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Hao was never much of a Christmas enthusiast.
Sometimes it felt like any other holiday, except louder, with more songs in rotation, full of sugary and hyperactive cheer. It was a lot. Maybe too much sometimes.
It wasn't that he hated Christmas, but it wasn't exactly his flavor of festivity. It was such a long season, one entirely too heartwarming that sometimes he felt like he'd get a stomachache from the sickly sweetness of it all.
He’d wrap a present here and there, exchange gifts with coworkers, and dutifully raise a glass of eggnog at the company holiday party. But he didn't take much time to decorate a tree, let alone line his apartment walls with tinsel and lights and garlands.
At least, until he met Matthew.
They've celebrated four Christmases together now. Hao doesn't know how the time crept up on him, but mostly, he doesn't know how even after years of bemoaning the pain of Christmas decor, he's slowly been turned into a convert. Hao’s bare apartment walls have been exchanged for ones lined with Christmas cards and stockings, a Christmas tree full of ornaments collected together over the years. A shared house, one with lights strung up and a wreath at their door. A Christmas photo taken by the fireplace with Gia in Hao’s lap.
Maybe it's Matthew. Hao has suspected it all along. Maybe it's the way Hao wants to give him everything, even if it's too much tinsel for his taste.
Hao indulges him. He always does. He's indulging him now as they wander through a Christmas market near their house, observing the decorations that Matthew will undoubtedly add to their already rapidly growing collection.
There's a light nudge at his shoulder. Matthew points to a small figurine of two seals, noses pressed together. They're both wearing Santa hats. “That's us.”
Hao fixes him with an unimpressed look. “Wow,” he says. “And they say romance is dead.”
“You love me.” Matthew grins, bumping Hao’s shoulder with his. “There's a robust paper trail.”
Hao rolls his eyes and makes a great show of sighing about it. “Allegedly.”
He knew it was true. Though Hao had a slight flair for the dramatics, there was nothing begrudging about the way he loved Matthew. To Hao, Matthew was a lighthouse that guided him even in the grisliest of storms, leading him home, back to himself every time.
Hao allows himself a small smile as he glances over to Matthew. Wordlessly, he takes his hand, interlocking their fingers. They slot together easily, like their hands were two pieces made to fit into each other.
Matthew’s grin blooms even wider at the gesture. He squeezes Hao’s hand before leaning in close, his mouth at his ear. “I love you,” he murmurs.
In spite of hearing it a multitude of times over the years, said often and liberally by Matthew, a flush still seeps through Hao’s cheeks. He doesn't say it back. He scoffs instead, shuffling closer to Matthew as they walk down the snow-trodden street.
Matthew’s grin only grows more triumphant with the non-response. He knows that once they get home, he'll have more than enough time to slowly unravel Hao and to let him murmur sweet words against his skin that no one else gets to hear but him.
Later that night, after they tangle up together, sweat and come sticking to their skin, Matthew turns to Hao. The snow falls outside their window, the flakes fluttering down one after the other. The world outside their bedroom is quiet, blanketed under a fresh sheet of snow.
Hao looks up at him, a hand trailing up his side, turning soothing circles against Matthew’s ribs. He waits, his eyes questioning.
Matthew brushes a hand over Hao’s hair. His eyes graze over his face – there's a greediness lining it, like he's trying to drink in the sight of Hao beyond what his eyes can take. “Hao,” he says. “What am I to you?”
Hao watches his face for a moment. In any other situation, he might return the question with a smile. A scoff. Maybe even a little quip that they both laugh about. But in Matthew’s eyes, he sees a genuine request, meant for only him to hear in the darkness of their room.
Hao brings a hand up to Matthew’s face. He touches the tips of his fingers to his cheek, down to his jaw. “You're everything to me.” It comes out as a whisper, barely reaching Matthew's ears.
Matthew’s eyes close at Hao’s touch, leaning into it. “You mean that?”
“Of course I mean that.” Hao swallows, a thumb brushing at his cheekbone. “Even when I have the hardest, busiest day, knowing that I’ll see you at the end of it makes it all worth it.”
“Wow.” Even in the dark, Hao can see the way Matthew beams at him. “Didn’t know you to be such a romantic.”
Hao rolls his eyes. He curls up closer against him. “Guess you've been rubbing off on me.”
“Yeah,” Matthew murmurs. He leans in, lips gentle against Hao’s temple. “Guess I am.”
The next morning, Hao is bundled beneath the blankets, the smattering of marks on his bare skin hidden under the comforter. He can hear the shower running in the bathroom, the sound of Matthew’s voice lilting a song through the door that's slightly ajar. He smiles at the sound of it as he attempts to blink away the remnants of sleep.
He lies there for a moment, letting the soft hums of Matthew’s song reach his ears. He thinks he could listen to it forever and not get tired of it. He thinks he could have Matthew forever and never get tired of him.
It's still snowing outside. There's a light veil of frost lining the windows. Hao can see a thicker blanket of white across their yard.
It's funny to think of something as innocuous as a yard as “theirs” – something shared between them like so many other things.
Hao reaches a hand up to rub at his eyes. When he pulls it away, he looks at the fourth finger of his left hand. Empty.
There's a small hmph that comes from him. He shouldn't grumble about it. Things come in time after all.
Slowly, he peels back the covers and makes his way towards their dresser. He opens the first drawer, full of his and Matthew's clothes, another shared space. It's gotten a bit disorganized, but neither of them seem to mind. Hao feels around for a shirt, when he notices something wedged in the back of the drawer. He parts the array of clothes when he sees it.
Hao freezes.
A velvet box is staring at him.
Despite his gut telling him to put it away, to close the drawer and snap it shut tight to pretend he’s unaware of its contents, Hao doesn't. Instead, he picks up the box, feeling its smooth texture under his fingers. It has some weight to it, like what's within it is something real.
This isn't how it’s supposed to go.
His fingertips brush along the ridge of it, hesitating. He could open it. He might. He presses a thumb against the lining, barely applying pressure against it, when he hears the faucet of the shower turn. The flow of water stops, along with Matthew’s tune.
Hao rushes to put the ring box back in the depths of the dresser drawer, haphazardly throwing the clothes over it before snapping it shut. He practically jumps back into the bed, throwing the blankets over him just as Matthew emerges from the bathroom.
“Hi,” he says, his hair still damp. “You're up early.”
Hao peers over the comforter’s edge. He's momentarily distracted by the sight of Matthew’s exposed body, covered only by a towel wrapped around his waist. He lets his eyes rove over him, at the bites doled out a bit too liberally at his neck. He almost forgets why he's hiding beneath the blankets in the first place.
Matthew raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk lining his lips. “You're staring.”
“Am not,” Hao protests, stubborn.
“You are,” Matthew insists. He climbs onto the bed, nuzzling into Hao’s neck with still-wet hair.
Hao lets out a loud sound, displeased at the feeling of it, cold and damp against his chin. Matthew only laughs, peppering the side of his face with kisses. He pulls back the covers to disappear beneath them. Hao relents when Matthew moves to kiss him, finding the dampness not so difficult to bear when Matthew's mouth is on his.
With a small sigh, they kiss like that, slow and soft, before the towel is silently discarded at the side of the bed. For a couple of hours, he undoes Matthew again until he fills him up completely. Afterwards, they lie there, gentle touches mapping out the marks bitten into each other’s skin.
Hao brushes his hand against Matthew’s chin, still rough with stubble, not yet having a chance to shave. He smiles at the feeling of it, at the sight of Matthew filling up his every morning. In the early hours, as the sun rises, the image of the ring box slowly drifts from Hao’s mind.
He sees Hanbin some days later. They wander absently through the stores of the mall, idly poking through Christmas decorations.
They've been chattering as they stroll through a department store, each section an explosion of tinsel and artificial fir. Hao isn't looking for anything in particular. Maybe another ornament to add to their tree.
Hao picks one up. A group of Pokémon in Santa hats around a Christmas tree. He can't name any of them except for Pikachu.
“Matthew would like this one,” he says. “I should get it for him.”
Hanbin lets out a small laugh. He takes it from Hao, observing it. “How is Matthew, anyway?”
Hao smiles, mostly to himself. He does it by instinct, a Pavlovian response to any mention of Matthew. “Good.”
Hanbin rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You two sicken me.”
“You're the one who introduced us.”
“And everyday of my life, I regret it.”
Hao looks up. “You don't mean that, right?”
Hanbin stills, taken aback by the sudden serious turn. “Of course I don't, Hao.” He tilts his head, putting down the ornament. Hao frowns before picking it back up. “Why do you ask?”
Hao avoids his eyes, fiddling mindlessly with the edges. “I think he's going to ask me to marry him.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“But that's–”
“I know.”
A moment of silence. “What're you gonna do?”
Hao huffs a sigh. “I don't know.”
“That kind of puts a wrench in your plans.”
Hao fixes him with a look, akin to something like a kicked puppy. “Don't remind me.”
Hanbin looks at him, almost like he's holding back the beginnings of a laugh. “Would it be so bad?” He shrugs. “If he asked you?”
Hao frowns again. “You know the answer to that.”
Hao doesn't know how to hide his discomfort. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, but he does bare his brain to the world, especially when there's something weighing on it.
It's obvious on his face, manifesting in the form of a frown or a pout, a look of displeasure when it drifts to his mind again.
Matthew doesn't pry. He leaves Hao with his thoughts, knowing he’ll voice them when he's ready.
They're going on a long walk. A forest trail near their house, the trees looming over them and dusted with fresh powdered snow.
They've been quiet all morning.
“I found the ring box.”
“Ah.” Matthew gulps. “When?”
“About a week ago.”
Matthew nods. They keep walking, quiet steps across the trail. “And you didn't mention it until now.”
Hao swallows. “No, I didn't.”
There's something in Matthew’s eyes that Hao doesn't like. “Is it–” He huffs a sigh, like he's getting the tension off his chest. “Is it that you don't want to?”
Matthew’s brow furrows deeper as soon as the words leave his mouth, as if saying them summoned a sudden realization. Distress lines his eyes, and in recognizing it, Hao’s gut plummets.
“No,” he says, rushing to get the words out of his mouth. The mere idea of Matthew being upset with him is almost unbearable, especially if it's for a thought Hao never wanted to form in his head. “Matt, oh my god,” he mumbles. “No, it's not that at all.”
“Then what?”
Hao laughs, albeit somewhat in disbelief. He dips a hand into his pocket, burrowing it deep into its folds until he feels the one thing he'd buried away in it. He pauses. Looks at Matthew for a long moment, as if contemplating, before revealing his hand, producing a velvet box of his own.
Matthew’s eyes follow the strange item that he can't name yet. They rest on the tiny box as the realization begins taking shape in his mind. “Hao–” he says, eyes flying up. “What is that?” He asks as if he doesn't know, but needs the confirmation.
Hao looks at him, exasperated. “What does it look like?”
Matthew steps towards him, a hand at his waist. “Come on,” he says. His eyes look into Hao's, painfully earnest. “Don't mess with me right now.” He swallows. “Not when I’m putting it all on the table.”
Hao avoids his eyes for a moment before he decides to meet them. He can't help the flush in his cheeks when he sees how Matthew looks at him so tenderly, like they can't see anything but him. Hao knows that he can't see anyone but Matthew either. “Well,” he says, his voice barely audible. “It's a good thing I’m putting it all on the table too then.”
Matthew looks at the box in his hand, then back at him. “You don't mean…” He puts the words down and trails off, almost as if he's uncertain of where they're meant to be carried.
Hao picks them back up for him. “I do,” he replies. “I was going to ask you first.”
Matthew lets out a breath. “Fuck,” he says. “That's why you've been so weird.” He lets out a laugh. It sounds like it's been punched out of him. He lets out another one, louder. “God.” It simmers into something quieter as his eyes find Hao again. “So you want me to marry you, huh?”
Hao glares at him. “Well, I did until you ruined my plan.” He narrows his eyes. “Who helped you pick out the ring?”
“Soobin.”
“Asshole. Of course he did.” He tilts his head. “You didn't ask Hanbin?”
Matthew shakes his head. “I wanted to, but he kept changing the subject when I tried to bring it up.” His eyes turn towards Hao with a playful glare of his own. “And who helped pick out that one?” He nods at the ring box, still unopened, in Hao’s hand.
“Hanbin.”
Matthew hums, amused. “Guess that explains a lot.” A small scoff. “Can I see it?”
“I haven't even gotten to propose with it yet.”
“Oh, we’re still doing that?”
Hao’s eyes pierce into him, sharp. “What makes you think we aren't?”
“I just assumed since we both got rings that the answer to the question was pretty clear.”
“Well, you know what they say about assumptions, Matthew.”
“They make a married couple out of you and me?”
Hao huffs a sigh. “Good one.” He starts walking again, shoving the ring box back in his pocket. There goes his grand plan of a gesture. He gets a couple feet farther before he realizes that Matthew hasn't followed him.
He looks back. “Aren't we going back to the house?”
Matthew is smiling at him, his grin growing wider as Hao backtracks, turning to walk back towards him.
When Hao gets closer, almost right in front of him, Matthew reaches into his pocket.
Under the falling snow, he gets to one knee.
Hao’s eyes open wide, watching him kneel in the snow. “Fuck…” he murmurs. It shouldn't be a surprise. He knew it was coming at some point after all. Yet, now faced with Matthew looking up at him, the ring box finally opened, he suddenly finds himself aghast at the real, material sight of it. “Holy shit.”
Matthew grins up at him. “Yeah, so about that proposal.”
“Shut up,” Hao says, his voice shaky and uneven. “Fuck you.” He can feel the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes, much to his dismay. Hao never envisioned himself as someone to get warbly at times like these.
He’d always laugh, amused at the over the top reactions he'd see in proposal videos, never seeing himself in any of them. But seeing Matthew looking up at him, baring something like pure love before him, there's a knot that tightens itself beneath his chest, permanently burrowing itself there, impossible to be undone.
“Fuck,” he manages to say. “I’m kind of glad you're doing it first now because that looks scary.” He sniffs back a tear. “You don't have to kneel, though.”
“Oh, that's not, like, a requirement?”
“I’d kind of prefer it if you’d stand.”
Matthew gets to his feet without any further request. He takes a step towards Hao, reaching a hand towards his hip.
Hao swallows, his eyes shaking as he watches him. He doesn't say anything, focusing instead only on holding back his tears. A moment passes as he gathers himself. “Go on then,” he murmurs, wet and sopping already in spite of his best efforts. “Say your thing.”
Matthew smiles a little, reaching up to wipe away the tears that seem eager to spring from Hao’s eyes. “I will.”
“And stop laughing at me.” His voice croaks.
Matthew bites back another smile, shifting his face into something that seems a bit more serious. “Okay.”
A moment between them passes as quiet settles between them. They both seem to know what's coming next.
Matthew steps forward, even closer. What he wants to say is only meant for Hao to hear, his voice so low that even the trees can’t listen. “When I first met you, I was so fucking scared of you. I’m still scared of you, I think. But it's mostly because I've never met anyone I've wanted more. Loved more than you.”
He swallows hard, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m so lucky you chose me. I want you to keep choosing me.” His eyes flit up to find Hao. He takes a slow breath.“Will you marry me?”
Hao’s lower lip juts out as he tries to keep his tears from flowing down his face. It's a moment he wants to remember and he'd prefer it to not be marred by puffy eyes and snot filling up his nose. He looks at Matthew, his eyes watery even with the concentrated effort. “I was supposed to ask you first,” he mumbles, a hand reaching to grasp at Matthew's coat.
Matthew’s eyes find his, tender and soft. Hopeful. Wanting for something. “Is that a yes?”
“Of course it's a yes.” Hao scoffs, pulling him closer. “There's no one else I'd say yes to.”
“Nice,” Matthew says, his grin wider than it's ever been. “That's awesome.”
Hao rolls his eyes. He's hopelessly endeared, willing to set aside his own inhibitions if it meant Matthew’s happiness.
That was the thing about Matthew. He wore his heart on his sleeve – he thought the best of people, always came into situations and interactions assuming that everyone had each other's best interests in mind. He bared his soul to the world, welcoming it with open arms. It meant him embarrassing himself sometimes, mostly in front of Hao, but even amidst the moments that might have made most cringe, Matthew always met them with a smile, laughter, a glance over at Hao, full of warmth.
Hao wished he was like that – someone who didn't calculate every one of his decisions; someone who could dive right into anything without seeing every potential outcome. It was a self-made shell, fortified so heavily that sometimes it pulled him deeper inward, making him forget what it was like to not have to carry it around.
Matthew liked to coax him out of it. He liked to remind Hao of what it was like to feel safe. Free, maybe. A reminder of what living without holding his breath was like. Matthew, for Hao, was a deep breath of fresh air after sloughing through smog and polluted atmospheres for years.
“Fuck,” Hao says, as Matthew slides the ring onto his finger. “I really love you.”
Matthew grins. He leans in, a light kiss to Hao’s lips. “I know.”
They intertwine their fingers, falling into silence again. It's comfortable. They don't have to say much between each other. The feeling of Matthew's hand in his is enough for Hao to know. The way that Hao looks back at him, meets his eyes every time, is enough for Matthew to understand.