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“I dunno,” shrugs Gavin, his chin buried in the red tinsel Trevor and Jeremy were encasing him in, “I haven’t seen her since lunch.”
Michael groans, bending his knees and rocking back in frustration. “I’ve been looking for her for hours!”
“Stop freaking out,” reassures Jeremy while peeking under Gavin’s arm, a wide, cheery grin plastered to his face, “she’ll turn up.”
“She better,” Michael grumbles, eyes drifting to the clock, “if she’s any later she’ll miss her own pre-party party.”
“She just likes to be organised,” dismisses Gavin, Trevor taking a step back and eyeing up his work; certain something is missing. “You know how she gets.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Michael sighs, his irritation simmering down into underlying concern. “She’s her own worst enemy. She’s probably at the store buying as many decoration options as possible.”
“Sounds about right, but since when’ve you cared?” The Brit eyes his friend suspiciously, the tops of Michael’s ears turning pink.
“Because I like her; asshole. I didn’t get this piece of shit for my health.” Michael holds up the small cluster of berries shrouded in leaves, Gavin’s squeaking tightening with the pressure of Trevor adding lights.
“Wait,” comes Ryan’s voice around the chocolates he was cramming into his mouth, “is that holly?”
“No,” rejects Michael indignantly, the quirk of his eyebrow giving away his uncertainty. “It’s mistletoe.”
Ryan approaches with another handful of snacks, eyes narrowing as he assesses the piece Michael holds out for inspection. He plucks a red berry, glowering before tossing it at Gavin, lodging it in his nose. “Yup,” he confirms, munching, “that’s holly.”
“Awwwhh FUCK.” Michael’s knees hit the carpet, his face defeated.
Alfredo looks up momentarily from his place in the kitchen, hands still transferring poorly decorated cookies to their display plates. His face is apologetic until Ryan attempts to swipe one of creations, earning a slapped hand. “We could go to the store and find some? The white stuff’s everywhere.”
“Yeah,” agrees Jeremy while trying to steady Gavin, making sure all of his limbs were in functioning order before leaving the man to his own devices. “I’m sure there’s mistletoe, too.”
Alfredo glares, “boo, you suck.”
“Who’s sucking?” queries Geoff from his ball atop the couch; feet angled towards the roaring fire and face having been buried deep in a book. “And how do I get in on said sucking?”
“No one’s sucking but me,” groans Michael, wobbling to standing and accepting one of the sweets Ryan offers, hands tossing the holly aside and filling with foil wrapped chocolates.
Geoff considers this fully. “I can deal with that.”
Jack’s pulls out his phone, slipping past Alfredo in the kitchen and smiling comfortingly at Michael, ignoring the laughter. “We could post mate some?”
“Jack, you’re a genius!” he exclaims, hope blooming in his chest. “That’s perfect; we could have it delivered before she gets back!”
“I’ll sort it out so we don’t end up with holly again,” Jack suggests, Michael nodding eagerly. The bearded man glances about the room, eyes lingering on the mess they’ve created. “We should probably clean up. Y/N’s gonna flip her shit if she finds her house in this state. She’s already pulling her hair out.”
Michael’s eyes brighten, but no way near as much as Gavin does. With a chorus of chuckles Jeremy plugs the lad in, Christmas lights flashing happily from beneath his tinselled body. Both Jeremy and Trevor beam at their creation, Gavin equally thrilled with the state of his handmade ugly sweater.
It’s all hands on deck as soon as Gavin begins scooping up the incredibly long cable connecting him to the wall, realising that his outfit isn’t at all practical. Ryan quickly shovels all of his wrappers into his arms, dumping them in the trash as Geoff joins Alfredo on dish duty. Jeremy works on straightening the cushions, Jack tapping away in his phone. In a confusion of cords Trevor battles with the vacuum, harshly nudging feet as he cleans.
Gavin casts Michael a reassuringly cheeky grin, looking pleased. “Don’t worry, boy; she can’t escape.”
“Why do you always have to make it weird?”
“Make what weird?”
Michael whirls at the sound of your curiosity, eyes wide as he takes in your exhausted figure, bags lining up to your elbows. You watch him closely, the rest of your friends bolting into lounging positions; Trevor tripping over the vacuum cable in an attempt to abandon it in its respective home.
“Erm...” Michael panics, eyes darting to Gavin as he smashes out a pose, motioning to flashing lights. “Gavin makes everything weird. Just look at him. He’s just a freak.”
You do, taking in his clashing tinsel wrapping and throbbing colours, holding back a wince. Still, you sigh, a tired smile working across your face.
“Ray’s gonna have a field day,” you chuckle, entering your front room and unloading the bags into Ryan’s waiting arms, thankful for the relief.
Michael’s face screws in confusion, his “what?” cut off with the purple man bounding into the space, arms equally loaded up.
“The fuck are you wearing?”
“Always a pleasure, Ray.”
“You look like a Who from the Grinch.”
Gavin doesn’t seem at all offended, grinning at his friend. “You’re one to talk.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I- I don’t know.”
Ray chortles, following you into the room and beginning to unpack the decorations. “Good one, Gav.”
Michael comes up behind you, body noticeably close and warming your back while he peaks into the bags. Instead of commenting he sighs, hands diving into the closest bag, unpacking the tiny golden reindeer. You appreciate his silence, knowing your nerves can’t take criticism. If you were honest, every thought of Christmas brings you closer to tears, the idea of donning the halls anything but festively cheerful.
He’d been the one to suggest inviting your friends over for a pre-party party to help set up – Michael, that is. He’d pushed hard for it, actually, and you can’t deny the comfort you find in their smiling faces. Every year it was difficult, and though you desperately want to throw yourself into celebrations, each time would bring about debilitating stress.
You fill their hands with decorations and minds with tasks; Alfredo contently working in the kitchen with his taste tester Ryan – who happily sucks on the brownie batter spoon – while Jack and Geoff take on table setting. Jeremy follows them, each plate being adorned with an extravagant Christmas cracker and poorly folded napkin, the young man exercising an incredibly amount of restraint to avoid pulling them early. Ray joins Trevor, the pair generously scattering ornaments across the fireplace mantle and the overhangs, Gavin dictating positioning and aesthetics as their eyes roll.
The final task is saved for Michael and yourself, his eagerness to set up the tree warming your heart. Minding the bristles, you both sit in the corner of the room and unfold the tree’s numerous prickly parts, chattering about nothing. Assembly doesn’t take long, soon seeing the tree tower to the ceiling, filling the corner. Next come the decorations, the two of you jamming rich reds, golds, and an array of purples onto its branches; tossing strings of beads, tinsel and lights as the finishing touch.
You and Michael share a proud grin, his arm winding around your shoulder as he cheers. Instinctively you curl into him, palm resting against his chest, the other around his waist. You stay like this for a moment, too caught up in each other to notice the excited whispers rippling through the rest of your friends – until there’s a knock at the door.
With a jump start you pull away, blushing a deep pink that mirrors his cheeks. Jack rushes past with a yell, stopping your advances towards the visitor.
“NO! Err, I mean, you should really pack the underside of the tree,” he stumbles, back pressed to the door.
“What’s going on?” You needle, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Jack’s face flashes pleadingly, Geoff jumping to his aide.
“Calm down, Jack,” he instructs, storming past the man and throwing back a warning glace. “This’ll only take a minute.”
The door opens and slams far too quickly, Geoff’s loud yells rattling against the wood. You take a cautionary step back, looking to anyone for an explanation.
Ryan shrugs around Alfredo, looking unconcerned. “Drama.”
“Okay... I’ll- I’ll just, err,” you turn slowly, eyeing up the guilty group. “I’ll just head upstairs and get the bags of gifts.”
“Have fun,” waves Michael as you dip behind the wall into the next room with Ray, your footsteps resonating in creaks. Then he’s rushing to the door, yanking it open to see Geoff apologising profusely to a man, handing over money and taking the giant bag. Michael snatches it from tattooed hands, rushing inside and dropping to his knees to rip it open.
The content spills, mountains of mistletoe coating the carpet. “Why the fuck is there so many?!”
Jack shrugs, stealing a cookie and passing it back to Ryan, who munches happily. “They only sold them in bulk. You’re now the proud owner of a kilo of mistletoe.”
Michael lets out a resounding sigh, combing quickly through the pile and selecting his favourite, the white berries shining with a silver gleam. He quickly forces the rest back into the container at the sound of your returning footsteps, loud bangs emanating with each stair the sacks hit.
“Seriously Ray,” you groan, rounding the corner with a peel of laughter, the man accompanying you struggling with slippery parcels, juggling them as best he can. “Why do you have to do everything the hard way?”
“Because I’m not a pussy.”
“It’s 2017,” you grumble playfully, unaware of Jack snatching the mistletoe from Michael and nudging him forward, his hands reaching to relieve some of the load. “You can’t use that in a derogatory way.”
“It’s not derogatory,” Ray denies, collapsing beneath the presents and shoving them under the tree, “if anything it’s a shame. I wish I was a pussy.”
“Just stop,” jabs Michael with a smirk, accepting the gifts you hand over, drowning in the sight of your smile, “before you hurt yourself. Better yet, stop before Y/N hurts you.”
“I’ll do it,” you warn with lopsided grin that stops Michael’s heart, “don’t think I won’t.”
Ray panics theatrically, scampering away and bumping into Trevor as he balances on a chair, the two tangling in a mess of complaining limbs. You pay them no mind, tipping out your sack and kneeling beside the tree, Michael joining you and arranging the gifts into strategically tumbling piles. Your hands brush, his fingers squeezing yours and leaving tingles.
A commotion sounds above you, Jack making small noises of effort before yelling loudly. “I think it’s about time we ordered pizza. This place is good to go for tomorrow’s party.”
There are dramatic murmurs of agreement, the shuffling of feet accompanying the creak of your knees, standing to stare at the suspicious group. “Where are you going?”
“To order pizza,” says Geoff defensively, throwing his arms in the air.
“Can’t you order it in here?”
“Jesus Christ, Mom,” exclaims Ray, quickly catching on, “do we have to explain everything to you?”
You bristle, but only momentarily. A steady sigh sees you relaxing, a gentle squeeze warming your shoulder as Michael touches it. His face is perplexed, but manages to calm your confusion and mounting need for control.
“Okay, we’ll be weird and order pizza someplace else.”
“Alright, everybody out,” calls Gavin, ushering the group towards the back door, “you heard me, outside.”
You and Michael move to join, but Gavin’s eyes flick urgently up to the ceiling and back. Michael follows his gaze with a half muttered protest before a slightly frantic gasp escapes, his confusion colouring with anxiety.
“Oh, right, okay.”
He turns to you before you can protest, your friends disappearing as Michael touches the tops of your arms. All you can see is him, caught in his caramel eyes and the warm comfort of his nervous smile. He’s holding you close, the fibres of your sweaters brushing together as his hands remain gentle on your shoulders. He glances up, urging you to do the same, your lips parting in surprise at the mistletoe hanging above your heads.
“Michael, what’s going on –”
When you return to him he’s smiling, eyes caressing the features of the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Gotcha.”
“It’s about bloody time.”
And then his lips press against yours, arms winding to hold you close as the soft kiss lingers.