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Ed grins at Stede as the blond reenters the kitchen, settling into the seat opposite him at the table. He’s wrapped in his soft golden robe and he wraps his hands around the mug on the table in the front of him, his ring clinking softly against the porcelain.
“Kids excited?” Ed asks, voice echoing just barely in the still-winter-dark early morning.
“Oh, yeah,” Stede laughs. “Thrilled. I don’t even think Alma listened all the way through before she went back to sleep.”
Ed snorts into his own mug of tea. It’s no surprise that the fifteen year old was ecstatic to hear the news of a canceled day of school. Something about how high schoolers love to be anywhere but in the classroom. It’ll be hours yet before the kids drag themselves out of bed, and Ed trails his foot up the inside of Stede’s leg. Might as well kill time.
********
“It’s inside my scarf, Ed!” Alma shouts, landing a sharp smack on Ed’s arm, made ineffective by the thick layer of his coat. “I’m going to catch hypothermia and die! ”
Ed rolls his eyes. “You aren’t gonna die , squirt.” He barely has time to duck before the snowball lands him in the ear. “ Alma!”
“Sounds like you started it, darling!” Stede calls from where he’s on his knees in the snow, the shape of a fort starting to form around him. “We’re supposed to encourage her to defend herself against men targeting her.”
“I wasn’t targeting her!” Ed protests. “It’s a snowball fight!”
“Yeah!” Louis pipes up, not sparing a momentary glance from his fort.
Ed rolls his eyes again, packing snow in tightly to the next ball forming in his hands. He can see the end of Alma’s red scarf poking out from behind a tree and holds up one finger against his lips in Stede’s direction, muffling a laugh as Stede purses his lips. Stede was right, of course, Ed did in fact start the snowball fight.
The snowball smacks the tree square in the center of the trunk and Alma squeals, whipping around the opposite side and hurling her own snowball directly at Ed’s face. He fails to duck as quickly this time and receives a face full of snow for his troubles. Spluttering, he wipes his eyes to find Stede doubled over, cackling.
“Hey,” Ed hollers. “I can take your ass, old man!”
“ Language! ” Louis responds at the top of his lungs, still refusing to break his gaze with the fort under his hands.
Stede smirks. “Language, my love.”
Ed spares a middle finger for his husband before being quickly distracted with another well-placed snowball from the teenager, and with a grimace, he scoops up another hefty handful of snow.
*******
The tomato soup smells heavily as Ed stirs it, adding another sprinkle of garlic powder. Stede bumps his hip against him gently as he flips the grilled cheese sandwich in front of him, glancing sideways at Ed with a tiny smile twisting his mouth. With a small laugh, Ed hooks an arm around Stede’s hips, sliding his thumb through one of the other man’s belt loops and pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head.
“You’re the grilled cheese king, love,” he says. “Swear to god, I’ve never had a better one.”
“It’s the butter to bread to cheese ratio,” Stede replies dismissively. “And the combination of cheeses, obviously.”
Ed hums. “Maybe it’s not any of that and just the fact that you make it with love, hm?”
There’s a laugh and then lips against Ed’s own, soft fingertips tracing his cheek. The kiss warms him up in ways tomato soup and grilled cheese never could.
“ Ew,” comes Alma’s voice. “Get a room. ”
“We have one,” Stede responds, pulling away from Ed and removing the sandwich from the pan. “Right next to yours, actually.”
“Ugh, maybe you should use it.”
Ed turns off the burner, resting his hip against the counter to eye Alma. “Sorry, did you want to be in charge of cooking everything yourself?”
Alma sticks her tongue out at him. Her cheeks are still flushed from being in the snow, although now she’s bundled up in—
“Is that my fuckin’ hoodie?” Ed asks, jaw dropping open. “You raided my closet!”
“And?” She shrugs. “Are you going to make me take it off? I’ll get cold! ” She pouts, blinking giant eyes at him.
Stede huffs a laugh from next to him. “You know he would never.”
The teenager grins, crossing her arms. “I know.”
Louis joins them moments later, wrapped in—thankfully—his own clothes. He climbs onto the chair next to Alma and grins a toothy smile at Ed as the dark-haired man sits a mug of soup in front of him. Stede delivers the hot sandwiches and the family of four dig in. As he dips his sandwich into his soup, Ed takes a moment to revel in the heat inside his chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the food in front of him and everything to do with the man at his side and the two kids across the table.
*******
The traipse through the snow only leads to soaked clothes for a certain ten-year-old and an out of breath fifteen-year-old by the time they clear the hill in their snowshoes. Alma glares at Ed as she straightens up.
“We could’ve just had another snowball fight if someone hadn’t whined about it earlier,” she mutters.
Ed chuckles. “Stop whining, you got the whole day off school so you needed some fresh air.”
Curling her lip, she growls: “There’s fresh air in snowball fights too.”
*******
Stede straightens up from starting a roaring fire in the living room fireplace, turning and offering Ed a grin. “Feels warmer already!”
Ed hides the smirk he knows is still on his face from the spectacular sight of Stede bending over the pit. “Sure does, love.”
He scoots over to allow Stede to nestle up under his arm, tugging a blanket over the both of them. Stede starts flicking through channels, searching for a movie to watch with the kids and Ed presses his nose into Stede’s hair, breathing in deeply. He smells of their shared shampoo and vaguely of the organic detergent he buys. Ed loves him.
The kids join them, Louis situating himself directly between the two men and Alma resting on the other end of the couch, tucking her feet under Stede’s thighs.
“Oh,” Ed starts. “The Year Without a Santa Claus is one of my favorites!”
“I’ve never seen it,” Alma says.
“ What?” Ed turns a bewildered look on his husband. “You’ve never shown them the Year Without a Santa Claus? They’ve never witnessed Heatmiser? Snowmiser?”
Stede shrugs. “I guess not.”
Ed lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’ve failed as a father and even worse, you’ve allowed me to fail as a father.”
Stede smacks him lightly in the chest with the remote before pressing play, and Ed settles down. He traces circles into Stede’s shoulder with one arm and smiles to himself as Louis shifts, nestling so he’s perfectly situated between his fathers, his head tilted to rest on Ed’s chest. He cards his free hand through the boy’s hair, starting to curl at the ends like his dad’s. It’s a Hallmark movie moment, Ed thinks, glancing from Stede to Alma and smiling just a bit bigger.
Actually, he thinks, it’s better.