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“Did you know that the elf with the glasses is the same guy who played Ralphie in A Christmas Story?” The movie is already starting as you carefully return to the living room with two mugs of hot chocolate.
“Is not,” Jean chuckles. He carefully accepts his mug before slorping some mini marshmallows off the top.
“I’m serious.” You settle in on the couch next to him before taking your first sip. “When Buddy says he’s only made 85 Etch-A-Sketches, the guy who tells him he’s behind is Peter Billingsley. Look it up on IMDB, I’m right.”
“Wait, you’re serious? How did I never know this?” Jean cradles his mug to his chest and squints at the TV, waiting for Ralphie to appear in Santa’s workshop. He’s wearing a festive red and green turtleneck with cozy joggers, and the big bowl of kettle corn he brought over sits on the coffee table between you.
It’s been a weird December. You would have said it was a bad one if it weren’t for Jean. It was supposed to be your first Christmas alone—the first since the breakup that shattered your world, miles away from the family you wouldn’t see until you flew out on the 23rd. You were bracing for a much harder month, but your friends, especially Jean, made it more than bearable. He made it light.
When you expressed doubt about putting up your tree alone, he showed up with a bottle of wine and a new string of lights in case yours were burnt out (they were). When you wanted to go see lights, he took you out for a drive in the ritzy neighborhood on town over, where you didn’t even know the good displays were. He let you make a mess in his kitchen decorating cookies and wrangled Connie and Sasha for an ice skating night all together, and now here he was, the week of Christmas, hunkered down for a movie night just because you said you were feeling a little down.
“Oh shit, that’s totally Ralphie. I can’t believe I never realized—”
“Thank you.” You set your mug on the table, half gone already despite how hot it still is.
He laughs. “I mostly believed you. I was just giving you a hard time until I saw it for myself.”
“No, I mean, that’s fine too. But I was saying…” You’re fumbling. “Thank you for hanging out with me so much. I really needed this.”
He shifts in his seat, leaning forward for another sip of cocoa when the liquid sloshes before setting down his own mug. “Of course. We’re friends.” He sounds a little nervous, uncharacteristically.
“It’s just—” Words you’ve been thinking for days, maybe longer, start to come forward, and you choose to let them. “It’s your Christmas too. There are other things you could be doing. Other people you could be with. Family or… whoever.”
“Well, yeah, but I… like hanging out with you. I always have fun. Even if you make me wear silly reindeer antlers in public.”
You knock his shoulder. “I did not make you.”
Jean rolls his eyes. “Fine, you’re right.”
You feel your face lighting up. “What’s that? Can I get that again?”
Jean’s own smile blooms, his eyes darting up and down your face, and then you feel it—heat and butterflies as he leans closer, breathing a laugh before hesitating, looking down his nose at your lips. Your chest pounds, but yes, you want this as bad as he does, and you seal your lips to his in a kiss that overtakes you. Jean inhales sharply, hands sliding up your arms to gently hold your shoulders. He tastes like chocolate and salt. After a few blissful moments, you pull back, your head spinning.
Your eyes flutter open, searching for his. You’re shaking, pleasantly surprised. “Friends, huh?”
Jean cracks up, pulls you back in, mumbles against your lips. “Maybe more.”