2nd Day: Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow
Brian took a step back, arms crossed over his chest as he studied very carefully how his second project had turned out: he wasn’t totally convinced about it, some parts still needed to be worked on so that they could be just perfect, exactly how he had imagined, planned and projected. Life, and especially the last years and the earthquake that had shaken his entire world and had forced him to revaluate everything he knew about himself, had soften that trait of his character and that need to always try and thrive for perfection: that had been one of the reason why he had always pushed himself so hard and why it had never been enough, why he had never been totally satisfied with the outcome, no matter how much he had tried or how many times people told him it was okay and good. But okay and good weren’t enough, especially when it came to these kind of things.
Especially when it came to Nick.
It had always been like that, even though years had passed by and the youngest didn’t need any more someone to look up to and who would set an example to follow. But it didn’t matter because, still, Brian thought that he should, or better, had to be perfect and there wasn’t any other way when it came to love. Or organize something so out of the world like that second day.
“Stop it.” A raspy voice came from behind his back, interrupting the whole debate about if he should move one of the snowflakes or if he should just add another one, like that lonely white piece that no one had seemed to notice.
“I’m not doing anything.” Brian replied, rolling his eyes because that was actually the truth since he was just standing in the centre of the room. But he knew what Aj was meaning and that thought always led to the wondering when the friend had become so good in reading him, something that only another person had been able to do. Or, truthfully, only another person had been allowed to since Brian had always been so guarded and carefully into letting other people get a glimpse of the person hidden behind the smiling and always happy mask.
“You might look like you aren’t doing nothing but I know.”
“What do you know?”
“That you are actually going over and over about how not everything is perfect. Which is totally crazy and stupid because it is. Look at what you’ve done! – Aj exclaimed, his arms open to underline what he was talking about. – Of course, my help had been essential but... you’ve done it. So stop it!”
“That snow…” Brian didn’t even seem to have heard his words, his attention still focused on that snowflakes that was now lying inside his hands.
“... Is okay where it is. Let it go.” Even before the last word had left his mouth, Aj knew what was going to happen. A groan escaped his lips as soon as he saw his friend preparing to sing the song that, Aj was sure as hell about, was going to haunt his life forever and ever.
“Let it go. Leeet it goo...” Brian’s voice started to fill the air, light and clear as it had never been in such a long time.
“Oh God.” Aj hid his face into his hands, although a small smile managed to get through the annoyance brought by that song. It was so good to see Brian going back to his old self, the guy who would burst into a song at the top of the hat, simply inspired or reminded by a single word. Or simply because he felt like, his spirit so careful and free of any of those fears and doubts that had haunted him for years and years.
Maybe, that crazy idea that Brian was realizing, that crazy project to make Nick fall in love with him – although everyone already knew that Nick had been in love with the oldest since forever – wouldn’t just be good only for Nick; maybe realizing this extraordinary project for Nick would make Brian remember that he was, indeed, an extraordinary person too, whether his voice would come back or not.
“Can’t hold it back anymore!”
“Stop. Please. Just stop.”
Brian interrupted himself before he could go fully on a perfect imitation of Elsa He slowly turned around and looked slightly confused towards his friend. “Stop what?”
“That song. First and most important stop singing that song. And stop worrying. It’s already more than anyone has ever made for him. He’s gonna love it even if it’s not perfect. He’s gonna love it just because you have made it for him.”
“I know. – Brian grunted, slightly annoyed because he knew that Aj was right and trying to hide that warmth that was already spreading all over his cheek at those last words spoken. – I just want him to be surprised.”
“And he will. And if he won’t... well, then we’ll know that there is something really wrong with his head.” The playful joke managed to get some of the stress and pressure melt away, as Brian finally managed to grasp what he had realized.
Wow.
He looked around, really looked around and in that moment, in that very and precise moment, he knew that it was going to be a success. Maybe a cynic adult would turn his nose up but a child, oh, a child would just stare in awe and wonder if he could start a snow fight in the middle of the living room.
And Nick... well, Nick was like a child trapped inside the body of an adult. So there was no doubt that he was going to love it.
“Thanks, Aj. Seriously. I wouldn’t be able to do all of this without your help.”
“Just know that you’re going to plan Ava’s birthday parties for the rest of her life.” And with a last burst of laughter, Aj waved goodbye and left Brian all alone.
There were just two things left to do but, for one, he needed again the help of someone else. Actually, someone with a fur, a tail and a huge desire to wake his master up.
“Nacho, you already know what you have to do, right?”
The only sound filling the air was a happy and cheerful bark as the dog travelled upstairs, ready to wake Nick up and get another treat.
*********
Just like the day before, a white envelope and a too much excited dog were waiting for Nick to wake up. At first, when sleep was still travelling inside his system, Nick had totally believed that it had been a dream.
A wonderful, amazing and too beautiful dream to be true. Images and echoes of the day before flooded through him, trying to get his attention and bring him back to reliving that amazing and heavenly experience: decorating the tree, happiness and glee filling his veins and making him feel like he had been drunk, although no drops of alcohol had been shared or offered; the surprise when a knock had came from the door, resonating inside the room and anticipation stealing away the stage and becoming the only one star ready to act and play its part. And then... then Brian. That intimate hug they shared, that longing finally satisfied of feeling his body curled up against his, the lights reflecting and playing upon his face finally relaxed and, somehow, happier that it had ever been before.
A wonderful, amazing dream that Nick feared it hadn’t been real. Until he had opened his eyes and saw that, on the contrary, it had been an unbelievable truth. Surprise shook him awake, pushing his fingers to scratch Nacho behind the ears and then picking the envelope up. What could Brian possibly have in mind this time? Nick’s knowledge of Christmas’s traditions was seriously too small to come up with a list long enough to reach five days, let alone twelve. But it was Brian and the man had always proven to be unpredictable when it came down to those kinds of things.
So, with anticipation, Nick started to read carefully that second letter.
Second day.
Are you excited? Curious? Already tired? Already “Oh God, why did I have signed up for this torture?”? I should have told you that you are free to stop this any time you want. I don’t want to force you into something that you don’t like, although it’s gonna break my heart and then I’ll probably have another operation... you know that exists a “broken heart syndrome”, which is a type of cardiomypathy that can lead to heart failure? Okay, I realize that this isn’t properly Christmasish so forget what I’ve just said...except the part where you can stop this whenever you want. I was serious. I’m serious.
So. Second day.
After lights and decorations, there is just another thing that makes Christmas. No, it’s not the gifts, so hold your horses until after half of this crazy adventure. This thing, this other thing, is snow. It makes sense since we always assumed that Santa Claus lives in North Pole, where there is white and ice basically everywhere you look.
Snow is magic, even and maybe for its simplicity: when you think about it, snow is just water. Nothing but simple and plain water: the same water that pours down under the form of rain and storm; the same water that, sometimes, comes down as that misty rain that doesn’t require an umbrella but it still manages to get you wet and curls your hair. (if you still have hair that curls. Mine have long abandoned that ship...)
Oh, Nick missed Brian’s curls, he had spent so many moments, so many times and minutes, longing for reaching a hand and play with them, his fingertips brushing slightly the skin of the neck and wondering if a shiver would be born and where it would go: would it make Brian’s body shudder or would it just travel along the spine, disappearing under the so many layers of clothes the man always wore?
But snow is magic because it needs particular conditions to happen: the temperature has to be just perfect, not too cold or we would have plain ice (and do you imagine how many people could get hurt if it by an iced snowflake?) and not too hot otherwise… just rain. Nothing fancy.. Nothing magical. No, snow needs the perfect temperature and you can see it, you can feel it when it is going to happen: the sky turns into a special shade of grey, so much brighter than normal and you can’t understand how it is possible since there is no sun out; a strange smell starts to fill the air, something that you can’t quite describe but you can recognize as soon as you start to feel it. The smell of snow. The smell of something so magical that it is bound to happen. Everything is silent, as if they are preparing themselves to be buried under layers and layers of thick and soft snow.
And when it snows... oh, it’s just so wonderful!
And, Nick, when you think about it, snow does sound like love. Because love, just like snow, turns everything around and makes the world a way better and more beautiful place. You can predict it, you can try to plan it but, like snow, love always takes you by surprise.
And it’s magic.
I know that I’m not a magician and I can’t make snow out of the blue. So, when you’ll go downstairs, you won’t find real snow. But I wanted to give you something that could be like that.
Something magical. And, I hope, something that can totally surprise you.
Yours
Brian
Nick didn’t waste any time and, after grabbing and putting up the first shirt he found lying on the floor – maybe it wasn’t a clean one but he still didn’t know how the laundry worked – he was already descending the stairs. And promptly stopped halfway, just when the stairs did a turn and gave a first glimpse on the living room. Or the winter wonderland that had decided to drop by his house and decided that it was, after all, the best place in the whole world to stay for a little while.
Snowflakes were everywhere. Not real snowflakes but that was beyond the point because Nick knew, after all, that Brian couldn’t really bring out real snow from whatever hat he was using for that crazy, absolutely crazy, idea. But it didn’t matter. How could it matter when Brian had managed to put snow all over the floor as if it was an endless outdoor space, just like some of those fields he had always watched in those movies where it seems to be always snowing? How could it matter when snowflakes, a little bit bigger than normal and really, really shining and glittering, were hanging happily from the ceiling?
Oh, surprised he was! More than surprised. Shocked. In awe because no one had ever done something like that for him. And Nick wasn’t even sure that someone had done something like that even in those cheeky movies that everyone secretly loved.
It made him feel special.
And so, so much loved.
“Holy shit.”
The tree, his Christmas tree that had been decorated for not even a day, looked so much more beautiful and dashing now that he was surrounded by so much white: its lights reflected themselves, sending red, yellow, blue and green beams all over the place and making it looking like a natural disco room. It was oh so all over the place but, at the same time, everything looked so bright and so shiny that Nick couldn’t help but grinning like an idiot.
Before Nick could even start wondering what he was supposed to do – building an imaginary snowman? Starting a snow fight against Nacho who, for not knowing if it was real or not, was already picking one up and chewing as if it was a strange and unusual treat? – something caught his attention and gaze: upon the fireplace, between a thread of lights that decorated a Santa Claus that hadn’t been there the day before, there was another envelope, this time a little bit smaller than usual.
You really thought that I would be the only one doing all the work? Nicky Nicky...
A soft laugh escaped Nick’s lips as he imagined Brian speaking those words, using that nickname that it had always been his and no one else’s: he could picture Brian’s face, the way his lips would curl to pronounce those letters and that slightly scolding expression because of something that he had said or done, although not that particular serious.
The second part of the second day (I do love these repetitions, you know?) is a tradition, back to the old days when this old man was just a child. Even back then, I loved Christmas more than anyone else and I couldn’t wait for the moment when the first snowflakes would start to dance their way from the sky; sometimes it really didn’t snow and, yet, it wouldn’t take away a bit of what you are going to do now.
And it’s very simple.
As you can see, there is a white paper included in this envelope. All you have to do is take a pen and write to a very old had happy man that lives in North Pole and that has a long white beard. I know what you might say “Brian, I’m too old for this things!”, a pout on your face just like when you felt like we were treating you as a little child instead than a coworker. But see, Nick, the thing is that you are never, ever, too old for those kind of things. And the best and most beautiful thing is that you don’t have to ask for a thousand of gifts, objects that we can buy every day since we’ve worked our butts’ off for the money; just listen to your heart and ask for that thing that you want, desire and love most. Ask for that thing that you think it’s so hard, difficult or even impossible to get. (Of course you can’t ask peace for the world, it’s Santa Claus not God!)
When you have finished (and, mind you, you have to sit down on the snow covered floor while you’re writing, otherwise I’ve done so much work for nothing), follow the snowflakes ‘till you arrive to the kitchen. Old tradition meets a new one, where I will teach you how to make the perfect and best eggnog ever.
Yours,
Brian
*********
Almost an hour later found Nick finally finishing writing the letter. It hadn’t been a simple task as he had imagined, mostly because he didn’t want to appear stupid or, Lord forbid him, a stupid little child who still believed in fairytales and such. He knew that Brian was going to read it and a part of him wanted to show him how much he had grown up, how much he wasn’t anymore that spoiled brat that hadn’t realized how many good things he had already in his life.
Only one thing was missing and he knew that Brian, of all of people, would understand his words so Nick simply sat down and started writing. He didn’t even read it once, to check for mistakes or if he had sounds ridiculous; he just folded in two and then headed towards the kitchen where he could distinctly hear the sounds of someone running around as if he did know where all the things were.
The kitchen had been brought to life, with the counters filled with half used aliments and all the necessary to prepare the ultimate, as Brian had said in his letter, and best eggnog for Christmas.
Who was Nick to put a stop on that?
More importantly, Nick didn’t want to stop Brian because it would mean to have him gone from his house, which now was finally filled with sounds and voices that didn’t belong to a television show or to the notes of the radio. So, for just a bunch of seconds, Nick just stood on the threshold, his arms crossed and the right shoulder leaning against the wooden frame of the door, watching the figure of Brian moving around his kitchen as if the other man had always belonged there. Which kinda did, albeit it had always been an imaginary Brian belonging to an imaginary kitchen of an imaginary home. Their imaginary home.
The orange light of the afternoon had made its way through the soft and white curtain, blown up by the wind that smelled of ocean and sand, and had found its favorite spot to land upon Brian’s lean figure: it seemed like a scene from a movie, where the main character would spend time doing something so simple and domestic as cooking just to prove that he was like any other normal person, but doing it as if he was a chef. And yet there was something magnetic in that scene, something that drawn Nick and didn’t let him tear away his eyes from it: maybe it was the way Brian’s hands worked skillfully while doing whatever he was doing with the eggs and the sugar, that concentrated look on his face that he always wore when Brian wanted something to turn out perfectly and that was basically everything. Or, maybe, it was the way the fading sunlight landed perfectly upon his features, as if it couldn’t stop itself from caressing the back of the head, those last hairs that wanted so badly to curl again as if they were sleepily cats lying under the warmth of a summer day.
Nick wanted to do the same. Nick wanted to be closer, stand next to Brian and just place his hand on that small spot on his back, that dip that curved the spine and protect a bundle of nerves able to make muscles and bones tremble and shiver under his touch; Nick wanted nothing more than lean over Brian, studying what he was doing so carefully and so concentrated, and following every and each of his moves and inhaling that perfume that was only Brian’s.
Nick wanted to do it but, at the same time, he didn’t dare to: it was an uncertain territory, a road where you didn’t know if there were bombs hidden and ready to go off as soon as you made a wrong move; it was all hanging by a thin and frail rope, years of a friendship that could turn into something beautiful if both of them would walk in the same direction. And that was where Nick was still a little unsure: what Brian had planned, the way he acted and moved around him, spoke of a sentiment that Nick shared and had felt for so many years. But what if? What if Nick was just fooling himself? What if he was just reading those traces all totally wrong, only because he wanted so badly that the dream of a love could come true?
At least, Nick told himself, he would try to taste the waters. He would go along with the plan, letting Brian lead the way and see where they would end up: any way it would end, Nick was going to come out as a winner, whether he was going to gain someone to love or the luck to gain back someone so damn important in his life.
Nick cleared his voice, trying to get Brian’s attention but without startling him. A smile replied back, a new and different light brightened up the eyes that, with the disappearing of the sun, were losing their blue shade and settling for a much quieter and lucid grey.
“You finished with the letter?” Brian asked, stopping himself from whatever he was doing and cleaning his hands with a towel he left on the counter next to him.
“You didn’t say where I’m supposed to leave it. – Nick replied with a nod of the head, lips curved into a tiny smile. – Or who.”
“Well, you’re lucky. – Brian replied in a small laughter. – I happen to be Santa Claus’s favorite elf.”
Nick couldn’t hold back that tickling inside his throat, bubbles of a playfulness that had been long forgotten because, lately, they had all been too worried and hurt to joke so lightly. “I’m not surprised, you know?”
“Well, Nickholas, you won’t ever be an elf. You’re too tall.”
“And that’s how you crush my biggest dream. Cruel, Brian. You’re cruel.” Nick’s tone lingered between the hurt and the laugh, his index finger pointed towards Brian’s chest in an attempt of being serious and hoping of a slight and unnoticed caress.
“Someone has to. It’s a hard and difficult task.” Brian replied with a solemn tone.
“I bet. Now I don’t know what to do with my life.”
“Well, Nick... – Brian’s voice trailed off, the tip of his index finger tapping slowly and deliberately against his lips. He tilted his head to one side, as if he had to ponder really carefully and seriously about his next words. But, unconsciously or not, Brian had Nick hanging to his words. Like it had always happened in the past. Like, Nick thought, it should always be. -... Maybe I can put a good work with the boss and let you have another important job.”
“Really?” Nick asked as he walked closer and closer to Brian, erasing the distance made of tiles and useless centimeters.
Something changed in the air. Something sparked in the air, in that small bubble that had emerged suddenly and that had enveloped the two figures, leaving behind traces of electricity that travelled up the arms and the nerves. Brian felt that change, a little surprised about the way Nick was acting and, at the same time, hope and belief bubbling and becoming bigger and bigger inside his heart: there was a line of tenderness softening Nick’s features, a light that Brian had rarely seen on the friend’s face because life had always managed to steal away any love or happiness from him. In that kitchen, barely used and now silently singing while coming alive, Nick looked happy. And a pang of pride blossomed inside Brian, that familiar sensation of knowing that those eyes were shining because of him.
And that was what loving somebody meant to him. That was what loving Nick meant to him: making him happy; showing him that life could be wonderful and amazing, if you had the luck to spend and share it with someone else. Someone who treasured and loved you like no one had ever, or would ever do.
“I’ve been told that Rudolph is ready to retire so you can be a reindeer. Aren’t you happy?”
For a moment Nick didn’t say anything. For a moment Nick just stared into Brian’s face, fighting the urge and the desire to lean down and plant a kiss on those lips that were so failing in hiding laughter and smiles. Oh, he wanted so bad to kiss him! He wanted so bad to taste those inches of red skin to see if they had taken the smell of sugar and eggs, or vanilla or whatever ingredients Brian had been using until that moment. And truth was that Nick had wanted to kiss those lips for as long as he could remember, for as long as he had tried to drink away that desire that shouldn’t had been directed towards his best friend.
But that wasn’t the moment. Oh, it could totally turn out to be a perfect first kiss, drew and filled with the magic that came only with the domesticity and the tranquility of that normal scene. That wasn’t the moment because something, some words, still need and ought to be said and spoken.
So, Nick didn’t say anything but let that laughter, trapped inside his throat, fly out from his lips and vanish into the air, followed shortly by Brian’s echoes. It was refreshing. It was such a relief, for both of them, to find that their chemistry was still there, had always been there even when it had been buried under lies and drugs, distance and coldness.
“Do I look like a reindeer?” Nick asked, grinning as big as he could.
“Do I have to remind you about that time you were basically orange? From orange to brown...”
“Brian Thomas Littrell, are you making fun of me?” Nick demanded, his hands going on his hips and failing so bad in looking serious and offended.
“Nope? – Brian replied sheepishly, his attempts to hide the humor in his voice disappearing into a fist of giggles. To change the subject, he handed Nick a glass of eggnog. – Here. Taste it very carefully because you’re gonna try to replicate it.”
It was good. The eggnog. Strangely, Nick couldn’t taste any traces of alcohol in it. It wasn’t like he couldn’t drink anymore, albeit a lot of people still tend to confuse or simplify being sober as not touching any drops of alcohol. It didn’t work like that, there were shades and layers of different problems and reasons behind that addiction and that, precisely in that turning point, lay the difference between a simple and normal drinking between friends and turning a drink into a way to run away from problems and fears. Still, the gentle and dedicated thought behind that gesture managed to add another reason, another point to how it was useless resisting into falling, over and over, in love with Brian.
“You’re gonna help me, right?”
“I left you the recipe.”
“But... that doesn’t count as a help! – Nick exclaimed in horror. – You know that I suck at following the instructions.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re gonna be fine.”
“I need help, Bri!”
“No, you don’t. – Brian assured, thrusting into Nick’s hand the pages filled with his own calligraphy. – You need to do it on your own.”
“And what are you going to do in the meantime?” Nick asked, mindlessly playing with a fork he had found on the counter.
“Well, I’m gonna sit over there… – Brian’s index finger pointed at one of the chairs that were waiting endlessly in front of the counter. –… and I’m gonna read your letter.”
“Oh.” Nick commented, his lips forming the shape of an o and the feeling of his cheeks slowly turning a faint shade of red. He had thought that was going to be the case, with Brian reading the letter in hope to make his wish coming true, but he couldn’t shake away that feeling of slight embarrassment. What if Brian thought that his words were just childish and stupid? After all, Nick had never been good with words and Brian knew that.
Brian’s smile grew a little bit warmer, lost and gone were any signs of jokes and making fun of. “Don’t worry. I’ll be as professional as I can be. After all, I’m Santa Claus’s most trusted elf.” And, said that, Brian took his place on the farthest chair and started reading Nick’s messy but unmistakable handwriting.
Dear Santa Claus,
I’ve never really believed in you actually. But Brian is so firm and determinate saying that you’re true and he’s always right, which always makes me mad because how can he be right all the time? Has he got some sort of books full of truths that he can read every time he needs?
So, since Brian says that you really exists, I’m writing you this letter. Especially because he asks me to write it and I really couldn’t say no. (Bri, I know you’re gonna be the one reading this, though. Just don’t make fun of me afterwards, please?)
A soft chuckle flow away from Brian’s lips, breaking that silence that had fallen while both guys had been immersed within their works. But Nick didn’t raise his head up, so concentrated on the task he had been given and that it was already turning out to be much more complicated than he had thought.
I’m a lucky guy, after all. I have already everything that anyone can ask for: a work that I love; money so I can buy and make my dreams come true; a second chance to be finally happy and healthy. And, yet, there is just this one little, tiny thing that no amount of money can buy. I’ve come to believe that someone, some wicked witch (and I bet all my money that I’ve dated them, though I can hardly remember names or faces), has put a curse on me and I’ll probably be destined not to find love.
Love. Yes, that’s the one thing that I really want. The one thing that I’m asking you, although it might seems a little strange and weird because how can a man, dressed in red and white, be able to bring him something that it’s not physical. You can’t actually wrap love into a gift, can you? And yet I’m still hoping that you can.
Love.
I should be too much old for whining and complaining like a teenage girl, whose friends but her are happily in love. But it’s so much true: everyone I know is happily married, one or two kids to brighten up their lives and no more worrying or wondering if there is something wrong with them. I’m the only one left, never having known what true love is. Means. Tastes. Feels.
Love.
That’s the only one thing that I truly want and that I truly long to. That kind of love every story, every famous book or tale have narrated for century and century, able to consume the mind of great men and cause all sorts of wars; that kind of love I’ve sang for almost twenty-two years, albeit not never knowing what I was really singing about; that kind of love you would move mountains for, daring to face every obstacles just to make that somebody happy or just so that he would never get hurt by anything or anyone.
But I don’t want just this love.
I want the normal love. The everyday love. The one that settles down in complicity and domesticity, with still sparks of passion and just being content and happy to have someone who can you share your life with. The waking up; the breakfasts and dinners together; the going doing groceries, yelling at me because I still don’t know how to chose the right food; the Sundays spent watching football together and then going out for a walk and for an ice cream on the beach. The nights spent on the couch, reading or watching television. The romance. The fights and the make up parts. And I might add something else but you’re Santa Claus and I want to make you believe that I’m not that naughty as one can think. (But I bet, Brian, that you have already guessed. )
So there it is. The only one thing that I want for Christmas. Love and being loved. Take care and being taken care of. Support and being supported. A family that I can call my own, that no one will ever be able to take away from me.
That’s it.
Just love.
When Brian finished reading Nick’s letter, all he could do was just staying silent and looking at the man who was still having a row with the eggnog’s recipe. It was almost evening, the dawn’s colors were almost changing the light into various shades of blue; he hadn’t noticed, too busy getting inside Nick’s mind, when the other man had gone and turned on the bright and white lights of the kitchen. The room wasn’t immaculate anymore and gone was that sense and air of something too beautiful and good to be used: not that room looked like someone was actually living there, the smell and the aroma of the eggnog was starting to make it cozier and familiar.
Brian wondered if this was the future would look like for them. If a they was still and already a possibility and not just something that was too much to ask for, something he had dreamed about and was trying to force to come alive.
No, a small voice replied from within. It couldn’t be just his imagination or just a wishful thinking. It couldn’t be, especially after reading that letter.
Brian’s gaze travelled upon the blonde figure, stealing away some minutes and some moments to just lingering upon that face that had been part of his life since... well, sometimes it felt like forever, like a part of him had always knew those blue eyes, those blonde hair that more than often had been styled in some crazy and ridiculous ways. That face didn’t belong anymore to a child, or to a boy who had to discover the world on his own while facing and fighting monsters that weren’t just part of the everyday growing up; that face now belonged to a man, a mature man that had finally found his way in the world and wasn’t afraid anymore to show the lines and the scars that his travel and past had left on his skin. That face belonged to the Nick Brian had always known existed, somewhere under the layers and layers of masks and fears, of words that had wanted to shape him into someone he wasn’t and couldn’t be. That face belonged to a name that had been carved upon his heart years and years before, decades and decades before, when he had been just five years old that had been granted to live on because someone needed him.
Because Nick needed him.
He folded the letter, Nick’s letter, as carefully as possible. Brian didn’t want to ruin it, for this belonged to a very special box full of memories and special treasures. Silently, he walked over Nick, who was just now filing the glasses with something that didn’t quite resemble an eggnog.
Or something edible and drinkable.
“I wouldn’t dare to try it, Brian. Something went definitely wrong in that recipe.” Nick admitted, an embarrassing shade of red painting his cheeks.
“It’s okay. – Brian replied, taking the two glasses and throwing their contents down the kitchen sink. – We can try to do it again.”
“We?” Nick asked, eyebrow rose.
“Yes, we. You and me because I’m going to teach you how to make an eggnog without making a mess.”
And a mess the counter was, with spurts of egg all over the surface and sugar that had left a trail for ants to follow and start a new village inside Nick’s kitchen.
“Sorry?” Nick said sheepishly.
Brian didn’t reply immediately. There was just a small distance between him and Nick, the space sufficient to be close to each other without brushing or bumping into each other; the space sufficient for gazing into each other’s eyes and see the reaction first hand, without having to guess or to doubt if their sight was playing a game with their mind.
“You know, I believe that your wish will be coming true this year.”
In a move that he didn’t quite expected, not so soon yet, Brian got on his tiptoes and just left a butterfly kiss on Nick’s cheek. Just a brush. Just a soft caress of lips, a touch that lingered on his skin even after those lips had disappeared.
“I believe it too.” Nick whispered back, his fingertips leaning over that spot on his cheek that still burned from Brian’s touch. He really believed it. Not in Santa, not in elf and all the magical creatures that lived inside the Christmas fairytale.
Nick believed in something else. In someone else. Nick believed, had always believed, in Brian.
Chapter End Notes:
I'm so sorry for the long wait! Christmas and the holiday had kind got in the way, with all the ccoking for the family and feeling totally exhausted after! But here is a long chapter so... =)
