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quanruionechancepls · 4 months ago

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The Albatross - Chapter 6: Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

For more information, check Masterlist

Author's Note: I wrote this in January, don't judge me for posting this late

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You peered out the window of your room as flurries of soft, white snowflakes fell from the sky and floated in the air until gravity ultimately dropped them to the ground. You don’t know how long you’ve been watching for, but the rhythmic pattern of finding one of those crystalized water droplets fight against gravity as the wind carried it away before ultimately losing the battle was somehow entertaining.

Usually, you’d escape Seoul during this time of year to avoid the snow. While you didn’t experience seasonal depression, snow was one of your least favourite natural phenomenons. You were already cold 24/7, and the snow that snuck into the crevices of your jacket before melting into ice cold water only exasperated your problem. The first annual fall of snow gave everyone the illusion of being in a winter wonderland due to the white blanket that covered the city— until someone inevitably ruined it when they stepped in the snow because they needed to go to work. The aftermath of a snowfall also sucked. Fluffy, malleable snow became slushy, black ice whose only purpose was to cause accidents for the less coordinated.

Christmas was also two weeks away. For you, Christmas was just another day, as you weren’t religious. Rather than staying in Seoul, you ditched the city for the Christmas festivities in Tokyo.

Compared to the scramble to buy presents, decorate a Christmas tree, and coming together as a family in North American and European countries, East Asia celebrated the holiday very differently. With your frequent travels between China, Japan, and Korea, in addition to your abundance of friends from all three countries, you were pretty familiar with how each country celebrated the holiday. While Christmas was a family holiday in Western countries, in East Asia, it was more like a second Valentine’s day. You weren’t familiar with other parts of Asia, especially the countries that had a colonial history.

The buzzing of your phone snapped you out of your trance, reaching up to check who texted you. You rolled your eyes to see your boyfriend’s contact name. It was another one of your relationship test trials that everyone failed. If someone was kind and funny, they weren’t attractive. If they were attractive, they were rude and stingy. If they were funny, kind, and attractive, then they were bad in bed. You never had to worry about dating someone who was poor, because you met all your boyfriends from introductions from your friends.

Huffing, you opened your phone and tapped on the keyboard aggressively, sending him a breakup text before hitting the block button.

Junho: Merry Christmas!

Junho: I hope you’re doing well.

You: Merry Christmas to you too!

You: Are you spending it with anyone?

Junho: No…

Junho: Haven’t dated in a while.

You: Whattttt

You: If you put yourself out there you’d get snatched up immediately!

Junho: That’s why I don’t.

Junho: Not really in the best place to date right now.

You: Aww.

You: Well, are you at least staying at home today?

You: Christmas is supposed to be a family holiday, you know?

Junho: I took a day off.

Junho: My mom’s been pretty sad for the past few months.

Junho: I think I should spend some time with her.

Junho: I’ve also been working a little too hard.

Junho: A new part of my body makes a cracking sound everyday.

You: You deserve this break!

You: I hope you have a good time with your mom!

You: Manifesting some Christmas magic for you!

You: A warm meal, unwrapping presents, and maybe winning the lottery?

Junho: Lol, thanks.

Junho: Wishing the same for you! (Read)

Inho snatched your phone out of your hands, reading your conversation with Junho as you tugged at his shirt, reaching for your phone. Pursing his lips, he handed it back to you without a word.

“Anything you want to do today?” He diverted your attention, and you were surprised he wasn’t mad that you were still contacting Junho.

A year ago, he begged you on his knees to spare his brother, acting like you were going to inflict some kind of curse on Junho. As a result, he forbade you from meeting with Junho in person. You only obeyed him out of respect, not because he suddenly possessed more power than you. Nonetheless, you still frequently texted him, and you were relegated to being his online friend even though you could easily meet with him anytime you wanted. Inho was undoubtedly still tracking your conversations, and you didn’t bother confronting him about it, instead avoiding mentioning him entirely. You effectively helped erase him out of Junho’s life.

You took a moment to contemplate Inho’s question. This is the first time in a while that you were still in Seoul during this time of the year. You hadn’t even decorated your penthouse to match the holiday vibe. “Do you want to make hot chocolate?” You suggested with a smile.

“Sure. What do we need?”

“Milk— lactose-free, of course— marshmallows, and dark chocolate.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Inho replied, reaching for his trench coat.

Slipping on your puffer jacket, you remembered another reason why you hated winter: you couldn’t dress up. In the summer, you unleashed your abundance of flowy princess dresses onto the world, twirling around on beaches, fields of flowers, and any plaza Inho was willing to amuse you in. In the winter, you had to choose between being a fashionista and comfort, which the latter usually won.

Picking up a red scarf, you wrapped it around Inho’s neck, typing a knot and straightening it out, puffing it up at his neck to create some volume. The whole time, his eyes remained glued onto your face. Finally, you grabbed the tote bag from your rack, which Inho also took from your hands. “Let’s go,” he said as he took your hand, his grip firm but gentle.

Due to your penthouse being located in a neighbourhood rather than the centre of the city, it took some time to drive to the nearest convenience store. Meanwhile, you connected your music playlist to the bluetooth of the car, playing Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe, a Christmas classic.

Inho parked the car and ran to open the door for you, one hand held out to help you out. You accepted his offer, and he interlocked your fingers as he opened the back door, taking your tote bag from the backseat and slinging it onto his shoulder. Both of you slammed the doors shut in unison, walking to the entrance of the convenience store.

Inho picked up a basket at the entrance as the two of you wandered the aisles, placing the ingredients you needed into the basket. “How many should we buy?” You asked him as you reached the chocolate aisle.

“Just one. It should be enough to last one or two recipes,” Inho replied, and you nodded, taking the largest bar of dark chocolate the store had in stock.

You repeated the process with the marshmallows before you two agreed on getting the smallest pack. It wasn’t difficult to decide how much milk to get, and you grabbed the one litre carton. Between Inho’s lactose intolerance and your general dislike of the taste, there was no reason for you to buy a lot of milk.

Once the cashier was done scanning all the items, Inho tapped his card to pay and packed it up. The two of you returned to the car, although you weren’t prepared for the gust of cold air that would slap you in the face as the automatic doors slid open.

Upon arriving at your apartment, you connected your phone to your speaker and played your Christmas playlist as Inho waited for your instructions. Reaching inside the dishwasher, you took out a small pot and poured the milk inside, turning the stove on to medium heat. “Can you open the chocolate?”

Inho grabbed the chocolate and unwrapped the foil. “How many squares do I throw in?”

You stared at the chocolate bar. Perhaps you went overboard, because there were 16 squares in total, much more than you needed. You also needed to account for the richer, darker taste of dark chocolate, as well as the lack of sweetness. The marshmallows would probably help sweeten it up a little, although you figured Inho would like this recipe because he didn’t enjoy sweets.

“Let’s start with four,” you declared, breaking four pieces off and throwing them into the milk, opening the drawer and taking a spoon to stir the chocolate into the heated milk. Behind you, Inho placed two mugs on the island.

Once the mixture turned into a dark shade of brown, Inho poured it into the mugs, leaving enough space for you to top it off with the marshmallows. You had bought the mini marshmallows, ripping the bag open and grabbing a handful for each mug.

The marshmallows began dissolving quite quickly, as you two clinked your mugs together and blew on the hot beverage. You were the first to take a small sip, your lips barely creating enough space for the most miniscule amount to leak into your mouth. You really didn’t want a burnt tongue.

The bitterness of the dark chocolate was tamed by the creamy, frothiness of the warm milk, and the sweet, fluffy marshmallows were the perfect topping. At the same time, you wished it was slightly more sweet. It seemed like something Inho would enjoy quite a bit, though.

Gauging Inho’s reaction, you were proven correct when his eyes widened as the taste hit his tongue. “It’s quite good,” he commented.

“I’m glad. I figured you’d enjoy this recipe,” you smiled at him.

“You were right,” Inho said as he lifted his mug for a second sip.

“I can make this for you more often, if you’d like,” you suggested, and Inho placed the mug on the island, cupping your face and kissing you. He tasted like chocolate.

“You don’t have to if you’re busy, but I’d like that,” he responded, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

“Inho, let’s go to the Christmas Night Market,” you declared at around 10pm. While you weren’t a particularly health-conscious person, Inho tried to force you to sleep before 12 on most days.

Inho checked the time on his phone and glanced at you with an eyebrow raised. “This late?”

“It’s called a night market for a reason! If you don’t want to go, I’ll go alone,” you huffed, putting on your puffer jacket and wrapping a scarf around your neck. Behind you, Inho’s feet pitter-pattered onto the wooden floor.

“I’ll go with you,” he agreed, taking his trench coat and putting it on, wrapping the same red scarf around his neck. You straightened it out and puffed it up again, satisfied at your work.

When you arrived at the night market, you marvelled at all the stands illuminated with lamps and fairy lights. Luckily, it wasn’t snowing and you didn’t have to worry about slipping because the snow was the hard, packed kind and not black ice.

As you explored the market, you had an endless source of entertainment. You sniffed homemade soy candles with Inho, purchasing one that smelled like vanilla bean. There was one stand that sold paintings, and although you didn’t buy anything, you stood at the stand, scanning the intricacies of each paint stroke. There was another stand that sold charms and stickers, and unable to resist cute things, you bought matching cat keychains for you and Inho. Hooking the orange cat to your keys, you handed the black cat to Inho.

You sifted through a crochet stand, initially intrigued by the young woman who continued working silently even as others purchased her items. She had crocheted scarves, blankets, mittens, hats, and even stuffed animals. While you didn’t need any of them, you still lifted up one of the scarves and marvelled at the sheer work it must’ve taken to even finish such a piece. “Inho, what do you think of this scarf—”

When you turned around, Inho seemingly vanished into thin air. Whipping your head back and forth, you scanned your surroundings to search for a fit man of average height wearing a red scarf. Hanging the scarf back on the rack, you dashed through the market, bumping and apologizing to dozens of people as you searched for him. In the end, you huffed and puffed with your hands on your knees, somehow sweating buckets in the cold weather as your racing heart pumped the frigid air into your lungs.

Rummaging through your purse, you whipped out your phone and frantically called him, your anxieties growing with each beep of the voicemail. By now, the time read 11:30, and some stands were already packing up for the night, many ready to return home. Without much choice, you opened Google Maps to search for the nearest police station, which was only a 10 minute walk from your location.

You shortened it to a 5 minute walk with your speed walking, your heart pounding in your chest. By now, your nose and ears lost all feeling, and your feet were killing you from your heels.

Nearly kicking down the door, you burst into the police station with a deranged glint in your eye. You must’ve looked like a crazy woman, with your heavy breathing, and your messed up hair from all your running around and the wind. “Do you need anything, Miss?” A middle-aged officer, presumably around Inho’s age, nervously asked you.

“I need you to find someone. I got separated from them while I was at the Christmas Night Market.”

The officer motioned to the chair, and you obliged him. “What is their name?”

“Hwang Inho.”

His face was overtaken by a mix of shock and glee, throwing his head back laughing. “Hwang Inho? The guy with the perfect record who ruined it by taking a bribe?”

Standing up on instinct, you lunged at him and grabbed him by the collar, scrunching the fabric in your palm. “You son of a bitch, it wasn’t a fucking bribe—”

“What are you doing?” Inho called from behind you, and you loosened your grip, running to Inho. You probably would’ve ended up in jail if he hadn’t interrupted you when he did. The last man who insulted Inho missed that year’s Squid Games because he ended up in the hospital.

“Where the hell were you?!” You screamed at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“I was at the bank,” he reached up to dry your tears, pulling you into a hug as you sighed into his chest.

“Why were you at the bank?”

“I remembered I had something to do before it closed,” he placed a kiss on your forehand before taking your hand, leading you out of the police station.

“Why didn’t you pick up my calls?” You questioned as you walked back to your car with him. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. As he showed you the screen, not only did you see a dozen missed calls from you, but you also saw around 50 missed calls from a contact named “Superman”.

Gasping, you turned to Inho. “Is that who I think it is?” He nodded.

“I wasn’t intentionally avoiding your calls,” he started, and you interrupted his train of thought with a kiss, your arms tight around his neck as his arm found your waist, pulling you closer to him. You didn’t realize you were crying until something warm dripped down your cheeks, which Inho quickly wiped away.

“You don’t have to tell me anything else,” you told him, your voice breaking. He nodded, leaning back into you and nuzzling his face into your neck.

As you gazed up at the sky, white flurries fell from above, one of them grazing your cheek and melting on your skin. With your hand in his hair, you gently tugged him off you, placing a kiss on his forehead and then on his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Inho.”

He didn’t say anything, instead, leaning back in to kiss you again. Sometimes, it’s the feelings expressed by actions rather than words that are the most healing.

#fanfic #squid game #hwang in ho #player 001 #front man #frontman x you #x reader #hwang inho x you #hwang inho x reader #domestic fluff

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