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Christmas was a holiday you were accustomed to spending alone. Ever since your grandmother died, you had no company on your island except for the roaming monsters and your movie posters. You would always fall asleep to the sounds of some action flick or another, letting the familiar voices of Zoe Saldana and Sam Worthington lull you to sleep as they fought to save Neytiri’s exotic home world. It was easy to pretend you weren’t alone on this island when you could hear the actors’ voices, even if their words brought no comfort. You would keep your computer running, Pesterchum open and eagerly awaiting any incoming messages. You never heard much from Jane on major holidays like these. She would message you early in the morning to greet you and wish you well before running off to spend the day with her father, baking and opening gifts. Roxy, like you, spent her holiday alone. She would message you around eleven, already three martinis into her day. She is happy and excited enough, but you think that it’s the vodka talking. Ms. Lalonde hates being alone even more than you do. By three in the afternoon, she passes out and you’re alone again.
Dirk has never been a morning creature and he doesn’t make an appearance until a couple hours after Roxy disappears. You would stir groggily from pseudo-consciousness at the sound of a Pesterchum message received and eagerly sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes as you realized your best bro was messaging you. He was just as alone as you. Sure he had a brother, but apparently he was always off in Hollywood. Dirk would pretend he didn’t care, but you knew him better than that. He had his robots for company, but you’re not sure how great of company they could be. After all, Brobot was always lurking somewhere in the jungle on your island, equally as dangerous as the pale monsters that shared it with you. You would both spend the rest of your Christmases chatting online about this or that or another thing while you let your movies run, though your attention was focused on the conversation.
The pair of you would talk for hours and hours about everything and nothing while Roxy slept and Jane spent time with her dad. Hours would tick by and it would get late and eventually you would see Roxy log back on, grumbling about a hangover while she poured herself another drink. Not too long after, Jane would sign on, too. All four of you would chat and Jane would tell everyone about her day because she was the only one who had any face to face human interaction. She would ask everyone what they did with their holiday, just like every year, as if the answers were going to be any different than usual. While you were always happy to hear from Jane and Roxy, you were still keeping up your conversation with Dirk. And it was a holiday ritual the two of you unwittingly developed.
The ritual changed when Dirk told you his feelings. It had been a whirlwind of frustration and loneliness and desire and he had been internalizing his emotions for ages, waiting for the best moment to tell you. You’re not sure what the “best moment” entailed and what sort of conditions he was looking for. You had asked him for time to think about it, not sure of your own feelings. He had seemed tentative, but he agreed. He cared about you and didn’t want to push you into something you might regret. You mulled over it restlessly for three days and on the fourth day, when you saw the chumhandle timaeusTestified light up you were messaging him before he could even get his hands settled on the keyboard. You’d told him yes in no uncertain terms and then, suddenly, your computer was ringing and alerting you that TT was calling you. And you had apprehensively answered and were grateful you had because you were seeing Dirk with the biggest smile on his face and his voice sounds thick and you’re not sure if it’s from sleep or something else because his eyes are hidden behind his ridiculous shades but you’re both grinning so wide your face hurts. The pair of you talked long into the night and you had both fallen asleep at your computers before your internet hiccupped and the call was dropped.
Your island isolation became more unbearable than ever. You wanted nothing more than to be with Dirk, share moments with him, touch him, hug him, kiss him, hear him, smell him, taste him. But the closest you could get was video calls on Pesterchum. Sometimes he would call you when he was upset, angry with his brother for leaving him alone or breaking some promise. He would pretend nothing was amiss but you could see it in his drawn lips and his tense shoulders and short answers. You knew he wanted you to make him tell you something was wrong, and so you would always go along with it. His pride choked him, keeping him from outright admitting his inner turmoil, but if you asked, it seemed to give him some sort of permission to be human. And you would feel your chest ache because you wanted to be able to hold him and make it less painful. But you couldn’t because you were just as alone as he was, on some god forsaken island in the Pacific with nothing but a maniac fighting robot and a bunch of wild monsters for company. You could only listen and hope whatever you managed to babble would bring him some solace.
Your holiday tradition of dozing and watching movies was completely upended when on December twelfth, you heard the familiar sound of an air carrier pass over your island. You rushed out, not expecting any packages, and watched as a small box parachuted from the passing plane into the nearby forest. You grabbed your pistols and prepared yourself for the worst before venturing into the jungle to track down the package. You were assailed only by a small swarm of the bull fairies before locating the orange wrapped package and absconding.
You eagerly opened the box and found two large, official looking slips of paper. You glanced over them before looking through the rest of the box. There was a stuffed horse and a note. You took the note and read over the orange scrawl you’ve memorized as Dirk’s handwriting. The letter confirmed your suspicions. He had sent you plane tickets. To Houston. You would be going to Houston to see Dirk and spend time with him and neither of you would be alone for the holiday and you would be able to do things with him and be with him and touch him and not have the barrier of miles and miles and painful, never ending miles separating you. You took a moment to let it all sink in and then you dropped the tickets and the note and the stuffed horse and the orange wrapped box and you got on your computer and opened Pesterchum and smug Mr. Strider was online and waiting for you when you assailed him with messages of thank you and how he didn’t have to and you could just strangle him but you’d much rather kiss him.
And so on December twenty-fourth, you were on a plane to Texas to visit the dashing young man who had been your boyfriend for almost a year and your best bro for much longer. You were eighteen and full of raging hormones that were all ecstatic to see Dirk and touch Dirk and feel Dirk and be with Dirk and Dirk, Dirk, Dirk, Dirk, Dirk…
When you got off the plane, you were suddenly overwhelmed. You’d never been around so many people at one time and in the unending bustle of the George Bush Intercontinental Airport you froze. You didn’t see faces, only a fast moving mob mutating every which direction. You felt your heart rate sky rocket and your chest felt tight and you wanted so badly to run back onto that plane and disappear back to your island. You think you felt yourself slowly backing up when suddenly a firm hand was on your wrist and while your first instinct was to punch the man square in the teeth so you could abscond, your panicked green eyes landed on a familiar blonde with lame anime shades.
You were relieved for a familiar face but panic still welled in you and your stomach was in knots and you could feel its contents trying to work their way up your throat. Your pulse raced so fast you could feel it as it shot through your veins. Dirk’s talking but you’re not hearing him and suddenly he’s pulling you aside into the emptiest space possible. It’s a corner in the terminal and he has his back to the wall and he’s holding your face, forcing you to look at him and nothing else. Your back is turned to the rest of the airport and slowly the soft tenor of his voice began to make sense. You hear his voice and then you hear his words and while you can still hear your pulse thundering in your ears faster than you ever knew a heart could beat, you begin to feel lucid. He stays with you like that for several minutes, waiting for you to calm down enough to function. It takes a while, but eventually you manage to start responding to him and then he carefully takes your hand in his and interlocks your fingers and he leads you along through the airport.
He keeps you close and you are happy to stay near him because he is the only familiar thing in a sea of faces and fear. You feel claustrophobic in the crowd but in the time it’s taken to calm you, the traffic around the luggage carousel has dispersed and you see your baggage circuiting. You barely manage to get your hands on it before Dirk is leading you out of the airport and you are bewildered by the cars and the people and the traffic and the noise and you feel panic rising again.
He must know because he’s pulling you along faster and then suddenly he’s taking your bag as he pushes you into the passenger seat of a sedan and closing the door before you can ask any questions. You feel the vehicle jostle as he drops your luggage in the trunk and slams it shut. And then he’s opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat next to you and as soon as he closes the door he’s looking at you again. He’s reaching over cautiously and he cards his fingers through your coarse hair and the sensation of his fingertips on your scalp is soothing and sends a chill racing down your spine.
Again, you slowly hear his voice weave its way through the cloud of panic in your mind and after a few minutes you heave a tremendous sigh. His chin is tilted down so he can look at you over his silly shades and the vibrant orange is even more stunning in person.
“I’m sorry. For some reason I didn’t expect you would react like this.” He’s apologizing and his eyes are filled with something akin to remorse and you feel guilt well in you even though you couldn’t control your reaction. You hadn’t thought about it either. You had forgotten that the rest of the world isn’t anywhere near as empty as your island.
You manage a flimsy smile, weak and lacking, but you hope it reassures him some; your pulse slowly quieting the longer you are detached from the large crowds outside the car. The tension in his shoulders seems to ease ever so slightly and he doesn’t seem keen on pressing the issue. At least not in the car in the airport parking garage. He begins to lean back in his seat but suddenly your hand is flying out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him back. Your grip is flimsy and your body is trembling slightly from your receding panic, but fortunately Dirk doesn’t seem too keen on resisting you. It certainly helps that you’ve taken him completely by surprise, something you’re sure very few people could claim.
Suddenly his face is very close and you can see his orange eyes through the dark tint of his absurd pointed shades but you don’t see them for long because you let instinct take over and your eyes slip shut as you press your mouth to his. Your glasses clank noisily against his and you grunt your frustration but suddenly you feel his fingertips at your temples and he’s pushing your glasses up and out of the way and he’s kissing you back and for a fleeting moment your anxiety seems so far away. His lips are soft compared to your chapped ones and even though you were the one who initiated the contact you can feel the way he wants to take control. And you would be happy to oblige him, but the fact remains that the pair of you are sitting in a sedan in the parking garage of the Houston airport. So you fight off the urge to acquaint your teeth with his bottom lip and release him, hesitantly pulling away. Your vision is blurred and you recall your glasses slid up from your face. You readjust them and when you blink your eyes back into focus, the corner of Mr. Strider’s mouth is quirked up in a satisfied smirk.
You blush faintly as you try to segue out of the kiss and back into conversation. “Don’t you dare be sorry for buying me a plane ticket to come visit you, Dirk. A little fluster is nothing compared to how damn chuffed I am to see you.” You wish you could see his eyes but with the increased distance you can no longer peer through the dark lenses.
“I’m glad to see you too, Jake.” He smiles and then he’s focused on the vehicle, deft fingers turning the key in the ignition and revving the car to life. He quickly vacates the lot and then you’re moving through the city.
You find yourself unable to make much conversation at first as you stare out the windows at the buildings and skyscrapers and traffic and the sheer amount of people. It’s not as if you were never aware that these things existed. You’d only ever seen them in movies, on a TV screen. The movies did no justice to being among the towering columns of glass and cement and steel. What was more frightening was the amount of people. There were over two million people in the city alone and it was a terrifying jump from a lifetime of isolation. Not to mention you didn’t have your pistols. Of course you wouldn’t use them, these were just innocent people going about their daily lives; but they were always a security blanket, if nothing else. But firearms weren’t permissible on planes due to terrorists and the like and you could respect the rule.
You manage to babble about everything, hoping the nervous warble in your tone is imagined. If it isn’t, Dirk is kind enough to not point it out. You love adventure and action movies and guns and skulls. An adventurous gentleman like yourself should be able to take something as civilian as Houston in stride. None of the heroes in your movies would be frightened of the sprawling Texan city. This is nothing compared to fisticuffs with Brobot or fighting against the fierce white monsters that roam your island home.
The drive is completed, the car parked, and it is time to get out of the car again. You ignore your reluctance and force bravado as you open the door and step out of the vehicle. Even though the parking garage is more or less empty aside from you, Dirk, and the handful of parked cars, you feel your pulse quicken just a hair. Dirk is opening the trunk and pulling out your luggage and you groan when he doesn’t let you take it from him.
“No way, bro. I’ll carry your bag. I’m an excellent host.” You groan again and try one more time to take the luggage from him to no avail. Defeated, you follow him through the parking garage and into an elevator. You get off on the top floor of the apartment complex and Dirk is holding the bag with one hand while he unlocks the door to his apartment with the other. When the door swings open, you’re amazed. The apartment is huge, much larger than you would have expected. You suppose it makes sense, seeing as how his brother is a famous Hollywood hot shot.
“Holy fucking mackerel, Dirk! This is where you live?” You follow him inside and eagerly begin to look around. Everything about this trip has been so new and foreign and you’ve only just arrived. You revel in the openness of Chez Strider, no longer feeling claustrophobic about the crowds and towering buildings. It wasn’t the expansive wilds of your island, but it was wide and open and comfortable.
You glimpse a smirk as he moves around you and drops your bag by the couch. “No need to get so excited, English. It’s just some cozy apartment that my bro pays the rent for. If you think this is nice, you should see my bro’s place in California. Makes this joint look like a five star gutter.” You listen closely for any trace of the usual bitterness whenever Dirk mentions his brother, fearful you may have stirred up his resentment. You find no sign of any negative emotions and your blooming guilt settles before it can flourish.
You’re tired from the trip and the stress from earlier. You think you do a good job of hiding your fatigue but Dirk seems able to tell regardless. You’re secretly glad when he seems content in just killing time in the apartment. You’re spectacularly interested in the city Dirk calls home, but you’ve had enough adventure for today. You’re eighteen years old and this is the first time you’ve been off your island. You haven’t been around people for a very long time. Not since your grandma died.
Besides! You didn’t come here to see Houston and its hustle and bustle! You came here to see Dirk Strider. Both of you were so dang blasted tired of spending Christmas alone that he sent you a bloody plane ticket to get you here. And so, you were here, with him, for three weeks. Apparently he had sent Roxy a ticket to visit Jane, as well. While you marvel at Strider’s generosity, you are glad that she won’t spend her holiday alone either. You wonder how long it’s been since she’s spent a holiday with another person. Maybe next time all four of you could get together. You think that’s a rip snorter of a good idea.
Dirk ventures into the kitchen, meanwhile the couch is singing some sort of siren song. You find it impossible to resist the furniture’s allure and you are happy to collapse onto it, back settled against the armrest. You let your eyes wander across the room, noticing a lack of Christmas decorations. There’s a rather spectacularly shitty tree that is undoubtedly ironic. You also notice a rather obscure fancy Santa statue. Aside from these two festive adornments, the apartment seems lacking in holiday decorum. Albeit, it is a great deal more decorations than you’ve ever had.
You heave a sigh, feeling all the tension and weariness slowly ebbing from your muscles and bones. You close your eyes for just a moment. And then you’re out like a light.
You have no clue how long you’re asleep but you’re awoken by a sudden weight on you. At first you’re slow to acknowledge it, jet lagged and tired beyond all sanity. But you feel the weight settle on you and suddenly you realize that weights shouldn’t be settling on you. You live alone on an island in the Pacific Ocean with no company but a bunch of monsters and a fighting robot. Suddenly your heart is racing and your eyes snap open and you are trying to sit up.
Instead of a crab monster or giant cat with two mouths, you find yourself pinned beneath a Strider. You stop trying to escape but you remain surprised, all wide eyes and racing pulse. The events of the day rush back to your mind and you remember. You’re not alone on your island; you’re in Houston, Texas with Dirk Strider. The first thing you notice is that he isn’t wearing his ridiculous anime shades. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen his vibrant orange eyes, but it is the first time in person. Without the grainy texture that every webcam on the planet is cursed with, his eyes are so much more intense. His lashes are pale, his skin is pale; Dirk Strider could easily be summarized with the word pale. Freckles dust across the bridge of his nose and on his sharp cheekbones and even a few on the shells of his ears, so faint and yet stark at such close proximity. In contrast to his light hair and skin and lashes, his eyes are molten and ablaze. They’re fierce and alive, even when soft. His thin lips are curved in an amused smirk but you can see a hint of poorly concealed concern in his eyes.
“You alright there, English?”
You finally settle back against the armrest and you can feel the adrenaline beginning to wear off. You hope that you’ll get used to being around people, or at least Dirk, quickly. You would hate to spend the entirety of your visit being frightened by just about everything. “Absolutely capital, Mr. Strider. I must say, you did scare the dickens out of me, though!” Dirk’s expression transitions from an amused smirk to something softer and you’re not sure what the word for it is, but it makes you happy.
You aren’t sure what to do with your hands. Leaving them at your sides feels off but you’re not sure where you should place them. You’re quite confident that your best bro would have no complaints with you touching him, considering he’s sprawled himself over you like an afghan. After several moments of hesitation you string an arm across his shoulders blades like garland. You think you see the corner of his mouth try to twitch upwards, but he manages to keep a hold on his trademark Strider poker face.
The two of you are content to lay like that, ready to talk about everything and nothing. It’s not long, however, until Dirk is insisting you go to bed. You have a hard time staying awake and worry every time you blink that you might pass out. You cave easily and Dirk climbs off you to grab your bag again and show you to where you’ll be sleeping. You follow him down the hall and into a large room. It’s lacking in furnishings and you’re not sure if the room was even in use prior to your arrival, but you don’t intend to spend any of your time in here except to sleep. Dirk places your bag against the wall by the door and you thank him, too tired to continue telling him how unnecessary it is for him to carry it for you.
Dirk leans in the doorway and keeps talking with you while you kneel down and dig through your bag for your night clothes and toiletries. You’re not sure if you should ask for privacy while you change, but fortunately Dirk is enough of a gentleman to leave the room without you needing to ask. You strip out of your clothes, wrinkled from sitting in one position on an airplane for so many hours, and quickly redress. You sleep in your undergarments and a shirt, but for the sake of modesty and hospitality, you put on a pair of sleep shorts to wear while you venture across the hall to the bathroom. Dirk is already brushing his teeth and you think you see a pleased smirk pull at his mouth. You feel your face warm with a blush and you hate it.
Your best bro makes room for you at the sink and you wet the brush and put on a bit of toothpaste and set to your own teeth, trying not to glance at Dirk in the mirror. He’s changed his own clothes, into a black tank top that proudly displays his pale flesh and delightful collarbones. The freckles are not limited to just his face, it seems. They are sprinkled generously across his shoulders and forearms, a few even across his collarbones and you wonder where else you might find them. He’s wearing a pair of orange sleep pants and you are grateful that his shirt hides the way the waistband must cling to his hips.
Enough of that! You focus back onto your teeth and brush them with renewed fervor as Dirk leans over the sink to spit and rinse his mouth. You wait until he stands up straight again to do the same. When you’re finished you see Dirk in the mirror and you find yourself flustered as you realize he was watching your rear the entire time.
“Well, mate, looks like I’ll be running off to bed then!” You are prepared to abscond, because your brain is too addled right now to try to deal with any Strider advances. You only make it into the hall before suddenly you feel the cold wall against your back and a very warm body pressed against yours, a hand fisted in your coarse black hair. You catch a glimpse of fiery orange eyes as his face advances, closing the distance, and then his mouth is on yours and you can’t help but kiss back eagerly. You’re tired and jet lagged and you thought you didn’t have the mental capacity beyond anything but the word “bed” right now but you were so, so wrong.
You feel his tongue at the seam of your lips and you tell yourself to wait until tomorrow for these sorts of escapades, but your mouth doesn’t listen and opens without your permission. You feel and hear the muffled exhale as he sighs into the kiss through his nose. The hand that isn’t in your hair is now firmly holding your hip and the sensation of sharp fingers on your skin is something you definitely want more of. Your brain is telling you to stop, that you’re too tired and you can wait another night to get your mack on. But that part of your brain, the reasonable part, is being overruled by how much you want this contact. Without your rationality’s permission, your hands are moving. One hand fists in the front of his delightfully tantalizing tank top and pulling him even closer. The other winds around his waist and you hold him against you because you would hate nothing more than for this moment to end. Embarrassed though you are to admit it, you are already panting into the kiss. You can feel your blood all rushing south and your rationality is losing out.
But then, just as suddenly as the whole sloppy makeout session began, it’s over. There’s no more warm body pressed against yours, no sharp fingers holding your hip, no hand tugging your hair, and no lips and roving tongue to accompany yours. You open your eyes and adjust your skewed glasses and see Strider already halfway down the hall with a very satisfied smirk on his features. You almost wonder how he escaped your grip, but you know that his shadow stepping abilities are not to be underestimated.
“Goodnight, Jake,” you hear him call down the hall before disappearing into his own bedroom. You swear you could just strangle that man sometimes.
You stir from sleep vaguely to the sound of running water. You think how odd this is and then glance around the room and recall that it isn’t odd. You’re in Dirk Strider’s apartment, and the man is quite fond of his ablutions. So, you let your eyes slide closed again and fall asleep in the thick nest of blankets again. Your sleep is thick and makes your body feel heavy, no room for dreams, just darkness.
You yelp and jerk upright as you feel a firm slap on your ass.
“What in the seven hells?!” You see a blurry humanoid shape with pale hair and you know it’s Dirk. You grab your glasses and slip them on, glaring daggers at the young Strider.
“You never told me you sleep in your boxers, Jake.” You’re almost grateful he is wearing his dumb shades because you have a feeling the expression behind them is predatory. Especially after what he pulled last night. Before you can think of a retort, he’s on his way out of the room. “Up and at ‘em, English. It’s Christmas.”
You sigh and drag yourself out of bed, finding your discarded sleep shorts and rubbing at your sore rear as you pull them on. As you venture into the hall, you catch the aroma of hot chocolate and you can hear softly playing music that sounds surprisingly festive. As you venture out, the apartment looks identical to the way it did yesterday. No Christmas miracle overnight decorating, no sudden plethora of presents scattered about, no jolly fat man in red satin laughing in the corner before ollying outie into a sleigh pulled by a bunch of ornery flying ungulates. Just Dirk sitting on the couch, back leaning against the armrest, while Christmas music seeps from hidden speakers around the room. On the coffee table is an unattended mug while Dirk nurses his own. Outside there is a thin layer of ice on the city, but you have no attention to spare for that right now.
You join Dirk on the couch and take the mug, blowing on the hot drink while you glance up at Dirk. Sudden irritation flares as your gaze is blocked by his shades and you grunt as you put your mug back on the coffee table and pry Dirk’s from his hands to place it next to yours, lest you end up spilling it and making a terrible mess. You hear him protest but couldn’t care less as you lean towards him and reach up to snatch the shades from his face. He catches your hands and you’re left leaning against his grip and you are fairly certain your frustration is now displayed in a snarl.
“Dammit, Strider! It’s Christmas! Let me see your fucking eyes!” You hate the damn things. They feel like a barrier and you want nothing more than to throw them out the window to the unsuspecting city below and watch with satisfaction as they shatter into a hundred thousand pieces. Except you’re terribly certain that he probably has dozens of backup pairs. You expect him to put up a fight, to argue and tell you how terribly necessary they are, lest you see the one part of his anatomy that is uncontrollably expressive. Instead, he hesitates, and then sighs. You feel his grip loosen and then release you and you nearly collapse onto his torso before catching yourself.
You worry at your bottom lip with your orthodontically lacking teeth before reaching up and pulling the dumb glasses off your boyfriend’s face. You manage to place them onto the coffee table next to the forgotten mugs of hot chocolate before suddenly you feel two hands firmly on your ass and you’re pulled down.
“Merry Christmas, Jake,” his sonorous voice resonates through his chest and you can feel it in your bones as you rest against him. It fills you with warmth and you feel your core swell with happiness. You’re not alone, you’re spending Christmas with Dirk Strider and the two of you are happy to have nothing to do but be with each other for the holidays.
“Merry Christmas, Dirk.”