"It's for charity. Okay?"

Jisung is squeezing the fivers too hard. They're probably crumpled. Jaemin sucks on his radioactive Slosh Doggie and looks up at him like he's being dramatic. Jisung isn't being dramatic. He's never been dramatic in his life, ever. And especially not now, though he'd have a right to be. If he were.

Jisung had planned out just how this was going to go. One. Casually introduce the idea. Two. Jaemin applauds him for being selfless and cool. Three. Jisung marches up to the mistle-booth, kisses Zhong Chenle, and isn't weird about it at all. It's a pretty straightforward plan, actually.

"You want to do it, do it," Jaemin says, motioning him away. "It's just a kissing booth. Paying for a kiss is basically the entire situation, back front and sideways."

"See? You're, like, being all nonchalant about it and I think that means you think it means something it doesn't, which it doesn't."

"I think you're projecting your anxiety onto me."

"Projecting? I'm not a freaking— a freaking projector, man. You said it yourself, it's just a kissing booth."

"It's Chenle."

"I'm not nervous to kiss Chenle! I didn't even know he was doing the mistle-booth, and it's not like I want to do it just to kiss him — that would be so weird, why would you even think that?"

"Projecting."

"Project my butt, actually."

"Oh yeah? Go over there and kiss Chenle then. Do it. Kiss him down, kiss him good—"

"It's for charity."

Jaemin wraps his arms around himself and makes out with nothing. Jisung walks away.

The mistle-booth isn't very far, just past the ringtoss and a hotdog cart, under the massive shadow of the rollercoaster. The carnival noise would probably overwhelm him on any other day — blasting accordion music and ring-dinging games, his own jingly elf hat — but the noise in his brain is pretty much on the same frequency.

Chenle is standing in a candy-cane striped booth, a sprig of mistletoe hanging above his head. He's wearing a tie tucked into a plaid sweater vest, a Santa hat with his black hair peeking out from under the white fluff. Somehow he makes it look cool. Somehow it makes Jisung's palms hot, even in the cold.

Chenle's leaning forward, elbows on the little windowsill. He looks bored. There's no line.

Jisung stops. He hears the bills crinkle in his hand.

Cotton candy. He really wants cotton candy. Right now.

The snack stand is bustling. He kills time in line and eats his cotton candy methodically, then takes the long way around, sneaking up on the mistle-booth from the other direction. There's a short line now, some girls — Jisung looks away as Chenle pecks each of them on the lips, though he can hear them giggling — and a pair of guys, who Jisung recognizes as Chenle's friends, cracking up as they smack wads of cash down on the counter. Chenle kisses each of them and doles out high fives as they leave.

Yeah. It doesn't have to be serious. It can just be chill. Jisung can be chill — he will be. Or else he'll fucking die.

He walks coolly toward the booth, gazing up at the rollercoaster lights, the rows of stuffed animals in the sharpshooting tent. (Peeks at Chenle. He's on his phone.) Jisung quickly walks over to the hotdog cart and pretends to look at the menu, though it's just a picture of a hotdog. Peeks at Chenle again. He's staring at nothing, face propped up on his hand.

Chill. Cool. No problem.

"So. Kissing booth."

Chenle looks up. His eyes sweep over Jisung, his puffy jacket and the ugly sweater his mom gave him for Christmas. Elf hat. Damn it. He forgot to take it off.

"Yeah," Chenle says. "Kissing booth."

"Is it fun?"

"It's okay."

"What are your... rates?"

"Five bucks for cheek, ten for mouth-on-mouth. Thirty for ten seconds. Fifty and I'll smack your ass as you leave."

Jisung laughs a little. The back of his neck is damp. "Cool."

"You're... Jisung, right? From Homeroom?"

Chenle knows his name?! "Oh. Yeah, Jisung. Totally. Thanks."

"Thanks? For what?"

"Uh. For this. Charity, I mean. You're helping a lot of" — he scans for a red cross or a polar bear or something — "uh, charitable... causes..."

Chenle starts to smile a bit, entertained by Jisung's verbal incontinence. "Soup kitchen."

"Right. Soup kitchen."

"Well? Just saying hi or...?"

"Oh. Oh yeah. I guess I could... donate." He steps up to the windowsill, then takes a step back. "Unless you mind...?"

"Mind?" Chenle laughs easily. His laughs are always easy. It makes Jisung want to laugh too. "No, you're my five-millionth kiss today, I think I'll draw the line here."

"So... I should go...?"

"Jisung, I'm joking."

"Oh! Ah. Ha ha."

He counts the money from his pocket. And, shit. He only has eight dollars left. He spent the rest.

"Sorry, I-I don't have ten."

"That's fine, just give me five and—"

"No no! I'll be right back. Stay here. Please."

Chenle just crooks his head and smiles. Jisung's knees actually wobble at the sight of it. He staggers away.

Jaemin is inhaling a corndog back at their table. He chokes loudly when Jisung grabs him from behind.

"Two dollars, give me two dollars."

"What? Why?"

"Got cotton candy, didn't math, need money. Please, Jaemin, he's waiting."

Jaemin shakes his head, but he's rummaging around in his fanny pack. "I don't know how you get yourself into this shit."

Jisung grabs the change and books it back the way he came.

When he gets back to the mistle-booth, another line has formed. He considers sliding in at the front, and then realizes that's the weirdest thing he could possibly do right now. He waits nervously, smoothing his hair, evening the strings on his jacket.

"Brush your teeth and try again," Chenle is laughing. The next dude in line flips him off and walks away. Then it's Jisung.

Chenle says, "You're back."

"Yep, I back, me." He coughs and puts the money on the sill. Chenle sweeps it into a lockbox and tucks it away out of sight.

"Thank you for your contribution."

"You're welcome."

Chenle leans closer, arms folded on the sill. Suddenly Jisung can't move. They stare at each other for a second.

Chenle raises an eyebrow. "Jisung?"

"Yes?"

"This is normally when we kiss."

"Ah. I thought. I didn't." He shakes his hair into his eyes. "Sorry."

Chenle's eyes flit past him. He turns and sees that the line has stretched out behind him, at least ten people — majority his classmates — standing there and waiting, looking right back at him.

"Hey," Chenle says. "Jisung, look at me."

And when he does, Chenle's hands cup his face, chilly fingertips resting along the line of his jaw. Their eyes meet. Chenle leans in.

And Jisung... walks away.

Walks away. Like a robot or a zombie, staring at the ground, every inch of him burning with embarrassment. He can feel the eyes on his back, most of all Chenle's, who has got to think he's the biggest, most pathetic chickenshit loser to ever walk the face of the earth. Jaemin is still at the table, sorting his trash into recyclables and non-recyclables. Jisung slumps down in the plastic chair across from him.

"You look... contemplative," Jaemin says.

"I couldn't do it."

"Do what?"

"Kiss him. I gave him the money, he leaned in, and I left. Just walked away." It hits him again, like a punch in the gut. He crumples over the table. "I just. Did that. Oh God."

"You little dumbass." But Jaemin pats his head. "I bet Chenle's forgotten about it already."

"Yeah right. I'm that guy now. Every time he looks at me he'll remember the time I dodged his face and walked away in shame."

"At least you... made an impression?"

Jisung raises his head, grimaces, and drops it again. Jaemin sighs.

"You get too much in your own head, man. You sabotage yourself. You're doing it right now."

"I'm done. I made it as far as I could and I failed."

"Not yet. You can sit here wallowing, or you can get your tiny ass up and kiss Zhong Chenle after all. Then he'll remember you not as the guy who walked away, but as the guy who came back."

Jisung lifts his head again. "That's kind of poetic."

"Eh, I'm invested."

Jisung clenches his fists, jumps up from his chair. "I think I'm doing it."

"He's doing it!"

Jisung marches away, feeding off of Jaemin's chanting and the carnival chaos and his shoes crunch-crunching the snowy wood chips. His palms are clammy and his heart is drumming, but he won't turn around, not again.

He walks around the ringtoss tent and skids to a stop. The line has doubled and tripled. What the fuck? He was gone for five fucking minutes. He gets in line at the back, craning to look in the window. He sees a floppy red hat and that little dangling mistletoe.

Jisung can't stop fidgeting. The line moves but never gets any shorter. There's giggling and squealing from the front, murmurs all around. He closes his eyes and thinks up a prayer. He's not religious, but he could use a little extra help right now. Please don't let me humiliate myself. Please let me hear his laugh again. Thank you. Amen.

The group in front of him have finally made it to the window. He waits for them to walk away, takes a step forward and—

That guy from marching band — Donghyuck — is standing under the mistletoe in a Santa hat. "Pay upfront, please, no dine-and-dashing."

Jisung blinks. "Um. Sorry. Where's Chenle?"

"His shift's up."

"What, seriously? Where did he go?"

"Probably to wash the ten thousand strangers off his face."

"Right. Right, thanks."

He bolts. Donghyuck shouts after him — don't you want a kiss, you little shit?! — but Jisung is already around the corner, headed for the water fountain. Chenle isn't there. Jisung spins around and scans the crowd, multicoloured coats and deep-fried snacks and little kids with big stuffed animals. He runs past the carousel, the happy faces bobbing up and down, and the nativity scene, where a group of students are taking a selfie with Jesus. Chenle is nowhere.

Jisung ends up at the shut-down Winter Wonderland exhibit, slumped under the sparkly archway. It starts to snow, melting in his hair, dripping down the back of his shirt. What is he doing, looking for Chenle? Even if he did donate, Chenle doesn't owe him anything. His shift is up. He's probably tired of kissing random people. Managing Jisung's unsubtle crush must be even more exhausting.

He takes out his phone, about to text Jaemin. Then someone kicks his shoe.

"Hey."

Chenle is standing over him. Jisung scrambles to his feet.

"Hey! Hi." He clears his throat, swats the ridiculous hat off his head. "What's up."

"Are you good?"

"Why... wouldn't I be?"

"You just walked away back there. Honestly, it was the most awkward thing I've ever seen in my life."

Jisung wants to shrink into his sweater like a turtle shell. "Sorry. Really, sorry."

"It's fine." Chenle leans against the fake-ice pole. Everything about him, his sweater vest and ruddy cheeks and the snow in his hair, looks so much prettier up close, under the soft glow of the string lights. "Did you get nervous?"

"Yeah."

"Stage fright?"

"Kind of."

"Don't worry. The others were probably just thinking about themselves. At least you made an impression."

"I did?"

"Are you kidding?" Chenle makes a face, wide-eyed and panicked like a brainless goldfish, and pretends to run away.

The sound Jisung makes is pained.

"Come on!" Chenle says brightly. "It was awkward, yeah, but it was the highlight of my day. You were the highlight."

"You're not serious."

"Don't tell me what I am."

"I could've made an impression by being cool too."

"I don't think you could have." Chenle laughs that easy sound, a cloud in the cold air. "No, you're cute when you're awkward."

"That's really encouraging."

"Do you want me to kiss you now?"

Jisung's face bursts into flames again. He meets Chenle's eyes. He's actually serious. "You don't have to. You're not in the booth anymore."

"I know."

And Chenle steps up close. Closer than close, close like an inch, like a breath. And then—

A tangle of string lights thunks onto their heads, hangs like some kind of LED anti-kiss barrier between them. Chenle laughs.

"You have really shit luck," he says.

Jisung swallows the scream in his chest, bats the string lights away, and grabs Chenle by the sweater. Kisses him. Really hard, a bit wonky, a bit off-target. But then Chenle is kissing him back, just as hard, pushing up on his tiptoes, his hands in Jisung's hair. Suddenly every snowflake feels like a spark of fire.

They break off clumsily, stumbling into each other.

"Sorry," says Jisung. "I just. Did that."

"Yeah. You did. What was your name again?"

His heart stops. Chenle punches his arm, cracking up.

"Ah," Jisung sighs. "Ah ha ha."

"Messing with you. Okay? Being mean. That was... kind of the best kiss I had all day, actually."

Jisung smiles dumbly. "Cool. Would you— do you want to do something? Like get a corn dog? With me?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'd like that."

Jisung waits till Chenle isn't looking, and subtly pumps his fist. I'd like that. Chenle would like to hang out with him. Chenle knows his name, and Chenle kissed him back, kissed him for free, kissed him for no reason at all.

It's like a Christmas miracle. But that's a bit awkward, so he won't say it.