Archive of Our Own

Joshua woke to the warmth of sunlight filtering through the curtains, its golden beams caressing his face like a gentle nudge from an old friend. He shifted slightly, feeling the weight of strong arms wrapped around him, anchoring him in place. A soft smile crept onto his lips as he turned his head ever so slightly, catching sight of Seokmin’s peaceful face buried against his shoulder. Five years. They had been together for five beautiful, chaotic, unforgettable years, and even now, Joshua’s heart still skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the slumbering man beside him, Joshua extricated himself from Seokmin’s embrace and slipped out of bed. He padded towards the kitchen, the hardwood floor cool beneath his bare feet, and let out a small sigh. Today was Christmas Eve, a day that once held magic and wonder but had dulled over the years. As a child, Joshua had adored Christmas. The sparkling lights, the promise of snow, and the unshakable belief that something truly extraordinary could happen—it had all made the holiday his favorite time of year. But adulthood had a way of draining the magic from things. Obligations, deadlines, and the relentless grind of life had replaced the wonder with weariness.

In South Korea, Christmas wasn’t the grand celebration it was in other parts of the world. It was quieter, more subdued, often just a day for couples or small family gatherings. But when he and Seokmin had moved to America, they’d decided to make their own tradition. Every year, their closest friends would fly in from wherever they were in the world, gathering at Joshua and Seokmin’s home for a non-traditional Christmas feast. It was a day filled with laughter and karaoke. 

Joshua busied himself in the kitchen, assembling a simple breakfast. He brewed a pot of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air, and sliced a piece of the vanilla cake from their café—a little slice of the business they had poured their hearts into. The café had been Seokmin’s idea, a dream of creating a space where people could feel at home, and it had become a cornerstone of their lives. He added a few more touches to the tray and carried it back to the bedroom, a soft hum escaping his lips as he went.

Seokmin was still sprawled across the bed, his hair tousled and his breathing steady. Joshua set the tray down on the bedside table before leaning over to press a series of light kisses against Seokmin’s cheek. “Wake up, lazybones,” he whispered, laughter threading through his voice.

Seokmin stirred, a muffled groan escaping him as he swatted at the air. “Mmm, five more minutes,” he mumbled.

“Come on, baby,” Joshua coaxed, nuzzling into Seokmin’s neck. “I made coffee, and the boys are coming this afternoon. You can’t stay in bed all day.”

Seokmin’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, there was only confusion. His gaze darted around the room before landing on Joshua, and he froze, his entire body stiffening. Joshua frowned, leaning back slightly. “Good morning, love. Are you okay?”

Seokmin’s brows knitted together as he pressed his palms to his temples. “I… Who are you?”

Joshua blinked, his laugh coming out awkward and disbelieving. “Very funny, Seokmin. You know I hate these kinds of jokes.”

But Seokmin didn’t laugh. Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping his head as though it might split in two. “Look, I don’t know if we hooked up last night or what, but I’ve got the worst hangover, and I have no idea who you are.”

The words hit Joshua like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. He stood frozen, staring at Seokmin as though he could will the man to remember. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Seokmin winced, one hand clutching his stomach. “Can you just tell me where the bathroom is?”

Joshua gestured numbly. “First door on the right.”

Without another word, Seokmin bolted from the room, and moments later, the sound of retching echoed through the thin walls. Joshua stood rooted to the spot, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He was still processing when the shrill ring of his phone jolted him into action. He sprinted to the kitchen, snatching the phone off the counter. The screen displayed an unknown number.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice tight with panic.

“Joshua, so glad I caught you,” a melodious voice replied. “How’s Seokmin? Has he forgotten you yet?”

Joshua’s grip on the phone tightened. “Who is this? What have you done to my boyfriend?”

The voice chuckled, light and almost playful. “Joshua Hong, I’ve been watching you for a long time. Do you remember how much you used to love Christmas? You believed in it with your whole heart. But lately, you’ve let cynicism take over. You’ve stopped believing.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Joshua demanded.

“Consider this a lesson,” the voice said, unperturbed. “You have until midnight to make Seokmin remember you. If you fail, his memories of you will be gone forever. Think of it as a reminder that the Christmas spirit still matters. Now, I must go. Good luck, Joshua!”

“Wait!” Joshua shouted, but the line had already gone dead.

Joshua sat down heavily in a chair, the phone still clutched in his hand. His heart pounded, his mind racing as he tried to process the impossible conversation. Who was that? What did they mean Seokmin wouldn’t remember him? It was absurd, cruel—but as his gaze drifted to the closed bathroom door, a sickening fear gripped him. The reality felt like a bad dream, a surreal Christmas nightmare.

"What the hell is going on?" he muttered under his breath, running his fingers through his tousled hair. The festive garland on the mantle and the soft glow of Christmas lights felt mocking, a sharp contrast to the turmoil in his chest.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Joshua rose to his feet. Small steps. He needed to approach this calmly. Seokmin was confused, disoriented, and apparently in pain. If this was real—if Seokmin really didn’t remember—then he must be terrified. Joshua filled a mug with water and grabbed a couple of painkillers from the kitchen drawer. The mug trembled slightly in his hands as he walked to the bathroom door and knocked gently, the sound almost hesitant in the silence of the house.

"Seokmin? Ba-Seokmin? I’ve brought you some medicine for the pain," he said, his voice soft but steady, masking the trembling edge of his panic.

From inside, he heard a faint sigh, followed by the shuffle of feet. The door creaked open to reveal Seokmin standing there, shirtless, his hair a wild mess from sleep. He wore only a pair of loose shorts, and his usually bright, curious eyes were clouded with confusion and unease. Joshua’s heart twisted at the sight.

Seokmin leaned against the doorframe, blinking at Joshua like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. His tan skin seemed to glow under the dim bathroom light, the faint lines of his collarbones and toned chest visible in the soft shadow. He didn’t seem to notice his disheveled state, too wrapped up in the storm of his own thoughts. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking the mug and pills.

Joshua watched as Seokmin downed the medicine quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. When he was done, Seokmin handed the mug back and glanced toward the front door, his brow furrowing. "Look, can we talk?"

Joshua felt the words like a knife to the chest, but he nodded. "Of course," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "But, can we sit down?"

Seokmin shook his head, stepping past Joshua. "I think I need to go home. Sorry, but I don’t know who you are or why I’m here." He paused, his brows knitting together. "What’s your name again?"

Joshua’s breath caught, and he felt like he was being stabbed repeatedly in slow motion. "Joshua," he whispered. "But you… you call me Shua. Or hyung."

Seokmin hesitated, his expression flickering between guilt and confusion. "Right. Sorry. Joshua. I’ll get out of your hair." He made his way to the door, his movements sluggish and unsure, as though the ground beneath him might shift at any moment.

"Seokmin, wait!" Joshua called, hurrying after him. "You hate drinking from glasses because when you were seven, you broke one in your hand and it scared you so much that you’ve avoided them ever since. That’s why I gave you a mug instead of a glass."

Seokmin froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Joshua’s voice came faster now, tinged with desperation. "Your favorite food is kimchi stew, but you secretly love dipping fries in milkshakes, even though you pretend it’s gross. Your favorite color is blue because it reminds you of the ocean, and you’ve always dreamed of singing professionally. You hum when you’re focused, even if you don’t realize you’re doing it."

Joshua’s voice cracked, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Please, Seokmin, just… let’s talk. This is your home, too."

Seokmin turned to face him, his eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, then ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Okay," he said quietly. "Let’s talk."

Joshua’s chest tightened with relief, though his smile was bittersweet. "Come on," he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. He led Seokmin to the table, pulling out a chair for him. "Sit down. I’ll get us some coffee."

Seokmin sat, his movements hesitant, while Joshua retrieved two steaming mugs and a plate of vanilla cake. "This is your favorite," Joshua said, sliding the plate toward Seokmin. "Try it."

Seokmin took a small bite, his brows lifting in surprise. "It’s good," he admitted around a mouthful of cake, his tone carrying a hint of the warmth Joshua missed.

Joshua chuckled softly, a brief reprieve from the tension. "I told you."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Seokmin set his fork down and looked at his hands. "I don’t remember anything. But maybe if you tell me about us, about what happened, it might help."

Joshua nodded, his throat tight. "We’re in America, where I was born. We’ve been together for five years. We own a café called Happy Bean—it was your idea. You’re also a photographer, and these are your pictures." He gestured to the wall, where a mix of artistic shots and candid moments hung in frames. In the center was a photo of the two of them, smiling brightly, their arms around each other.

Seokmin’s gaze lingered on the photos, his expression softening. "And how did I forget all of this?"

Joshua hesitated, then took a deep breath. "You might not believe this, but I got a call this morning. Someone told me I have until midnight to help you remember us. If I don’t your memories of me will be gone forever."

Seokmin blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "That’s insane."

"I know," Joshua said quickly. "But it’s true. And I’m going to do everything I can to make you remember."

Seokmin studied him for a long moment, then gave a small, hesitant smile. "Well, if this is my life, it sounds like a pretty good one."

Joshua’s heart ached with longing, but he forced himself to hold back. "I’ll help you remember," he promised. "Our friends are coming over later. Maybe seeing them will help. Do you remember Mingyu? Seungkwan? Jeonghan?"

Seokmin’s eyes lit up. "Yeah! I remember them!"

Joshua’s breath caught. "Wait, so you remember everyone but me?"

Seokmin’s face fell. "I guess so. But I want to remember you, hyung."

Joshua swallowed the lump in his throat, determination hardening his resolve. "We’ll make it happen," he said softly. "No matter what it takes."

Joshua got up and leaned against the kitchen counter, his phone in hand as he gathered his thoughts. His heart beat a little faster, nervous and hopeful all at once. “Hey, Seokmin,” he said softly, glancing up. “I want to show you something.”

Seokmin, who was perched on a chair nearby, blinked and tilted his head. “Show me what, hyung?”

Joshua stepped closer, holding up his phone. “Some of my favorite pictures of us,” he said, his voice warm.

Seokmin’s lips quirked into a smile as he scooted forward, intrigued. “Of us?”

“Yeah, us,” Joshua said with a soft laugh, already scrolling through his gallery. He tapped on a photo and held the phone out for Seokmin to see. “Look at this one.”

The picture showed the two of them standing outside the Happy Bean café, grinning from ear to ear as they held up a rustic wooden “OPEN” sign.

“This was the day we opened the café,” Joshua explained, his voice rich with emotion. “We’d worked so hard for so long—late nights, early mornings, so much stress—but it was worth it. This was our dream, and we made it happen.”

Seokmin studied the photo carefully, his fingers lightly brushing the screen. “You look really happy here,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“We were,” Joshua replied, his gaze fixed on Seokmin. “We are.”

Joshua swiped to the next photo, his smile widening. “And this one... this was last Christmas.”

The new photo showed the two of them cuddled up on the couch, buried under red-and-white plaid blankets. A warm glow from the TV illuminated their relaxed faces as they laughed at something unseen.

“You insist on watching While You Were Sleeping every single Christmas,” Joshua said, his tone playful. “And last year, you even managed to drag Seungkwan and Vernon into it.”

Seokmin’s face lit up with a laugh. “Well, Sandra Bullock is perfect in that movie! You can’t blame me.”

Joshua snorted, giving Seokmin’s arm a light tap. “I realized you had a crush on Sandra Bullock ages ago.”

“Can you blame me, though?” Seokmin quipped, his grin as wide as ever.

Joshua shook his head fondly and swiped to the next photo—a slightly chaotic but endearing selfie taken in their kitchen. Flour and sauce smudged both their faces, and Joshua’s arm was outstretched, capturing the moment as they laughed so hard the camera blurred.

“Ah, this one,” Joshua began, his cheeks tinged with pink. “I came home to you almost burning the kitchen down. I had to step in before we both went up in flames.”

Seokmin threw his head back, laughing. “And did we at least manage to eat whatever we were cooking?”

Joshua blushed faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No,” he admitted with a soft laugh. “We got distracted.”

Seokmin turned to look at him, his expression unreadable for a moment before he murmured, “We look really happy, hyung.”

Joshua’s heart skipped a beat. “We are really happy,” he said firmly, holding Seokmin’s gaze. “What do you say we stop by the café? One of us always checks in during the morning.”

Seokmin nodded, still looking at him with that curious, slightly faraway expression. “Sure, let’s go.”

The walk to the café was short, but it felt longer than usual. Their home was just a few blocks away, and the route was so familiar they could walk it with their eyes closed. Normally, Seokmin would chatter nonstop, filling the silence with his endless stream of thoughts and musings. Joshua loved those walks, always content to listen.

But today, there was no chatter.

Joshua glanced at Seokmin as they walked side by side, their hands brushing occasionally but never quite meeting. Seokmin seemed lost in thought, his lips slightly pursed, his brows drawn together. Joshua would have traded the secrets of the universe to understand what Seokmin was feeling at that moment.

“We’re here,” Joshua said softly as they stopped in front of the Happy Bean.

Seokmin’s eyes widened, his expression brightening instantly. “Wow, hyung!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with excitement. He practically bounced on his feet, his gaze darting over the café’s charming facade.

The Happy Bean was everything they’d dreamed it would be—a little slice of warmth in the city. Its exterior was painted a soft cream, with dark wooden accents giving it a vintage charm. A wreath adorned with holly and twinkling lights hung on the door, and the windows were frosted with decorative snowflakes. Tiny fairy lights framed the sign above the door, their gentle glow adding to the magic.

“Come on,” Joshua said, pushing the door open. “Let’s go inside.”

The interior was even cozier. Plush sofas in deep green and burgundy were arranged around small wooden tables. A fireplace crackled in the corner, its warmth filling the room. Shelves lined the walls, holding books, board games, and jars of coffee beans.

Seokmin walked inside slowly, his eyes wide as he took it all in.

Joshua followed, watching Seokmin’s expression with a soft smile. Joshua’s heart ached, but for the first time in days, it wasn’t from sadness. There was something magical about watching Seokmin fall in love with their dream all over again, as if seeing it for the first time.

“FINALLY, you two are here!”

The loud, exasperated voice belonged to Seungkwan, who stood behind the counter with his blonde hair sticking out in all directions and his barista apron slightly askew.

“I was about to call you, Joshua hyung, to see if you were still alive,” Seungkwan added, waving a spatula for emphasis.

Seokmin gasped dramatically. “SEUNGKWANIE!”

Seungkwan gave him a puzzled look. “Uh, yeah...?” He shook his head. “Anyway, my boyfriend is on his way, so we’ll be ready to open soon.”

“YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?!” Seokmin shouted, his eyes impossibly wide.

Seungkwan frowned, clearly thrown off. “Yeah, Hansol. What’s your deal today?”

Joshua sighed, rubbing his temples. “They’ve been dating for a year,” he explained. “Seungkwan just refuses to call Hansol by his name and insists on ‘my boyfriend.’”

“Hey, it’s cute!” Seungkwan shot back. “Not my fault you two are practically married.”

Joshua rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “Seokmin, why don’t you go say hi to Mingyu in the kitchen?”

“Sure!” Seokmin grinned, heading toward the back before stopping mid-step. He turned back, whispering, “I don’t know where the kitchen is.”

Joshua chuckled, pointing. “Straight ahead, second door on your left.”

As Seokmin wandered off, Seungkwan turned to Joshua, his hands on his hips. “Alright, spill. What’s going on?”

Joshua groaned, leaning against the counter. “It’s a long story.”

Seungkwan narrowed his eyes. “I’ve got time, hyung. Let me make you a latte—you look like you need one.”

Joshua sighed and started explaining everything, from Seokmin losing his memories to the magical Christmas deadline. Seungkwan listened intently, his expressions ranging from shock to disbelief to something that resembled grudging sympathy.

“So, you’re basically living in a Mariah Carey song?” Seungkwan deadpanned.

Before Joshua could respond, Mingyu appeared, dusted with flour and looking bewildered. “Hyung, I think Seokmin hit his head harder than we thought.”

Joshua sighed deeply.

“Basically, my mind magically erased Joshua hyung because he doesn’t believe in Christmas,” Seokmin declared matter-of-factly.

Mingyu’s jaw dropped. “You don’t believe in Christmas?”

“Of course that’s what sticks with you,” Seungkwan groaned.

Joshua pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re going home. Don’t forget about the party tonight, okay?”

Seungkwan stepped out from behind the counter to hug Joshua. “Don’t worry, hyung. We’ve got everything under control. See you tonight.”

As they left, Mingyu wrapped Seokmin in a bear hug, leaving Joshua with a glimmer of hope for the night ahead.

The walk back home felt different, almost dreamlike. The late afternoon light bathed the streets in gold, but it was Seokmin who seemed to glow. His usual effervescent energy had returned, and for the first time in days, Joshua saw a glimpse of the man he fell in love with.

Seokmin peppered him with endless questions, his curiosity as boundless as ever.

“Do I usually help you at the café?”

“Most mornings,” Joshua replied with a small smile.

“And do I make the coffee, or do you handle that?”

“You’re technically allowed to touch the espresso machine, but it’s debatable if you should.”

Seokmin gasped in mock outrage. “Hyung, are you saying I’m bad at it?”

“I’m saying you have your own creative approach.”

“And do I flirt with the customers?”

Joshua choked on his laugh, his cheeks tinged pink. “Not intentionally. But let’s just say your charm is unavoidable.”

Seokmin grinned, walking a little closer. Joshua’s heart twisted; this was the Seokmin he remembered—playful, magnetic, and utterly himself.

As they stepped inside their home, Seokmin lit up. “Hyung! We should decorate for Christmas! Do we usually do that together?”

Joshua chuckled, closing the door behind him. “Every year. But if we’re doing this, you’re helping.”

“Obviously!” Seokmin puffed out his chest, marching toward the attic. “Where do we keep the decorations?”

Joshua pointed upward. “In the attic. Top shelf, left corner.”

Moments later, a scream echoed through the house.

“JOSHUA HYUNG!”

Joshua dropped everything, racing up the stairs to find Seokmin frozen in place, clutching a box of ornaments like it was about to explode.

“Spider,” Seokmin whispered, eyes wide with terror.

Joshua glanced at the tiny, motionless creature in the corner and burst out laughing. “That? That’s what you’re afraid of?”

“Hyung,” Seokmin said gravely, “spiders are humanity’s oldest enemy.”

Still laughing, Joshua shook his head and grabbed the box. “You’re unbelievable. Come on, dragon slayer, let’s go.”

Back in the living room, they got to work. Or rather, Joshua worked while Seokmin created chaos. Garlands were draped too high, ornaments were placed haphazardly, and the lights—oh, the lights—became a tangled mess within minutes.

But something about it all felt perfect.

As they worked side by side, Joshua couldn’t help but notice how natural it all felt. Their movements were so synchronized, so effortless, it was as if their bodies remembered the rhythm of years spent together, even if Seokmin’s mind did not.

Joshua paused, mid-garland, watching Seokmin hum along to a Christmas song. For a moment, it was easy to pretend that everything was normal. That Seokmin remembered the years they had shared, the quiet moments, the laughter, the love.

“Hyung?” Seokmin’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“What do I usually do during lunch?”

Joshua blinked, taken aback by the question, before a small smile crept onto his lips. “You sit on the counter and hold what you call a ‘Shua Session.’”

Seokmin tilted his head, curious. “What’s that?”

“It’s where you play my favorite songs, turn the kitchen into your personal karaoke stage, and pretend to clean up while making more of a mess.”

Seokmin’s laugh was loud and bright, filling the room like sunshine on a cold day. “And you like that?”

Joshua turned to him, his smile softening. “It’s my favorite part of the day.”

Seokmin’s grin widened, and he hopped onto the counter, pulling out Joshua’s phone. “Well then, we can’t break tradition, can we?”

He scrolled through a playlist titled KyomShua Jam Session and hit play. As the first notes filled the air, Seokmin glanced at Joshua. “Hyung, you have great taste in music.”

Joshua smirked, stirring a pot on the stove. “And why do you sound so surprised, Mr. Seokmin?”

With the music playing, Seokmin’s voice joined in. He sang dramatically, using a spatula as a microphone, occasionally breaking into exaggerated dance moves. Joshua shook his head, laughing as he chopped vegetables, stealing glances at the chaotic scene.

Lunch was a slow, comfortable affair. They sat at the table, the tree half-decorated in the background, as Seokmin fired off question after question.

“What’s your favorite Sanrio character?”

“Cinnamoroll, because you say we look alike.”

“What’s your worst habit?”

“I’m too patient with you.”

“What do you love most in the world?”

Joshua hesitated, his gaze softening. “You.”

Seokmin froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Then, with a nervous laugh, he waved it off. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, or maybe a spark of something new.

The tree itself was a monstrosity, nearly too large for their cozy living room.

“Do I always insist on giant trees?” Seokmin asked, standing back to admire their work.

“Every year,” Joshua confirmed, shaking his head. “And every year, I regret letting you win.”

They unpacked ornaments together, each one holding a story. Joshua’s fingers brushed against a small, hand-painted ornament with their names written in neat cursive beneath the date of their first Christmas together.

“My mom took us to a pottery class,” Joshua explained, holding it up for Seokmin to see. “You mocked my handwriting the entire time and spilled paint all over me.”

Seokmin reached out, cradling the ornament like it was fragile. His thumb traced the painted letters, his expression unreadable. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something Joshua couldn’t quite place.

They finished with the lights, which, of course, ended in disaster.

“Hyung, move your foot!”

“That’s your foot, Seokmin!” Joshua snapped back, exasperated but smiling.

The argument was cut short as Joshua’s foot caught on a stray string of lights, sending him tumbling forward. Before he could hit the ground, Seokmin’s arms were there—strong, steady, catching him mid-fall.

The world tilted, then stilled.

Joshua found himself pressed against Seokmin, his hands splayed across the other’s chest, feeling the warmth beneath the soft fabric of his sweater. Seokmin’s hands had instinctively moved to his waist, holding him firmly, as if to anchor him.

Their faces were impossibly close. Joshua could see every detail: the flecks of gold in Seokmin’s dark eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his cheeks were faintly flushed. He could feel Seokmin’s breath, warm and shallow, ghosting across his own.

Time seemed to stop. The faint hum of Christmas music in the background faded, and all that existed was this moment—their tangled limbs, their shared breath, the electric tension that crackled between them.

Joshua’s heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing a truth he couldn’t deny: he wanted this. He wanted to stay like this, to close the tiny gap between them, to let his heart speak all the words he had kept bottled up since the accident.

Seokmin’s gaze softened, his arms tightening just slightly, as though afraid to let Joshua go. His eyes searched Joshua’s, curious, vulnerable, as if asking a silent question neither of them dared to voice.

Joshua’s breath hitched. He could feel the pull, the magnetic force that had always drawn him to Seokmin. It would be so easy to give in, to let his feelings take over. But then, a familiar weight settled in his chest—guilt.

Seokmin didn’t remember. He didn’t remember their first kiss under the mistletoe five years ago, the nights they spent talking until dawn, the promises they had made to each other. Joshua didn’t want to take advantage of the blank slate Seokmin now carried. It felt wrong to crave this, to hope for something that Seokmin couldn’t fully give.

“I’m sorry,” Joshua murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The spell broke as he pulled away abruptly, his hands falling to his sides. The warmth of Seokmin’s touch lingered, and Joshua missed it immediately. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Seokmin’s eyes, afraid of what he might see—or worse, what he wouldn’t.

Seokmin didn’t say anything at first. His hands hovered where Joshua had been, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible sigh, he let his arms drop.

“Hyung…” Seokmin started, his tone gentle, but Joshua cut him off with a nervous laugh.

“Let’s finish the tree,” Joshua said quickly, turning his back to Seokmin. His hands trembled slightly as he picked up an ornament, but he forced himself to focus.

Behind him, Seokmin lingered for a moment, as if debating whether to push the conversation further. But then he moved back to the tree, his footsteps light but hesitant, the silence between them speaking louder than words.

As they continued decorating, the air between them felt heavier with unspoken emotions. Joshua’s mind raced as he glanced at Seokmin beside him, the soft glow of the Christmas lights painting his face in hues of gold and red. This moment, this closeness—they felt like fragments of a life Joshua thought had slipped through his fingers forever. And yet, here they were, piecing together memories, one ornament at a time.

When the tree was finally complete, they lay beneath it together, side by side, staring up at the twinkling lights that danced across the room like tiny stars. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable, as if the universe was holding its breath just for them.

Seokmin turned his head slightly, his voice soft as snow falling outside. “I found this letter with the decorations,” he said, holding up a piece of paper worn from time and touch. “Did I… write it for you?”

Joshua’s heart squeezed. His fingers hesitated before brushing over Seokmin’s hand, gently taking the letter. “You did,” he replied quietly. “It was the first letter you ever wrote to me. Did you know we spent Christmas together five years ago? That was the night we became a couple. And on our first anniversary, you gave this to me. Every year since, I’ve made you read it to me again.”

Seokmin’s eyes, wide with a mix of wonder and longing, flicked back to the letter. His voice was barely audible when he asked, “When is our anniversary?”

Joshua tried to smile, but it faltered under the weight of his sadness. “Today,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting Seokmin’s once more.

Seokmin blinked at him, his expression unreadable as he unfolded the letter with careful fingers. The rustle of the paper seemed louder in the stillness between them. He began to read:

"Joshua,
You’ve taught me that love isn’t just a feeling; it’s a choice we make every day to cherish, to protect, and to grow together. I choose you. Today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Thank you for being my beginning and my forever. "

Seokmin’s voice wavered on the last sentence, and when he finished, the room fell into a profound silence. Joshua’s heart ached with the weight of the words, their meaning amplified by the ache of memories Seokmin no longer held.

They lay there, side by side, as if the world had paused to let them breathe. Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity, letting the words settle in the spaces between them, filling the cracks in their hearts.

Finally, Seokmin turned to him, his voice a whisper that trembled with quiet certainty. “I think even if I didn’t remember you, I’d fall in love with you all over again.”

Joshua’s breath hitched, tears slipping free before he could stop them. Seokmin reached out, threading their fingers together. His grip was firm, grounding, as if to say: I’m not going anywhere.

The doorbell rang, breaking the moment. Joshua rose to answer it, revealing Jeonghan wrapped in a ridiculous number of coats, his long hair tucked into a fluffy scarf.

“I heard we’re starring in a cheesy Christmas movie,” Jeonghan said with a grin. “I came to help.”

Joshua sighed, relief washing over him. “Thank God.”

Jeonghan stepped inside, his gaze sharp despite his teasing tone. “That bad, huh? Why didn’t you call me?”

Joshua ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what to say. This is killing me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Jeonghan placed a firm hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

He wandered into the living room, immediately striking up a conversation with Seokmin.

“There you are,” Jeonghan called back to Joshua. “Go shower and get ready. I’ll chat with Seokmin for a bit.”

Joshua hesitated but obeyed, his steps heavy as he climbed the stairs.

The shower did little to calm him. The day was almost over, and Seokmin still didn’t remember. Desperation clawed at his heart, but he steeled himself. Even if everything went wrong, he would never give up.

Dressing in a soft knit sweater and tailored pants, he forced himself to breathe. The man he loved was still here, even if their memories were not. That had to be enough.

When he returned, Seokmin looked up, his eyes wide. “Wow, hyung. You look really…”

“Really what?” Joshua asked, confused.

Jeonghan smirked. “Some things never change, even with magical amnesia. Now, come on. I’ll go with you.”

Seokmin waved them off. “Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll stay here, wait for the food, and get ready. I’ll be fine.”

Joshua nodded, stealing one last glance at Seokmin before stepping out. Something about the way Seokmin smiled at him made him think maybe, just maybe, they’d be okay.

The drive to the airport carried the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if speaking too loudly might shatter it. Snowflakes began to drift lazily outside, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. Inside the car, the heater hummed gently, and a holiday playlist played faintly in the background, its cheerful notes contrasting with the heaviness that clung to Joshua’s heart.

He sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the city blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. His thoughts churned in time with the rhythm of the windshield wipers.

“He told me he’d fall in love with me again,” Joshua finally murmured, his voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the music. His fingers traced invisible patterns on the frosted glass. “But what if he doesn’t? What if this time, I’m not enough?”

Jeonghan glanced over briefly, his profile illuminated by the faint red glow of the dashboard. A small, knowing smile played on his lips. “Joshua,” he said, his tone warm and teasing, “have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s like you hung the moon and stars just for him. Some things are meant to be. Not time, not memory—nothing can change that.”

Joshua turned to look at his best friend, his expression open and vulnerable in a way few people ever saw. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of the words.

Jeonghan’s smile softened. He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “I talked to Seokmin,” he said gently. “He doesn’t remember the details, no. But he wants to try. He wants to get back to what you had, even if it takes time. You said it was tied to Christmas, right? Maybe tonight, with everyone together, something will spark. Don’t give up on him, Shua. He hasn’t given up on you.”

The rest of the drive was quieter, both men lost in their thoughts. Jeonghan hummed along to a carol on the radio, and Joshua leaned his head against the window, closing his eyes for a moment of peace.

When they arrived at the airport, the chaos of the holiday crowd hit them like a tidal wave. Families reunited with laughter and tears, hurried travelers dodged luggage carts, and carolers in the corner added a festive flair.

Joshua spotted them immediately. Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo emerged from the crowd, their contrasting personalities as obvious as ever. Jihoon led the group, his sharp eyes scanning the area with mild irritation as he hauled his suitcase. Soonyoung trailed behind him, chattering incessantly and gesturing wildly. Wonwoo brought up the rear, his usual serene expression unbothered by the commotion.

“Finally,” Jihoon muttered as he reached them, brushing snow off his coat. “This place is a nightmare.”

“Only because you refused to let me hold your bag!” Soonyoung protested, his indignation as theatrical as always.

“Because I don’t want you dropping it down an escalator,” Jihoon shot back, earning a dramatic gasp from Soonyoung.

“Boys,” Wonwoo interjected smoothly, stepping between them and sliding into the backseat of Jeonghan’s car. “Shall we?”

As they drove back, the conversation inevitably shifted to Seokmin.

“So…” Soonyoung began, leaning forward with an exaggerated whisper. “Are we talking 50 First Dates here? Full Drew Barrymore mode?”

Joshua groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Does everyone have a movie reference for this?”

Wonwoo tilted his head, finally breaking his calm demeanor. “So it’s true?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Jeonghan, ever the diplomat, explained the situation as Joshua stared out the window again. The reactions were as varied as the personalities in the car. Soonyoung was equal parts horrified and fascinated and Jihoon muttered something about how this sounded like bad fanfiction.

By the time they pulled up to Joshua’s house, laughter had replaced the tension. The sound of karaoke greeted them as soon as the door opened. Seokmin and Seungkwan’s voices carried through the house in what could only be described as a very enthusiastic—if slightly off-key—rendition of a holiday ballad.

Jeonghan turned to the group with a grin, his hand resting on the car door. “Don’t worry, my husband’s here,” he announced dramatically. “He’ll fix everything.”

The collective groan was instant.

“Seriously?” Jihoon muttered. “It should’ve been illegal for you to marry Seungcheol hyung just so we wouldn’t have to hear that.”

Jeonghan smirked, unfazed. “Jihoonie, it’s not my fault you’re too shy to admit who your boyfriend is.”

Inside, the warmth was immediate—both in temperature and atmosphere. The house was alive with laughter, music, and the scent of holiday cooking. Hugs and greetings were exchanged as everyone gathered in the living room, falling naturally into their familiar rhythm.

The living room was buzzing with warmth and laughter, the kind that made even the coldest winter nights feel like distant memories. Joshua weaved through the throng of friends, his heart heavy with the weight of what the night could mean. He stepped into the kitchen, searching for a moment of quiet—and a beer.

“Sometimes Minghao is just so mean,” Seokmin’s familiar voice mumbled from the corner, his pout evident even without looking. He stood by the counter, arms crossed, as if the injustice of being banned from karaoke was the greatest betrayal of his life.

Joshua’s lips curved into a soft smile as he grabbed two beers from the fridge. “Here,” he offered, handing one to Seokmin, who took it with a dramatic sigh.

“Thank you, hyung,” Seokmin said, cracking it open. His eyes lingered on Joshua longer than necessary, as if drawn to him by an invisible force.

The house brimmed with the kind of chaos that only their group could create. Friends moved in and out of conversations, laughter echoing against the walls. Some were gathered near the karaoke machine, others clustered around the couch, deep in discussion about a board game nobody could agree on the rules for.

Even as Joshua moved through the house, fielding teasing comments and answering curious glances, he was acutely aware of Seokmin’s presence. It was as if the other man carried a quiet gravity, tethering Joshua to him no matter how far apart they seemed. Seokmin’s gaze followed him like a soft, unspoken promise, and Joshua could feel it—steady and warm, like a constant hum in the background of the festive noise.

At one point, Seokmin approached him, leaning in just close enough that Joshua could hear his soft question over the chatter. “Would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?”

Joshua glanced at him, a bit surprised but unable to suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Sure,” he replied, his voice tinged with curiosity.

They slipped out into the crisp winter night, leaving the cheerful hum of the house behind. The air was sharp and clean, filled with the faint scent of pine, and the world outside was blanketed in a pristine layer of snow. Strings of Christmas lights adorned the house and the surrounding trees, casting a soft, colorful glow that reflected off the snow like scattered stardust. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, catching the light as they fell, and the silence was broken only by the muffled sounds of laughter and music from inside.

Joshua turned to Seokmin, ready to ask what had prompted him to come out here, but stopped short when he realized Seokmin was already looking at him. His dark eyes shone with something that felt like both love and longing, and Joshua’s breath caught at the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s perfect out here, isn’t it?” Joshua murmured, his voice barely louder than the snowflakes landing around them.

Seokmin’s lips curled into a soft smile as he nodded. “It is,” he agreed, though his gaze never left Joshua’s face.

From inside the house, the faint notes of a romantic Christmas song began to play—“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”—the melody wrapping around them like an invisible thread. Seokmin’s smile turned playful as he extended his hand toward Joshua with a dramatic flourish. “May I have this dance, Mr. Joshua Hong?” he asked, his tone half-serious, half-teasing.

Joshua laughed, the sound warm and free, even in the cold. “In the snow? You’re crazy,” he replied, though his hand slipped easily into Seokmin’s, as if it belonged there.

“Maybe,” Seokmin said with a grin, pulling him closer. “But you already knew that.”

They began to move slowly, swaying to the music that filtered through the windows. The snow fell around them in a soft, shimmering veil, their breath visible in the frosty air as they moved together. Seokmin’s hands were warm against Joshua’s, and Joshua felt a calm settle over him—a quiet kind of happiness he hadn’t realized he’d been yearning for.

As they danced, Joshua felt the rest of the world fade into the background. All that existed was the steady rhythm of the music, the glow of the lights, and Seokmin. He leaned into the moment, feeling safe, cherished, and utterly present in a way that left him breathless.

When the song faded, they stopped moving but didn’t step away. They stood there, their faces inches apart, their breaths mingling in the cold night air. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, their eyes locked in a silent conversation.

“Come on,” Joshua said softly, breaking the spell with a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s time for dinner.”

Seokmin nodded, his hand still in Joshua’s as they turned back toward the house. They walked inside together, fingers laced, leaving their footprints behind in the snow—a quiet testament to the moment they’d shared under the stars.

The dining table was a sight to behold. Plates of steaming food filled every inch of space, the aroma of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and freshly baked desserts filling the air. Joshua looked around at the faces of his friends—the family they had all chosen—and felt a pang of gratitude mixed with apprehension.

As everyone settled into their seats, Seokmin stood, his beer still in hand. He cleared his throat, drawing the group’s attention. “I know I still don’t remember everything,” he began, his voice steady but soft, “but there’s one thing I’m certain of. I’m grateful for Joshua hyung every single day, especially today.”

The room fell silent as his words hung in the air. Seokmin’s eyes were locked on Joshua, his expression open and vulnerable. “Even without my memories, there’s something about him that feels like home. Like no matter what happens, I’ll always find my way back to him.”

Joshua’s heart clenched. The world blurred for a moment, but Seokmin’s voice pulled him back. “And I’m grateful for all of you too,” Seokmin continued, looking around the table. “You’ve made this feel less scary. Like I’m not starting over alone.”

“Alright, alright, sit down before you make us all cry,” Junhui quipped, breaking the tension with his signature grin. The group erupted into laughter as Seokmin chuckled and took his seat.

Dinner passed in a haze of food, conversation, and laughter. Joshua couldn’t shake his worry as the clock ticked closer to midnight, but the sight of his friends—his family—eased some of the tension.

As the clock neared midnight, everyone gathered in the living room for the exchange of gifts. Joshua fidgeted, his eyes flickering between the clock and Seokmin.

Seokmin, always attuned to Joshua’s emotions, noticed the tension in his grip and the way his eyes darted to the clock. With a soft smile, Seokmin reached out and gently took Joshua's hand, his fingers lacing with his as they continued to watch their friends unwrap their presents.

Everyone else was too caught up in the moment to notice, but Seokmin knew Joshua’s mind was elsewhere. The seconds seemed to stretch on forever, until finally, it was Seokmin’s turn. He handed Joshua a small, wrapped gift. The paper crinkled as Joshua opened it, revealing a photograph—a moment frozen in time.

It was a photo of them, just the two of them, caught in a quiet moment of connection. Their gazes locked, faces close, as though the world around them didn’t exist. Joshua didn’t remember when the photo had been taken, but something about it felt like it belonged to him.

Seokmin’s voice broke the silence, soft and sincere: “It felt right to give this to you.”

The room was still as everyone waited for Joshua’s reaction. His fingers traced the edge of the photo, and Seokmin’s heart skipped a beat as he watched Joshua’s eyes soften, his lips parted as if searching for the right words.

Suddenly, the moment was interrupted by Seungcheol, who appeared out of nowhere, shoving Mingyu into the space next to Seokmin and Joshua. Mingyu, grinning mischievously, raised his arm above their heads and shouted, “You know the rule!”

Seokmin’s gaze flickered to Joshua, his dark eyes shimmering with unspoken questions. He hesitated for only a moment, searching Joshua’s face as if seeking permission, his expression a mix of vulnerability and determination. Joshua gave the smallest of nods, his breath catching as Seokmin stepped closer.

The world around them seemed to hold its breath. The faint hum of Christmas music, the quiet murmur of their friends inside, the flicker of the fireplace through the window—all of it faded into insignificance as Seokmin lifted a trembling hand. Gently, almost reverently, he cupped Joshua’s jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across his cheek.

Joshua’s heart pounded, his pulse roaring in his ears as Seokmin’s other arm slid securely around his waist, pulling him closer until there was barely any space left between them. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, everything stilled. Then Seokmin leaned in, closing the gap between them, and their lips met.

The kiss was anything but tentative. It was fierce, consuming, and charged with everything they hadn’t been able to say. It was an apology, a promise, and a confession all at once. Seokmin kissed him with a kind of desperation, as if trying to pour all the lost memories and unspoken feelings into Joshua, and Joshua kissed back just as fiercely, his hands clutching at Seokmin’s shirt as if letting go would shatter him.

Time unraveled, stretching and folding into itself. This kiss wasn’t just a reunion—it was a goodbye to the fractured past they had shared and a tentative hello to a future they were about to create. It was raw, unfiltered emotion, and in that moment, nothing else existed.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled in the cold night air, clouding around them like fragile ghosts. Seokmin’s eyes remained closed, his forehead resting gently against Joshua’s. A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft, trembling with emotion.

“Joshua Hong,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight that made Joshua’s chest ache. “Nothing and no one could ever make me forget us.”

Joshua’s breath hitched, his vision blurring with unshed tears. His hands tightened in Seokmin’s shirt, grounding himself in the moment. “You… you remember?” he asked, his voice breaking on the last syllable.

Seokmin opened his eyes then, and Joshua saw nothing but warmth and certainty in them. His smile widened, radiant and sincere. “How could I ever forget you?” he said, his tone so filled with conviction that Joshua felt the words settle deep in his soul.

A choked sob escaped Joshua as relief flooded through him. He threw his arms around Seokmin, holding him as tightly as he dared. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. “I missed you,” he whispered, his voice muffled against Seokmin’s shoulder before he pulled back just enough to kiss him again.

This time, the kiss was softer but no less intense, a quiet affirmation that they were here, together, against all odds. Joshua poured his gratitude, his love, and his hope into that kiss, letting Seokmin feel every bit of the emotions coursing through him.

When they parted again, their foreheads pressed together, Seokmin wiped away one of Joshua’s tears with his thumb, his smile never faltering. “We’ll always find our way back,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure.

“Can I put my arm down now?” Mingyu grumbled, earning another wave of laughter.

“Not until you shrink five inches,” Jeonghan quipped, making everyone laugh harder.

The celebration carried on, filled with music and joy. But later that night, when the house was quiet and they were lying in the dark, Seokmin turned to Joshua.

“Do you believe in Christmas now?” he asked softly.

Joshua smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Seokmin’s face. “I believe in it, and I believe in you,” he said, his tone playful.

Seokmin laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “You know, hyung, I fell in love with you all over again today,” he confessed.

Joshua’s heart swelled. “Good,” he said, grinning. “Because I don’t plan on letting you stop.”

Seokmin grew serious for a moment, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’d trade every memory I’ve ever had if it meant I could spend even one day by your side.”

Joshua blinked, his throat tightening again.

As they lay in the quiet darkness, their breathing soft and steady, Seokmin shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Joshua. His eyes, warm and impossibly tender, traced every curve of Joshua’s face as if memorizing him all over again. Joshua met his gaze with a soft smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from Seokmin’s forehead.

“I’ve been thinking,” Seokmin began, his voice low but steady, carrying an undercurrent of something that made Joshua’s chest tighten.

Joshua tilted his head, curiosity blooming in his expression. “About what?”

Seokmin didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached toward the bedside table, his movements deliberate. Joshua’s brow furrowed slightly as he watched, his breath catching when Seokmin turned back to him with a small velvet box in his hand.

The room seemed to hold its breath. The only sounds were the faint whistle of the wind outside and the soft rustle of the snow against the window. Seokmin sat up, and Joshua followed, their knees brushing as they faced each other.

Seokmin’s hand trembled slightly as he opened the box, revealing a simple yet elegant ring that gleamed faintly in the dim light. His gaze flickered back to Joshua, his eyes swimming with love and certainty.

“I didn’t plan this,” Seokmin admitted, his voice a little shaky now. “But tonight—being here with you, remembering everything we’ve been through—it just feels right. You’re my everything, Joshua. Even when I couldn’t remember, some part of me still knew. I don’t want to waste another second without making sure you know just how much you mean to me.”

Joshua’s hands flew to his mouth, tears already pooling in his eyes as Seokmin took a deep, steadying breath.

“So,” Seokmin said, his tone lighter now but no less earnest as he held out the ring, “would you marry me?”

Joshua let out a watery laugh, his heart overflowing. He reached out, cupping Seokmin’s face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to slip down Seokmin’s cheeks. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “A thousand times yes.”

Seokmin’s relieved, radiant smile was enough to steal Joshua’s breath. Joshua leaned in, closing the gap between them in a kiss that was full of promise. When they pulled apart, Joshua rested his forehead against Seokmin’s, his hands still cradling his face. “Even if you forget again,” he murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice, “I’ll always make you remember us.”

Seokmin laughed softly, his arms winding around Joshua’s waist as he held him close. “I won’t forget. Not this time,” he said firmly.

Outside, snow fell in a quiet, graceful rhythm, blanketing the world in a stillness that felt enchanted. The soft glow of Christmas lights reflected off the frost-kissed ground, painting the night in a shimmering, otherworldly beauty. Inside, the warmth was palpable—not just from the crackling fireplace or the soft hum of holiday music, but from the love that filled the room.

Unseen to all but present nonetheless, the spirit of Christmas lingered in the room, watching with quiet satisfaction. It was not a mere idea but a living magic, weaving itself into the fabric of their story. This moment was its triumph—a gift of love rediscovered, of hearts bound together against the odds. It had worked its wonders silently, guiding them back to one another with whispers carried on winter winds and memories sparked by twinkling lights.

As Joshua and Seokmin lay together, the world beyond seemed to fade away. The magic of the season enveloped them, promising not just this moment but infinite others—Christmases yet to come. The spirit of Christmas smiled, knowing its work was far from over. For these two souls, it would ensure a lifetime of magic and infinite holidays spent together, each one a testament to the power of love and the miracles the season could bring.