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The date changes every year, but the traditions don’t stray.
It was standard orphan’s Christmas morning, ironically done in a home fuller than none other. They would open presents in the early afternoon, slowly and lazily. Dan always insisted on putting real presents under the tree as opposed to using fake props from M&S, while Phil convinces him to hide the their gifts, a new world of hiding places promised by a new house.
Since it’s usually the last day before they see eachother again in the new year, and the first day they have off from work-related things, so it’s a time where they allow themselves to be. Mulled wine, unhealthy food. A day to relish in their ever-tightening cocoon of a life together.
Traditions don’t change, until they do.
“So.” Phil starts. They’re sitting in their dining table in (previous) silence, each working on their respective tasks that evening. His newest candle in the collection, a ridiculously overpriced “special edition” called “All is Bright”, flickers in the middle of the white surface. He continues to speak when Dan looks up at him. “About the twenty-first.”
“Oh, right. I was actually gonna ask if we can call the car earlier in the morning, since we always underestimate the lines at the gate.”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” He absentmindedly pushes his glasses up his nose. “But there’s something else.”
Dan looks at him, unfazed curiosity prompting him to continue.
“So Kath always says she wants you to come visit more whenever I go up there.”
“Right.”
“And you always say how much you love the house up there, and the sea and all that.”
“Yeah?”
“So...” Phil raises his eyebrows as an eager suggestion.
“Yeah...” Dan mocks his tone, still oblivious as to what the other is insinuating.
“Oh my god,” Phil rolls his eyes, “I’m asking you if you’d like to come up with me this year. Or was that not blatant enough?” He teases.
Dan smiles a smile Phil could recognize all too well. His voice gets high when he exclaims, “You knew I was gonna ask you, didn’t you?”
Dan starts to laugh. “I just wanted to hear you actually ask it.” He goes back to typing on his laptop, pointedly ceasing eye contact.
This, too, was something Phil could recognize all too well. “Dan.”
“Phil.”
“You’re stalling.”
“Am I?”
“Dan.” Phil repeats. His voice grows softer. “Why?”
“Why am I slightly nervous about discussing the prospect of spending Christmas with your family for the first time? Gosh, I don’t know.” Dan says all this in one breath, shielded under a mutter. His eyes remain on the screen.
This time, Phil waits. He does so until he finishes his tea, refilling both his and Dan’s mugs in the kitchen and sitting back down.
He folds a paper airplane, then attempts to go for a crane. He unfolds it and makes another paper airplane.
The paper is wrinkly and ripping when Dan finally speaks again. “You know it’s not that I don’t want to go, right?”
Phil props his head on a hand. “Isn’t it?” He replies without a hint of judgement or contempt.
“Of course not. It’s just...” He finally closes his laptop. “A lot.”
“Tell me more.”
“I don’t know. Florida was a really big deal for me. And I know it should be easier the second time around, but still. It’s a step.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Dan finally cracks a small smile. “You tell me.”
Phil pauses for a moment to consider in earnest. It’s a muscle he’s tempted to abandon when everything in his life is crystallizing into security, and in a blissful barrage of no-brainers, Dan sits at the centre. It’s why it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to reply. “I think you’d know exactly what I say.”
Dan breathes and bites his lip. “I’ll have to reschedule the trip back to my parents.”
Phil’s eyes widen. “Done. Easy.”
“And I get the window seat on the plane.”
“Okay.”
“And you’ll agree to binge watch The Handmaid’s Tale with me.”
“What? Dan, I said I didn’t want--”
“Ah-ah.” He cuts him off with his index finger. “You’ll agree to watch it with me?”
Phil slumps his shoulders. A grin starts to bloom across his face. “You really wanna go?” He says in a slight whisper.
Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t forget about the window seat.”
Traditions don’t change, until they do.
Dan’s forgotten the tightness of Kath’s hugs and the feeling of the sea--real, unbridled water without a hint of gray London decay--in his lungs.
He didn’t think he’d miss the mud, and the rocks, and the never ending grass, a rugged horizon in the background.
Despite all this, he’s remembers more than ever. Deeper, wider memories with more room for steadfast joy. It flows in like a secret, shared only with the Irish sea.