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They both have nightmares.
Sola believes she’ll likely have them forever — of the dark whispers of a hungry god; of wheat fields and hallucinations that felt like memories; of the sound of breaking bone and the violent surge of phantom pain; of towers and the tempting call of the void — but she keeps this thought to herself. Things are rocky enough between them and Aimsey, both fumbling around on shaky legs atop the newly rebuilt foundations of their relationship.
They’re relearning how to be around each other after all that’s happened, and, awkward uncertainty aside, Sola thinks it’s been going pretty well. So xe doesn’t voice this aloud.
(She’d been reluctant, at first, when all was said and done that night and Aimsey suggested that they leave, together, right away — but the thought of staying any longer in the place that had broken her was scarier than the uncertainty of where they’d end up, so Sola simply agreed and packed up her things.
They were lucky, really, to stumble upon an abandoned cabin a few hours out).
“I made you something,” Aimsey says, an endearing flush on their cheeks and an excited twinkle in their eye as they hold out a mug for Sola to take.
Sola smiles, reaching out her hands reflexively at the familiar ritual, before the sight of their left arm — scarred flesh where a hand used to be — makes them freeze.
Tears well in xer eyes.
“Um–” Sola starts, uncertain and ashamed, but Aimsey interrupts, setting the mug down on the table and kneeling on the floor in front of her.
“It’s alright,” she says, wiping away Sola’s tears with the pads of their thumbs, so achingly tender that Sola nearly begins to cry again.
“It’s got a handle,” Aimsey explains, their smile unwavering as she grabs the mug once more and takes Sola’s right hand, gently folding her fingers around the handle.
“See?” Aimsey asks, voice whisper-soft, and Sola’s hand is shaking as xe grips the warm cup but neither of them mention it.
Sola nods, studying the brown liquid. Her brows furrow a bit. “What are those?” she asks, looking down at the white blobs that sit on top.
“Marshmallows,” Aimsey answers.
Sola turns the word around in their mind as if tasting it. Marshmallows. They sound as soft as they look.
“This isn’t coffee,” Aimsey explains, and Sola nearly sighs in relief. “It’s called hot chocolate. It’s sweet.”
At Sola’s hesitation, Aimsey pushes the mug closer. “Go on,” she says, encouragingly, “try some! It’s my own special recipe. I really think you’ll like it.”
Though this hasn’t been true for any of the drinks Aimsey’s made her in the past, Sola does as she always has and takes a sip. Her eyes widen in surprise as the warm liquid hits her throat. She immediately brings the mug to her lips again to take another sip.
Aimsey beams. It’s infectious. “I knew you’d like it!”
Sola nods enthusiastically. When xe sets the now empty mug back down, she feels warm and content.
“Thank you,” she says, and when Aimsey meets their eyes, she knows that bloom understands she’s talking about more than just hot chocolate.
“Of course,” Aimsey replies, easily, and there is so much left to talk about and they still have nightmares but in this moment, Sola finds that she can’t remember what she’d been so worried about.
***
“It’s almost Christmas, you know,” Aimsey says on the 24th, and it’s only been a few days since they’ve been reunited — that’s how life is measured now, in days since the 21st — but they’ve been falling into what feels like an almost familiar rhythm.
Sola blinks, wracking xer brain for memories of what “Christmas” is, but it hadn’t ever come up in their studies of Earth or in any previous conversations with humans, so she simply nods, careful to keep her tone even and neutral as she says, “Yes, it is,” unsure if this is a good or a bad thing.
Aimsey’s face scrunches up a little bit, like they’re trying not to laugh, but bloom quickly recovers. “It’s tomorrow,” she continues, “so I was thinking we could celebrate together. Since Christmas is on the 25th of December each year, as you know already, and it’s a day to give each other gifts and celebrate family and friendships and” — she falters, coughs a little — “and love, and, um, it’s fun to, uh, to decorate and all…”
Sola smiles and nods. “I’d love to,” she says, and Aimsey immediately relaxes. “That sounds nice.”
“But, um,” Sola adds, a light purple blush forming on her cheeks, “I’m afraid I don’t… um… remember everything that you do on Christmas? It’s been a while since I’ve, uh, celebrated.”
“That’s alright,” Aimsey says, undeterred, not calling their bluff. “I’ll show you! We can make up some of our own traditions along the way, too.”
Ten minutes later, they’re both dressed head to toe in layers, complete with scarves and mittens — and a woolen wrap Aimsey had knitted to cover Sola’s left arm — and they head out into the snow hand in hand.
When they return to the cabin a few hours later, rednosed and giddy, their backpacks full of random supplies and things to use as makeshift decorations, it feels like old times, coming back from an adventure.
Sola lights the fireplace as Aimsey puts a disc on the jukebox, humming along a little offkey to a song Sola doesn’t know.
It feels so impossibly domestic, like something she’d never known she’d always wanted — like something they almost never had.
Sola takes a steadying breath and joins Aimsey at the kitchen table, where their collected supplies have been splayed unceremoniously.
“So,” Sola says, “where do you want to start?”
Aimsey grins.
*
Later, the house is covered in chains of assorted flowers — those that hadn’t died yet, and some that Sola was delighted to learn could actually grow in the winter — and handcrafted decorations, and they both have glitter on their faces and in their hair and Sola’s cheeks hurt from laughing as Aimsey unfolds a piece of paper to reveal what are supposed to be a line of snowmen.
“What’s this?” Sola asks, watching as Aimsey stands on a chair to hang a strange plant on the doorframe.
Aimsey almost stumbles a bit on the way down, but Sola’s there to steady them.
“It’s stupid, really,” they say, ducking their head.
“I doubt that,” Sola replies, “but I wanna know, even if it is.”
“It’s, um, it’s mistletoe,” Aimsey mumbles, and Sola frowns.
“Mistletoe?” she parrots, and Aimsey nods.
“It’s this stupid thing I’ve heard that people do sometimes,” Aimsey says, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “They hang it at Christmas and whenever two people step under it, they’re supposed to kiss.”
Her tone is carefully nonchalant, like it isn’t a big deal, but Sola sees straight through them.
“Oh,” she replies, looking up at the mistletoe, and then nods. “Well, it seems like we’re under it now,” xe points out, and Aimsey freezes.
“Well, yeah, but we don’t have to- it’s just, uh- it’s just a dumb decoration,” bloom mutters, and Sola wilts, just a little.
“Oh, okay,” she says. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Aimsey’s eyes snap up to meet theirs. “No!” she rushes to say, “That’s not what I meant.”
A moment of anxious silence passes between them, tension thrumming in the air like a drum.
“Unless… you do?” Aimsey asks, voice small.
Sola swallows. “I do,” she says, “if- if you do, too.”
Aimsey laughs, then, a little bit breathless, and Sola finds that xe does, too.
Aimsey nods. “I do.”
“Okay,” Sola says.
They meet in the middle, and it isn’t as if they don’t already know — tear-filled confessions and desperate embraces and apologies and promises from only days ago still echo in the space between them — but this feels like saying I love you all over again. This feels like another beginning, like saying I love you and I know you love me too and I’m sure of it, now.
When they part, laughter bubbles from their mouths, a twinkling sound, like the glitter in their hair, and they’re both smiling, wide and unburdened, and they’re both crying, but this time it doesn’t feel like it was almost the end of the world.
“I think I like stupid mistletoe,” Sola says, because everything else that springs to mind is too heavy and loaded like I want to stay with you forever and I think this really is home and she doesn’t know how to say all of that out loud just yet.
Aimsey’s smile somehow widens, happy laughter coating their voice as she says, “I think that I do, too.”
***