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“I can’t believe you talked me into that.”
Alex grinned up at Greg, his cheeks and nose flushed red from the cold. “You’ve said that about eight times now,” he reminded Greg, who did his level best to scowl down at him, without much success.
“Because I still can’t believe it,” he said. “I haven’t been ice skating since the 90s.” He pulled a face, rubbing his free hand against the wet patch on the back of his jeans. “Which probably explains why I fell on my arse so much.”
“Mm,” Alex agreed. “But as they say, when in Rome– er, New York, that is, at Christmas…”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Yes, because all true New Yorkers go ice skating at Rockefeller Center,” he scoffed. “Just like all Londoners do their shopping exclusively at Harrods.”
“Could do.”
Greg snorted. “Fuck off,” he said genially, grabbing Alex’s mittened hand with his own. “If you can name me one time you shopped at Harrods when you lived in London, I’ll eat your fucking hat.”
Alex honked a laugh. “My hat?” he repeated, patting the bobble hat he wore. “Why not your hat?”
“Practically, because there’s only like three fucking hats in the world that fit my massive head,” Greg said in what he deemed a reasonable way. “And also because I care so much less about what happens to your hat than to mine.”
“Mm,” Alex hummed again, this time thoughtfully, and he scratched his cheek with his mitten. “I must have done, surely.”
It took Greg a second to realise he was still talking about Harrods. “When you lived in London, though?” he asked, sceptical.
Alex’s lips twitched. “Technically Chesham—”
Greg didn’t even let him get the whole sentence out, cutting him off with mostly mock-grumpiness. “Mate, if I hear the words ‘London Metropolitan Area’ come out of your mouth, I swear to Christ—”
“I wasn’t going to say that!” Alex protested, even as he couldn’t quite stop his laughter.
“Liar,” Greg said, tugging Alex to him and kissing the top of his head. “You’re just lucky that it’s Christmas and I’m feeling holly fucking jolly.”
Alex laughed again, grinning up at him. “Oh yeah, you really sound it.”
Greg chose to ignore that. “Speaking of Christmas, shall we get some takeaway?” he asked. “There’s got to be a Chinese food place open, right? That’s what they always show in the movies, anyway.”
“Yes, please,” Alex said, his stomach giving a perfectly-timed gurgle.
Greg laughed. They crossed the street at a zebra crossing and Greg caught sight of a toy store across the way. “Oh, and don’t forget to ring your kids to wish them a happy Christmas,” he reminded Alex.
Alex glanced up at him, his brow furrowed. “Sorry?”
Greg’s smile faded as he glanced at his watch. “Shit, it’s after midnight there, isn’t it?” he asked with a wince. “Did you ring them earlier?”
Alex just shook his head. “Greg, what are you on about?” he asked, sounding confused.
Greg stared at him. “Your children, Alex, and your wife,” he said with a bite of impatience, “who are all spending Christmas Day without you.” He shook his head as well. “Fuck, I feel like the most selfish knob, bad enough that you’re here with me—”
But Alex cut him off by resting a hand on his arm. “I don’t have any kids or a wife,” he said slowly, as if he thought Greg might have gone mad.
Even though it was very clearly the other way round. “Have you gone mad?” Greg demanded, something like panic clawing at his chest. “Your wife, Rachel, who you’ve been married to for almost twenty years now. Your three boys. Your– your fucking dog, Loky!”
Alex was still frowning up at him without a flicker of recognition in those big blue eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly. “Greg, are you all right?”
Greg backed away from him, shaking his head again. “No, I—”
He slipped on something and started to fall backwards as Alex just watched him, entirely emotionless. Greg reached out wildly for something to grab onto, but his hands closed around thin air, and—
Greg woke with a start, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He rolled over to squint at his clock, groaning and scrubbing a hand across his face when he saw how early it was.
He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying desperately to clear his head of the dream, mainly of the panic that had come at the end, but also of everything that preceded it, no matter how perfect it had felt in the moment.
Of course it had felt perfect.
Because it hadn’t been real.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his heart to slow and his still-ragged breathing to even out, but he kept going back to the dream, to a Christmas very different than the one he was going to live that day when he finally forced himself to get out of bed.
Of course, their real time in New York had also gone much differently, as Greg remembered all too well…
The setting sun behind them cast the waves that lapped the ferry in hues of orange and red. Or maybe that was just the reflection of the ferry itself. Greg couldn’t really tell, not that it mattered, since he was much more concerned with the bright orange coat of the man leaning against the ferry railing.
Or more accurately, with the man himself.
He leaned forward to grip the railing with both hands, bracketing Alex with his arms and resting his chin on Alex’s shoulder. “So what do you think?” he asked, his voice low in Alex’s ear. “Better than Times Square?”
He felt more than heard Alex chuckle, Alex’s back pressed against his chest with only their coats as a barrier. “If you’re waiting for me to say you were right, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” he said, turning around to face Greg, who didn’t step back.
Instead, Greg just looked down at him, their faces mere inches apart, and his eyes flickered to Alex’s lips and back up to those big eyes reflecting the steely colour of the water below them. “Won’t be the only thing I’m waiting for you to say,” he murmured.
For one long moment, he and Alex just stared at each other, close enough that one strong wave would have sent them crashing into each other. But the weather was calm, and Greg couldn’t bring himself to close the space between them.
No matter how much he might want to.
After what could have been a minute or an hour for all Greg knew, Alex swallowed and looked away. “I can’t.”
“I know.”
Alex’s eyes flashed up to his. “It’s not that I don’t want to—”
“I know,” Greg repeated.
Because he did. As surely as he knew that he couldn’t be the one to finally cross that line.
Still, neither man made any attempt to move away from the other, and after another long moment, Greg sighed before starting, “I just thought…”
He trailed off and Alex glanced up at him. “What?” he prompted.
“It’s silly,” Greg hedged, and the corners of Alex’s lips twitched.
“Out of character for you, then.”
“Fuck off,” Greg said with a light laugh. He shook his head before saying, a little reluctantly even though he knew that for all the shit they gave each other, Alex would never in a million years use this against him, “You know the song, er, ‘New York, New York’?”
Alex cocked his head just slightly. “The Frank Sinatra song?”
Greg nodded. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath before shrugging and saying, in a painfully offhand way, “I just thought, er, if we could make it there…”
Something softened in Alex’s expression. “We’ll make it anywhere,” he said, finishing the lyrics, and Greg jerked a nod.
“Yeah,” he said, huffing an attempt at a laugh. “Like I said, silly.”
“Maybe,” Alex allowed. “But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong. Especially since you and I are somewhat in the business of silliness.” He said it in that slightly officious way of his that drew a light laugh from Greg even after all this time, though the laugh caught in his throat when Alex added, “Besides, we still might. One day.”
“Yeah,” Greg agreed, his voice low. “We still might.”
They hadn’t yet, though the past nine or so months had certainly seen their fill of many similar moments – many similar almosts. As well as some actual discussions of what it could possibly even look like, if they could actually give it a go.
Greg was still waiting on Alex to say it. And he’d wait as long as it took.
Because no matter how perfect his dream of New York had seemed, it would never be as perfect as the messiness of reality.
Besides, in only a few short weeks, they’d be headed back to New York, and maybe this time, they’d figure it out.
Greg’s phone buzzed and he rolled over to frown down at it, wondering who could possibly be messaging him at this ungodly hour. A slow grin spread across his face as he saw Alex’s name, widening even further when he read his message.
Happy Christmas, Greg. xx
He rolled onto his back before composing a quick response, still grinning.
Happy Christmas, mate. Looking forward to New York soon. Xx
After all, like Alex had said, they still might.
One day.