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It was one of those nights.
Ruth, with the perfect vision of hindsight, felt she should have predicted this. Yes, she was pretty good at regulating her sleep hygiene nowadays, taking care to monitor her screen usage in the hours before bed and avoiding stimulants after noon, and she was pleased with her progress over the past few years. Progress didn't mean that she was invincible, though – spikes of stress or unexpected events still tended to render her insomniac despite her efforts to the contrary.
And the series of circumstances which had unfolded through the day – starting with the earlier-than-forecasted beginning of the blizzard, followed by the cancellation of basically all transportation to and from the city, and ending with Ruth offering her couch to one thoroughly stranded Stevie Budd – certainly fit the description of both stress and unexpected.
Hence, Ruth mused, her current predicament.
The irregular tictictic of icy snow against her bedroom windows was the only sound she could hear, forming a sort of white noise that usually would have helped soothe her to sleep. Now it was nothing but a constant reminder that Stevie was just a wall away and no amount of staring at the completely uninteresting ceiling was going to be enough to counter the adolescent thrill of exhilaration that knowledge brought.
No sleeping tips and tricks were ever going to be particularly effective when faced with the presence of one's crush, after all.
Ruth rolled onto her side and reached under her nightstand to pull her clock out of hiding. She knew she wasn't supposed to look at the time, knew that having concrete numbers to obsess over only made her insomnia worse, but she looked anyway.
2:39.
Merry goddamn Christmas.
With a frustrated sigh, Ruth shoved her duvet away and climbed out of bed. Time to test out that herbal blend Joyce had recommended. Ruth didn't put a lot of stock in that sort of thing, preferring habits and pharmaceuticals over dried plants, but she'd try just about anything at twenty to three on Christmas morning.
She slipped on her terry cloth housecoat to guard against the cool air of her condo's nighttime thermostat setting and made her way out of her bedroom as quietly as possible, her thick socks dampening her steps into nothingness as she walked along the wood flooring of the hallway.
It was all for naught, though. As she turned the corner into the main living space, intent on tiptoeing past the couch to the kitchen on the other side, Ruth was confronted with the silhouette of a figure leaning against the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall.
"Oh!"
Stevie looked up, her face pale in the dim ever-present light of the city that filtered through the windows. "Shit," she almost whispered, grimacing. "Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, no." Ruth waved away her apology and responded in a similar almost-whisper. "You just startled me – I was already awake. I'm not a great sleeper sometimes." They looked at each other for a long few seconds, adjusting to the abruptness of encountering another conscious person during the solitary hours of the night. Then Ruth cleared her throat and pointed vaguely toward the kitchen. "I thought I'd make something hot and uncaffeinated to drink. Want some?"
Stevie's head turned to follow her finger; a strand of hair slid over her shoulder with the movement. "Uh, sure." She met Ruth's eyes again. "Thanks."
"No problem. I'll be right back."
It was but the work of a moment to fill the kettle and flick it on, then another moment to spoon the herbal mix into a pair of teaballs, but Ruth took those moments to settle her nerves. She had not been expecting to run into Stevie and the soft picture she'd presented, all tousled hair and over-large hoodie and plaid pyjama pants backlit by the city, had been a kick to the chest that took Ruth's breath away. But she had to get it together sharpish because coming on to Stevie (who was by all appearances straight and totally uninterested) while she was functionally trapped and reliant on Ruth's goodwill in the face of a storm that had eliminated every hotel vacancy from Montauk to Pennsylvania was, in a word, uncool.
So Ruth shook out her hands and retied her housecoat's belt while she studiously thought about the national debt and Ulysses and, hell, counting grains of sand. Anything that wasn't Stevie, really. By the time the kettle clicked off and she pushed away from the counter to pour the boiling water into the waiting mugs, she felt prepared for the next onslaught.
Mostly, that is.
"As a warning," she announced as she walked back into the dim living room, mugs in hand, "this smells terrible."
"Quite the saleswoman." Stevie had re-ensconced herself on the couch, her borrowed blankets piled on her lap, and she held a hand out for the proffered mug; Ruth refused to think about how cute she looked. "But the real question is whether it tastes terrible."
"Probably. This is my first time trying it."
Stevie peered into the murky brown depths of her mug, shrugged, and drank. Ruth followed suit.
"Eau de moss," was Stevie's judgement.
"Eau de oddly sour moss," Ruth corrected, and Stevie smirked. "But my personal trainer swears by it for getting to sleep and I trust her not to poison me, so—" She cut herself off with another sip and struggled not to grimace.
"I can see the appeal." Stevie's eyes glinted in the low light, dancing despite the hour. "If I fall asleep, then I don't have to drink this anymore. It's like coercing yourself to bed."
"Maybe that's the secret."
They exchanged smirks that faded as they sipped and Ruth stood there, hovering, unsure whether she was intruding. Maybe she should go back to her room? She probably should – Stevie wouldn't want company right now, not in the middle of the night in a new place after a rough day. But as she opened her mouth to say goodnight, fully prepared to spend another four hours staring at her bedroom ceiling while drinking moss water, Stevie shifted over a spot on the couch, tucked her blankets further out of the way, and gave Ruth an expectant look.
Well. Okay, then.
Cautiously holding the sides of her housecoat together with her free hand, Ruth perched on the edge of the couch. She left a solid two feet of space between her and Stevie, who was sitting tailor-style with her hood up and the cuffs of her sleeves wrapped around her hands to protect them from the hot ceramic. In other words, she was truly and completely adorable. But Ruth, who liked to think she had learned a thing or two about Stevie in the months they'd been colleagues, figured that wasn't a sentiment that would be appreciated if she shared it, so she kept those thoughts to herself.
The silence was sliding from hesitant to awkward, the tictictic of the snow getting louder and more oppressive the longer they sat there, and Ruth fell into the first thing she could think of that didn't involve the way Stevie's hair framed her face.
"I'm sorry you couldn't get home for Christmas."
Stevie's snort changed the flow of her tea's steam, whipping it out and away from her. "It's not your fault. Unless you're some kind of weather witch or something and didn't tell me? In which case, I have questions."
The smile that stretched Ruth's lips was inevitable; Stevie had a talent for pulling them out of her. "It's less of an apology and more of a general expression of sympathy, Stevie," she lectured, gently mocking. "It must suck to be stuck here rather than doing whatever it is you'd normally be doing."
"Not really." She eyed Ruth for a long moment, a considering expression on her face. Ruth tilted her head in a gentle question and Stevie looked away, her eyes tracing the bookshelves across from them. "I don't really care about Christmas that much," she said, cautious and quiet.
Ruth blinked, hearing something in Stevie's tone that spoke to her. "No?"
"No." Then Stevie's voice changed, going flippant as she swirled her teaball around in her mug. "Too much happiness and joy and peace on Earth, y'know? Not really my scene."
Ruth decided not to address the obvious misdirection. "Mm, yes, all those terrible things."
"Exactly." Stevie took another sip of her tea and immediately winced, glaring at her mug. "Anyway, I should be apologizing to you. I'm the one crashing your plans. Whatever they are, they couldn't involve me on your couch."
Oh. Ruth felt caught out despite not having done anything wrong. "Um, no, I don't have any Christmas plans..."
Stevie's eyes went wide. "Shit, sorry, are you Jewish or something? Fuck, I shouldn't assume."
"No, no, nothing like that – you're looking at one very lapsed Catholic. Christmas has just been a bit... complicated in recent years." To say the very fucking least. Marrying a white dude was one thing. Divorcing him was another. Divorcing him because you figured out that you're gay? Ruth blew out a breath. "Actually, this storm has been very convenient cover for the fact that I cancelled my Christmas Eve flight to my parents' place a full week before there was snow in the forecast." She looked down at her mug. "And didn't tell anyone."
Stevie whistled, low and impressed. "Okay, gotcha. 'Complicated' is maybe a small word?"
Ruth tipped her head in amused acknowledgement. "Yeah, maybe."
"Well, call me selfish if you must but I'm glad you did cancel – I'd hate to think where I'd be if you were on a flight somewhere."
"Oh, you would've managed, I'm sure."
The wind picked up briefly, the tictictic growing louder in counterpoint to Ruth's claim. "Maybe." Stevie flicked her gaze between the windows and Ruth. "I would've made an igloo in Central Park or something, spent the next few days there."
The image of Stevie in an igloo, with her pantsuit and her business traveller carry-on luggage and her unimpressed stare, had Ruth stifling a giggle. Clearing her throat, she distracted herself with a drink of moss water. "I doubt you'd be the first. Anyway, I just meant to say that you're not... imposing or anything. I was just going to watch stupid movies and eat Chinese food and pretend that the world didn't exist for about twenty-four hours. You're more than welcome to join me."
Stevie was staring out of the windows again, her profile stark against the yellowish haze of snow and light pollution, and Ruth, sensing there were some intense thoughts happening that she wasn't privy to, gave her the space of the moment. She followed her gaze to the window, her mind wandering as she watched the storm play out. Even this high up, even this late at night, even behind doubled panes of glass and thickly falling snow and the whistling wind, there was still a detectable level of life in the city, with the ambulance sirens and flickering lights and a general hum of humanity that never, ever went away. The city that never sleeps was a comfort when she couldn't either. It was one of the main reasons why Ruth loved living here so much, why she'd taken an internship during school and just never left – even on Christmas, it was hard to feel alone while so constantly reminded of the presence of other people.
Sharing a mug of gross tea with someone else helped, too, of course.
"Yeah," Stevie breathed out, snapping Ruth's attention back to her. "I could do movies and Chinese."
"Good." The word fell out of Ruth's mouth without her say-so, which seemed to happen a lot around Stevie. "I'm glad."
A tiny smile flashed over Stevie's lips, there and gone like a shooting star but twice as rare.
Ruth let herself relax a little, tucking her feet up onto the couch and curling her knees toward Stevie. It was nice, really, having company in the middle of the night like this. Sure, it sucked that they were both awake – no insomniac wanted to be awake when they were supposed to be sleeping, after all – but if given the choice between awake alone and awake with someone else, Ruth knew which she'd pick.
That said, she was still awake.
Glaring down at her mug, Ruth sighed in defeat. "Okay, this isn't working."
"Oh good, you said it first. I didn't want to diss your moss."
Ruth snorted and set her mug down on the coffee table in front of them with a quiet click. "Diss away. I'm wide awake."
"Be sure to tell your personal trainer that she should stick to... whatever it is that she does." Stevie's brow furrowed for a moment. "Crunches?"
"Something like that, yeah." Ruth sighed and leaned back into the couch, careful to keep her distance from Stevie's knee. There was no way she was going to get to sleep, not now. There was only one solution: embrace it. "Want to watch a movie?"
"Now?" The bewilderment was palpable in Stevie's voice.
"Why not? Are you going to be able to sleep?" Stevie shook her head, reaching out to place her mug on the table. "Same here. So I don't see why we can't start the Christmas movies. Well," Ruth amended, tilting her head with a smile, "not Christmas movies. Movies instead of Christmas. Anti-Christmas movies."
"Counter-Christmas movies."
"Exactly. No Chinese yet, though. Even in New York, Chinese delivery at 3am on Christmas morning would be a hard ask."
Stevie met her eyes, both amused and bemused, and cracked a smile. "Why not?" she echoed, leaning back to match Ruth's posture. "What movies you got?"
"Oh, everything."
Ruth fetched the various remotes from the drawer below the television, left them with Stevie, and took their mugs to the kitchen to dump the moss water out. "Want some hot chocolate?" she called from the kitchen, sticking her head through the doorway to hear Stevie's answer.
"Sure. Ruth, you have like two terabytes of shitty action movies."
"And four streaming services."
"Jesus Christ."
"Now, now, none of that. Anti-Christmas, remember," Ruth mock scolded, and Stevie laughed her first laugh of the night. The warmth Ruth could feel on her face had nothing to do with the kettle and she quietly prayed it would disappear before she returned with their drinks.
When she brought their mugs back, newly refilled with deliciously cheap powdered hot chocolate, Ruth made to return to her spot on the couch, but Stevie, with barely a glance in Ruth's direction, flipped her blankets out imperiously to make room for Ruth under them.
Ruth paused, swallowed, and took the offer.
"Any preferences?" Stevie asked as Ruth settled down beside her, their knees touching under the heavy warmth of the blankets.
Ruth shook her head, trying not to think about how close they were, how the warm air rising from the blankets was warm because of Stevie. "Just no Die Hard."
"Agreed."
Eventually, Stevie chose The Last Action Hero and with Ruth's approving smile and nod, started it up.
It was perfect – incomprehensible, violent, cartoonish; really, a complete delight and exactly what the doctor ordered. They laughed quietly in the right spots and snorted in derision at the absurdities, but didn't talk, content to consume without commentary. However, their movie-watching silence was broken about halfway through the movie when Stevie interrupted Arnie's fight scene with a sigh and a quiet "Christmas is so complicated," that Ruth almost didn't hear.
But hear it she did, and when she turned to look at Stevie, ready to say something quippy about not talking about Christmas during Anti-Christmas Movie Day, the words died on her lips.
Stevie was looking at the television, sure, but she wasn't watching it anymore, her eyes almost glassy as she stared at something that wasn't there. Her expression was too serious for the ridiculous movie on the screen, her mouth taut and thin, her complexion more pale than usual. She sighed, a shuddered thing that set off a little exclamation point in the back of Ruth's mind, and Ruth leaned into her a little, pressing their shoulders together in a silent show of support that she blindly hoped was actually helpful.
"To complicated Christmases," she murmured over the noise of the movie, tapping the rim of her mug to Stevie's in the gentlest of toasts. "And to uncomplicating them."
Stevie nodded, a little shaky in a way that made Ruth ache, and leaned back into Ruth's shoulder. Her head came down to rest on the worn soft fabric of the housecoat and her hand found Ruth's under the blankets, tentatively linking their pinkies together in the tiniest of squeezes.
"To uncomplicating them," Stevie whispered, her words disappearing under the explosions and gunfire coming from the television, and Ruth, heart in her throat, squeezed back.