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He remembers the first one. The cable-knitted sweater and grey hoodies. The fleece festive pyjama bottoms. The warmth inside him that had so little to do with the heat of the apartment and everything with him .
He remembers the second one. When it was all stilled and stiff. His family not entirely welcoming, but still somehow trying. The second day of Christmas spent at his parent’s house. When the laugh filled the air, alongside the incessant chatter that just let them exist in the bubble.
He doesn’t remember each of them with all the precious details. But what he does remember is the tenderness thumping behind his ribs, the laugh bubbling out of his mouth, the easiness settling in his every cell.
He remembers the authenticity of it. The realness and honesty. The lack of artificial acts to appear perfect.
He isn’t sure what is left for him to do now. He feels small. Broken. As if something is missing. And it is.
He looks around the room. It appears cold. Unwelcomed. He remembers the time it was inviting. Full of light and warmth. Full of them both. Their clothes, their dishes, their scents. The plants, the opened windows, the blazing heat radiators.
He shudders. More out of the chilliness settled inside him since he had left. He should get up and leave, there’s nothing for him here. Only haunting memories. His state of mind is already in shambles, he doesn’t need to see the evidence of his yet another failure.
He is sitting on the stairs leading upstairs with his coat open, the fabric pooling down his sides, when he hears the key in the lock and then the door softly clicking open. His head hangs and he doesn’t dare to look up. Unsure if it’s all real or a simple creation of his imagination.
“Armie” and it sounds like a plea. For what he isn’t entirely sure. How could he be when everything between them seemed so good and perfect, but crumbled down within two seconds. He hasn’t been the same ever since.
But even though he doesn’t know what it means, it forces him to look up. For the first time in literally weeks, Tim is standing there in front of him.
Armie realizes then that even though they are inches apart, they are in fact the whole universe apart.
It’s like a snap in the face. And it breaks him a bit more.
He shouldn’t be surprised though. It has been happening from some time now. It’s the reason he is sitting on these stairs right now, thinking about all the memories they share, feeling cold and empty, because there won’t be more.
They fucked up. That’s the truth. But somehow it’s harder to believe that and move on.
“Why are you here Armie?” Tim asks softly, still standing in the centre of the room, looking uncomfortably out of place
“You know why”
He stands up. There’s nothing more to say. They’ve been through this. They’ve talked. They’ve screamed. They’ve shouted and they’ve blamed one another. They’ve been silent.
“Jesus Armie stop!” Tim almost shouts. Armie stops in his tracks, a few inches behind him. He takes a big breath and turns around facing Tim.
“What do you want?!”
Several excruciating seconds pass, Armie just stares at him with a defeated look in his eyes, something in Tim shifts as if he finally knows.
“You” he whispers with conviction and before he can even proceed, he throws himself at Armie, smashing their lips together in a fierce and demanding kiss, leaving nothing behind.
“I want you” he admits breathlessly after a long long time “And I want this forever, so we’d better sort ourselves”
Armie laughs and leans down to kiss him relief crashing over him like a tidal wave, leaving nothing behind.