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You hadn’t planned staying out as long as you did; the party was supposed to conclude before dinner. However a nasty weather alert had dashed your plans of making it back home.
Driving would be hazardous. The report had called for iced roads and enough snow to drown anything under four feet tall. You knew you shouldn’t, but the thought of being stuck in a house with a dozen strangers motivated you to snap your seatbelt on.
Hurriedly you drove off into thickening flakes, positive you could beat the storm. However the non-winter tires attached to your vehicle had other plans.
The road became a skating rink; your car its naive skater. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, desperate to not learn what the bottom of the ditch looked like. Teeth clenched every time you felt the subtle drift of the car over ice.
Billowing snow swirled around your cautious pace, limiting vision and hope.
This ride may be longer than anticipated.
You fished into your pocket, pulling out your phone.
You should have called the twins before you left. It was stupid not to. But you couldn’t bare the high pitched nagging from Sun would have given you. You knew he wouldn’t have approved of your plan.
Pressing the button you were met with a black screen.
You sighed, slumping down in your seat. Throwing the lifeless device you turned back to the stormy road.
Dread sank colder than the frosting window beside you as you continued down your chosen path.
Steady and slow was the pace as your turned the car into the unshoveled driveway. You cringed as snow gingerly scrapped the bottom of the vehicle. Turning off the engine you stepped out into the snow drift.
A shudder ran through you, goosebumps waking under your layers. Cold seeped through jeans, snatching your warmth. You felt its frosty claws attempting to pry into your shoe, wanting to numb every part it could reach.
You briskly trudged towards the the hidden incline of steps, careful of what the snow hides. The last thing you needed was a face full of snow.
Storming flurries were alit by the dazzling lights pinned to your abode. The colours switched quickly, chasing the next around the bend. However the pattern was broken by one section of lights that didn’t work, stripped of their bulbs. Your face crumbled into a frown.
Sun had done most of the decorating for the holiday. You felt like a bad host every time he returned from the store with a new box of colourful goodies to hang up. His giddy smile did little to lighten your guilt.
In an attempt to be helpful you had tried to put the lights up yourself. You had gotten the ladder, placing it on questionable ground. It teetered, but you were sure it was safe. Climbing to the top with the string of lights you lined them up, pressing the staple gun with all your might.
It hadn’t worked. You let go of the ladder, opting to use two hands instead. Success was granted to you by a sudden recoil of the gun. The ladder staggered before dipping. Your hands had shot forward, grasping the light strand. It held you for a millisecond before ungraciously dropping you. The ladder had crashed into part of the light strand, shattering the bulbs with an ear piercing crunch.
That was the last time you tried to help.
Avoiding any icy mistakes, you make it to the door. A stout, plastic Santa guarded the door. His jolly features battered by the heavy flakes, making him nearly unrecognizable if not for his red hat. The overhang protects you from the brunt of the snow, but the chill is still evident. Your hands fumbled in your coat pocket, searching for your keys.
Your eyes wandered up the door, settling on the snow dusted wreath. It was the only greenery saved from the harsh winter. Red ribbon fluttering, like a flag waving off the incoming flurries. You wondered-
The door ripped open, green replaced with abrupt yellow. Knob screeching with the sharp turn, settling into a squeaky whimper in the vice grip around it.
A red and green sweater hung from the animatronics gangly build, displaying festive words that didn’t match his scowl. His stare was taut on you, sizzling vexation hot enough to melt the growing snow.
Guilt wires your lips into a timid smile as you try to think of a way out.
“You look festive-”
“10pm,” His hand moves to his hip, freeing the doorknob, “It’s 10pm.”
The scowl turns into a forced smile, all too wide with metallic teeth on display. You almost wished for the scowl to come back.
“No phone call. Not even a text,” He brought his hand out, raising a finger for every offence, “It’s snowing harder than a shaken snow globe out there and you-” Static breaks through his voice as it rises, “-had the gall, to drive through it.”
Your mouth opens, but he whisks ahead with his building frustration.
“And I know for a fact you don’t have snow tires, despite it being December,” His sunrays spun, hands waving about as if he was auditioning for an overdramatized version of Shakespeare. “I’ve been telling you to change them since October.”
He breathed artificially through gritted teeth. You could faintly hear the sounds of his fans kicking on, attempting to cool his raging system. His irritation smouldered down into a strained snicker.
You curled inwards, a bit scared as you listening to his continuous ranting.
“I swear, I would have an easier time teaching a toddler algebra-” He bent forward, coming eye level to you, “-than have you do anything responsible.”
His hands came to rest on his knees, gripping the fabric. The faux smile drilled into your soul, daring you to irk him any further.
You gulped, your smile now a thin line of anxiousness. The thought of having stayed at the party didn’t seem as scary compared to Sun’s ire.
“My phone died-”
“Oh ho ho! Their phone died?” He jested to the invisible audience, standing up to his towering height, “If only they had charged it like I suggested, before rushing out the door.”
You realized his ranting wouldn’t be stopping. These thoughts had been tumbling through his mind for the past few hours. The vivid image of him waiting for a text that never came made guilt nibble at your stomach.
Your gaze fell to the ground, following a few snowflakes that fluttered too close to the door. The heat evaporated them, sucking the cold away from the delicate flake. Without the feather lightness they splattered down, soaking into the interiors wooden floor and carpet.
“I’m sorry,” You said interrupted softly, “I don’t have a good excuse; I just wanted to come home.”
Sun paused, grin twitching with unsaid words. The desire to berate you more on responsibility evident. However his raging flames dwindled at your meek tone.
His shoulders slumped as he looked over your chilling form.
“Come inside,” He sighed.
The cold melted like away snowflakes as you stepped into the warmth. Heat wafted around you, filled with the thick scent of baked goods. You breathed deep, trying to pinpoint what the sugary delight was.
It was fresh, with a festive flare to it; nutmeg and ginger. A bit of cinnamon could be detected in the air beneath it. Your mind swirled with the fragrance, tongue salivating at the scrumptiousness that waited in the kitchen.
You turned to ask, but the words die on your tongue.
Sun stood off to the side, arms crossed. He looked like a parent who found their child’s report card, hidden under heaps of trash; the many Fs that decorated the card clear as day on the crumpled paper.
The nibbling turned to gnawing in your stomach.
You removed your winter clothes and shoes, setting them in their resting places. Adjusting them to be neat and tidy. The last thing you needed was to anger Sun anymore.
A loud beep jolted you; the oven timer. It’s cries echoed in consistent beeps, wailing like a toddler for attention.
A brisk jingle brushed past you, steadily heading down the hall. You caught sight of his gingerbread themed pants before they rounded the corner.
You sighed, looking grimly after him. All your poorly planned decisions seemed to be taking a toll on your favourite animatronic. If he were human, you were sure his hair would be grey by now, devoid of any cheer.
Wracking your brain for ways to fix this, you followed him and the delicious smell into the quaint kitchen.
The space was lavishly decorated for the season. Fairy lights adorned the upper trim, lighting up the leafy green streamers nailed beneath them. Fake berries hid in them, white and red adding flare to the single shade of green.
Cheap, winter themed stickies were erratically placed on the window; Your handy work. Sun justly didn’t trust you in helping with any other decor.
The circular dining table in the corner had a gingerbread house as the centre piece. You wanted nothing more than to eat it, but Sun declared his work of art was for eyes only. It had been taunting you for days, but the want for it dwindled the staler it became.
Paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling on transparent strings, painting the illusion of a winter wonderland inside. A few swayed, having been disturbed by Sun. He stood before the oven, tying an apron around his waist.
Sinking onto the island chair, you prompted your head in your hands, watching with intrigue.
Sun stuck his bare hand in the oven, grabbing the metal tray. Whisking it out he placed it on the island.
“It’s hot,” He warned, tone still sharp, “Wait till they cool.”
The freshly baked cookies filled your nose, even sweeter out of the oven. Your fingers impatiently tapped the counter, wanting nothing more than to sink your teeth into one of the cookies.
They were shortbread, baked with a holiday flare of nutmeg and cinnamon. A dozen or so different cuts littered the tray. You squinted at the black one in the corner. It was lumpy, top rounded like a misshaped dome.
“What happened there?” You inquired. It couldn’t have been a mistake, Sun rarely allowed those to live for long.
“It’s coal,” He scoffed, turning to plop another tray in the oven. “With how you act, I assumed you’d recognize it.”
You gawk at his sass, “Thats uncalled for.”
“Is it?”
“I said I was sorry.” You pout, looking down at the yummy coal.
Sun sighed, closing the oven. He turned back to you, placing metal palms on the counter.
“I know,” He rubbed the middle of his faceplate, closing his eyes, “I just wish you would be more careful,” Sun admitted, “Driving through a snow storm-”
“Was stupid.” You finish, creeping your fingers closer to the hot tray.
Suns lips turned down, “And equally dangerous.”
“Just try to be more careful.” He moved to the sink, having noticed dough wedged in his finger joint. “If not for yourself, then at least for my sanity.”
“You act like I don’t already try,” You say, sombreness weaving into your tone.
Your hands hovered over the hot tray, impatience corrupting any guilt you had left in. Your sweet tooth demanded to be satiated.
Plucking the black lump off the parchment, you were delighted to find it cool enough to hold. Without hesitation you popped it in your mouth, biting down on the crumbly warmth.
Searing heat erupted on your tongue; the middle of the cookie still retaining the inferno of the oven. You spat it out, bolting out of your seat. Wildly you darted across the kitchen, looking for a way to relieve the burning pain.
A wet hand gripped your arm, yanking you towards the sink. Sun produced a glass, filling it with water.
You took it from him, greedily gulping down the cool liquid. The burning remained, but dulled as the water rushed over it.
“What about the term wait,” Sun seethed, his temper reaching it’s boiling point, “Did you fail to understand!”
Anxious thoughts build within you again. Looking at Sun’s anger, distorted through the protection of the glass.
His sun rays spun and shrunk sporadically, one impaling a paper snowflake. Lips twitched between a scowl and forced smile. Eyes pinpricked on the cause of his frustration.
Sun reached into a high cabinet, not taking his gaze off of you. He took down the honeypot, thudding it beside you. Angry mumbles played on loop, only pausing when he fished a spoon from the drawer.
Guilt settled stiff in your throat, resting beside your burnt taste buds.
You had made everything worse. Again.
It seemed your trail of misfortune and bad decisions would never end.
Sun twirled the gooey gold around the spoon. He brought it up to your quivering lips. Your blurry eyes stayed trained on the honey, not wanting to see the ire etched into his face.
The spoon hovered, waiting for you to open. Honey attempted to drip off, but its plan was thwarted with a spin of the utensil.
His hand pressed against your cheek, warmed from overheated systems.
“Oh Sweet dove,” Softened words reached your ear, gentle against your expectations.
His thumb rubbed over your bottom lip. Gently prompting you to open.
“The honey will help,” He soothed.
You relented, opening your mouth and allowing the spoon to enter. Relief was sweet, honey stealing away the remaining pain. But the guilt stayed, stuck on like burnt toffee.
Fingers drifted below your chin as he removed the spoon. Firmly they tilted your head back, forcing your gaze to follow.
Eyes containing a fondness sweeter than the honey on your tongue filled your vision. Their was no ire etched into his features, only a worried crease upon his brow.
“See? All better.”
Choked sobs erupted from you. The building regret and guilt broke through the glass dam of emotions, running streams down your face.
“No, no, no,” He echoed the panicked chant, attempting to wipe away the flowing tears.
Alarmed, Sun bent forward, wrapping his arms around you. He lifted you, securing you with a hand under your thighs. Briskly he took you out of the kitchen, entering the hallway.
You hid your face in his chest, not wanting him to see anymore of your ugly waterworks. Embarrassment mingling with all your other wretched feelings.
His hand brushed along your back, the other over your thigh. Voice hushing you softly and whispering gentle apologizes.
His brisk movements stopped, causing you to look up.
You were in the living room, dimly lit red and green from the Christmas tree. The sofa stood beside you, plush with gingerbread themed blanket stretched along its back. It looked inviting even when blurred by teary vision.
Sun dropped down onto a cushion. It creaked in retaliation, unhappy with the metal ton placed on it. Ignoring it he laid back, draping the blanket over the two of you.
Arms laced around you under the soft fabric. The secure hold accompanied with a light message over the area. Your sobs reduced to sniffles against his sweater.
Your arms found their way around him, returning the hold.
“I’m sorry,” You sniffle, lifting your head, “I swear I’ll-”
“Shh,” He hushed you, “We’re both a bit worked up, aren’t we?”
His hand lifted, leaving the blanket to rid the remaining tears from your face.
Your face pressed against his palm, producing a soft smile on his face.
“I just-”
He squeezed. Smile nearly slipping. A slight twitch of his eye told you what you needed to know; he was stilled infuriated with you.
“This is as much for you,” He dragged you up his body. Your face a centimetre from his face. “As it is for me.”
He placed his grin against your forehead, “Be quiet.”
Warmth snuck up your cheeks, curling into rosy red. His arm returned to your waist.
“Alright,” You complied.
This whole night had been a set toppling dominoes; each one that fell only adding to the mess that would have to be remedied tomorrow.
The guilt didn’t lift. It stayed with you like a pesky fly you couldn’t kill. However it was muffled by the soft blanket and deft fingers tracing the curves of your back. They trailed down from your shoulder blades to pressed lightly over your hip bone. The pattern repeating in a trance induing manner
He leaned his head back on the armrest. Watching you fondly. Body lax under yours, seeming more content.
Your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the mesmerizing feeling of his caress. Sinking into the feeling, you tried to stay awake, but he was making it hard with his precise fingers.
“Wake me before eight,” You mumble, laying your cheek against his chest, “I’m not missing Chica’s Winter Cooking Special. She’d kill me.”
A musical chuckle left Sun. You felt his lips press against the top of your skull, “Of course, love.”
The gentle touches continued, drawing you deeper into slumber atop the animatronic.