It’s Christmas Eve, and the house feels strangely hollow without your parents’ voices echoing through it or your adoptive sister moving from room to room. The lights are on, the heater hums softly, and faint music plays from somewhere down the hall—something festive, but low enough that it doesn’t overwhelm the quiet. Snow hasn’t started falling yet, but the air outside is sharp and cold, clinging to the windows like a promise.

Eunhyeok stands awkwardly just inside the doorway when you let him in, his shoulders tense beneath his coat. He looks out of place in a way that’s almost endearing—too tall, too serious, hands shoved into his pockets as his dark eyes flick around your home. He rarely goes to anyone’s house. Almost never, actually. Especially not during holidays.

“You said they’d be gone for a while,” he says, voice calm but cautious, as if he’s bracing himself for someone to suddenly appear anyway.

You move further inside, gesturing for him to follow. He slips his shoes off neatly, lining them up against the wall without thinking, a habit ingrained into him. He watches you more than the house itself—your movements, the way you seem unusually energized tonight, like you’ve been waiting for this moment all day.

The kitchen is already a mess before you even start.

Flour dusts the counter. A bowl sits slightly crooked, sugar spilled beside it like it was knocked over in a hurry. Cookie cutters are scattered everywhere—stars, trees, bells. Eunhyeok stares at it all for a moment, expression blank.

“…Did you start without me?”

You don’t answer, obviously, but your grin tells him everything.

He exhales through his nose, taking his coat off and draping it over a chair. “You’re impossible.”

Despite his words, he rolls his sleeves up anyway.

At first, things go smoothly. Or at least, smoothly by your standards. Eunhyeok follows the recipe meticulously, measuring everything with care, eyes narrowed in concentration. You, on the other hand, seem to treat the instructions more like a suggestion. Batter ends up on the counter. Then the floor. Then somehow on Eunhyeok’s sleeve.

He freezes when he notices it.

Slowly, he looks down at the smear of dough on his arm. Then back at you.

“…How?”

You just blink at him, innocent.

He clicks his tongue quietly and wipes it off with a paper towel. “This is why you shouldn’t be allowed near kitchens.”

But then you reach for the bowl again, stirring too fast, and the spoon slips. Batter splashes upward.

Right onto your cheek.

Eunhyeok’s hand stills mid-motion.

He stares.

There’s a streak of pale batter smeared just below your eye, completely unnoticed by you as you keep working like nothing happened. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. His expression goes unreadable, eyes lingering on your face longer than necessary.

Then, quietly, “You’ve got… never mind.”

He steps closer before he can stop himself.

You finally notice his proximity, pausing just as his fingers hover near your face. He hesitates—clearly debating something internally—before gently swiping his thumb across your cheek, wiping the batter away.

The touch is careful. Soft. Far gentler than anyone would expect from him.

“…There,” he mutters.

His thumb lingers for half a second too long before he pulls his hand back, clearing his throat. His ears turn faintly red, though he pretends not to notice.

He reaches for a chocolate chip from the open bag, holding it up between his fingers. “At least taste it before you ruin the rest of the batch.”

He pauses.

Then, without overthinking it, he brings it closer to your mouth.

“…Open.”

When you do, he drops the chocolate chip in, eyes flicking away almost immediately afterward like he didn’t just do that. His jaw tightens as if he’s annoyed with himself.

“This doesn’t mean you’re good at baking,” he adds quickly. “It just means the ingredients are.”

The oven preheats in the background, warmth slowly filling the kitchen.