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Sid stood in front of the pastry display for three minutes, warring with himself, before making his decision.
The cashier, who’d been eyeing him since he shuffled to the front of the line, waved him back into place with a twist of her mouth.
“Hi,” Sid said, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket. “Two hot chocolates, and two pumpkin cookies.”
He squeezed past the rest of the waiting crowd with his cookies in hand, tucking himself into the back corner of the cafe. He thought about saving his cookie and his willpower lasted roughly two seconds before he cracked open the takeout box and took a sugary, gratifying bite. People were too preoccupied with themselves tonight to look around, so he buried his nose in his phone, feeling pleasantly invisible.
The photo he’d sent to his folks was objectively kind of bad, Sid knew. Nonetheless, his mom had sent a heart in response. His dad’s needs more snow for it to feel festive made Sid smirk down at the screen.
The photo was bad, but Sid liked it anyway. They’d pressed so close to one another that their faces touched—Sid’s temple to Geno’s chin. Neither of them had thought to take off their caps, which shadowed their faces so much that really only their smiles remained. The huge lit tree behind them drowned out any other details.
He sent it to Flower, because he was feeling like a sentimental little shit, just as the stout barista working the counter yelled out “MIKE?”
Sid elbowed his way to and from the counter, the paper cups scalding his palms. He stacked the hot chocolates on top of each other as he shouldered open the door, catching it with his foot to let a young family in. Just as the dad recognized him, Sid gave him a subdued smile and ducked into the mild December night.
Geno was, of course, not where Sid had left him.
This was unsurprising. The swirl of people on the sidewalk sucked Sid into their stream. He shuffled toward the main festival street along with them, head on a swivel as he looked for Geno’s ballcap.
Sid had worked hard to get Geno out tonight at all. It had involved two instances of bribery and one thinly veiled threat. The town’s light up night existed at the nexus of their biggest conflict: Geno liked a nice night in—or an exclusive, luxe event with a guest list—and Sid liked twee free shit that drew every family within a ten mile radius.
Unable to get to his phone, his hands occupied with the hot chocolates and the cookie box precariously balanced between them, Sid scoured the crowd for his boyfriend. The street was brightly lit from the food trucks and the businesses open late to pass out candy canes. A brass quintet wailed a carol on the bandstand to a humble audience.
It was really fucking cute, and Sid was desperate to gloat over it. He’d suckered Geno into most of his Christmas traditions by now, and there was something buried deep within Sid that delighted possessively in Geno following Sid to hokey hometown events or helping him pick out gifts to send his nieces and nephews. He liked it when Geno slipped further into his life and its routines. It felt good, like a piece of a puzzle clicking perfectly into place.
A winding line appeared in front of him, flowing out of a realtor’s doors, and Sid groaned in disappointment when he saw the sign yelling “FREE HOT COCOA! MEET MRS. CLAUS!” propped up in the window.
Dismayed, Sid watched through the window as Mrs. Claus slung flimsy paper cups across a folding table. He leaned away from the glass just as a tall figure caught his eye, plucking a cup from under Mrs. Claus’s bosom.
“Hey,” Sid said as Geno slipped out of the doorway. Geno jerked like he’d been electrocuted.
“I only took five minutes,” Sid complained as he herded Geno away from the door.
“Ten,” Geno threw over his shoulder. “Too busy.”
“You’re such a baby,” Sid said, checking his elbow into Geno’s ribs.
“You’re baby, need candy, chocolate,” Geno said, wedging his own arm against his side like it would hide his cup from Sid.
“Uh huh,” Sid said, unconvinced, but dropped the teasing act. There was a tipping point with needling Geno, and Sid was only interested in hounding him enough to get his dick sucked later.
“You see any food trucks that look good?”
Geno shook his head—he was picky with his food these days—and tucked closer to Sid as they ran up against a crowd of teens walking against the flow of foot traffic. Sid grimaced as the cookie slid around inside the takeout box, but he liked the way Geno’s torso pressed up against his own.
He was cooking up ways to butter Geno up before bed tonight when Geno furtively attempted to take a sip of his hot chocolate without Sid noticing. Sid rolled his eyes.
“I bought you some, you know.”
“And I get for free. See, it’s money smarts.”
“This is the real stuff. Milk, actual chocolate. You probably got powder and water.”
“You powder and water,” Geno muttered nonsensically, but he glanced surreptitiously at Sid’s laden arms.
“Come on,” Sid said, forcing one of the cups into Geno’s free hand and just barely recovering before the box tipped out of his hold. “Let me treat you a bit.”
Geno’s skeptical gaze went sly, and he looked over the lid of his cup at Sid with calculating eyes.
“Treat for me?” he mumbled around the rim. “Why’s treat? What you wanting?”
“Can’t a guy just treat you a bit? To be nice?”
“You not nice,” Geno hummed, but he let himself linger against Sid when the next wave of people bumped them close again. “You mean, make me go outside when I want to stay in, watch movie, pet cat.”
“Maverick is absolutely sick of you,” Sid lied, “and it’s nice. You’re having fun.”
Geno archly raised an eyebrow at him.
They got caught in a crush of people waiting for carriage rides. Geno poked Sid in the ribs until he shuffled sideways and they escaped into the middle of the closed-off street that was lined with tents full of vendors and local organizations.
“So much fun,” Geno said into Sid’s ear as he followed behind. “So smart we do this instead of me pause movie, suck your dick at home.”
“Now you’re being mean,” Sid threw over his shoulder.
“We both not nice,” Geno agreed, sounding pleased with himself.
“Damn right,” Sid told him, faltering a step so Geno fell into pace beside him. “We’re both getting coal in our stockings this year.”
The crowd began melting away as they approached the church. Geno pulled Sid to a stop so he could tug the box out of Sid’s hands and investigate. Sid subsequently yanked him onto the grass, out of the way of a double-decker stroller and a harried-looking mother, and finally took a drink of his still-steaming hot chocolate. It was good—the real stuff, milk and all—which helped take the sting of the free stations away just a little.
Geno skeptically inspected and then nibbled at the cookie. Sid watched him, because he plainly liked looking at Geno. Sometimes it struck him while he was looking that Geno was really his, had chosen to be with him, to subject himself to the stupid shit Sid liked doing to keep himself occupied.
Sid still wasn’t the best at reflection, or at thinking about the more delicate parts of their relationship that had knit together over the years, but it was coming to him in bits and pieces as he got older. Geno always had so much going on in his head. Sid would often catch him staring, looking at Sid with some inscrutable expression that he’d refuse to explain.
Sid got it now, looking at Geno. He didn’t know what he’d say if Geno asked what he was thinking. He was just taking Geno in, so glad that Geno had decided to come tonight, to do this with Sid, to be in Sid’s life at all.
“Ride horse next?” Geno’s voice ripped Sid out of his swirling thoughts. Geno’s tongue was caught cheekily between his teeth, waiting to see what Sid was going to do with the bait so delicately laid out for him.
“If you wanted to ride something,” Sid told him, “you should have convinced me harder to stay home.”
Geno smirked, pleased with this answer. He jammed the empty box back into Sid’s hands and then tucked his gloveless fingers into the crook of Sid’s arm.
“It’s cold,” he said. “We go home, feed cat.”
“Ride something,” Sid finished. Geno nodded in approval.