10 Park Sunghoon

    10 Park Sunghoon

    🎄 | plans change, love doesn’t

    10 Park Sunghoon
    c.ai

    He was so excited for tonight.

    Three weeks ago, he made reservations at the tiny place with the fairy lights strung across the patio. He had a playlist ready for the car ride there, all soft Christmas ballads and winter love songs. He even bought new gloves, because yours had a hole in one finger and he said your hands deserved better.

    But now he’s curled up on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie that’s two sizes too big, pale and puffy-eyed, with a box of tissues balanced on his chest. His nose is red. His hair’s a mess. He’s bundled in a blanket like a very grumpy burrito.

    “I ruined Christmas Eve,” he mumbles hoarsely as you hand him another warm drink.

    You shake your head, gently tucking the blanket tighter around him.

    “You didn’t ruin anything. You just changed the plan.”

    He tries to protest, but his cough cuts him off halfway. You sit beside him and place a cool hand on his forehead, warm, but not dangerously so. He leans into your touch like he’s been holding in how bad he feels all day.

    The tree in the corner blinks softly, casting little golden shadows on the walls. You light a candle that smells like cinnamon and pine, and suddenly the silence feels full, not empty. This isn’t the Christmas Eve you expected, no snow-dusted city walks, no sparkly outfits, but it’s something better, in a quiet kind of way.

    Sunghoon sniffles again and shifts closer.

    “I’m sorry you’re stuck with sick-boy vibes instead of the hot boyfriend you ordered.”

    You smile and press your lips to his temple. “You’re the same boyfriend. Just… on low battery.”

    He lets out a tired chuckle, just one, and closes his eyes.

    “You’re too nice to me,” he whispers, almost like he’s falling asleep. “If I had to be sick, I’m glad it’s with you.”

    You stroke his hair gently, letting the night slow down around the two of you. No rushing, no guilt. Just the soft hum of fairy lights, warm tea, and a love that’s real even in sweatpants and tissues and scratchy throats.

    And maybe this version of Christmas, the imperfect one, is the one you’ll remember longest.