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“All I’m saying,” Ryan huffs, into his phone as he serves himself another tamale, “is that I wish you were here. And now you’re making it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird,” Shane protests, laughing on the other end of the line.
There’s music playing loudly in the living room, family members all around the house, and even then, just a little bit, Ryan still feels a little lonely. Christmas has never felt this imbalanced, with the feel good energy not quite filling him up like it usually does.
“Yes, you are!” Ryan picks at his food with his fork, looking out of the sliding glass doors that lead to the back yard, thinking about fires and drinks and late night conversation. Smiling because Shane would have slept out there had Katie not volunteered to take him home the night of the first TMS shoot.
“I’m just saying, you’ve got a big ol’ crush on me, if you’re wishing I was home for Christmas. What are you? A Hallmark movie?”
“And what about it, you dick?”
Shane laughs, and Ryan can’t help but wheeze.
“I can’t believe you’re teasing me because I miss you. Fuck you, man.”
“It’s endearing and I’m enjoying it,” Shane admits quietly, and Ryan can imagine the smile he wears, twitching lips as he fights to keep it from growing into a full on grin. “You’ve got your whole family around, how do you even have time to miss me?”
“I don’t know! I just do!” Ryan stabs his tamale, and spears a bite sized chunk, stuffing it into his mouth.
“Well, stop it.”
“What are you doing?” Ryan asks. “Did you tell your parents I said hi?”
“Yeah. Sentiment returned. Mom said, if you want, you’re welcome to spend Thanksgiving with us.”
Ryan feels that familiar bubble of excitement, the bleed of warmth whenever the future is brought up, whenever they plan for things that haven’t happened yet. He can see it when he closes his eyes, when he’s right at the cusp of sleep at night, the years and years and years he could spend with Shane and never tire of his company.
“Yeah. We can do that. You can spend Christmas here with me, then,” Ryan says, like it’s a compromise, even though he knows Shane would be all over it.
“Sounds like a plan. Good plans. Means you like me enough to keep me around.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ryan teases, trying to keep his voice casual, but he’s caught in his feelings, in how much he loves Shane. “No more holidays apart. My parents like you, they like you for me.”
Shane hums. “I know,” he says. He’s almost muffled over the line, the background louder now.
“What are you doing?”
“I just walked inside.”
“Oh, do you have to go?”
“Not quite.”
“You’ll call me when you wake up in the morning, right?”
“I could,” Shane says. “I’d rather kiss you instead.”
“Well, yeah, but you decided to fly across the United States. Decidedly, that’s out.”
“I like that sweater on you,” Shane says abruptly, his voice low and quiet, flirtatious. “Pink isn’t really a Christmas color, Bergara.”
Ryan can feel the warmth in his cheeks at the compliment and rolls his eyes at the jab. “Oh, shut up. I was cold—”
“It’s Los Angeles!”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not—” Ryan pauses, standing up straight, his heart stuttering in his chest. “Wait, how do you know what I’m wearing?”
“You sent me a selfie a half an hour ago, idiot,” Shane teases. Ryan deflates, pouting at his tamale like it’s the reason they’re apart.
“Damn,” Ryan says, frowning. “I thought you were being sneaky and you were actually here.”
“That would be a really good surprise. You think I’m smart enough to pull that off?”
“I don’t know, but if you were, it’s certainly worth a blow job or two.”
“Ryan, shut up!”
Ryan cackles. “Sorry Sherry!”
“It’s not my mom you need to worry about,” Shane says laughing.
“I’m alone in the kitchen.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!” Ryan turns around to prove his point, looking around the kitchen space. Right in the doorway at the far end of the kitchen, Shane is standing there, dressed in flannel and jeans, looking warm and cozy and real. Ryan’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest. His mind stutters before kicking into high gear and he races across the kitchen, jumping on Shane.
Like usual, Shane’s ready for him, catches him, right against his chest as Ryan wraps his arms secure around Shane’s shoulders, legs around his hips. His phone clatters to the floor and Ryan doesn’t care enough to save it.
“Merry Christmas, Ry,” Shane says, holding him tight.
“You’re really here.”
“Yeah, I am,” Shane says, and there’s something wrong with his voice, weird, tight, too much affection, too much emotion, saved only for the rawest, barest, most vulnerable moments.
Shane lets Ryan down, but it’s a slow slide that rolls his sweatshirt, bunches it up his stomach; he doesn’t bother fixing it, just looks up at Shane, pressed against him, hands bunched in Shane’s flannel.
“Turns out you really are smart enough,” Ryan says, grinning.
“Sounds like you owe me,” Shane says, making Ryan laugh.
“I am a man of my word. How did you even pull this off?” Ryan slides his hands over Shane’s shoulders, touching the sides of his face.
“It was hard, quarantining after getting tested, hiding that I was still in LA. Do you know how many times you ask me what I’m doing every time we’re on the phone? What’s your obsession with that?”
Ryan laughs, and it makes the crinkles by Shane’s crescent moon eyes come out to play, and Ryan doesn’t think he’s ever been more in love than right this second. “It’s a visual thing,” Ryan murmurs. “I like picturing you.”
Shane hums, leaning in and Ryan rocks up onto the tips of his toes. “What a vision that must be. Stunning, really.”
“Shut up,” Ryan murmurs, just before he yanks Shane down and kisses him. “Welcome home.”