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Brownie had never been one to get rowdy when celebrating the holidays—he’d never quite felt the usual enthusiasm for them, really, since in his mind they were days like any other—but even he had found himself looking forwards to Christmas this year, and now that the day had arrived at last, he couldn’t say he was disappointed with how it was turning out. From where he stood in the doorway to the common room, he could see the towering tree, decked out in vibrant red and glittering gold and burgundy; with the warm lights strewn across the branches, it was pretty enough to almost make him forget that he’d have to clean up all those pine needles afterwards.
Outside, thick snowflakes drifted lazily past the window. Past the hum of chattering voices and the clinking of glasses and faint Christmas music playing from another room, he could hear an occasional howl of wind, and if the complaints of yesterday’s delivery team were anything to go off of, the weather was nothing short of frigid. Inside, though, a fire crackled steadily in the furnace, stoked by small sweater-clad figures who would dash into the room every once in awhile to toss twigs into the blaze before returning to their game, and Brownie was as warm as he’d ever been. There was only one thing that could’ve made the moment lovelier.
“Hi,” a soft voice greeted, and Brownie smiled to himself.
“Perfect timing,” he said, turning to face B-52, who was hovering there, looking terribly unsure of himself. “I was just thinking about how I’d like to see you.”
B-52’s cheeks flushed red, and he ducked his head, but not quick enough for Brownie to miss his shy smile. “Well… I’m here now.”
“I’ve noticed.” Brownie looked him up and down—he was wearing his work clothes, and while Brownie hadn’t expected him to don a flashy Christmas sweater, it seemed odd that he wouldn’t at least dress in casual wear. “Not feeling particularly festive?”
“Well, actually, uh—” B-52 shifted on his feet, pointedly staring at anything except Brownie. “I haven’t… wanted to say this, because I know it sounds stupid, but I—I don’t really understand Christmas. At all.”
Brownie blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t considered that before, but thinking about it, it made sense—this was the first Christmas they’d spent with their new Master Attendant, and when it’d just been him and Napoleon and B-52, they hadn’t done anything extravagant beyond buying each other a couple gifts. He supposed it went without saying that neither B-52’s first Master Attendant nor Spaghetti had been a huge fan of the holidays. Still, he was touched that he would get the honor of explaining Christmas to B-52.
“Well, let me see.” He chewed his lip, trying to recall everything he’d learned over the years. “It’s a human tradition that started many years ago. Originally, it was something to do with religion, but it’s become something that most everyone can enjoy, regardless of their beliefs or lack thereof. It’s… it’s more about giving and being kind to others than it is anything else.”
“Why the…” B-52 waved his hand vaguely. “Reindeer?”
Brownie had to chuckle. “It comes from the story of Santa Claus, a man who travels the world to deliver presents to children on Christmas. His sleigh is pulled by a team of flying reindeer.”
“What?” B-52 furrowed his brow. “How do they fly? And how does he travel so quickly? And how… how does he get so many presents?”
“All good questions,” Brownie said, trying to suppress a smile. “I believe it’s usually explained away as being magic. Perhaps Santa is a Food Soul.”
B-52 nodded solemnly, his expression thoughtful. They were both silent for a moment while he processed the new information. Then his face brightened, and he turned to look at Brownie for the first time—or rather, to look above Brownie.
“One more question.” B-52 pointed at the doorway, and Brownie looked up to see… ah. “What’s that plant there for?”
“Um,” Brownie managed to get out before breaking into a coughing fit. Maybe if he choked on air for long enough, he’d be able to avoid having to answer the question. Of course, that didn’t quite work out, and after a few seconds his airways cleared and he straightened up, taking a deep breath.
“Are… are you okay?” B-52 peered at him, concerned. “You’re… blushing.”
“Well,” Brownie croaked. The thought crossed his mind that he could just lie, since B-52 didn’t know the connotations of standing under mistletoe, but he shot it down—if B-52 was trusting Brownie to educate him, it was Brownie’s duty to be honest about it. “That’s, uh, that’s called mistletoe. If two people are standing underneath it, they… they, er, they’re supposed to kiss.”
“Oh,” B-52 breathed, his face flushing deep red as soon as he registered the implications. “Uh… um… does that mean we… you know?”
“Well.” Brownie tugged at his shirt, straightening it despite it already being perfectly straight. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden. It wasn’t as if he’d never kissed B-52 before, but their relationship was still somewhat new so he hadn’t done it much, and this was in public, where people might see them… At the same time, wasn’t this a part of teaching B-52 about Christmas? “I suppose we should indeed… do that… if you don’t mind.”
B-52 nodded with more than enough enthusiasm to convince Brownie he’d made the right decision. Also, if Brownie was being honest with himself, he could hardly turn down an opportunity to kiss B-52. He gave a precursory glance around to make sure nobody was watching, then stepped forwards and—everything melted away as B-52’s lips met his. His hand was on B-52’s cheek, B-52 was holding his waist, they were so close and B-52 was so warm and he tasted so sweet. It was perfect. He didn’t care what anybody else thought anymore. At least, he didn’t care until they broke for air and Brownie stepped back and realized they’d practically been making out in full view of whoever passed through the room.
“Uh—” Brownie gulped, suddenly feeling way too warm despite the chill outside. “We should probably… I mean… we’re lucky no one saw that… I hope.”
“Right,” B-52 said, blushing hard enough to rival the bright red Christmas sweaters Brownie had been seeing everywhere. “Um. Thank you. For that. I—I mean, for, um, teaching me. About Christmas. Yes.”
“No need to thank me.” Brownie smiled weakly. Part of him was chiding himself for, well, that, but part of him didn’t quite regret it, despite the dangers associated with public affection like that.
He cast a sidelong glance into the next room. Piles of presents sparkled underneath the tree, with paper nametags dangling off each one to mark its recipient, and a few Souls were beginning to straggle into the room, giving Brownie the feeling they’d all be opening their gifts soon—he thanked his lucky stars nobody had shown up a minute earlier. Turning to B-52, he offered his hand along with a smile; B-52 accepted, clasping Brownie’s hand in his, and together they joined the growing crowd surrounding the tree. Amidst the chatter, Brownie craned his neck up to whisper into B-52’s ear.
“If you’d like,” Brownie murmured, “I wouldn’t mind… resuming our earlier activities in a more private place, after the gifts have been opened and all. For educational purposes, of course.”
B-52 giggled, a relatively rare sound that made Brownie’s heart stop every time, and nodded his head. “I think that’d be good. Do we have to carry the mistletoe around and hold it over our heads for the rest of the day, then?”
They both burst out laughing, which garnered them bemused stares from those around them, and B-52 squeezed Brownie’s hand in his. As the room filled up, a few of the younger Souls lost their patience and broke from the crowd to snatch up their presents. Brownie didn’t bother looking for his. He was too focused on the man standing next to him, wearing a sheepish smile and a rosy glow on his cheeks, looking beautiful in the pale light even with his lack of festive attire. Brownie smiled to himself, his heart full and warm. As corny as it sounded, and he knew it was absolutely cheesy, B-52’s existence was the best gift he could’ve ever received.