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You pressed the number for your floor and leaned back against the wall of the elevator with a sigh. You were exhausted, arms and legs so heavy it was like they were filled with lead, and you were drained of all possible cheer after a day of flight delays, arguments with airlines over rebookings and cancellations, and finally the terrible call you had with your parents, telling them that you were going to miss the holidays. A brutal snow storm over the Midwest had utterly destroyed your hope of getting there in time. And now you were coming back to a cold, empty apartment for a holiday alone.
You had thought about crying, but couldn’t even summon the energy. Not even when your three year old niece had gotten on the phone, sobbing, devastated you wouldn’t be there to turn on the tree and light the menorah with her. Instead, you had texted Rafael to just let him know you were fine and turned off your phone so you could come home and wallow.
You had briefly considered asking him to come over, the thought of him curled warm around you in bed like a balm to your disappointment, but you deleted the text without sending it. You knew he was at services with his mother, the one time a year he went, and you didn’t want to interrupt, especially not to complain. And anyway, you didn’t think you were quite at the point yet where you could ask to spend the holidays together, even in an emergency. (And maybe it terrified you a little bit that the one thing you thought of to comfort yourself in the moment was him, gruff and grumpy or otherwise.)
And so you found yourself back at your apartment, defeated, lonely, and way too exhausted to deal with either. Right now you were just looking forward to taking a hot shower and getting in bed to sleep off the whole saga.
You were so absorbed in your own misery that you didn’t process anything out of place as you opened your apartment door, kicking off your shoes and hanging up your coat. It wasn’t until you had gotten halfway out of the entryway that you realized you weren’t alone and you froze.
Light was spilling into the hall from the kitchen and living room while Christmas carols played softly. You wondered briefly if you had forgotten to turn it off when you left that morning, but the thought was cut off by the clatter of dishes.
Heart in your throat, you grabbed your keys from the side table to slide in between your knuckles as you crept forward, pressed against the wall to slowly peer around the corner. And promptly almost dropped the keys in surprise.
Rafael was leaning up on his toes to peer at something in the microwave over the stove, a dish cloth thrown over one shoulder. He reached in only to yank his hand back, cursing under his breath, blowing on his now reddened fingers.
Your chest felt tight, a rush of affection and confusion twisting through you as you watched him there, casually stripped down to his shirtsleeves and slacks, tie pulled loose, sleeves rolled up, a pair of festive red and white suspenders pulling across his chest. He looked almost soft, domestic as he grumbled, pulling the dish cloth from his shoulder to pull whatever it was out of the microwave and set it down, unaware you were watching.
He must have let himself in with the key you had given him? But why would he have set up here for Christmas Eve…? And…
“Raf? What the hell?”
He jumped, pan clattering on the stove as he whipped around to see you standing in the doorway. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I just got here…” You took a few steps into the room, but stopped short of approaching him, tossing your keys onto the counter. “What are you doing? I thought you were with your mother.”
He fidgeted with the dish towel still in his hands for a few seconds before he seemed to realize what he was doing and let it drop to his side. “I uh, figured you would be hungry after being stuck at the airport all day.”
Affection and confusion warred in your chest, twisting your stomach in knots. You tilted your head to the side, watching him. He flushed a little under your gaze, muscle in his jaw working, eyebrows pinching slightly.
“I told you I was fine, that you should stay with your mother.”
He frowned. “Did you want to be alone?”
“I—” You flushed too, desperately happy to see him, but hating how the feeling turned sour at the thought of him abandoning his mother to be with you. “I didn’t want to mess up your holiday, too.”
The uncertain pinch of his eyebrows melted away at that and he snorted, leveling a smirk at you. “I was there for dinner and Christmas Eve service. If anything you’ve saved me from additional hours of my mother’s friends drunkenly telling me about all the ‘nice young women’ they know.”
You laughed and his smirk softened into something closer to affection.
“Anyway,” he continued, “you underestimate my mother’s meddling if you think she hadn’t all but shoved me out the door when she heard what happened. She says ’Merry Christmas’, by the way, and sent food.” He gestured to the pan on the stove and out into the rest of the room.
You looked around the whole space for the first time to see more dishes set out on the coffee table with a bottle of wine and… nine candles from around your apartment, lined up along the edge.
“Redecorating too?” you asked, eyebrow raised, jerking your chin at the candles. To your surprise, he flushed in response and fidgeted with the dishcloth again.
“Ah, actually.” His fingers tightened on the cloth briefly, voice gruff and uncomfortable. He shrugged, flush deepening. “I know you were looking forward to it being your niece’s first time celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas together so I thought…”
Your breath caught, your chest too tight for words as the last of the confusion in you melted away and your heart swelled with affection and something more… something you were pretty sure neither of you weren’t quite ready to verbalize, even if actions might be indicating otherwise.
The longer you were at a loss for words, though, the more he seemed to fidget, tension drawing his shoulders taut. Finally, he waved at the setup, brushing it off with a flick of his wrist. “We don’t have to, either,” he said, quickly, “I know you don’t normally do anything to celebrate.”
“No,” you said softly, brow furrowing, still not sure what to say. And he seemed to both collapse in on himself and turn rigid at the same time as you trailed off. His jaw took on a stubborn set even as he dropped your gaze.
He was clearly wildly out of his element, having exposed that he might care, that he wanted you to have the holiday you had wanted. He was almost folding in on himself now, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets as he started to lean up off the counter, eyes darting to the doorway behind you. He was hovering, perched there in a way that made you think he’d make a run for it if you weren’t been between him and the way out.
“No, I mean…” you stepped forward the rest of the way and crowded into his personal space, boxing him in before he could actually make a break for it. “No, I love it.”
You could hear his sharp intake of breath as you leaned in, finally just feeling warm and content as the familiar scent of him curled around you. You slid one hand up his suspenders to rest on his chest, the other coming up to cup the side of his face, thumb soothing the tension lines that pinched at the corner of his eye. “This is unbelievably sweet.”
He twitched at the statement, even as he turned his face to nuzzle into your palm. You laughed and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could start to truly frown at the implication he was soft.
“It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone,” you whispered against his lips. “It’s not like they’d have believed me anyway.” You winked and he huffed in response, his lips curving into a small smile instead and he let out the breath he was holding, tension melting off his frame on the exhale. His hands came up to rest on your sides, fingers tangling in your sweater as he pulled you closer.
Grinning even wider, you turned to press your smile to his jaw so he wouldn’t see, trailing light kisses along to his ear and back. He hummed, pressing his face into your hair.
“Ok, but one thing,” you murmured into his skin, brushing your lips over his cheek. “If we’re lighting these candles, we’re going to have to Google the prayer and what direction you light them in. Because it’s always been my dad who does it. I have no idea.”
He snorted. You didn’t bother to hide your smile this time as you pulled back to wag your finger at him. “Hush. No commentary. I told you that I was both Jewish and Catholic and neither. All at once.” He smirked at you and gestured like he was zipping his lips shut and dropping the key in the sink.
You rolled your eyes and shoved at his shoulders. “Go. Open the wine and pour me a glass while I sort this out. And then you can have your first Hanukkah, too.”
He gave you a lazy salute and the smirk widened, turning to do as you asked.
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Hours later, the candles burning low, Rafael was wrapped around you on the couch, lulled into a doze by the power of a good meal and red wine.
You shifted in his arms, stretching your legs out to tangle with his, his answering grumble at being woken vibrating against your back. You hummed and brushed a kiss across his knuckles in apology and he pressed his nose into your hairline, trailing soft, sleepy kisses along the back of your neck.
“I know how much you were looking forward to being home for the holidays,” he murmured into your skin. “I hope this makes up for it, just a little bit.”
You took in the spread across the coffee table. The Christmas carols playing softly in the background, the home-cooked food Lucia had sent for you, his improvised attempt at a menorah, his arm around you, holding you snug to his chest, fingers interwoven… You honestly felt more at home than you had anywhere in years.
“Eh,” you shrugged, shoving down the feeling before it overwhelmed you and twisted around so you could smirk at him instead, sliding your fingers into his hair to tug his face down to yours, lips just brushing his. “Maybe a little bit.”
He huffed, lips curling into a smile as he pulled you close to kiss you properly.
Maybe a little bit. Maybe a lot.