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It was Christmas.
Finally fucking here, could they believe it?
The year had felt like both a blur and trudge. As all years do, they start slowly. You beg for them to end as soon as they begin. And as you reach the apex, you want to go back to April. March. You want to cling on to everything you took for granted as you remember not everything can be taken with you into a new chapter.
But in chapters passing, as they so often do, these new starts came with good.
Ryan had finally dropped a song and was on another streak of finding himself through his art, Roman was on top of the world regarding his new album and touring alongside his closest friends, Nate took time to himself and worked on music with his loved ones, Jonah stayed overwhelmingly busy with both his own projects and producing for the masses, and Hollis— Hollis had it all.
Of course, it wouldn’t have been a year at all without a handful of the bad. Naturally, there was struggle, but nothing they all couldn’t overcome. Especially with each other’s company.
In ritual fashion, there was no other way than to spend the holiday at Jonah’s house, cooped up in the warm glow of his living room as it was much too cold on the patio. By the time everyone started arriving, couples were bundled together on the couch as Jonah and his friends played a sad attempt at charades.
It kept everyone busy, including Nate and Ella, who would fold over defeated at every correct answer they’d be beat to. Nate wasn’t exactly a sore winner, as he’d continue trying at everyone’s expense. In turn, this would send Ryan into a laughing fit, nearly on the floor at some shitty inside joke.
The once party would soon bleed into a small, cozy get-together as the night progressed, people would depart with friends, heading home to celebrate on their own time. By ten, those who stayed cooped up together by the fireplace with drinks and presents in hand.
Once everyone was fully settled into the furniture and in groups on the floor, Ryan would take the time to head for the kitchen to whip up another mojito. Luckily, Jonah’s kitchen was his favorite— dude had money, and he knew what to spend it on. A perfect bar and top class liquor that he definitely won’t compensate him for later. His entire house was nice, really.
Much nicer than the small apartment Ryan had been sitting in for the past few months. It was quiet, away from his family. Kind enough to him that he could work on music when he found the drive to. It wouldn’t make it any less lonely, though— Thanksgiving wasn’t entirely kind to him. It got awkward with his parents. His grandfather was too outdated. There was talk about his friends. “That Hollis boy. He’s really something.”
This year’s Thanksgiving wasn’t spent with any immediate blood. He chose to quietly slip away and hold his less open side closest. It was less bearing that way.
So for now, he’s eternally grateful he’s the only soul in the kitchen at the moment. It’s much more people-y in the living room, the den. He loves the company, but he’s where he needs to be.
His tranquility is broken when there’s a scuff of the boots against the tile, a jingling of keys retreating into a pocket. The clinking glass comes to a still.
“Hey.”
Ryan turns from the bar.
Eyes lock.
Here, Hollis stands in the doorway— tall, yet slightly curved in the frame with a tinge of nervousness, designer jacket and scarf draped expensively over his bones. His wild blonde locks hang loosely down his back, his wispy bangs curled against his forehead. He looks far too casual to be accompanying him for the night, and Ryan can tell his presence is fleeting.
His heel drops. They don’t remember the last time they exactly celebrated together. They’d been in the same room of course, but how can you say you were ever together when it’s uncomfortable to even coexist?
Suddenly they’re behind the stage again. Brushing shoulders in the confined space, watching as Roman prances around, flag raised high. Ryan watching as Hollis shimmies his shoulders to get the jitters out before his surprise appearance kicking his boot against the steps. Anticipating.
Ready to perform, knowing Ryan’s just gonna go back to his table and talk. It wouldn’t even matter if they’d been brought together through a mutual fate if Ryan wouldn’t even care.
Hollis supposed he deserved it. He’d pushed him away, all because he was too focused on—
Ryan speaks.
“What’s up?”
Hollis seems to remember he’s actually a person, and shifts his body for the first time since he’s gotten there. His lips part and his hand swings forward to show his coup de Grace.
“I was just gonna drop by. Was just hoping to give y’all your gifts,” Hollis offers. It’s a white lie, as he so often tells. It’s prevalent as he only comes equipped with a singular bag, creased at the seams, heavy in the hands. It seems to hold a wrapped box, big enough to take up the entire space inside, clearly no room for a second option.
Ryan raises a slit brow. Tenses his chin a bit. Doesn’t bother to nod. It’s awkward, waiting for a move.
Hollis eyes the floor. “I know you weren’t really celebrating thanksgiving, so.”
In a manner that shocks him for the first time since he’d laid eyes on Hollis, Ryan’s handed the bag with a soft offering. He knew the comment was a jab at him not being at Hollis’ family’s house for the holiday, somehow, he’s softer than he initially thought at the gift— some kind of peace offering.
With his gloved hand, he holds the bag steady as he pulls out the box.
His shoulders drop.
Inside, a tape recorder.
The tape recorder he said he’d wanted in an interview weeks prior. The tape recorder he never thought Hollis knew about. The Marantz PMD222, in the original packaging, ever so slightly scuffed from the ages.
Ryan’s brows droop in something similar to that of bewilderment. For a moment, Hollis reads it as disappointment, a lack of ardor. His marble eyes are unreadable, tracing the box smoothly as though it’s his hands themselves examining the gift. When they actually begin to act, he flips the box around and there’s a soft clatter inside.
There’s space between the two. It’s quiet. Bordering on silence, if not for the distant chatter and laughter sounding out from the living room. Hollis would rather be anywhere else at this point. The lack of positive reaction is deafening. The tension is a killer— yet he’s got no choice but to wait.
It takes some time for Ryan to actually open the box.
Once he does, he examines the device with parted lips now, flipping it over once, thrice. A exasperated sigh escapes him as he drags an ungloved hand over the plastic. His heart weighs heavier than the gift ever will.
It took Ryan time for him to actually open the box. For him to truly see it. Yet, it doesn’t take time for him to place it on the counter without a passing glance, barreling into Hollis’ coat, enveloping him in a leather embrace. Clutching him tight like he’s terrified that he’d slip away again.
The hug is tense. It causes the shorter to freeze in his action— not because Hollis’ body is chilly from his previous arrival from the nightly bite outside, but at the question of, “what the fuck am I doing?” it soon slips away from him as Hollis slowly reaches up to slide a gentle hand down Ryan’s back.
In a flash, they’re back to how they like it. They’re back to them. Ryan’s boyish nature, rowdy and heavy in the fists, gapped teeth poking through every time one of his friends would make a lame joke that failed to land. And Hollis’ impossibly warming character, a contrast to his friends’ brash stature. His knightly hold on him, unintentionally numbing.
When Ryan pulls away, painfully so, he latches onto the present once again and immediately gets to work. Asking every question in the world, clicking buttons, opening the compartment, his mind running through just exactly it is he’ll record onto a tape.
“Where the fuck did you get this?” He gawks, ripping into it like he’s twelve in his grandparents’ living room again. Hollis watches with a shy smile, knowing damn well he’d dropped nearly half his wallet (and an entire day’s worth of debating on whether or not he should even get him anything) on this literal artifact.
“What the hell? Nah, that’s not fair. You don’t get to ask!” Hollis laughs out, hand shoved in a pocket to hide the redness of his digits.
Suddenly everyone feels distant. Like the two of them aren’t standing in their best friend’s kitchen while his party’s ongoing. Ryan’s drink warms on the counter, but he doesn’t care. Hollis talks about his struggle finding the correct model, if it’s even what Ryan wanted. It feels like they never left each other’s side.
Ryan shakily laughs out, nearly brought to tears.
“I fuckin’ love it. Wow, dude— thank you.”
He slips it back into the box, leaving the bag on the countertop and taking his drink into the doorway instead. He expects Hollis to follow, to greet the rest of their friends, yet the clack of his cowboy boots remains stationary.
He pivots around, standing in the hallway.
“You coming?” Ryan hesitantly asks.
Hollis catches the glint in his deep eyes. There’s longing. Longing for everything he knows he wants, longing for everything he knows he can’t have— but also something wanting Hollis to just… stay.
He considers his options. He remembers his plans with his family at home. He remembers the comfort of the silence at his own dwelling. Everything had once felt better than here.
But now that he’s back into place, back into a time he would want to take with him into a new chapter— he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
He can only smile.
“Yeah.
Yeah, if you’ll have me.”