Work Text:
23.12.09
Significant disruptions, the website banner still read. Unprecedented snow and ice – amber warnings – we apologise for any inconvenience –
The computer screen went out of view as Phil idly spun Dan’s desk chair with his foot.
‘Do you mind?’
The chair stopped spinning. Dan found himself facing Phil instead.
‘Have you ever heard the Smurfs Christmas album?’ Phil asked him.
Dan wheeled himself back over to the computer.
‘Even if your Dad could give me a lift to Piccadilly, I still couldn’t get to Reading.’
He refreshed the page again and watched the familiar text load.
’19:51 – cancelled. 20:51 – cancelled. 21:51 – oh, that one’s just ‘indefinitely delayed’. Last train back’s at 11 and there’s just no way. But if I can’t manage it today, that’s Christmas Eve – and it’s reduced timetable –’
Pfft. Pfft. Phil’s foot was on the height pedal. Dan’s knees bent up awkwardly as the chair lowered him to the floor.
‘And if I can’t get back tomorrow, there’s no more trains. Christmas Day, Boxing Day, nothing’s running. And then I’m here till the 27th.’
Phil pulled a Santa hat onto Dan’s head. It was covered in tiny fairy lights and it played We Wish You a Merry Christmas tinnily from the bobble.
‘I’m being serious.’
There was a silence. Dan looked up at Phil from his hunched position on the short chair and the hat sang an uninterrupted chorus. Dan cracked first, and then Phil did that proper head-back laugh that Dan had only seen once or twice over Skype. He felt himself blush, and hoped to god it wasn’t obvious, then Phil came and sat himself sideways across his lap on the chair. Dan pushed them gently from side to side with his foot, fingers slightly awkwardly brushing through Phil’s shiny hair. They sat like that for a little while, watching the snow begin to fall again outside.
‘The Smurfs have a Christmas album?’ Dan asked eventually.
‘Oh, it’s terrible.’ Phil began to sing. ‘All I want for Christmas is a Smurf hat, a Smurf hat, a Smurf hat –’
He was batting Dan’s hat bobble from side to side with each line.
‘All Christmas morning, that’ll be on. Stockings first thing, then presents, nibbles, day drinking, Christmas dinner, walk, films, evening drinking –’
Dan spent most of his Christmases figuring out when he could next slip away. He guessed from the way Phil was talking that he wasn’t going to be on the other end of a whispered Skype call as they both hid in their bedrooms. Dan felt silly for even thinking it.
He wondered if he’d catch Phil late into the night, as he often did, tipsy and wearing a silly hat and yawning between stories of everything he’d done for Christmas. Jittery movements as the connection struggled. Different quality to his voice through Dan’s earbuds.
He rested his head up against Phil’s chest and breathed in deeply. Phil went quiet, then, looping his arms around Dan’s shoulders.
‘We’ll make sure you get home for Christmas,’ he said, and Dan shrunk in on himself. With a kiss on the top of Dan’s head, he got up ungracefully and pressed his face up against the window. ‘There’s just so much of it. We should have gone sledding.’
Dan’s legs felt heavy. He refreshed the rail page again. Oh – the 21:51 train was cancelled now, too.
‘I guess getting back tonight’s a bit of a write-off.’ Phil was looking over Dan’s shoulder at the screen. ‘I’m sorry. Your Christmas Eve.’
‘Eh, it’s... generally uneventful.’
Phil pushed Dan’s suitcase unceremoniously off his bed and flopped onto his back. Dan settled into his arms.
‘Plus, you leaving that late, I’d have had to stay up till about 3 to talk to you tonight,’ Phil said, and Dan could hear him smiling.
‘I mean, you’d have been up that late on the internet anyway.’
‘Well, yeah.’ Phil pulled him closer. ‘But there could have been scary house noises too.’
Dan curled up tighter, smiling out of sight. He felt wanted.
‘Phil?’
‘Hm?’
‘I don’t really want to go home.’
Dan watched the rail website disappear behind a snowy screensaver. It wasn’t late, but it was dark outside. It wasn’t silent in the house, but the chatter downstairs was far away. It was enough to make it feel like there was nothing at all outside of this room.
‘Hey. Wait here a minute,’ Phil said, squeezing his hand. ‘Close your eyes.’
Dan did – immediately. It was funny – vigilance was something he’d got used to, at home. Looking over his shoulder was survival. Control. Here, he was mostly just giggling at the sound of Phil’s Christmas jumper jingling as he rustled around his bedroom out of sight.
‘Is this a sex thing?’ he said into the dark. ‘Because I thought we were having an emotional moment here.’
Then he felt the bed dip as Phil clambered up close to him.
‘Ta-da!’
Dan opened his eyes to find Phil in a Santa hat, presenting what looked very much like a sock he’d picked off the floor and stuffed to its limit with something lumpy.
‘Okay, now I really can’t tell if this is a sex thing.’
Phil tutted, flicking his hat bobble over his shoulder. ‘It’s your stocking. Lester family tradition. Sorry you don’t have a real one.’
It was pineapple patterned, and only had a small hole in the toe. Dan’s heart genuinely swelled at the sight of the ratty looking thing. He bit back a smile.
‘Fresh sock?’
‘Lightly worn.’
‘Phil!’
‘Oh, you’ve seen worse. Open it.’
Dan glanced to the window. The snow was coming down thick and fast now.
‘To be clear –’ Phil said quickly – ‘Lester stockings don’t actually have anything good in them.’
Then Dan pulled out a pair of Sonic the Hedgehog pants, scrunched tightly into a ball.
‘They don’t fit me,’ Phil said, shrugging.
Dan laughed, and kept laughing, so hard that he cried. He keeled over into Phil’s lap, sides aching as he pulled out half a packet of ibuprofen, a ballpoint pen, a 20 pence piece and – finally – a satsuma.
‘Does Santa not leave you a satsuma?’ Phil asked once they could both breathe again.
‘No! Who the fuck gets a satsuma for Christmas?’
‘Uh, people who are serious about their five a day.’
‘You’re ridiculous.’
‘You’ll need the vitamin C. Not as much sun up north.’
‘That’s vitamin D, Phil.’
‘Oh, that’s vitamin D.’
Dan peeled the satsuma and placed it between them. Phil flopped onto his front and kicked his feet back and forth in the air. He looked like a teen movie poster.
‘You think the snow is a sign?’ he said between segments.
‘No, Phil, I think the snow is a meteorological phenomenon.’
‘Like, maybe you were meant to get snowed in here.’
‘I think your mum would have an aneurysm if she had to fit one more person in for Christmas dinner.’
‘Nah. Get yer snow boots on, nip down to Tesco’s, get a bigger turkey. Might have to fight an old lady for it, Christmas Eve and all. Push her down some stairs.’
Dan laughed a little, shuffling up next to Phil.
‘I wish I could stay.’
Phil threaded his fingers through his hair. ‘One day.’
Just imagining the chat around the Christmas dinner table back at home with Dan absent was enough to make him feel sick. But it was the way Phil’s mum looked at him – the way she smiled at the floor when she saw Phil laugh at something Dan said – like it was an open secret. It was terrifying. It was new. And before he knew it he’d be picturing himself in five years’ time, ten, spending Christmas here on purpose.
He buried that train of thought, and finished his half of the satsuma.
It was a warmer night, and the snow began to thaw. The next day he was out of the house before he could meet Phil’s brother, before he could try out the family cocktail recipe Phil had been telling him about. He’d be home by five – half past if he took the slightly winding route back from the train station. He watched the hills flatten out into fields as he rested his head against the train window. And in his pocket, he thumbed his twenty pence piece.