Eric landed in Paris, his mood matching the December sky: grey and gloomy. The weather was chill and slightly humid, that kind of cold that clung onto you and made every breath visible. On this last weekend before Christmas, the airport buzzed with anticipation, families reuniting, kids wrapped in oversized scarves, travelers returning home. A sea of people. And yet, Eric felt oddly adrift. His flight had been restless, between overthinking Jihoo and a restless neighbor waking him every other hour, he barely slept. The moment the wheels hit the tarmac, his first reflex was to check his phone. One message. A simple: “Have a safe flight.” No hyung. No emoji. No warmth. 

He texted Jihoo back while waiting in the slow-moving immigration queue: Landed in Paris. How’s your day looking? He tried to keep it light then slipped his phone into his coat pocket. A habit, at this point. But the queue dragged, his patience wore thin, and Jihoo still hadn’t replied. The officers were their usual Parisian selves and greeted him with all the warmth of a prison guard. When his phone finally rang, it wasn’t Jihoo. It was his older sister Claire.

“I’m already there, will be waiting for you next to Starbucks.” She said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

An hour later, Paris airport as efficient as ever, Eric wheeled his suitcase into the arrivals hall. Claire pulled him into a warm hug, talking a mile a minute, about her son Louis, about her in-laws, about how she was dragging him on errands to avoid another meltdown from her son. Eric laughed, grateful for the distraction. "Thank you for asking me to pick you up, I needed a break from Louis. He’s in his why phase. Everything is 'why.' It’s like living with a tiny philosopher."

On the way home, Eric asked if they could take the long route so he could see a few Paris landmarks, nostalgia already pulling at him. He was happy to see the Eiffel Tower peeking through winter fog and the Seine crawling under the bridges. Paris didn’t feel like home anymore, but it still looked like it.

At their parents’ flat, the smell hit him first: congee mingling with the buttery sweetness of pastries. A mismatched but familiar mix of Cantonese and French. His mother fussed over him, complaining about his weight gain while refilling his plate. His father asked about work, about whether he was speaking more Cantonese these days. The interrogation was affectionate, but it was still a little exhausting. When they predictably ventured into the “still no girlfriend?” territory, Eric popped open his suitcase and pulled out Chinese snacks, deflecting the topic with oohs and ahhs.

After breakfast, he slipped away to his childhood room to recover from all the agitation. It hadn’t changed. The shelves still held dusty university books, scribbled notebooks, posters half-curled at the corners. He sat at his old desk, feeling like a university student again, fingers trailing over the spines of books he once devoured. It was like walking into a time capsule. The contrast struck him: Jihoo, 21, vibrant and charging into life. Eric, back here, diving into old memories. Photos of teenage Eric stared back from the wall, skinny, thick glasses, and bad hair. He snapped a photo of one particularly awkward shot and sent it to Jihoo.

Eric:
Would past-me have stood a chance with 21-year-old you?

He stared at the message, rereading it, almost thinking about deleting it. The truth was, he kept thinking about Jihoo. Not just the calls they hadn’t had since Jihoo asked him when he will be back. But the way Jihoo had looked at him when he left, eyes full of wonder, something like hope. Being back here made Eric feel like he was a teenager again, but with none of the bravery.

Jihoo replied a while later:

Jihoo:
Not sure… but past-you created present-you. I like the upgrade. Also… nerdy can be hot too. I bet you organized your books by genre and then by authors like in the library.

Eric:
Okay wow. I feel seen.

Jihoo:
Just saying… maybe I would've looked. Once. Maybe twice. If you had dimples.

Eric:
So you’re saying there would be a chance.

Jihoo:
Yes there would be.

Eric smiled, leaning back on his chair.

Eric:
What about you? Any wild holiday plans?

Jihoo:
Seoul party this weekend as usual. I might go home for a bit, but I haven't decided yet. We are also considering going to Busan for NYE or just back to Itaewon. TBD.

Eric:
Send me photos. I want to live by proxy.

On Christmas Eve, his mother sent him and Claire out for last-minute groceries. To kill time they decided to stop by the Christmas market along the Seine. The market was in full swing, mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, melting raclette cheese, tourists snapping photos under twinkling fairy lights. Claire handed him a cup of mulled wine with a questioning look.

“You’ve been quiet.”

Eric shrugged. “Jetlag.”

She didn’t buy it. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Sometimes I feel like… I don’t belong here. Like I’m just this guest who’s always behind. Everything changed, I don’t feel home anymore. I even forgot where the knives are kept. But the worst is the constant nagging from mom and dad… Can they finally see me for who I am: a grown adult?”

Claire leaned against the railing overlooking the river. “You think it’s easier for me? I see them every week. I get this every time I see them. At least you get to leave.”

“I just want them to stop asking and let me live my life the way I want.” Eric muttered.

“They won’t,” she said. “But that’s on them, not you.”

There was a pause.

“You know, mom keeps asking me when I will give her a grand daughter, but I don’t want a second kid. I’m already so tired with one…” Claire admitted. “I haven’t said it out loud. But I’m done. And I feel like I can’t even say that without disappointing everyone.”

Eric looked at her, surprised. “So we’re both the family failures?”

“Guess so,” she said with a soft smile. “But I think we’re also true to ourselves, which is the most important no?”

She looked at him sideways. “Whatever makes you happy, you don’t need to explain it. Not even to them.”

Before leaving Eric snapped a photo of the twinkling lights and sent it to Jihoo. Still no message from him that day. With a sigh, he pocketed his phone and followed Claire to the car.

On Christmas morning, Eric laced up his sneakers and went for a run along the Seine, keeping up with the torture, still feeling the need to be more in shape to not feel less than Jihoo. Frost clung to the cobblestones, and his breath fogged in the cold air. The city was still asleep, wrapped in holiday quiet. He tried video calling Jihoo, hoping to show him the view, to make the distance feel romantic. Jihoo didn’t pick up. Eric tried twice. No answer.

He sent a selfie instead making more effort to connect:

Eric:
Merry Christmas. Next year, we will do this together.

Later, his phone buzzed. A call. Jihoo. But Eric was already back home, surrounded by family and too many eyes. He silenced the call and texted back:

Eric:
Sorry I’m home. Can’t pick up.

Jihoo:
Oh why not?

Eric:
Just… busy. Family lunch prep.

There was no reply for a while. Then just: “Cool.”

Christmas lunch came with too much food and too many expectations. Eric played with Louis, hoping to not bring attention to himself, helping the kid unwrap his gifts. His mother watched fondly.

“You’d make a great father,” she said. “If only you’d hurry up and settle down. You’re not getting younger.”

Eric forced a smile, without bothering to reply.

His father chimed in: “Are you seeing anyone? If not, we could help. Set you up. It’s not too late. We still have a lot of friends in HK.”

Eric deflected, again.

Later on, the conversation drifted to distant relatives. This is when his great-aunt came up.

“Did you visit her? Since she has no kid, please take care of our strange little weeb,” his mother laughed. “Still living with her ‘best friend’? They’ve been living together forever. Should’ve gotten married and had kids to take care of them instead of expecting other people’s children to do it.” She couldn’t help herself and criticized her while pretending to care. 

Eric’s fork paused mid-air, a bit upset by her last comment.

“They’re not best friends. How long are you going to pretend not to see them for who they are?”

His mother blinked.

“We’re in the 21st century. Let’s call a spade a spade.”

She gasped. “Don’t talk nonsense. Eat more.”

The room shifted. Claire shot him a glance. His father looked away. Conversation resumed, lighter, but Eric felt cold inside. As usual no one addressed it again. Eric fell silent, shrinking into himself. This is why he couldn’t bring himself to come out to his parents. Later, he distracted himself by playing with Louis again, smiling for his sake.

That evening, alone in his room, Eric couldn’t shake the ache. He missed Jihoo more than he thought he would. He opened instagram and scrolled through Jihoo’s profile. There it was, a new story. Not a repost. A selfie he took himself. Jihoo at a small dinner with his friends. And then, one shot alone with the same guy from previous stories.

Caption: Thanks for always being there especially when I need you.

It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t dramatic. But it stung. He re-read old messages. Traced the shift. He wondered if he’d been too slow, too cautious. Would Jihoo wait?

Eric sat with the ache for a while, then texted Minwoo under the pretense of holiday wishes, carefully probing.

Eric:
Merry Christmas, troublemaker.

Minwoo:
Merry Christmas, emo uncle. How’s the land of cheese and passive aggression?

Eric:
Loud. Cold. Full of existential dread. Hey, what’s your NYE plan?

Minwoo:
Why? Thinking of crashing the party?

Eric:
After these few days with my family I can tell you I’m tempted.

Minwoo:
Don’t bother. Your precious Jihoo is not coming. He bailed. Going to Busan with his hometown crew. 

Eric:
Oh.

Minwoo:
Wait… were you really thinking about coming?

Eric:
No, no. Just curious.

He wasn’t just curious. He was already checking flight prices. Paris → Hong Kong → Busan. Not cheap. But not impossible.

He hesitated. What would it mean to go? To show up? It would mean trying. Instead of feeling anxious he felt the excitement just thinking about the idea of seeing Jihoo again.

The next day, over dinner, his mother dropped the bomb: “By the way we’re coming to Hong Kong for Chinese New Year. We’ll stay with you for the three weeks we will be there.”

Eric choked on his water.

“My place is tiny,” he protested. “Let me book a nice airbnb for you guys.”

His father frowned. “You don’t want us in your home?”

“It’s not that, it’s a HK flat, a one bedroom flat, more like a cage than a flat! No space! And I won’t even be in town the week before the lunar new year.”

“You can’t even welcome your parents properly?” his mother snapped. “You act like a stranger.”

The fight began. Old wounds resurfaced. Eric stopped talking mid-conversation, refusing to engage. After dinner he retreated to his room like he used to when he was still living with them.

He sat there, phone in hand, staring at the Busan ticket. It was expensive. A logistical nightmare. But this time… it mattered. This wasn’t just a trip. This was a decision. He changed his return flight and booked Busan’s ones. It will be exhausting but this is where he really wanted to be right now. Not stuck here, sad, unwelcome, uncomfortable.

The next day, over breakfast, he told them he was leaving on the 29th. Another argument. They accused him of retaliation from the “discussion” from the day before. They were not completely wrong. His mother was passive-aggressive. His father didn’t speak to him. As expected they didn’t come to the airport.

In the car, Claire drove.

“You okay?”

“I will be.”

“You sure you will not regret fighting with mom and dad? Is whatever this is worth the hassle?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I want to find out. I can’t let them force themselves in my life.”

She nodded. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re doing something for yourself.”

At the airport, Claire and Eric didn’t waste time in goodbyes. Both were not really comfortable showing each other affection. On top Eric felt lighter than he had in weeks. He texted Jihoo, unusually chipper.

Eric:
Leaving Paris today. Back to your timezone. Which means… we can call again :)

Jihoo:
I missed that. I miss you.

Still a bit reserved. But touched.

While waiting for his flight Eric browsed the gift shops. He wanted to find something for Jihoo to not arrive empty-handed. He passed boxes of macarons, remembering Jihoo’s confusion between Macron and macaron. He laughed to himself and grabbed a box. He also bought a bottle of L’Homme Idéal by Guerlain. Woody. Sweet. Confident. Like Jihoo. This will be the real gift.

When he boarded the plane, it was the first time flying felt like moving forward, not running away.