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“Oh—Shit, what the hell…?”
You turn at the sound of your roommate’s voice, grinning and giggling as he steps deeper inside, whacking a candy-cane laden garland out of his face from the doorway.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize the tape had given up,” You apologize, turning back toward where you’re pressing snowflake stickers to the living room windows. “How was your shift?”
“A perp shot at me. Besides that, not too bad.”
“What?” You whirl around, eyes widening. He waves you off, shaking his head.
“‘M fine.”
You purse your lips, arms folding across your chest. For as long as you’ve known him, Borracho has played down the affect that his job has had on him. You don’t doubt that this is any different, but you won’t push. He should be able to get away from all of that when he’s home.
You hadn’t always understood that. When you first started living with Borracho, you were determined to help out, to act as friend and therapist. But you’ve learned to give Borracho space, let him speak about work if he’d like to, and let him be if he doesn’t.
“I’m fine,” He repeats firmly as he comes deeper into the apartment. “Honestly.” He nods toward the windows, brows raising. “What’s with the snowflakes? We live in LA.”
“Yeah, but, like,” You wave your hands towards the decorations. “They’re festive.”
“Why is there a snowman up there, too?”
“Because it’s festive.”
“And the playlist?” He asks, raising his finger and waving it around in the air. You tip your head up just a little for show, smiling as Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas drifts into the living room from the kitchen.
“Also festive. Incredibly festive. Now c’mon,” You reach up, cupping and squeezing his cheeks. “Don’t be such a fucking Grinch.”
Borracho wrinkles his nose, twisting his face out of your grip. You reach up, poking his nose gently before turning away, taking up the sheet of window stickers again.
“You wanna get takeout?” You ask, holding out a snowflake to him. Borracho eyes it warily for a moment before he takes it from you, looking over the windows before pressing it into an undecorated space beside a reindeer sticker.
“Sure,” He agrees, “Though something smells good and I thought it was coming from in there.” He nods toward the kitchen, and you grin.
“I made cookies,” You admit. “They’re cooling so I can ice them.”
“You really get into this Christmas stuff, huh?”
“Yeah. I mean,” You bite your lip, looking back down at the sticker sheet. “I didn’t always. I had a few years where the holidays didn’t feel like the holidays, and honestly I was kinda bummed. I started making an effort to do holiday-kinda stuff when it rolled around.”
“It helps?”
You nod a little, eyes still set on the sticker sheet. Borracho reaches out, gently taking the sheet from your hands. You watch as he peels off a sticker that looks like an ornament, and smile, warming as he sticks it to the window.
“You gonna show me how you decorate those cookies?” He asks.
“You don’t wanna rest?”
“Nah. Not tired. C’mon,” He sets the sheet down and wraps his arm around your shoulders, steering you both toward the kitchen. “What’d you make? Gingerbread?”
“And sugar cookies!”
–
For a gruff man with fairly thick (fairly nice, fairly long—) fingers, Borracho has a deft hand when handling cookies. You make icing bags out of ziplock bags, poking holes in a bottom corner and using them to dot the cookies with designs.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” You tease, watching Borracho meticulously add alternating red and white icing stripes to a candy cane shaped cookie. “Is there a icing division of the LASD?”
“If you breathe a word’a this to the guys the next time they’re over,” Borracho mutters, setting the red icing aside in favor of the white icing.
“I won’t. Hey, when’ll that be? You said you wanted to have them over for a drink before Christmas, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“So?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about whenever your office party thing is?”
“I’m not bringing those jackasses around you when they’re drunk.”
“I can handle them.”
“I know you can. I’d just rather not have to subdue a drunk and disorderly in my own apartment.”
“I wouldn’t be—”
“Not you.”
“Besides, that ginger guy is kinda cute. What’s his name? Zapata?”
“…If you say so,” Borracho mutters. He lowers the icing bag and immediately takes a bite of the cookie. Your eyes widen and you reach out, whacking his arm. He just ducks out of your reach, cramming the rest of the cookie into his mouth. “Hey, these are pretty good.”
“Not yet!” You laugh, “The icing isn’t even dry!”
“You got plenty left,” Borracho grumbles around the mouthful, spraying a couple of crumbs. You roll your eyes, shaking your head and looking back down at the next cookie. Borracho brushes the crumbs off of his fingers before reaching for another undecorated cookie. You expect him to take the icing up as well, but he proceeds to cram the sugar cookie into his mouth.
“Oh, come on—” You groan, stomping your foot.
“Have you even tried them yet?”
“I’ll try them when they’re all decorated!”
“Just take a bite,” Borracho takes up another uniced cookie, waving it in front of your face. You hesitate, glancing between the cookie and Borracho’s face. Then you lean in, taking a hesitant bite. Borracho grins, drawing the rest of the cookie back and popping it into his mouth. Your stomach flickers with heat as he sucks a couple of remaining crumbs off of his thumb.
“You should try being a little naughty now and again,” Borracho offers through his mouthful.
“We’re not eating all of them right now,” You warn, turning back to the counter.
“You planning on giving any’a these to Z?” Borracho asks, waving his finger across the tray.
“I don’t know…Maybe one of the gingerbread men—Ben!” You screech, nudging him away from the counter as he reaches for the tray, still laughing through his mouthful.