crunchy bean sprouts

Decided, you pull on your warmest coat and stuff your feet into your boots, ready to brave the elements. You’re in luck, because the supermarket down the street must be the only shop still open in this weather. So after a harsh trek through the two feet of snow that’s already blanketed most of the street, you manage to stumble into the warm.

You grab a basket and begin walking down the aisles, throwing in anything that catches your eye. Several boxes of fairy lights, tinsel and chocolate later, your mood is considerably improved.

You can’t say the same for the poor guy loading his groceries onto the conveyor belt in front of you. He’s bought what your friends would call the “heartbreak-care-package-double-deluxe”, and it’s rare enough that you’ve only ever seen it once. He sniffles into his scarf, but it’s hard to tell if it’s tears-related or just from the cold.

You wait patiently to pay as he packs up his things, but don’t summon the courage to say anything. Before you know it, he’s out the doors, vanishing into the snow.

The way back home is notably more difficult – you’re weighed down by shopping, but the wind is also considerably stronger, freezing your face into whatever unflattering expression you happen to be making. There’s already someone at the entrance to your apartment building when you arrive, and it takes a while in the blur of heavy snowfall to recognise the guy from the store.

He sees you approaching and shouts something, but you barely hear past his mask and the scarf and the whistle of the snowy wind. He points a gloved hand at the lock, then pats his gloves. Keys. You pull yours out with a stiff hand and shuffle around him to unlock the door, and let you both in.

“Thanks,” he says once you’re both inside and the door is shut safely behind you. He pulls his mask away from his mouth, and offers you a small smile. “I think I left my keys at home. That, or my hands are so numb I can’t feel them in my pockets.”

“The second one wouldn't surprise me,” you reply with a laugh. “I thought I was the only one crazy enough to go out in this weather.”

“I had a change of plans, so…” He shrugs, gesturing to the almost-overflowing paper bags at his feet.

You show him the bags in your hands. “Same.”

He smiles then, brighter and more genuine than before. “I can see that,” he says. After a moment, he gestures to the elevator. “What floor?”

“Oh, I’ll take the stairs,” you reply, then ask yourself why the hell you said that. “I’m only a couple floors up.”

“Sure, sure,” he nods back. “You won’t manage to guilt me into walking, though, just a warning.”

“Gotcha. Wasn’t planning to anyway.”

The doors to the elevator open with a soft ping. “Okay, well… See you around, maybe?”

You stand awkwardly for a moment, then say, “I’m in 3C, if you need anything. Just knock.”

His bright smile returns, and something in you feels almost relieved to see it again. “Sure, thanks. I will.”

You watch as he steps into the elevator. Just before the doors close, his hand darts out to block them. “I’m Felix, by the way,” he says, then takes his hand back with a last, charmingly disarming smile as the doors finally fall shut.

It’s definitely the hike up the stairs that leaves you feeling flustered and out of breath, and definitely – definitely not your handsome neighbour’s freckly, lopsided smile.

You manage to put him out of your mind for the better part of an hour as you unpack your purchases and drape just about everything in your one-bedroom in tinsel. You’re debating about whether or not to hang ornaments from the pot rack when there’s a tentative knock at your door.

It takes you a few seconds to realise that the only person likely to be at the door is Felix, which is all the time you need to immediately panic. He knocks again, and you give your armpits a quick sniff – you couldn’t remember if you’d put any deodorant on this morning – before opening the door.

“Hi!” You say, then clear your throat at his slightly deer-eyed look. “Hi,” you repeat more quietly, hoping that the hot, sweaty flush you feel isn’t noticeable.

“Hey,” Felix says with a slow smile, like he’s holding back a laugh. There’s a faint dusting of powdered sugar on his jumper, and a smear on the end of his nose. “Y/n, right? We didn’t get the chance for a proper introduction earlier.”

“Yeah – yes, how did you know my name?”

Felix points to the label above your doorbell. Your cheeks, if possible, begin to burn even hotter.

“You’re very observant,” you say with a polite nod.

Felix grins then, eyes crinkling with his smile. “Well, I was really into mystery stories as a kid. True crime and all that.”

“Oh yeah? Like what, Sherlock? Agatha Christie?”

“Nah. Nancy Drew.”

You snort a laugh, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth to smother it. Felix laughs openly, his cheeks flushed and glowing with pleasure.

“What?” He asks. “Nancy was a real G.”

“Oh my god,” you say, covering your face with your hands, still laughing. He giggles in the doorway, and after a few moments, it grows quiet between you. You wipe at the faint wetness in the corners of your eyes, and offer Felix a happy, flushed smile.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He shifts his weight between his feet and looks down at the ground as he tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Um…” He starts, fidgeting. “So I actually came down because I was wondering…”

“Yes?” You prompt when he trails off.

Felix swallows again, and as he lifts his head to meet your eyes his next words come out in a rush. “I was wondering if I could borrow a spatula?”

Now it was your turn to feel awkward. You raise an eyebrow as you look at him, but when he only presses his lips together, you try not to let your disappointment show. “A spatula?”

“I–Yeah. I’m, um, baking.”

You straighten up, feeling off-balance like you tripped somewhere in the conversation and haven’t regained your footing yet. “Oh, okay,” you say. “I’ll just… go grab it for you.”

Turning away to go into the kitchen, you miss the way Felix thuds the heel of his hand against his forehead, soundlessly cursing himself. He stops the moment you’re back in the doorway, plastering on a smile as he takes the spatula handed to him.

“Thanks,” he says.

You smile awkwardly back. “No problem. See you round?”

“Yeah. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you say back, slowly closing the door as he backs away. Once the lock clicks shut, you’re left in silence, staring at the door handle wondering what on earth just happened.

Before you can quite recover, there’s another, desperate knock.

“I don’t need a spatula,” he says the moment you open the door. He takes a deep breath before blowing it out between pursed lips, and fixing you with an earnest look. “My flight home for Christmas got cancelled, and I’ve never spent Christmas alone. I’m sad, and lonely, and don’t want to come off looking more pathetic than I already do–”

“Want to spend Christmas with me?” You ask tentatively, interrupting Felix before his mouth completely runs away.

He blinks at you, jaw slack with surprise.

You shrug with one shoulder, and smile gently. “My flight got cancelled too. Although I should warn you, I was too late to find a Christmas tree so I had to decorate my Monstera instead.”

After a beat, he breathes out a sigh, so elated it’s almost a laugh. His smile stretches from ear to ear, eyes almost squinting closed as he says, “That sounds perfect. More than perfect.”

You step aside to open the door wide, inviting him in. “I don’t know about perfect,” you say modestly as he steps in, laughing in delight at the ornaments hanging alongside frying pans of varying sizes. “But it’s home. All I was missing was some company.”

Felix tucks his hands in his pockets and turns back to look at you with a smile. You shut the door quietly, and step closer to him. “I was actually baking, by the way,” he says in a low voice.

You frown and tilt your head to the side, unsure as to why he’s bringing it up.

“I didn’t need the spatula,” he reminds you. “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t just making everything up. I was baking, for real.”

Now you laugh, just a soft exhalation through your nose as you shake your head. “I know that.”

“You knew?”

“You’ve got icing sugar on your face,” you say, and point to your left cheek.

Felix turns a soft pink and uses the back of his hand to rub his face – on the wrong side.

“Wait, wait,” you say with another laugh. “Here, it’s right…” You shuffle forward another step, reaching up to brush your fingers along the underside of his feathery lashes and over the dusting of freckles to brush away the powdered sugar. “…There.”

Your fingertips linger on his cheek for just a heartbeat too long, and you feel heat crawling up your neck as you slowly withdraw your hand, unable to pull your gaze away from Felix’s.

“Hey,” he says, his voice just on the rougher side of his low rumble. “Would it be… very forward of me to ask you on a date, even though we only met this afternoon?”

The smile starts slowly on your lips, curling outwards with a coy edge. “Not gonna buy me a drink first?”

He doesn’t even break eye contact as he points his thumb over his shoulder, reminding you, “It’s a blizzard outside. I have cookies, though.”

You lean into the hand that settles against your waist. “Cookies will do, I suppose. It’s Christmas, after all.”

Decided, you pull on your warmest coat and stuff your feet into your boots, ready to brave the elements. You’re in luck, because the supermarket down the street must be the only shop still open in this weather. So after a harsh trek through the two feet of snow that’s already blanketed most of the street, you manage to stumble into the warm.

You grab a basket and begin walking down the aisles, throwing in anything that catches your eye. Several boxes of fairy lights, tinsel and chocolate later, your mood is considerably improved.

You can’t say the same for the poor guy loading his groceries onto the conveyor belt in front of you. He’s bought what your friends would call the “heartbreak-care-package-double-deluxe”, and it’s rare enough that you’ve only ever seen it once. He sniffles into his scarf, but it’s hard to tell if it’s tears-related or just from the cold.

You wait patiently to pay as he packs up his things, but don’t summon the courage to say anything. Before you know it, he’s out the doors, vanishing into the snow.

The way back home is notably more difficult – you’re weighed down by shopping, but the wind is also considerably stronger, freezing your face into whatever unflattering expression you happen to be making. There’s already someone at the entrance to your apartment building when you arrive, and it takes a while in the blur of heavy snowfall to recognise the guy from the store.

He sees you approaching and shouts something, but you barely hear past his mask and the scarf and the whistle of the snowy wind. He points a gloved hand at the lock, then pats his gloves. Keys. You pull yours out with a stiff hand and shuffle around him to unlock the door, and let you both in.

“Thanks,” he says once you’re both inside and the door is shut safely behind you. He pulls his mask away from his mouth, and offers you a small smile. “I think I left my keys at home. That, or my hands are so numb I can’t feel them in my pockets.”

“The second one wouldn't surprise me,” you reply with a laugh. “I thought I was the only one crazy enough to go out in this weather.”

“I had a change of plans, so…” He shrugs, gesturing to the almost-overflowing paper bags at his feet.

You show him the bags in your hands. “Same.”

He smiles then, brighter and more genuine than before. “I can see that,” he says. After a moment, he gestures to the elevator. “What floor?”

“Oh, I’ll take the stairs,” you reply, then ask yourself why the hell you said that. “I’m only a couple floors up.”

“Sure, sure,” he nods back. “You won’t manage to guilt me into walking, though, just a warning.”

“Gotcha. Wasn’t planning to anyway.”

The doors to the elevator open with a soft ping. “Okay, well… See you around, maybe?”

You stand awkwardly for a moment, then say, “I’m in 3C, if you need anything. Just knock.”

His bright smile returns, and something in you feels almost relieved to see it again. “Sure, thanks. I will.”

You watch as he steps into the elevator. Just before the doors close, his hand darts out to block them. “I’m Felix, by the way,” he says, then takes his hand back with a last, charmingly disarming smile as the doors finally fall shut.

It’s definitely the hike up the stairs that leaves you feeling flustered and out of breath, and definitely – definitely not your handsome neighbour’s freckly, lopsided smile.

You manage to put him out of your mind for the better part of an hour as you unpack your purchases and drape just about everything in your one-bedroom in tinsel. You’re debating about whether or not to hang ornaments from the pot rack when there’s a tentative knock at your door.

It takes you a few seconds to realise that the only person likely to be at the door is Felix, which is all the time you need to immediately panic. He knocks again, and you give your armpits a quick sniff – you couldn’t remember if you’d put any deodorant on this morning – before opening the door.

“Hi!” You say, then clear your throat at his slightly deer-eyed look. “Hi,” you repeat more quietly, hoping that the hot, sweaty flush you feel isn’t noticeable.

“Hey,” Felix says with a slow smile, like he’s holding back a laugh. There’s a faint dusting of powdered sugar on his jumper, and a smear on the end of his nose. “Y/n, right? We didn’t get the chance for a proper introduction earlier.”

“Yeah – yes, how did you know my name?”

Felix points to the label above your doorbell. Your cheeks, if possible, begin to burn even hotter.

“You’re very observant,” you say with a polite nod.

Felix grins then, eyes crinkling with his smile. “Well, I was really into mystery stories as a kid. True crime and all that.”

“Oh yeah? Like what, Sherlock? Agatha Christie?”

“Nah. Nancy Drew.”

You snort a laugh, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth to smother it. Felix laughs openly, his cheeks flushed and glowing with pleasure.

“What?” He asks. “Nancy was a real G.”

“Oh my god,” you say, covering your face with your hands, still laughing. He giggles in the doorway, and after a few moments, it grows quiet between you. You wipe at the faint wetness in the corners of your eyes, and offer Felix a happy, flushed smile.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He shifts his weight between his feet and looks down at the ground as he tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Um…” He starts, fidgeting. “So I actually came down because I was wondering…”

“Yes?” You prompt when he trails off.

Felix swallows again, and as he lifts his head to meet your eyes his next words come out in a rush. “I was wondering if I could borrow a spatula?”

Now it was your turn to feel awkward. You raise an eyebrow as you look at him, but when he only presses his lips together, you try not to let your disappointment show. “A spatula?”

“I–Yeah. I’m, um, baking.”

You straighten up, feeling off-balance like you tripped somewhere in the conversation and haven’t regained your footing yet. “Oh, okay,” you say. “I’ll just… go grab it for you.”

Turning away to go into the kitchen, you miss the way Felix thuds the heel of his hand against his forehead, soundlessly cursing himself. He stops the moment you’re back in the doorway, plastering on a smile as he takes the spatula handed to him.

“Thanks,” he says.

You smile awkwardly back. “No problem. See you round?”

“Yeah. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you say back, slowly closing the door as he backs away. Once the lock clicks shut, you’re left in silence, staring at the door handle wondering what on earth just happened.

Before you can quite recover, there’s another, desperate knock.

“I don’t need a spatula,” he says the moment you open the door. He takes a deep breath before blowing it out between pursed lips, and fixing you with an earnest look. “My flight home for Christmas got cancelled, and I’ve never spent Christmas alone. I’m sad, and lonely, and don’t want to come off looking more pathetic than I already do–”

“Want to spend Christmas with me?” You ask tentatively, interrupting Felix before his mouth completely runs away.

He blinks at you, jaw slack with surprise.

You shrug with one shoulder, and smile gently. “My flight got cancelled too. Although I should warn you, I was too late to find a Christmas tree so I had to decorate my Monstera instead.”

After a beat, he breathes out a sigh, so elated it’s almost a laugh. His smile stretches from ear to ear, eyes almost squinting closed as he says, “That sounds perfect. More than perfect.”

You step aside to open the door wide, inviting him in. “I don’t know about perfect,” you say modestly as he steps in, laughing in delight at the ornaments hanging alongside frying pans of varying sizes. “But it’s home. All I was missing was some company.”

Felix tucks his hands in his pockets and turns back to look at you with a smile. You shut the door quietly, and step closer to him. “I was actually baking, by the way,” he says in a low voice.

You frown and tilt your head to the side, unsure as to why he’s bringing it up.

“I didn’t need the spatula,” he reminds you. “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t just making everything up. I was baking, for real.”

Now you laugh, just a soft exhalation through your nose as you shake your head. “I know that.”

“You knew?”

“You’ve got icing sugar on your face,” you say, and point to your left cheek.

Felix turns a soft pink and uses the back of his hand to rub his face – on the wrong side.

“Wait, wait,” you say with another laugh. “Here, it’s right…” You shuffle forward another step, reaching up to brush your fingers along the underside of his feathery lashes and over the dusting of freckles to brush away the powdered sugar. “…There.”

Your fingertips linger on his cheek for just a heartbeat too long, and you feel heat crawling up your neck as you slowly withdraw your hand, unable to pull your gaze away from Felix’s.

“Hey,” he says, his voice just on the rougher side of his low rumble. “Would it be… very forward of me to ask you on a date, even though we only met this afternoon?”

The smile starts slowly on your lips, curling outwards with a coy edge. “Not gonna buy me a drink first?”

He doesn’t even break eye contact as he points his thumb over his shoulder, reminding you, “It’s a blizzard outside. I have cookies, though.”

You lean into the hand that settles against your waist. “Cookies will do, I suppose. It’s Christmas, after all.”

Decided, you pull on your warmest coat and stuff your feet into your boots, ready to brave the elements. You’re in luck, because the supermarket down the street must be the only shop still open in this weather. So after a harsh trek through the two feet of snow that’s already blanketed most of the street, you manage to stumble into the warm.

You grab a basket and begin walking down the aisles, throwing in anything that catches your eye. Several boxes of fairy lights, tinsel and chocolate later, your mood is considerably improved.

You can’t say the same for the poor guy loading his groceries onto the conveyor belt in front of you. He’s bought what your friends would call the “heartbreak-care-package-double-deluxe”, and it’s rare enough that you’ve only ever seen it once. He sniffles into his scarf, but it’s hard to tell if it’s tears-related or just from the cold.

You wait patiently to pay as he packs up his things, but don’t summon the courage to say anything. Before you know it, he’s out the doors, vanishing into the snow.

The way back home is notably more difficult – you’re weighed down by shopping, but the wind is also considerably stronger, freezing your face into whatever unflattering expression you happen to be making. There’s already someone at the entrance to your apartment building when you arrive, and it takes a while in the blur of heavy snowfall to recognise the guy from the store.

He sees you approaching and shouts something, but you barely hear past his mask and the scarf and the whistle of the snowy wind. He points a gloved hand at the lock, then pats his gloves. Keys. You pull yours out with a stiff hand and shuffle around him to unlock the door, and let you both in.

“Thanks,” he says once you’re both inside and the door is shut safely behind you. He pulls his mask away from his mouth, and offers you a small smile. “I think I left my keys at home. That, or my hands are so numb I can’t feel them in my pockets.”

“The second one wouldn't surprise me,” you reply with a laugh. “I thought I was the only one crazy enough to go out in this weather.”

“I had a change of plans, so…” He shrugs, gesturing to the almost-overflowing paper bags at his feet.

You show him the bags in your hands. “Same.”

He smiles then, brighter and more genuine than before. “I can see that,” he says. After a moment, he gestures to the elevator. “What floor?”

“Oh, I’ll take the stairs,” you reply, then ask yourself why the hell you said that. “I’m only a couple floors up.”

“Sure, sure,” he nods back. “You won’t manage to guilt me into walking, though, just a warning.”

“Gotcha. Wasn’t planning to anyway.”

The doors to the elevator open with a soft ping. “Okay, well… See you around, maybe?”

You stand awkwardly for a moment, then say, “I’m in 3C, if you need anything. Just knock.”

His bright smile returns, and something in you feels almost relieved to see it again. “Sure, thanks. I will.”

You watch as he steps into the elevator. Just before the doors close, his hand darts out to block them. “I’m Felix, by the way,” he says, then takes his hand back with a last, charmingly disarming smile as the doors finally fall shut.

It’s definitely the hike up the stairs that leaves you feeling flustered and out of breath, and definitely – definitely not your handsome neighbour’s freckly, lopsided smile.

You manage to put him out of your mind for the better part of an hour as you unpack your purchases and drape just about everything in your one-bedroom in tinsel. You’re debating about whether or not to hang ornaments from the pot rack when there’s a tentative knock at your door.

It takes you a few seconds to realise that the only person likely to be at the door is Felix, which is all the time you need to immediately panic. He knocks again, and you give your armpits a quick sniff – you couldn’t remember if you’d put any deodorant on this morning – before opening the door.

“Hi!” You say, then clear your throat at his slightly deer-eyed look. “Hi,” you repeat more quietly, hoping that the hot, sweaty flush you feel isn’t noticeable.

“Hey,” Felix says with a slow smile, like he’s holding back a laugh. There’s a faint dusting of powdered sugar on his jumper, and a smear on the end of his nose. “Y/n, right? We didn’t get the chance for a proper introduction earlier.”

“Yeah – yes, how did you know my name?”

Felix points to the label above your doorbell. Your cheeks, if possible, begin to burn even hotter.

“You’re very observant,” you say with a polite nod.

Felix grins then, eyes crinkling with his smile. “Well, I was really into mystery stories as a kid. True crime and all that.”

“Oh yeah? Like what, Sherlock? Agatha Christie?”

“Nah. Nancy Drew.”

You snort a laugh, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth to smother it. Felix laughs openly, his cheeks flushed and glowing with pleasure.

“What?” He asks. “Nancy was a real G.”

“Oh my god,” you say, covering your face with your hands, still laughing. He giggles in the doorway, and after a few moments, it grows quiet between you. You wipe at the faint wetness in the corners of your eyes, and offer Felix a happy, flushed smile.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He shifts his weight between his feet and looks down at the ground as he tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Um…” He starts, fidgeting. “So I actually came down because I was wondering…”

“Yes?” You prompt when he trails off.

Felix swallows again, and as he lifts his head to meet your eyes his next words come out in a rush. “I was wondering if I could borrow a spatula?”

Now it was your turn to feel awkward. You raise an eyebrow as you look at him, but when he only presses his lips together, you try not to let your disappointment show. “A spatula?”

“I–Yeah. I’m, um, baking.”

You straighten up, feeling off-balance like you tripped somewhere in the conversation and haven’t regained your footing yet. “Oh, okay,” you say. “I’ll just… go grab it for you.”

Turning away to go into the kitchen, you miss the way Felix thuds the heel of his hand against his forehead, soundlessly cursing himself. He stops the moment you’re back in the doorway, plastering on a smile as he takes the spatula handed to him.

“Thanks,” he says.

You smile awkwardly back. “No problem. See you round?”

“Yeah. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you say back, slowly closing the door as he backs away. Once the lock clicks shut, you’re left in silence, staring at the door handle wondering what on earth just happened.

Before you can quite recover, there’s another, desperate knock.

“I don’t need a spatula,” he says the moment you open the door. He takes a deep breath before blowing it out between pursed lips, and fixing you with an earnest look. “My flight home for Christmas got cancelled, and I’ve never spent Christmas alone. I’m sad, and lonely, and don’t want to come off looking more pathetic than I already do–”

“Want to spend Christmas with me?” You ask tentatively, interrupting Felix before his mouth completely runs away.

He blinks at you, jaw slack with surprise.

You shrug with one shoulder, and smile gently. “My flight got cancelled too. Although I should warn you, I was too late to find a Christmas tree so I had to decorate my Monstera instead.”

After a beat, he breathes out a sigh, so elated it’s almost a laugh. His smile stretches from ear to ear, eyes almost squinting closed as he says, “That sounds perfect. More than perfect.”

You step aside to open the door wide, inviting him in. “I don’t know about perfect,” you say modestly as he steps in, laughing in delight at the ornaments hanging alongside frying pans of varying sizes. “But it’s home. All I was missing was some company.”

Felix tucks his hands in his pockets and turns back to look at you with a smile. You shut the door quietly, and step closer to him. “I was actually baking, by the way,” he says in a low voice.

You frown and tilt your head to the side, unsure as to why he’s bringing it up.

“I didn’t need the spatula,” he reminds you. “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t just making everything up. I was baking, for real.”

Now you laugh, just a soft exhalation through your nose as you shake your head. “I know that.”

“You knew?”

“You’ve got icing sugar on your face,” you say, and point to your left cheek.

Felix turns a soft pink and uses the back of his hand to rub his face – on the wrong side.

“Wait, wait,” you say with another laugh. “Here, it’s right…” You shuffle forward another step, reaching up to brush your fingers along the underside of his feathery lashes and over the dusting of freckles to brush away the powdered sugar. “…There.”

Your fingertips linger on his cheek for just a heartbeat too long, and you feel heat crawling up your neck as you slowly withdraw your hand, unable to pull your gaze away from Felix’s.

“Hey,” he says, his voice just on the rougher side of his low rumble. “Would it be… very forward of me to ask you on a date, even though we only met this afternoon?”

The smile starts slowly on your lips, curling outwards with a coy edge. “Not gonna buy me a drink first?”

He doesn’t even break eye contact as he points his thumb over his shoulder, reminding you, “It’s a blizzard outside. I have cookies, though.”

You lean into the hand that settles against your waist. “Cookies will do, I suppose. It’s Christmas, after all.”