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Lancelot doesn’t feel prepared for this time of the year, in fact, he fears failing more than anything in an attempt to imitate the ordinary, even though he spent the whole year researching about Christmas.
He knew what it was to an extent and it would be his first time alone without having to go through that, with horrid people trying to destroy what he is. Lancelot could avoid the discomfort of recreating the holiday, but he had received advices of his therapist that he should try to explore new ways of enjoying things for himself, without interference of his past; and Lancelot is great at following orders. Not orders, Lancelot, even if his mind screamed otherwise.
With these internal battles Lancelot stops and looks for a wall to lean against. He only needs a minute for those insistent voices go away. Lancelot tries to stay focused on something else, to look at people walking down the streets, the cars and the shop windows with all kinds of Christmas decorations. Do not look inside yourself, Lancelot.
When he feels safe enough to walk again Lancelot continues towards his little house in the outskirts of downtown. It’s perfect nonetheless; the risk of being overwhelmed with the city’s noise didn’t exist.
When he got home the snow was already starting to fall intensely, the streets would be covered in the purest white in no time. Lancelot could already see himself sitting in front of the window, feeling the heat of his fireplace with a hot chocolate that would be more marshmallows than cocoa; he could already feel the calmness.
But before doing so Lancelot is going to make some cookies, he had just gone out to buy the ingredients, a difficult decision that would be worth in the end. Lancelot’s idea of a perfect Christmas is the food; he would have to get his hands dirty to get the full experience.
In his researches about the celebration, in books or even on the internet–something he avoided using since he didn’t get along with it very well–Lancelot encountered some recurrent recipes though what caught his attention the most was peppermint, or that funny sweet in the shape of a cane. It’s perfect because of its look.
Lancelot is very excited to start his new experience. Everything would be flawless as he had planned. He would make cookies dipped in ganache and would use the candy canes’ bran as decoration, simple and easy for the first recipe.
The first thing he does is changing his clothes; he doesn’t want the dirt from the street to contaminate anything inside his house, in the end he ends up taking a very hot shower. When he finishes, with clean, warm clothes on, he goes straight to the kitchen.
His counter was already clean and he just needs to start making the dough. The preparation was simple; he has done it several times. The scent of butter and brown sugar could already be inhaled while Lancelot adds more ingredients.
Then he decided that he would put a Christmas song to play as a background noise, it would be relaxing.
When Michael Bublé’s music Santa Claus is Coming to Town starts to play, Lancelot would’ve like to feel what many call Christmas spirit, or something like that, but when nothing happens he just shrugs; today wasn’t the day apparently.
With the melody playing in a comfortable volume with words that promised a Santa Claus appearing Lancelot thinks that he would like to get a visit, those gifts business seems like a good deal, even if it was a little creepy that an unknown man knows everything that you do. Lancelot tries not to think about that other person.
Focus, Lancelot.
The alarm warns Lancelot that the cookies could now be removed from the oven. The smell was mouth-watering; he hopes they had gotten as good as those cookies he ate at the cafeteria on the way to work.
With the cookies and ganache ready all that was needed was to break the candy canes for the decoration, the shopping bag was still on the small kitchen table. Lancelot was surprised to see that the candy canes weren’t there, in fact the bag was empty. A feeling of utter despair begins to fill Lancelot’s chest, his throat clogs and his vision starts to blur because of the tears threatening to fall. No, no, no, no, it couldn’t be. He was sure that he had bought the damn candies, he was.
Lancelot tries to control himself and in the process starts to turn every corner of the kitchen and the rest of the house, maybe he had taken the candies to another room, sometimes it happened, he constantly forgot where he had put things.
He’s so upset that he doesn’t feel the pain when he hurts parts of his limbs on furniture. He doesn’t process the mess he’s making, the things that he breaks in search of the candies.
Lancelot doesn’t even notice when he grabs his coat even less when he left the house or how he has the mind to at least wrap himself up minimally. Snow was falling steadily covering everything; he just needs to empty his mind of all the sensations trying to swallow him completely and to end the turmoil for good.
He throws himself on the icy floor.
Lancelot’s face starts to burn immediately in a comforting way; he could only feel the snow right now. Lancelot turns up to breath, eyes open, tears and snow on his face. The sky was cloudy though the light filtered nicely through it.
And then he remembers that he had forgotten to stop by the candy store at that moment on the street, when he leaned against a wall trying to calm down, anxiety triggering as always.
Without realizing it, his arms and legs lazily start to move to make a snow angel, thinking vaguely about his feet protected only by slippers and completely cold, though it wasn’t that bad.
“Hey?” Someone speaks out of nowhere causing Lancelot to stop his movements and look in the direction of the unknown person. “Want company?”
His limbs were too cold for Lancelot to even be astonished by the sudden presence. “Who are you?” Lancelot summarizes his movements. “I never saw you around here.”
“I was passing through, my sister lives next door.”
Lancelot tries to assimilate the information unsuccessfully, perhaps because he didn’t really care about getting along with anyone in the neighborhood. “Hm, I don’t know her.”
“Seriously? She seems to know you, her name is Nimue,” the stranger says. “Long brown hair? Usually hanging around with an idiot, Arthur?”
This catches Lancelot’s attention. “How will I recognize this Arthur with that description?”
“Believe me, you will.”
The stranger sits next to Lancelot and that makes him stop his snow angel making, the stranger doesn’t sit very close to him, just enough for Lancelot to have a good view. His cheeks start to burn for a completely different reason now, a stirring in the pit of his stomach makes itself present and he tries to ignore it.
“Anyway, I’m Nimue’s brother, Gawain.”
“You already said that,” Lancelot glances at him with an inquisitive face, making him look away quickly. “Uh…you said your sister lives next door, so it was obvious that you would be her sibling.”
The stranger–Gawain–laughs and that only makes Lancelot feel even warmer.
“Yeah, I did,” Gawain says with a smile.
Lancelot doesn’t even remember when someone found it so easy to talk to him; they were generally uncomfortable with the package that was Lancelot–perhaps the strange tattoos that imitated tears, a weight of the past, of what had happened.
“So, why are you in Nimue’s backyard?”
This catches Lancelot’s attention to the point of facing the other completely. “I’m not in anyone’s backyard, this is mine,” he says indignantly.
“Hm, I don’t think so, look,” Gawain points out. “Over there is Nimue’s house and this fence is hers.”
Lancelot somewhat stunned by the new information raises enough to support his weight on his elbows, frowning and observing his surrounds. Shames starts to rise through Lancelot’s body, it was so much that the thinks about putting his face in the snow again and–
“So, how about we go inside?” Gawain cuts his train of thoughts. Lancelot looks at him, embarrassed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing out here.”
It was in fact very cold, his feet were already crying for mercy.
“Come, I’ll accompany you to your home.”
Gawain doesn’t give Lancelot much of a chance, he just stands and starts walking, looking back briefly to make sure Lancelot would come. While standing Lancelot almost fell over again with the smile on Gawain’s face, as much as he wants to blame the cold for the burning on his cheek he knows very well that the cause is another.
“Well, here we are,” Gawain says with a certain intonation in his voice, Lancelot soon realizes that he probably wants to be invited in.
“You can’t!” Lancelot shouts, making them both wince with it. “I mean, I would ask you to come in…” the mess must be a sight right now in his house.
Gawain doesn’t look dejected, laughing still, not at Lancelot, but as if he was enjoying himself in his company. “No need to explain, however,” he pauses approaching Lancelot to the point where he could feel his breath on his face. “How about you spend Christmas with me? At Nimue’s house as my guest.”
Lancelot was speechless. “If–I mean–it wouldn’t be–”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Gawain reassures him, a beautiful smile on his face. “Tomorrow night I’ll stop by to pick you up.”
And that was how Lancelot found himself in his house with his heart in hands for reasons completely different from earlier, the problem about the candy canes and cookies forgotten.