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“Oh, no,” Jordan muttered to himself. He was muttering to himself, not because he’d just realised that he knew the well-wrapped figure huddled over by the taxi rank, which would cause this whole nonsense. But it was because as he’d driven past he’d accidentally caught sight of the most devastated of lamp-like eyes sheltered under the hood of the figure’s coat.
He thought about it for about two seconds.
“Dammit. Karma owes me,” he growled, through firmly gritted teeth. His car stalled when he pushed down a little too forcefully on the clutch, and he swore; tugging the gearstick in to reverse. His tyres squealed as they caught in the two-foot high snow at the edges of the drop-off zone at John Lennon Airport.
He cleared his U-turn and drew level with the previously recognized unfortunate creature. He tried to decide if the smart thing to do would be to lean over and open the passenger door, the one closest to him.
But then the inside of his car would get all wet.
And, anyway, that could be weird.
So he opened his own door, and reached his head out to call over the top of the car.
“Adam, right?” he said. He had to yell a bit over the sound of the imminent blizzard.
The eyes under the hood widened in shock. Literally all Jordan could see were his eyes, because his massive duffle coat was buttoned up over his nose.
“You need a ride?” He called, again.
Adam- and Jordan could see it now, it was definitely him: Adam Lallana, his co-worker, the blight of his entire existence- seemed to look at him for a very long time, long enough for Jordan to have expected his ears to fall off from the cold; before he shouted back: “my flight was cancelled!”
“Okay,” Jordan said, rubbing at his ears to warm them; at the expense of his bare fingers.
“I’m waiting for a taxi,” Adam continued, “but thanks.”
Snow had somehow found its way down the back of Jordan’s collar and was melting down his spine in the most uncomfortable way.
“Taxis are cancelled, mate,” he shot back, shivering. The drip-drip of freshly melted ice down his back rapidly evolved in to a small stream, so out of frustration for the weather and whatever notion had possessed him to help out his least favourite person, he snapped: “so get in the fucking car.”
Adam started, and reached for the door handle. Relieved, Jordan slid back in to his seat and slammed the door shut behind him; viciously rubbing life back in to his limbs.
His new passenger pulled his absolutely, extortionately massive backpack on to his knees. It was so unnecessarily large, he could barely see over it.
“What happened?” Jordan asked. “Where do you need to go?”
“Uh,” Adam said. “Um.” Jordan pitched forward to look around the front of the- completely frozen- fur trim of Adam’s hood, which he had neglected to pull down.
He then recognised, with a lot of regret and despair, the Quivering Bottom Lip.
“Um,” Adam said again, in a now distinctly choked fashion.
Oh no, Jordan groaned, internally. But he waited. And tried not to think about how, yesterday; the last day of work, he had seriously contemplated setting fire to Adam’s desk and all its festive ridiculousness. He felt a little bit bad about it now- that he could direct so much hate at this sodden creature. Like, a smidgen bad about it.
Adam wiped his face with his gloves. “They cancelled all flights to Luton tonight,” he said, and because it was Adam, misery radiated from literally every orifice- just like all his emotions, it seemed, which were generally all or nothing, and which is why Jordan also generally despised them. “Because of the blizzard.”
“Oh,” Jordan said. “And, you, eh. You were meant to be flying there?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, staring aimlessly out the window; desolate. “For Christmas, tomorrow.”
The sat in silence for several seconds. To break it, Jordan reached for the heat button on the air-conditioning portion of his dash, accidentally brushing the knob that turned the radio on in the process. The sound of Goddamn, bloody sleigh bells filled the car and without even thinking; Jordan slammed it off.
He didn’t look at Adam, knowing that that probably would have made things worse.
“They aren’t flying again until the day after tomorrow, when the storm’s meant to stop,” Adam said sadly. “So I’m going to miss Christmas at my grandmother’s.”
“Oh no,” Jordan said. He tried really hard to sound sad. Somewhere behind him, there was a muffled honking noise, and Jordan swung around; tempted to flip off the driver of the car behind him, literally parked up his arse.
Adam sniffed again. “Are you… going anywhere?” he asked, pointing out that Jordan hadn’t tried to drive out of the drop-off zone yet; his car still humming on the spot.
“Yeah,” Jordan said, “you need a lift?”
Adam read off his home address, and Jordan shook his head. “You see that?” he gestured out the windscreen.
Adam frowned. “Snow?”
“The coming of the second ice age,” Jordan corrected. “And I am not driving the entire way across town in it. Okay. No wait. I have a plan,” and he pushed the car in to gear without a further word of explanation.
Surprising that Adam accepted Jordan’s decision without question. Or was it? Jordan didn’t know. They weren’t friends. There was just the issue that Adam was Mr. Christmas and this clashed with Jordan’s Grinch-y tendencies, and increasingly so as Christmas had grown nearer; much to the amusement of the rest of the CAD department in the architecture firm where they worked.
It wasn’t that Jordan hated Adam. He didn’t. He was sure he didn’t, otherwise he wouldn’t have just stopped to let him in his car, right?
But Jordan definitely hated Christmas.
They drove in silence, and Adam didn’t even manage to say anything when Jordan came to a stop in his front drive, and not even when Jordan had shoved his front door open, and only when Jordan had started to pull off his snow-ridden boots.
“Can I…” he began, and Jordan almost didn’t hear the squeak, “Can I call my nan? I have to let her know I won’t be coming.”
Jordan looked at him in amazement. “You haven’t told you family that your flight was cancelled?”
Adam looked at his feet and shuffled a bit, mumbling.
“I… hmpf. Take your coat off okay? Hold on a sec.” Jordan shrugged his coat off his shoulders. When he turned back, Adam was exactly where he’d left him, slowly unzipping his jacket and staring at Jordan like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. And then he saw Jordan looking, and returned his gaze to the floor immediately. “Whenever you’re ready,” he continued, carefully. “The home phone is in the living room, you can use it. Here, would you- give me-” Adam now was holding his dripping coat, dripping all over the carpet. Jordan practically snatched it out of his hands.
“Living room’s through there,” he said, trying very hard not to snap. Being hospitable was hard, and Jordan had had little practice recently.
He hung the coat up and followed Adam through, and didn’t miss Adam’s frown when he did a quick sweep of the place; obviously noticing the absolute lack of anything Christmassy at all. But Adam still didn’t say anything.
“Call your folks first,” Jordan said, to distract him; handing him the bulk of the cordless home phone. Adam stared at it dumbly in his hands, as though Jordan hadn’t just given him exact instructions for what to do. “Use the landline, I think the blizzard has outed a few phone towers,” he explained, expanding on why he was reverting back to pre-millennium technology. “And then we’ll figure out what to do with you.”
He felt a sudden need to do something useful and moved, around Adam, in to the kitchen to boil the kettle.
He could hear the murmur of Adam’s voice over the steam, and stared blankly out the window; where the snow was slowly building up around the frame. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to see through it at all.
Typical that he would be snowed in with his current least favourite person on the planet. Although he wasn’t exactly acting like it, was he? He basically volunteered himself into this position.
“Mum,” Adam’s voice drifted into the kitchen, exasperation clear. Jordan had never heard Adam exasperated. Adam was a perpetually happy piece of shit, always. Then, “I’m sorry, alright? I don’t want to be here either!”
Jordan wondered how strong Adam liked his tea. At least he didn’t look like a skimmed milk kind of guy? And did he like sugar?
Biscuits. Did Jordan even have biscuits? He opened and closed cupboards loudly, a little bit to remind Adam that he was there.
How was he going to carry this in? Balance two scalding cups and biscuits and sugar? He’d need four arms, not two.
A tray. Maybe a little bit to prove to Adam that hanging out with him wasn’t all bad, now that they had kind of been forced in to it. To undo a prior evidence of the fact. Like, Jordan couldn’t be bad if he was catering to Adam’s needs with a tray.
And if they were going to be stuck here for any length of time, even Jordan recognised that he had a lot of sucking up to do.
Adam wasstill staring at him all googly-eyed when Jordan carried the tray in, like a very awkward butler. The phone sat lifeless in his lap, and his nose was kind of red. Then he sniffed, just to confirm. He had made himself comfortable at the end of the couch that sat closest to the wood burning stove in the corner of the room.
“Tea?” Jordan suggested, hesitantly.
Adam wiped his nose off a skinny elbow before he accepted the cup. He brought it close, under his chin, against the collar of his polo necked jumper. And now that Jordan saw the pattern properly: a truly ridiculous polo neck, bright red stripes ran across the front, and it was festooned with more cartoon snowmen than any jumper should ever have.
“I can’t get reception,” Jordan said, in the silence that followed. “And the internet has come to an almost stop. Last I heard, the storm should die down in a few hours, and then I can get you a taxi home, or something.” And because that sounded mean, and Jordan was really trying to be nice, “I’m sorry you missed your flight.”
Adam took the smallest imaginable sip from his cup, hugging it close in his hands, very fixated on the steam coming from it. Jordan coughed and looked over at the dead TV, for something to look at. He took a too-large mouthful of fresh tea, and the heat practically ripped his throat out on the way down. There was a sudden, almighty roar of wind outside, and the windows creaked for effect.
Jordan looked back. Adam truly was wearing a hideous jumper.
And, then; finally, he said something.
“But you don’t like me.”
Jordan tried to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come out. No, it wasn’t that he disliked the combination of large eyes and pointy elbows that looked like it was trying very hard not to look at home on his couch. But over the last few months, in the run up to Christmas, he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t resented him a bit. The chirpiness, the festiveness. It all made him feel a little bit sick. Worst of all, at work he hadn’t even tried to hide it.
So, hate was strong. If Jordan really hated him, he wouldn’t have been charitable against all of his instincts.
Instead, he took another large mouthful of tea and cleared his throat.
However, Adam didn’t seem to want to drop the subject.
“But you don’t,” he tried again, looking at Jordan in absolute wonder. And he looked so much smaller here, hunched over his mug.
Maybe Jordan should explain why. That it wasn’t personal, exactly. Instead, he manoeuvred his thumb under the unopened flap of the Jaffa Cake box, nudging it open; and helped himself to its contents.
Adam took another sip of his tea, and out of the corner of his eye, Jordan saw him make a face. He put his cup down on the tray, and in a process that must have taken about a hundred years as he slowly stretched forwards; reached for the sugar bowl.
One heaped spoon. Two spoons. Three spoons. Four spoons.
So the answer to “does he take sugar?” is definitively: yes, he has a diabetic death wish.
Adam seemed more satisfied when he settled back in to Jordan’s couch.
“Thanks,” he said, quietly. “I’m sure you have somewhere you should be, though.” His eyes darted around the room once, and fell back in to his cup.
Jordan had to admire the guy’s denial. No Christmas decorations? It was because he was going away for Christmas, obviously.
“No,” he replied, politely. “I don’t. I’m staying here for the holiday.”
Adam frowned, obviously confused.
“Then why were you at the airport?” he asked.
Jordan remembered why he had been at the airport and it filled him with a horrible mix of embarrassment and fury. “None of your business,” he snapped.
He could have thrown a poisoned dart at him, and Adam would have looked less wounded.
Jordan felt guilty, then, and his volatile retort to what probably seemed a harmless question. But he didn’t like talking about it. The exact name flashed through his head and his chest grew tight, so tight he couldn’t breathe.
Needless. Stupid. He was a horrible person after all, and all it took to show was an oblivious reminder of heartbreak from a whole year ago.
“Sorry,” he muttered, “I have to- I’m going to- there is laundry.” He got to his feet too fast, relieved to find an excuse to leave the room and put some doors between them. It had been nice, for a while, to pretend that their relationship hadn’t always been a combination of Adam trying and Jordan snapping. Jordan had rarely felt this guilty about it.
The tiles in the back utility room froze his toes through his socks, far away from the heat of the stove. Now that it was holidays, Jordan was very much on top of his laundry; because he always had to choose between that and working at home. So, he turned on the iron, and lost himself sorting socks until It was really too cold to be out there. He couldn’t even tell if it was getting late: it had been dark all day because of the storm, but it was worse now: and sure, it could be night time at what was probably only about four in the afternoon. Night time meant only one thing for Jordan, though; he remembered, as his stomach rumbled painfully.
True, he had been moping too much all day to really eat. He decided to creep back in through the kitchen.
Adam had fallen asleep on the couch, having made what appeared to be a fort around himself by pulling literally all of the cushions that Jordan had in the room around him. He even cuddled one close to his chest as he curled around it, his mouth slightly open as he slept.
He looked tired. Jordan felt a pang of something that he guessed was telling him to feel bad. So what if Jordan didn’t like Christmas, it was a time of year Adam basically lived for. And now he was going to miss it. To spend it with Jordan, probably the one person on the planet that was least deserving of Adam’s company, never mind his festive cheer.
Jordan moved out to the hallway, to check how things were shaping up through the glass of his front door.
Shaping was a good word. There was a snow-shape that might have been his wall, there was a snow-shape of his car. Never mind past the gate; everything was a haze of fog and very, very angry snowflakes. Jordan shivered- it was too cold to even be this close to the window.
Adam wasn’t going anywhere just yet.
He took a deep breath- it felt so wrong though- before shaking Adam awake. Adam made a groany noise and clung even tighter to the pillow before he allowed his eyes to open.
“Hmmm?” he said, seemingly confused as to why Jordan was there. He shook his head slightly, rubbing his face with the base of his palm, and looked up at him again with eyes like massive, Dairymilk puddles.
“Uh,” Jordan said, quickly placing his hand on Adam’s arm to steady him before he rolled off the couch, and on to the floor. “The storm hasn’t died just yet. I’m going to make dinner. For us.”
“What?” Adam asked, blinking furiously. “For dinner? Can I help?”
Jordan ran through a quick inner inventory of the stock in his cupboards. “Pasta and tomato sauce. And its fine, it’s… one person can make it. You just… yeah.”
He patted Adam’s arm, awkwardly, and went back into the kitchen.
It wasn’t much- some friend onions and garlic, a bit of oregano and some tinned tomatoes. He considered using pasta, but then he saw that he still had some gnocchi in the fridge, and why not; he was entertaining for once, after all. He set it to boil and left his sauce to simmer, and his curiosity got the better of him. He backed slowly to the door to the living room, and pulled it open a crack with his little finger.
Adam was up and wandering around the room like an inquisitive cat: Jordan only saw his back as he took soft steps, padded by his socks; and pausing every now and again to scratch at his chin under the high collar of his jumper. He moved to the end of Jordan’s DVD collection- piled high and unused since the introduction of Netflix- and ran an easy finger along the top of Jordan’s TV. Jordan braced himself, but Adam must have had a lighter touch than he let on, because it didn’t even wobble. He reached the dresser on the other side- pictures of Jordan’s sister and his parents, his nephews and then: he opened the top drawer.
Jordan froze in the door- somewhere between running out to stop him, somewhere between desperately wishing he could turn back time, and have emptied it of its contents a year ago, like he really, really should have.
The line of Adam’s shoulders grew stiff. His hand’s stretched inside; those same, careful fingers surely traced the photo frame that Jordan really wished it didn’t contain. The photo frame that had been up amongst the others, until last Christmas.
Jordan heard a hissing sound from his stove and looked around in alarm to see the pot with his gnocchi overflowing. He swore to himself, crossing the kitchen in several long strides to rescue his dinner.
Dammit, he momentarily forgot his problems with Adam discovering his ancient history, as his stomach overruled his brain to direct him to more pressing matters. Shit. He yanked the pot from the steaming hob, and fished around in the cupboard for the colander.
“Do you want me to do anything?” Adam asked, from like right behind him, and making him jump.
“Uh,” dinner now safely rescued, he returned to his Adam problem. “No, it’s okay. I’m done.”
Adam’s head tilted slightly to one side, and he narrowed his eyes at him. It was an endearing combination, with a woolly polo neck, scruff and with a great deal of air in his floofy quiff. “Are you sure? I can set the table if you want.” He paused, sniffing. “That smells really great,” he said, clearly impressed; making Jordan feel weirdly pleased. “That’s not just pasta and tomato sauce.”
“Alright, alright,” Jordan waved him away. “The table is over there.”
Adam lit up, delighted with something to do, obviously. It was perplexing: Jordan’s kitchen table consisted of two fold-out chairs and a tiny square table that just about fit two plates: because Jordan mostly ate in front of the TV these days. He didn’t consider anything more depressing than being one person sat at a table for two. An especially not at that pathetic excuse for a kitchen table.
Adam seemed to relish his new job, opening and closing drawers with enthusiasm, peering around their contents with awe.
He doesn’t want to help, Jordan realised, with something that was worryingly like the kind of affection you’d develop for a pet, he’s just nosey.
“Can you get the parmesan out of the fridge?” he asked. “Please? Adam?”
Adam blinked at him. “That depends. Do you have placemats?” he countered, narrowing his eyes in what was, unmistakeably, jest.
Jordan had been pouring sauce over his dumplings and sighed. “Yeah, they’re here,” he said, pulling them out from the space at his hip. Adam made a face when they swapped, a bit, imagine us, working together, and Jordan smiled despite himself.
“Done,” he said, distributing cheese liberally over his dinner.
“Done,” Adam agreed, and Jordan heard the slight squeal of tiles as he sat back in to his seat.
Adam’s nap had clearly done him the world of good, and he was back to a more recognisable version of himself: cheerier, peachy cheeks with a small smile playing somewhere around his face as he dug in to his dish. If he hadn’t appreciated Jordan’s sulking earlier, he certainly wasn’t showing it.
“This is so good,” he mumbled, with his mouth full.
“Please,” Jordan said, modestly, “it really is just fancy pasta and tomato sauce.”
Adam moaned in dissent and waved his fork, not looking up from his soon-to-be-devoured meal.
“There’s a spare bed upstairs,” Jordan said, thinking ahead. “I can make it up for you after this.” Lord, he was actually contemplating facing the spare room.
Adam shook his head. “Thank you for everything,” he said, “but you don’t have to do that for me. I’ll deal with a sleeping bag on the couch, if the storm really isn’t gone by tomorrow.”
“Relax,” Jordan promised. “It’s not like I have plans for tomorrow, apart from going through the Milner project.”
Adam swallowed hard enough to make himself cough. “You’re going to do work?”
“Well,” like there was anything better to do, or any other way to block out the occasion. “Yes.”
Adam looked at him in amazement, his eyes the size of saucers. Then, he said, “alright. But you don’t have to make a bed up for me.”
“Alright,” Jordan said. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”
Adam glared at him, chewing. If it was meant to be threatening, it very much had the opposite effect.
Jordan thought about what things would have been like, as they cleaned up, if they had met under different circumstances. If they even could have been friends. True, Adam was the most popular person in the office as it was. Jordan wondered as he scrubbed and Adam dried, and put everything back in its place- because the git already knew Jordan’s kitchen by heart, apparently.
Then, Jordan headed upstairs; in the direction of his hot press. He pulled the spare sheets from the cupboard and looked quickly over his shoulder, half-expecting Adam to come trotting up after him. He didn’t though, the feeling that realisation gave Jordan was vaguely weird. He tried focusing on the exact adjective as he made the bed in the spare room.
It had been a while since he’d been in here, and he didn’t like to dwell on why; but his brain did anyway. There was an eerie familiarity to the bed pressed up against the wall, under the back-facing window, and the single cupboard on the other side of the room. It looked especially bare and empty, and the shadows cast in the corners of the roof seemed longer than possible. It was extra cold- Jordan had turned the heating up in here for the first time all winter. By the time he’d buttoned up the pillowcase on his lap, the very last task of the process, his lungs felt too heavy for the support of his ribs, and he was really glad he was sitting down.
He hadn’t considered the memories this room would bring back.
Adam cleared his throat and Jordan jumped a little when he looked up. He was standing in the threshold with the two mugs from earlier, grinning and illuminating the whole damn room. “I made you tea,” he announced. “To say thanks.”
Jordan attempted to return the smile. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly, and reached for the mug Adam held out to him. “Although I see you also made one for yourself,” he added, casually, side-eyeing him with the accusation when he sat down on the bed beside him.
He took a long drink. While it was true that tea made for you by someone else always tasted better than the tea you made for yourself, and Adam had clearly deduced that Jordan was not the sugar type, Jordan quickly came to the conclusion that Adam was very good at tea. The ends of his fingers were freezing, he realised, curling them around the hot ceramic; cold from working in the long-unused room.
Adam bounced slightly on the bed, but not enough to spill tea. “An electric blanket?” he enquired, amazed, running his hand under the duvet. “I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid.” He looked like, well. He looked like Christmas had come early.
“They’re cheap at Argos,” Jordan said, a bit shortly.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Adam retorted.
Jordan felt like getting up and leaving. But he couldn’t, he didn’t want to be in the cold spare room, but he didn’t want to be alone and away from company. So he stayed in a tea-induced limbo, right until Adam asked the question that he’d rather hoped he wouldn’t, and by now didn’t think he ever would, ask.
“Are you,” he began gently, “going to tell me why you don’t like Christmas?” Jordan said nothing. “This is more than just not celebrating it, right?”
“It’s none of your business,” Jordan said, careful to keep his tone warning.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Adam said, lightly, and Jordan had to admit: a bit bravely, “I think by now it is?”
Jordan had some more tea, and thought about replying.
“Last Christmas,” he said, his attitude painstakingly neutral, “I had a pretty bad break up. So I’m not really in to it anymore.” He took a careful mouthful of tea, moving his hands to Adam wouldn’t see them shake, and really glad that he had something to cling to.
“Oh,” Adam said, quietly. “I’m sorry,” he said, after a pause.
“It’s not that bad,” Jordan said, delicately.
“It is,” Adam replied, “if you’ve been sulking about it for an entire year.”
More silence. Jordan could feel Adam looking at him, so he stared resolutely at the other side of the room.
“Is it,” Adam was still trying, “anything to do with that picture frame you have hidden in the dresser downstairs? Where you’re kiss- hum. Where you’re with that guy that left the company earlier this year? Gerrard, right?”
The knife in Jordan’s chest twisted, hard, painfully; he had to close his eyes. Steven. He put his cup on the ground, his throat too tight to drink from it.
“He told me,” Jordan said. “That he was leaving. Right here, actually,” he patted the bed softly between them. “Last Christmas. I had been asking why one night he’d started sleeping on his own.”
“Oh,” Adam whispered, his voice sad. Jordan almost resented the fact that he was such a good audience. Wind whistled past the window.
Jordan shook his head. “I didn’t see it coming,” he tried to explain, “I was so happy, I thought we would last forever. I didn’t even consider it. And not only did he tell me that he was leaving, he told me not to bother waiting. Then he stayed for three more days, and I drove him to the airport, and he went to California.”
The last word hung in the room for much longer than it should have.
“But that wasn’t the last you heard from him?”
“Right,” Jordan swallowed, and it was now getting even harder. “Because about two months ago, I thought I’d call him, and see what his Christmas plans were because… he has family here and stuff.”
“And you’re here.”
Adam’s mind reading was both a relief and very annoying.
“And he’s got another thing going, doesn’t he? Over in America. Someone else to… spend Christmas with.” Jordan chewed furiously on the inside of his lip, debating on what he should add.
He had loved Steven. He had been his just, so, entirely. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was anymore. This pain. This couldn’t be love, it was like a horrible shadow of it. How could he make himself, just, stop?
“Yeah,” he added, “recently, I mean; the more I see Christmas, the more I hate it, the more I think about what happened. I’m trying to end it, I’m trying everything to find closure.”
Adam placed his cup on the floor too.
“Ah,” he said, thoughtfully. “I see. The airport.”
“Yeah,” Jordan agreed, rubbing his face with his hands, angrily; his stomach a seething mix of everything he’d ever felt. “I thought I’d go back, and see did it make me feel better. Fresh start at the end, kind of. It was a stupid idea.”
“And in a blizzard,” Adam agreed. “I hope for your sake, it worked.”
“I don’t know,” Jordan admitted. “I ran in to you, didn’t I?” He threw Adam a scathing look, to find Adam looking back at him with marked curiosity. He nudged closer, and ran his fingers inside of Jordan’s arm, where’d he’d hugged them both tight across his chest.
“It’s not good for you to be on your own like this,” he said, gently. “Don’t you have family you should be with?”
Jordan had been resenting Adam’s sympathy, but only for a second, and it really and truly disappeared when Adam began to rub gently in his skin with his thumb- like he suddenly had a puncture, everything inside him was deflating. This conversation wasn’t going the way that so many had gone with his parents or his sister. For one, Adam hadn’t told him yet that he needed to get over it, and he didn’t seem to be leaning that way.
“I could have gone to my sister’s,” he said- free of anger, all he wanted to do now was cry. “But that… it would have been tense. I haven’t been nice to be around for the last few months.” Every nerve of his body was focused on the stroke of Adam’s thumb: the careful, peaceful rhythm that Jordan’s pulse was slowing down to follow. “So I told her I’d met someone and was spending Christmas with them, instead.”
“She was okay with that?”
“She was so relieved,” he spat.
“It’s not totally a lie,” Adam said, softly.
Jordan blinked at him.
And Adam grinned. “Looks like I’ll be here tomorrow, or for some of it anyway. If that counts.”
Jordan didn’t really know how to reply to that- he wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about the prospect- and Adam sighed, his hand slipping from Jordan’s arm.
“Sorry,” he said, “but today has been the longest,” and he slowly rolled back on to the bed. “Don’t mind me.”
Jordan snapped out of it, all thoughts of Steven falling slowly away when he turned to see Adam sprawled on his back, with his arms draped over his face.
“Weren’t you just asleep, like half an hour ago?” he enquired.
Adam let out the purest possible peal of laughter, slightly muffled behind the back of his hand. “On a couch, though. This is heaven.” He sighed, and his eyes rolled closed.
“Alright,” Jordan said, “fine, if you say so.” Carefully, he reclined flat, feeling every joint in his back click open. “Mmphf.” Heat eased up from under the freshly laid duvet, pulling the stress from his muscles, aiding the new lightness of his chest. All of the breath left his body in one, long, exhale: and he sank deep in to the mattress.
“Would you like me to turn the light out?” Adam mumbled somewhere beside him, his words slurring in to one; like his lips were too heavy to speak.
Jordan tried to answer, but he was already asleep.
He was slightly disorientated, then, when he woke up in the dark, with a weird cooking sensation down his back. It burned, and he jolted up into the cold.
Electric blanket, he brain realised, sleepily. You left the electric blanket on. Dumb, he cursed himself. This is how people die. Luckily, though- there was no actual fire. He crawled across the bed looking for the switch, and just as he reached it and turned it off his knee collided with something slightly more solid than he’d been expecting.
“Ow,” Adam croaked.
“Fuck,” Jordan whispered, because his voice hadn’t woken up just yet. “Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry-“
“S’alright- ow!”
Jordan, in the only fashion that made sense in his not-quite-awake state, was patting down Adam in search of the point of contact that needed soothing.
“Ow,” Adam said again, now for the third time.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan gasped, “was it there? Oh my God, I’m so sorry-“
“That’s my ear!” Adam said, sounding groggy. God, Jordan had literally kicked him awake. “What are you-“
“-Where does it hurt-“
“-doing, ow! Jordan-“
“-Is that your ear?”
Jordan had no way of telling, but that felt suspiciously like Adam’s jaw under his hand, and those felt suspiciously like Adam’s lips on his.
The accidental kiss lasted several seconds too long to have been truly considered an accident.
Adam smelled nice. Not like anything in particular: a little bit of washing detergent, maybe; and a lot like sheets that had been in Jordan’s hot press for too long. Jordan slid a second hand up to cradle Adam’s neck, to support it when he kissed him again. Longer this time, softer.
There was a pause. Jordan’s breath came short. Or was it Adam’s? He pressed his fingers slightly to Adam’s skin. He felt the soft pressure of a hand at his hip; the rustle of sheets barely audible over their breathing as they moved closer again.
Adam, his brain reminded him, Adam Lallana. You don’t like Adam Lallana. But then why was he kissing him? Why was he still kissing him? Why was Adam kissing him back? Why did he want it?
That was the most surprising thing: some horrible mix of wanting affection as well as finally, truly, being able to give it, and feeling Adam being this receptive to it under his mouth.
He stretched his fingers back, into the base of Adam’s neck- it was moist and clammy under his hands.
“Hey,” he whispered, panting. “You’re roasting.” He brushed the collar of Adam’s polo neck with his fingers.
“S’fine,” Adam said, despite his skin burning like a furnace.
“No,” Jordan shushed, “here-“, he reached down and helped Adam wriggle out of it. At one point one of Adam’s elbows caught him right in the collarbone, but instead of Jordan’s normal level of indignation the left side of his chest filled- he didn’t even know with what, something that made him draw Adam back to him immediately; and Adam’s hands fisted his shirt and twisted it tight across Jordan’s ribs as he pulled himself closer, right up against him. His fuzz burned at Jordan’s chin, his teeth dragging slightly on Jordan’s lip in the mess about whatever this even was.
A-dum, his heartbeat said, and Jordan lifted his mouth to find his ear. A-dum. A-dum. Adam. The more he thought it, the less it seemed like a word and more like an emotion he was feeling. He kissed deep and down his neck, Adam’s skin soft like paper under his lips. Adam’s neck grew long, his spine stretched; made him arch in to Jordan’s chest.
And just like that, Jordan ran out of steam- all of the air left his lungs is one huff and he buried his face in the crease where Adam’s neck met his shoulder- suffocatingly warm and comfortable. He let his arms wind around Adam’s chest and fold tight around his back, Adam’s ribs felt flimsy pressed this hard to his arm. He allowed himself to only think about Adam’s breath slowing somewhere around his ear.
“It’s okay,” Adam said softly. His cheek rubbed off Jordan’s temple. “You’re okay.” He was scratching behind his ear, drawing up all the tension from Jordan’s back and pulling it out with his fingers.
Jordan wanted to say something. Jordan wanted to say anything at all. He pressed Adam’s name back into his skin: once, twice; it felt right to do it. He wondered if it was too muffled for Adam to even hear.
Jordan’s sleep that followed was not completely undisturbed, but any irritation he felt when he woke up dissipated immediately when he realised it was because Adam had moved under him. He groaned, and accidentally stretched his body away from Adam’s- into the relative cold of the room.
“My arm’s asleep,” Adam complained, too far away.
“Adam,” Jordan moaned: desperate, needy; his voice sounding weirdly rough and forlorn. “Adam.”
“Okay,” Adam sighed, softly and without acrimony. Also, rather sleepily, in a way that made Jordan’s heart tug- physically, actually pulling him back across the space. “It’s okay. I’m here.” A hand slid around Jordan’s waist, and Adam moved in to his chest, manoeuvring under Jordan’s chin this time. Some needy monster in Jordan rumbled appreciatively when he took Adam in his arms. Adam made a soft mewling noise when he settled, and Jordan reached down with his legs to bring Adam’s cold feet under the duvet. The wind roared outside. The house creaked. Jordan held him even closer.
Then he wasn’t there anymore.
Jordan’s whole body froze up like a plank of wood, his world blurred briefly in one eye from the force which it had been smushed into his pillow. He lifted his head, stretched his arm across the empty bed- it was like surfacing from a deep sea dive, his head felt heavy in a way that told him he’d slept very well, and for a very long time. The bed where Adam had been was still warm, but only a little. Jordan could even have been imagining it. He curled his fist into the pillow, and twisted his back into a stretch.
There was something strange about the room, he realised, pushing himself up to sit. He blinked, and rubbed his eyes a bit more- and then he realised that the difference was the tiny slit of light through the curtains. He frowned, and reached to pull them open.
Light flooded the room, blinding him. Day light. It was morning. It was morning already. He lifted one hand to shield his eyes as the world outside came in to focus.
Snowy patches framed the window, gave edges to the perfectly clear sky that were both uneven and pure. The storm was gone. Everything was finally quiet, and calm, and the heavy weight Jordan hadn’t even realised that he had been carrying around his shoulders for the last few weeks was notable by its absence. The smell of toast drifted up the stairs.
Adam.
Jordan fell back on to his hands.
What even was that?
A vulnerable moment, he told himself. It was a vulnerable moment, because he’d been aching, dying, to get Steven off his chest for so long. Adam had just been there when he had needed someone to hold on to.
But to kiss though? To kiss like that? Jordan hadn’t exactly been celibate since last Christmas, but he hadn’t been with anyone without Stevie always lurking in the back of his head. A coincidence? Had he just been too tired to think? Was it just the weird nature of their relationship that had made Adam different?
His collar itched under his t-shirt, and he had absently begun to scratch at it- the sharp rake of his nails bringing him back to the present. And the really quite delightful smell of toast.
He pulled himself out of the bed, uncomfortable in his sweaty jeans that he hadn’t quite managed to get off before his entire night’s sleep. He looked around the room once before he left it- the light had spread into every corner.
The bathroom was still steamy, and one of the towels on the rack was a little bit damp when Jordan rubbed it between his fingers. Adam’s recent presence was also felt in the new disorder to his shampoo bottles at the base of his shower.
It should have annoyed him. It really should have.
In a daze, he showered and shaved- his skin insistent on the constant stream of playbacks to Adam against him. Adam shifting until he was comfortable. Adam stroking his fingers through Jordan’s hair. Like that really would have gone places if they hadn’t both stopped kissing.
Jordan stopped the water. The reminder of toast still hung around the landing.
Freshly washed and dressed, he made his way down to the kitchen.
Adam was sitting, half-draped across one of the kitchen chairs, chewing on a crust of bread and he looked over when Jordan walked in.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning with his mouth stuffed; hopelessly endearing enough to make Jordan smile back immediately. “I, uh,” he gestured to the table in front of him- plate littered with crumbs, the opened butter tub and the used knife balanced on the marmalade jar. “Was hungry.” He was wearing another version of his Christmas polo neck from yesterday, but blue now, and with small snowflakes in a line across the front. It looked a bit snappier on him, and somehow detracted from the naff Christmas design. It seemed hopelessly cuddly. Also, Jordan was having a mini-flashback to pulling the last one off.
“It’s okay,” he offered. “I’m just going to have tea. Want some?”
“Sure,” Adam chirped.
Jordan made his way over to the kettle. Beside it, the radio hummed Christmas carols.
He felt Adam pause. “Uh,” he said, from all that way behind him. “You can turn it off. I was just waiting for the weather report.”
“It’s fine,” Jordan said, detaching the kettle from the element and carrying it over to the sink to fill up. “It’s really fine.” The weirdest thing was that annoyance at festive cheer hadn’t even been Jordan’s first reaction. He’d actually been half-thinking that he recognised the song.
The kettle filled to the top. He carefully balanced it between his hands as he brought it back down the counter.
“Well,” he continued, as he switched it on. “Merry Christmas, I guess.”
Adam nearly dropped his toast in shock. Jordan wasn’t sure if this made him more pleased or embarrassed, but he forgot about emotions when Adam’s open-mouthed, dumb smile literally grew to meet his ears; his eyes lighting up like buttons.
He’d somehow gone from despising the guy to the biggest crush Jordan had had in a really long time. And he hadn’t even been here a day.
A Christmas miracle, Jordan thought, and not even all that sarcastically.
This realisation made him smile. And so he smiled and Adam, and Adam smiled at him; and it became laughter and they both stood giggling like that for a really, long, time. Jordan was familiar with Adam’s laugh- he heard it a lot at work, a lot, but he was rather ashamed of the fact that he’d never heard it with his own.
The kettle switched off, and their laughter ebbed to a stop.
“Hey,” Jordan said, frowning. He reached and turned off the radio too. “Can you hear… trumpets?”
Adam paused, and really did drop his toast this time in his haste to get out into the hall. Jordan half followed him as far as the door to the kitchen, just far enough to see Adam on his knees at his backpack as he rooted around it furiously, and pulled out his humming phone: playing, obviously, a Christmas pop tune at the highest possible volume. Satisfied that the mystery had been solved, Jordan returned to his previous task of making tea as Adam’s voice floated in from the hallway. “Hello? Hello?... Adam Lallana? This is he…”
The phone towers must be back up and running, Jordan realised. Adam had washed the two mugs from last night, and Jordan decided not to break with tradition. And really, he thought, stirring, I mean I’ll do it for him, but four spoons of sugar is truly excessive.
“Who was it?” he asked, when Adam eventually came back in, texting furiously on his phone. He handed Adam what had now somehow become his mug as he waited for the reply, and decided it must be good- Adam was still all lit up around the eyes.
“The airline,” Adam said. “The airport’s open, they’ve put my flight back on.”
“Oh,” Jordan said, before he could stop himself.
“Oh,” Adam said, obviously coming to the same conclusion. There was a heavy pause.
“When,” Jordan said.
“I have a few hours,” Adam replied, a little casually. “I can call a taxi.”
“Don’t be daft,” Jordan insisted. “I’ll drive you. The City Council will have been out on their snowploughs by now.”
Adam looked deep into his tea. “Thanks, you know,” he offered. “For taking me in… and yeah.”
“You’re welcome,” Jordan said, more evenly than he felt. Then, “drink your tea, and I’ll bring you.”
So they sat down at both ends of the table again. Jordan hit the seat a little heavily, and put his cup down on the table; suddenly not really feeling it.
He sensed Adam reach before he saw his hand curl around his wrist.
“Hey,” Adam’s voice said, making Jordan look up to meet his eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he added, clasping tight to Jordan’s hand, and smiled- a rather more moderate version of its previous self. Then he squeezed a little harder.
Jordan didn’t even think about it. He shifted in his chair, twisting to lay his other hand on top of Adam’s.
He’d going, he thought. He’s leaving.
He chewed on the inside of his lip, dropping his gaze. Adam’s fingers were longer than his. Carefully, he let his thumb trace the ridge of Adam’s knuckles.
I don’t want him to go.
“Why do you love Christmas?” he asked, finally. “It’s not all about the cheesiness, is it?”
Adam looked a bit offended. And Jordan liked it, in a way; how it made his chin tuck and his nose wrinkle in disgust. “The decorations just help,” he explained, “all the atmosphere just reminds me why I love it so much. I mean you eat loads and you watch TV and you get nice stuff, but it’s about being with the people who mean the most to you in the whole world, all together. It’s realising how grateful you are that you have them.” He paused, and looked like he was going to add, that’s basically why you don’t like it, right?
“Well,” Jordan said, with enthusiasm that he didn’t feel, “then I’m glad the flight thing came good for you, in the end.” Carefully, he tugged his hand free. “You won’t entirely miss your nan’s dinner.”
The return journey to the airport was just as silent as it had been the previous day. However, Jordan wondered if it wasn’t because he was actually having a very loud argument with himself in his head; even though he was pretending that it had everything to do with having to concentrate on the road.
I don’t want him to go.
What kind of person would I be if I stopped him? He wants to be with his family. It is literally the most important thing about the entire season to him. Let him be.
Just tell him. Just tell him that you don’t want to leave. Tell him about your u-turn on your feelings. Tell him that you like him. Tell him that you really like him.
I’ve been projecting my selfishness on him basically since the moment we met. He doesn’t deserve any more of it.
But I’ve only just started to know him. I can’t let him go. I don’t even want to let him go for a few days.
The airport drop-off zone was awash with people who’d also obviously got the same message as Adam. They were waving each other off in Santa hats and tinsel decorated several car windows, and Jordan felt more grim than ever. In fact, if he could have, he would have slouched the whole way down his seat.
“I’ll pop the boot so you can get your bag,” he offered, when Adam moved to say something.
Adam looked like he was still going to say it, for several more seconds. Then he opened the door.
Jordan gripped the steering wheel tight.
I don’t want him to go.
He thought about going back home, to his house that Adam seemed to have completely filled with himself in just a few hours. He thought about sitting in it alone. He thought it sounded like the worst idea in the world.
Outside, Adam tapped on the hood. Open the boot.
Instead, Jordan opened his door.
He wasn’t really sure what otherworldly force propelled him forwards, but he stumbled around the back of the car and found Adam, and when Adam saw him either hope or relief broke over his face like a dawn and Jordan realised that he’d maybe made the best decision of his life- better, even, than to offer him a lift at this exact spot yesterday.
“Look-“ Adam started, but didn’t get to finish, because Jordan had flung his arms around his neck, in a way that wasn’t quite himself, and kissed him with all the force of someone who really, really didn’t want him to go.
The atmosphere in the aftermath was then, anticlimactic. Adam looked a little stunned, and Jordan was a bit lost: because he hadn’t thought this through, not even a little bit, and also- he was now for the first time getting the full experience of Adam’s face in proper HD.
Maybe his transformation into an actual sap was complete because he could only think about what an absolutely perfect face it was. That Adam had extraordinary eyes: deep and sparkly like he was housing an entire sepia-tinted solar system behind them.
“I,” he began, “wanted to check it wasn’t a one-time thing?”
Adam’s face cleared. And then he burst out laughing.
Jordan thought what and then he thought: Shit! Oh! Shit! I have read this completely wrong.
He had started to detangle his arms from around Adam’s neck when Adam suddenly swooped forward and answered his query by kissing him right back, breathless and insistent and a little bit marmalade-y.
“I kissed you,” he said, when they surfaced. “Idiot.””
“What do you mean?” Jordan managed, somehow, to get out of his completely malfunctioning brain.
“Last night,” Adam said, gripping Jordan’s coat now, right at his shoulder blades. “I just did. I don’t know why. I just decided to kiss you. I could’ve-“, and then he beamed, radiating actual light on Jordan’s face, “it could’ve really gone so badly, I didn’t even think. I just wanted to. And this morning you didn’t say anything, so I thought it was a one-time thing- because you’d needed someone and I’d needed someone, so we had… a blip. And we’d just go back to hating each other in the New Year.”
“I don’t hate you,” Jordan said abruptly.
“No,” Adam agreed, nosing closer. “I don’t think you do.”
Jordan’s ears were freezing off again but at the same time he was very, very warm.
“Ask me to stay,” Adam breathed. “Oh my God, just ask me. I’ll say yes.”
For the first time in minutes, Jordan drew an actual breath.
“Okay,” he said softly, and Adam’s face lit up, aptly, like a tastelessly decorated fir tree. Jordan couldn’t help feeling, though, that he was at least partly mirroring the expression. “Don’t leave. Celebrate Christmas with me.”