “Tomorrow will be the last, alright.”

“Alright.” Ricky said, though the word felt lighter than it should. 

That alright didn’t mean he would give up entirely, or let the moment pass without savoring it. His mind was already racing ahead, thinking of the last thing to buy, the final gift to give. The one little gesture to tie everything together.

Who would’ve even thought that Ricky would buy such humongous televisions for his last gift to be wrapped? And it wasn’t just one—they were three, each a different size, the smallest still a staggering seventy inches. As if each one was meant to be wrapped by each of them. If Ricky wasn’t going for quantity, it seemed this time he was going for size. He was going to go big or go home, literally. 

The televisions sat on the ground, commanding the space, and Ricky could see Gyuvin’s brow furrow slightly, as if the boy was genuinely weighing the possibility of wrapping them for real. The thought made him chuckle softly to himself.

Then Matthew’s voice cut through, practical and amused. “I’m sorry. We don’t wrap things this big, but we could paste a ribbon atop it if you’d like.”

Ricky waved a hand dismissively, smiling as a little laugh escaped him. “Oh, there’s no need. I just… I just wanted an excuse to be here one last time.”

“…Last?” Gyuvin’s voice was quiet, a little uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.

“Yes, sadly.” Ricky lowered his gaze, feeling the weight of the moment, of the pile of gifts around them, of the little thrill he always felt when giving. “So… I’ve actually prepared some gifts for you.”

He handed the first small box to Gyuvin. “It’s a reindeer pin, meant to be an accessory, like one you could wear over a coat.”

And then the rest followed, spilling gently onto the table: donuts, chocolates, a neat stack of handkerchiefs. Ricky’s hands moved almost on their own, arranging them with care, letting the little pile grow until it felt like it could topple over at any moment. It was good that the store was mostly empty—closing time had cleared the space, leaving just enough room for these little bursts of chaos.

“The handkerchiefs,” Ricky rambled, voice soft, almost to himself, “they’re made of very lightweight cotton, great for everyday use… won’t irritate the skin if rubbed too hard. And we made them ourselves. And the little reindeer design was last-minute, but I think it’s cute.” He let out a quiet laugh, the kind that made his chest feel warm and fluttery.

“Ricky-ssi…” Gyuvin’s voice called, low and hesitant, as if testing the air.

“Ah… too much?” Ricky asked, immediately worried, because he had a tendency to overdo things. He didn’t even know if there was a limit to giving.

“It’s not that…” Gyuvin started, his voice catching slightly. “…It’s just… we’re not allowed to accept gifts from customers.” His words were soft, regretful, and Ricky felt a little pang, a soft deflation in his chest.

“Oh…” The word escaped quietly, drifting like a small sigh.

Matthew at Gyuvin’s side gave him a playful elbow as Gyuvin let out a quiet, almost inaudible sound of hurt. Because that really hurt. Gyuvin felt he might be nursing a bruise by the end of this.

Taerae, ever the bright one, stepped in with a grin. “What Gyuvin meant to say is… we can accept gifts, if they’re from friends.”

Ricky’s chest lifted immediately, and his eyes brightened, a little mischievous spark lighting them. “That would be lovely, yes. Friends. Yes, we could be friends.”

“That’s great, Ricky.” Taerae said warmly.

“Yes, Taerae, my friend.” Ricky offered a small, soft smile, glancing to the side where Matthew was now grinning too, his amusement spilling over as he gently nudged Gyuvin again. Gyuvin emitted another tiny sound of protest, pain and embarrassment rolled into one.

“I hope you don’t mind me being your friend too,” Matthew said, beaming.

“I would surely be delighted,” Ricky replied with a quiet chuckle.

Matthew elbowed Gyuvin once more, the third time now, and Gyuvin’s little sound of hurt—subtle, but undeniably there—made both Matthew and Taerae suppress a laugh. Ricky, however, looked at them, a mix of shock and slight concern in his expression.

“I would like to be friends too,” Gyuvin said finally, holding out his hands, hesitant but sincere.

“Let’s do that. Let’s start as friends,” Ricky said, taking Gyuvin’s hands in his own for a playful shake. One shake turned into two, then three, until the playful moment extended, and neither wanted to let go. Thirty seconds passed, thirty seconds that felt like a small eternity. 

Gyuvin's voice cut through the moment, small but decisive. “Can I have your number?”

His number. His number. The words echoed like a soft alarm inside Ricky’s head, making his heart stutter and his mind go a little blank. Almost blacked out. He fumbled in his wallet, grabbed a contact card, and handed it over. “Here. You can contact me here.”

Gyuvin squinted, a confused crease forming on his brow. “Ricky, this is a hotline number.”

Ricky laughed lightly, the sound airy, almost embarrassed—definitely embarrassed. “Hahaha, silly.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled down the number he actually used, trying to steady his hands even though his chest felt impossibly warm.

But honestly—ahhhh—he wanted to scream. How embarrassing. Ricky would be lucky if he wasn’t burning red by now.

“I’ll message you later,” Gyuvin said. He looked just as eager too. Great. That would be great…

But then, a little, ridiculous thought jumped into his mind, making his cheeks warm. And then he acted on it before he could second-guess himself.

“Can I give you one last gift?” Ricky asked, the words gentle, almost hesitant, but he wanted to push through it.

“If you want. But there’s… too much already,” Gyuvin said, his voice careful, a little hesitant.

Ricky didn’t mind. He inhaled, steadied himself, and went for it.

“Would you accept me as a gift too?” he asked, tilting his hands into a flower-like pose, palms framing his face in a soft V, presenting himself—himself—as a gift. A very unusual, almost ridiculous gesture. Very unlike the Ricky who had once sworn, so confidently, that he had no time for love, no time for romance, no space for these sorts of feelings. And yet, here he was, giving himself, whole-heartedly, playfully, to someone he barely knew but already felt so drawn to.

Gyuvin’s flush spread from his ears, creeping down his neck, coloring his entire body red like he’d just sprinted through the cold December air. Ricky couldn’t even tease him for being Rudolph—if his whole body was red, there was no need for jokes. He just… stood there, trying not to melt entirely from how ridiculous and sweet it all was.

The flower pose lingered for another second, and Ricky felt like the petals themselves were blushing along with him. His own cheeks were warm, his heartbeat loud enough that he was almost sure Gyuvin could hear it if he listened closely. A rose in the middle of all this ridiculousness, he thought, and it made him laugh quietly to himself, a soft, breathless little sound.

“Embarrassing, is it? Sorry.” He tried to mask it with a shrug, though the tremble in his fingers betrayed him.

“No, not at all,” Gyuvin said, voice low but soft, “it’s very adorable.”

And then, something delicate, something warm and familiar, brushed against his hair. He froze, his heart stuttering, because Gyuvin’s fingers were gentle, precise, and careful. Something silky.

“A ribbon. A gift from us. From me.” Gyuvin’s voice was quiet, shy, but there was pride and something almost like glee tucked underneath. Ricky could feel it, all of it. His hands, almost automatically, went to the ribbon, letting his fingers linger over the smooth texture. It was Gyuvin’s touch. From him. It made him melt.

"Oh, uh, thank you… I’ll go now. Bye." His words tumbled out in his usual flustered rush. Because if there was ever one thing Ricky loved most to do to escape situations that were too much for him, it was a quick goodbye. Even though it was clear he’d be back the next day, because he didn’t really want the moment to end.

Ricky edged toward the door, trying to leave before the embarrassment consumed him entirely.

But then Gyuvin’s voice caught him again, soft, firm, steady. “Okay… I’ll message you.”

“Yes, I’ll message you too.” Ricky said, voice brighter than he felt, and he waved goodbye to Matthew and Taerae, who grinned like the whole thing had been a performance meant just for them. The ridiculous, joyful expressions on their faces only made the moment more precious.

And when Ricky stepped outside the gift-wrapping room, the mall seemed impossibly large, impossibly alive with holiday spirit. The speakers above blared that same song he had heard when he first arrived, the one that had lingered in his mind for the past few days:

“Santa, tell me if you're really there
Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year”

Ricky let the words settle, let the music thread through his chest. He didn’t have to wait. He’d found him. Not admiration. Not a fleeting crush. Something heavier, fuller, quieter and more explosive all at once—love.

He really did fall in love. 

That giddy, fluttering, comforting love that made his stomach fill with warmth and his heart feel too big for his chest.

He smiled softly, letting it stretch and linger, feeling it in every part of him, because this—this warmth, this tiny, perfect, ribboned memory—was his gift. Not wrapped in shiny paper, not tied with a bow, but one that looked like a deer, promising him the happiest of Christmases this year, the next, the year after that, and the next, for many years to come.

And for Ricky, it was the best gift he could have ever received this Christmas.

♡