Archive of Our Own ^beta

Clown sat in his kitchen, the clock showed eleven pm, and it was supposed to be New Year’s night. But even despite the fact that in his living room stood a fully decorated Christmas tree, fake presents under it, and he even made a few delicious meals he loved the most that now stood on the table and were getting cold, and the entirety of his house screamed “New Year celebration”, he didn’t feel any of it.

None of his friends or family could show up, everyone was busy with their own matters.

Not that he particularly cared… Well, maybe he did, but didn’t want to show it. But now he was sitting alone in such surroundings with no one here, and sadness crushed into him with its full force.

New Year never had as big of a celebration as Christmas when all his relatives came. But still, his family always spent it together anyway, him and his sister Kaboodle fooling around at the table, their parents admiring and laughing themselves. They would always watch “Home Alone” and he knew all the versions of the film practically by heart, and sometimes Kab would fall asleep while at it, whereas Clown always stayed up until the end and would wake her up just to mock for “giving in to the sleep’s grasp so easily”.

For him, New Year was always about the warmth that people who he held dearly in his heart brought. He’d spent it with his close friends too, bringing the most precious people in his life to meet together. They’d play stupid or emotional table games and watch classic films too, but the main thing is that they were always having fun.

But, unfortunately, this year wasn’t like that. Just like his last one. And that’s what was so upsetting. Two years in a row he was alone on this special day, but at least this time he wasn’t bawling his eyes out, however, still had to deal with the consequences of the events twelve months prior.

Clown got up from the chair he was sitting on, and walked to the entrance hall, standing before his full-length mirror and running a hand through his curly raven hair.

“Boy, you” he pointed at his mirror-self with an index finger “should stop drowning in your sorrow and festering at home,” Clown scolded himself, “so I’m” he jutted a thumb to his chest “going out without you. And don’t try to follow me, bastard.”

He laughed at his own silliness, and walked to a shelf, taking his winter black boots off of it. They had cool red shoelaces, his favourite colour, kept his feet warm in the cold weather, and had nice rubber outsoles that didn’t let him slip when ice invaded asphalt streets, so even being quite expensive, they were worth it.

He threw on a dark coat, fur on the inside of it to keep his body temperature close to himself, and pulled a red hat over his head. He finished up his look with a black scarf that had red deer all over it, the scarf that his mum knitted for him and gave as a gift on New Year almost a decade ago, also wrapping it around his mouth and nose as they would always freeze so much when met with cool air, applying chapstick first so his lips won’t be damaged afterwards.

He slipped his phone in one pocket, and his keys in the other after he got out of his flat, not taking anything else. He wouldn’t need it anyway, he could always come back home if something happened, and it was not like there would be any shops open at this hour on such a day or any acquaintances that he could meet and talk with would be walking around and about.

He let his hands remain in his pockets, too, cold air hitting his eyes and nose even despite the scarf making it a little warmer, his mouth breathing out visible steam-like clouds as he lifted his head to look up at a few stars that were still noticeable even with light pollution, but it was starting to snow, so that wouldn’t remain like this for long.

He then started walking mindlessly, looking around him, admiring the decorated buildings and shops, and still not having seen a soul, even though he lived close to the city centre. Well, that wasn’t surprising, most people were celebrating or adding the last touches to it at this hour, which only reminded him why he went on this walk in the first place, but he just tried to escape these thoughts, stepping a bit quicker.

He soon arrived at the town’s square where the city’s big fir tree stood. He always loved it, it was so lush and many garlands hung on it, now shining beautifully in the partial darkness of the night.

When Clown was little, the city government made an event where you could donate your Christmas tree toy and they would use it to accessorise it. His family, who always loved the tree, went on a toy hunt wanting to pick something unique and found an adorable white deer, and Clown was so thrilled when he spotted it on the plant he started jumping like a bouncy ball. Even though the tree came out not so harmonised as if the people setting it up would choose the style, it showed the impact that the people living in the town had, and it was more than enough to compensate for the messiness of it.

His eyes searched for the toy and lit up when he had already made the second circle around the tree’s fences and finally found it among the green branches.

He stood, admiring it and the tree in general, memories flooding his mind and a warm smile appearing on his lips at them, still concealed by the scarf.

He remembered being nine years old running around the tree with his sister and friends, throwing snowballs at each other and after a while of playing around, coming back home, getting under the blankets and drinking some hot cocoa his dad made for them using his special secret recipe.

He remembered being seventeen and having the first kiss in his life with his first boyfriend. At that time they'd already been dating for quite a long time, by their measures, and he was really happy to be there at that moment and share it with such a person. They split up after more than two years of dating because the other was moving away with his parents to another country, he would be studying there in college and his mother got a better deal for her job, so even though they loved each other, they wouldn’t be able to meet so often, and long-distance relationships were hard at their age, having lots of school work to get their majors and trying to work simultaneously, but they remained good friends nonetheless, talking on the phone from time to time.

And now he was twenty-five, standing alone before the tree. Well, that was a bit underwhelming.

That’s when he felt a careful tap on his shoulder, turning around almost instantly - who knows what kind of people were around at that time.

His eyes fell upon a man shorter than him by about ten centimetres, give or take, also picking up on his gloved hands slipping in his down jacket’s pockets. The jacket had a cool design, the sleeves being purple and the body of it being white, the last colour complementing his curly matching white hair that was sticking out from under his purple hat that was also covered in many small snowflakes, noticeable even with the very similar hue of his hair.

Before saying anything, he blew out a cloud of air, then hid the lower part of his face in the collar of his jacket as he wasn’t wearing a scarf, a huge mistake given the low temperature of around minus fifteen degrees Celsius that took over the streets.

“Why are you standing here alone at that time of the night just going around and looking up at the tree?” the man asked without even a bit of awkwardness, not seeming rude, just curious.

Clown lifted an eyebrow, “And why are you disturbing god-knows-who in the middle of the street all by yourself at that time of the night?” He answered with a question of his own, and it came out a bit cold, but the other man didn’t seem fazed by that.

The man in the jacket shrugged, “You don’t seem like the person who would go stabbing someone in the town’s square on New Year’s night.”

“Well, maybe I’ll shoot you, who knows?” Clown shot back.

In response, the man giggled, and somehow it warmed Clown’s heart more than the tea he was drinking in his kitchen about an hour ago, and he desperately wanted to hear it again.

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” the white-haired man pointed out, tilting his head to the side.

“Uhm, well,” Clown scratched his head, hesitating a bit. The man was a stranger, but for some reason, Clown felt like he could tell him all his secrets, even the deepest ones and the man would carry them to the grave, so he gave in, “I’m kind of… kinda don’t have anyone to celebrate with, so I decided not to fester at home and went here. I was looking at the toy we picked years ago with my parents and my sister for the tree.”

“Oh,” the man let out an exhale, “same here. I have a toy hanging on it too, look,” he extended his hand in, Clown now noticed, a white glove and pointed his index finger at a toy that hung near the Clown’s one. The toy was Santa in a purple costume, “I coloured him myself with non-peeling paint,” the man proudly told him, hiding his hand again, “which one’s yours?”

“Oooh, that’s creative,” Clown liked the fact that the man wanted to make the toy special just like Clown’s family did, “mine’s the one a little above it,” he took out his own hand to point at the toy, “the white deer. We chose it collectively because it was adorable and we all really liked it, and it was the last in the shop. I’ve never seen one similar to it, to be honest. I think it was hand-made?”

The stranger looked at the toy and nodded, “It is really nice! So close to mine too, maybe we were meant to be?” he giggled again, this time nervously, and now Clown didn’t doubt that he needed to hear the sound much more than two times.

“Maybe we were,” he confirmed with a smile, and even though it couldn’t be seen through the scarf, it was obvious in his voice, “wanna go for a walk then, my soulmate?” he said with a flourish, bowing to the man.

This time the man laughed fully, his shoulders untensing, flying up and down instead, and Clown couldn’t help but relish in the sound, “Certainly, my attached-by-an-invisible-and-probably-made-up-string-buddy.”

Clown laughed too in return and they went alongside each other around the tree a few times, then deciding without communicating it through words to go to an alleyway that led to an avenue, and somehow they predicted each other’s movements easily, not bumping once into the other.

“So, I’m guessing your favourite colour is purple?” Clown asked when they were making their first circle around the fence.

“How did you know? That was impossible to understand at first glance!” the man exclaimed with dramatics, and they both laughed, “Yeah, it is. What’s yours? Black?”

“Close, but no, it’s actually red,” Clown answered and he liked it even more seeing the man’s cheeks, red from the cold air hitting them.

“Ohh,” the man drawled, “I was wondering why the deers on your scarf are red instead of, like, brown, or white as the one you chose for the toy.”

“Yeah, they are like that,” he nodded, “my mum made it and gave it to me when I was fifteen as a New Year present. Do you like it?” he turned his head to the man with a questioning expression.

“Of course I do! It’s cute,” the man closed his eyes like a dog does when being petted, “besides, my mum never made me gifts like that, so it’s double-cool! Frankly, I don’t have a scarf at all.”

“Now, I was wondering why you were out on the streets in such temperatures without one! That explains a lot,” Clown said when at the moment they turned to another street, one he knew was a shorter way to the avenue, “is that because your mother can't knit or…?” He left the question unfinished, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Sounds like you're showing off your mum's skills!” the man chuckled.

“Well of course I am, look at the quality of it! So?” Clown shot back without any actual hostility in his voice.

“Yeah-yeah, you're right, I know a job well done when I see one,” the other answered, hesitating a bit, but then continuing, “Both, I think. She can't knit and my mother and I never were close, she's a bit…” he paused again, “conservative, let's just say. Believe it when I say she was not happy when I came out to my parents as gay, I was eighteen and still living in their house, and so she even wanted to kick me out, but my dad convinced her not to. She cooled off after some time, but I always caught her judgemental looks when talking about my boyfriend, with my boyfriend and such. Well, she certainly had to accept it when we got engaged…” something acidic turned in Clown's chest, and he felt like it spilled poison all over his organs, killing them instantly, but he didn't show it.

It wasn't the best thing to think, and Clown knew it, and it poisoned his mind even more, but somewhere deep in his heart, he hoped the man was pulling a sick trick on him, even though he didn't seem like the type of person who would do something like that. He waved it off, planning to deal with it later.

“Ouch, that's painful. I never had to experience it, but I'm sorry you had to,” he winced and wanted to give a reassuring pat on the man’s shoulder, but didn't, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, “do you know how to knit, though?” he asked, more playful than teasingly, wanting to go off the hurting topic.

“Actually, I always wanted to try, but never knew where to start, besides I already was painting most of my time, so…” the man relaxed at the change of topics, and Clown did too, never wanting to see him sad again, “what are your hobbies?”

“Wow, are you an artist?! Shouldn't be as surprising considering the Santa toy, but well,” Clown chuckled, they always fascinated Clown with how skillfully they could express emotions and tell stories in some works, and he now wanted to see at least one or two from the man “I was a figure skater since I was six, as far as I remember, but I haven’t had any time for it lately…”

The conversation drifted off to their side hobbies, Clown being a guitar player, boxer for a short while and even a piano player, now he only occasionally went to the gym to stay in form and he found out the other man was a pianist too, also a singer, and he even hummed a Christmas carol, and Clown had to admit - his voice was beautiful, hitting the notes perfectly. They then started discussing how hard it is sometimes to not just abandon everything and start a whole brand new hobby, the conversation drifting further and further away.

They talked and talked, walked and walked, scouting the alleyways and small lanes, sometimes stumbling upon the streets that Clown wouldn't have even found if he didn't know they were there, sometimes coming across the streets Clown knew about only because he either was guided by the need to find a specific address or because he and his friends or family when travelling, just as he and the maybe-not-such-a-stranger now did, encountered it randomly. Sometimes, they came back to the tree, using god-knows-which path, but it didn't seem to bother them in the slightest.

Their conversations shifted just as their location did, flowing flawlessly from topic to topic, they laughed and turned serious, talking about critical problems like global warming and social stupidity and unawareness, the issues of racism, ageism, sexism and queerphobia and where they came from in the first place, then somehow getting to asking what the other's favourite cereals were and if cereal could be soup at all, sometimes flirty jokes slipping out.

Clown was having so much fun, maybe more than he had in the entirety of the passing year, the year being certainly not the best, and probably even one of his worst ones.

And it felt so natural like it was supposed to be that way, like they didn't just meet only a couple of hours ago. By the time they faced the Christmas tree probably for the fourth time since they first talked, maybe three or so hours had passed after the start of their conversation, Clown felt like he had known the man all his life, also understanding how much he still wanted to ask about and hear opinions of from this particular person.

They stopped before the tree, and Clown turned his head to the man, and almost gasped seeing how much he was shivering.

“...so that’s why… hey, are you cold?” He interrupted himself and probably didn't even need to ask the question considering what he was seeing, but still did nonetheless.

“What, no, no, I'm okay,” the man said without any sarcastic notes, trying to stabilise himself and hide the fact that his teeth were chattering and his whole body was trembling.

“Yeah, sure, and I'm an alien from a planet a million light years away from Earth” Clown retorted sarcastically, “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

This question seemed to freeze the man, quite literally, even his body stopped shaking, and he averted his gaze elsewhere, not wanting to look Clown in the eyes.

“Sorry…” he mumbled under his breath, “I just… I'm not good at holding warmth for too long and I know you'd probably tell me to go home to warm up, but I…” he ducked his head as a guilty puppy would, and his voice quietened even more so that Clown had to strain his ears to hear every word he said, “and I really, really don't want to part ways with you,” the man stopped speaking for a little while, but Clown didn't say anything, seeing the man was thinking about something.

He then lifted his head a bit, looking at Clown with his grey, almost silver in the light of garlands eyes from under his eyelids, “And…” he stuttered, “and I don't want to ask for your number, I know it'll make everything awkward, but I think we could… become maybe friends, or, or…” his gaze returned to the snow under their feet and he muttered something unintelligible, and even though Clown didn't hear him, he didn't ask the man to repeat himself as he might just know what the other had just said.

And this time Clown didn't resist the urge to place a hand on the man's shoulder, and it instantly made the other look at him, his head flying up. Clown's eyes were smiling tentatively just as he was himself.

“Sorry, it's kind of my fault, I always assume people aren't cold, because my body's always warm, I'm like a walking heater,” he chuckled and rolled his eyes at himself, seeing the man crack a smile that mimicked his own.

He then turned his gaze away for a bit, contemplating. The thing that he wanted to do maybe wasn't the smartest as he only knew the man barely a few hours, but he really, really didn't want to leave him right now either.

He mustered his confidence and looked at the man again, finding his gaze was still on him, “Do you… is there maybe, possibly, just a chance you might want to go to my place and drink some tea or something to warm up? I can make you cocoa with my dad's special recipe, he finally taught me it when I turned twenty-one, saying that I'm “now old enough to carry the weight of knowing the ingredients and how to make their family's secret potion”,” he declared with fake seriousness just as his dad did almost five years ago, “it doesn't contain any alcohol if you're worried, my dad obviously wouldn't give it to us if it did, and I'm not planning on getting you drunk, I can promise you that,” the smile remained on his face while he was saying all of this, now waiting for the man's answer sheepishly.

And oh what a relief it was when he saw the man's eyes light up as he almost jumped on his feet, starting to sway back and forth excitedly, fumbling and tripping across his words, “Yeah, yeah, I would certainly,” he inhaled, “I would certainly be very glad if we did go there and I would happily try your dad's cocoa recipe, and…” he inhaled again, stopping at his tracks for a moment completely, finishing up with a relieved, almost whispered “...thank you.”

“It's nothing,” Clown smiled, now genuinely, just like the man was, his hand coming back to his pocket again after one last squeeze at the man's shoulder, and he turned around, starting their last walk, at least for this time, leading them to his house.

They walked silently for a bit, just enjoying each other’s company, both mulling over the fact that they were going to Clown's place having known each other for a very little amount of time.

“Hey…” the other man mumbled, but it could be easily heard, the problem being his uncertainty now more than the fear of Clown turning his back against him, “may I ask why are you spending New Year alone? You seem like a very, very great guy and close to your family and friends too, so…”

Clown felt a small lump form in his throat, so he immediately swallowed it, not letting it overtake him, “I, well… Yes, New Year is usually a holiday to only spend with my closest ones, but… My parents are out of town, said they wanted to “remember the good old days of the careless youth”, my sister and my friends are all with their partners, and I didn’t want to be third-wheeling, and…” it was his turn to avert his gaze somewhere to the side so the man couldn't see his eyes.

He sucked in a breath and continued, “and last year exactly on this day my girlfriend of over two years broke up with me, admitting through text that she had been cheating, also saying that I “didn't deserve to spend such a day with anyone whose dear to me”, so…” he finished bitterly, the lump coming back to his throat as his gaze fixed on his shoes as he almost wanted to cry as the memory came back with even more power than usually, having met such a nice person.

“I'm… I'm,” the man stumbled over his words again, inhaling sharply “I really apologise for the off-topic, but are you…?” He turned his gaze to the man and saw his questioning expression, the question itself hanging in the air, it seemed like he was mulling over it for some time now.

Clown smiled meekly, looking into the other's eyes, “I'm bi, if that's what you're interested in.”

He saw as the man's shoulders untensed, his expression softening like a weight was lifted off of him, and he exhaled the breath as sharply as he inhaled it, appearing to have been holding all this time. And even with this, Clown didn't want to make assumptions too quickly, not accepting the fact that they might like each other romantically.

“Okay, uhm…” the other mumbled, “I’m sorry again, and I'm really, really sorry that it happened to you, you don't deserve it, I'm sure of it, and maybe it's a good thing she went away before you got married or something,” his both hands twitched like he wanted to hug Clown, but didn't, instead placing his hand on Clown's shoulder just like Clown did with him previously, and Clown didn't want to admit it, but he really, really wanted the man to not hold in his will to hug Clown.

“You know, I… actually never thought of it that way, I think I was too busy with self-bullying,” he chuckled, “and why are… Why are you spending your New Year alone? I’m guessing you have warm memories with this holiday too,” he asked sheepishly, looking as the man's face turned to the same expression as his did at the similar question.

“I…” he hesitated, but more like because he needed to gather up his strength.

“Uhm, so, remember the boyfriend I told you about?” Clown simply nodded and the man continued, “We have been friends since I was eight, and I spent almost every New Year with him. We became a couple when I was seventeen, and… He was my husband of six years when he disappeared… He was a detective, a good one, so the forces asked him to help them with a particularly hard case, and being the good man he was, he agreed, and went on a business trip, and…” he inhaled sharply again, “and never came back…”

Clown looked at him and the man’s face was contorted with deep grief as he went on with his story, “and after half of a year, I got the news that… that he was dead,” the man stopped talking entirely, not saying anything, but Clown didn't rush him, there was no need for it, he understood how hard it was to talk about such a gruesome topic.

“His body was barely recognisable, but I did, I recognised him, I knew him for almost two decades, how could I not?” He stifled a broken laugh, then continued again, “The gang they were after knew he was onto them, so they trapped, tortured and killed him. But his body and the info he left for the forces helped them find the gang, and they all got the most strict life sentences for all their doings, the forces even wanted to kill them, but they couldn't according to the law. And I'm trying to get over it, now with my therapist, but it's really hard, his body sometimes visits my nightmares and I…” The man shut himself up, and Clown saw how close he was to bursting into tears, and this time he really couldn't restrain the urge to hug the man, so he turned his body to him fully and wrapped his hands around the man tightly, almost too tight, but fortunately just right.

And the man didn't resist, he didn't pull away, quite the opposite, he leaned into his touch and wrapped his hands around Clown's torso, and placed his head on his shoulder, shaking from the cold a little less now because of Clown’s body temperature, instead shaking because of the memories that flooded his mind, breathing heavily, but still not crying, and Clown’s cheek met the side of the man's hat as they stood here for a minute or two, both of them calming down from remembering their traumatic experiences.

Clown patted his back after a little while, reluctantly pulling away himself as they were almost at his apartment and he didn't want the man to freeze further, and the man almost didn't give in, but regardlessly pulled away as reluctantly.

“Hey, I'm really, really sorry that happened to you, I'm sure he was the best man there is. May he rest in peace and always be remembered by his close ones,” Clown told the man, now understanding that he didn't even care if the man's husband was so dear to him, he'd rather see him happy than get the chance to date him.

“He will be remembered, that's for sure,” the corners of the other man’s mouth twitched and it became the genuine smile Clown had grown to like so much in the last few hours, “but you might just be winning over his place, if I'm being honest. Seriously.”

Clown brows flew up, and despite everything, joy filled his heart, he mimicked the man's expression, but still said, feeling wrong having heard the words, “Well, I wouldn't jump to conclusions yet, but thanks. I'm really flattered,” he looked the man into his eyes, mostly joy, but a speck of guilt in them, too.

“Yeah, you're right. But I was just telling the truth,” he chuckled.

“Uh-huh, whatever. May I ask, how did your mother react?” Clown saw the man's face contort again, but more in disgust this time.

“Certainly not how I expected her to, to be honest,” the other man frowned, “she told me that “she gave me her condolences, but didn't see a huge problem in it”, implying that he was gay and all. And I didn't expect that, but I instantly snapped, asking her if maybe she would be happy if I also died, too. My father took my side, and I think that's when our family’s big arguments started to erupt,” it was visible that he blamed himself for this, and Clown wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that it would've happened anyway when such differences appeared in a relationship, but didn't dare interrupt the man, “they got divorced after a few months since it began, and I'm not really in touch with my mum anymore,” and again, it was obvious that this fact hurt the man, but Clown didn't know how to help him besides just being here.

He wanted to take the man's hand, squeeze it, do something, but that would require taking it out of his pocket, and Clown didn't want him to get colder nor to invade his privacy, so he cast a mournful look his way, and could only let out at the very last “That's not your fault, don't… don't accuse yourself of things you didn't do.”

The other man returned his look, and even if for a bit, it seemed that it did reassure him.

“My mum never actually traumatised me before this case, she had some wrong, at least in my opinion, beliefs, but my dad was always there to talk about the topics she considered to be taboo, unacceptable or explain why her point of view was intolerant or just straight up rude,” he added and Clown nodded, glad the man’s mother didn't have such an impact on his life as he thought at first.

“Your dad seems like a nice person, I would like to meet him one day,” Clown smiled.

“He is!” The man exclaimed excitedly, returning the smile, “your family seems nice too,” Clown didn't answer anything and just nodded again, already imagining how the day when the other man would meet his parents and his sister could go.

“Wait…” the man slowly turned his head Clown’s way, already with a dramatic expression, “You already want to meet my parents? Jeez, take me out to dinner first!”

“Says who,” Clown rolled his eyes teasingly, “you just implied the same thing, so you have to take me to dinner, too!”

“Works for me,” the man shot back nonchalantly, his cheeks burning not only from the cold.

“Well, but it's my turn since I asked first, so you're not escaping me,” Clown retorted.

“Oh no, what a pity,” the man pretended to fall unconscious, and Clown’s hand flew to his rear back, catching him mid-air like in these cliché romantic movies.

“You didn't think I'd actually fall, did you?” The man's cheeks seemed to grow even redder than they were before, now obvious that it wasn't the cold that made them gain more of this colour, “Good reflexes, though.”

Clown straightened them both upwards, wiggling his brows, as if he was making a wave, in a joking manner, “But you already fell for me, didn't you? I'm just making sure you don't get hurt," he smirked and his hand flew up, pointing at the apartment complex, “that's me.”

“Finally! It seemed like we were walking for ages,” the man let out an exhausted sigh.

“It's actually a ten-minute walk from the town's square to my place, we were just a bit slow, my fault again, sorry, we went here because you were cold in the first place and I just kept you like that for longer, I didn't want to rush you” he apologised again.

Clown opened the metal door with a pin code, entering the apartment block and letting the other man in. They walked up the stairs to the third floor, facing a beautiful wreath that hung around the metallic digits ‘C1’, this time a wooden door that seemed very strong, and Clown opened the two locks with his keys, only the sound of them clinking against each other filling the air.

They walked into the flat, Clown locking the door, also realising he didn’t turn off the garlands, only his main lights when heading out, thinking he wouldn’t be away for so long and when he turned around he saw the other man just standing in the middle of the entrance hall that shone and bathed in the Christmas lights and accessories, but yet harmonised with the surroundings so well. Their artificial rays hit the laminated wooden floor, the wood being maple, and the soft yellow walls complemented it so well.

The man seemed to be so astonished by what unravelled before his eyes as they were wide open, just as his mouth, and Clown almost wanted to tell him to pick up his jaw from the floor.

Instead, he stood beside him, and after a moment asked, “You like it?”

“Of course I do!” The man’s head turned to look at him, portraying a surprised expression, “Are you a designer or something?”

“No, I’m not, but I really like decorating,” Clown answered, taking his coat off, revealing a red sweater, all covered in brown deer and tapping the other man on his shoulder, him getting the clue, taking off his outerwear, revealing a sweater of his own, black with knitted garlands all over it, and handing his down jacket for Clown to hang it on the other hook.

The two men took off their shoes and hats, and both beanies were covered in snow just as their hair was. Clown shook his head to get the snowflakes off of it, the man in front of him opting to ruffle his hair instead, and Clown caught himself thinking how much he would’ve liked to ruffle these curls, too.

“I’m gonna go hang our hats and my scarf on the dryer in the bathroom, wash your hands either in the kitchen or the said bathroom, and make yourself at home,” he told the other man, heading off to one of the two rooms to his right, unwrapping his neck from the grasp of the scarf, hanging it with the hats on the said dryer, washing his own hands and fixing his hair, looking in the mirror.

He headed out and found the man in his spacey kitchen, drawers and cabinets going along the two walls from the corner, and the man stood awkwardly beside the sink, seemingly lost, and he cast a quick glance at Clown when he heard his steps, almost instantly returning the gaze to the sink.

“Hey, uhm, I’m awfully sorry for the stupid question, but… how do you turn on water here?” he asked sheepishly, still not looking at Clown.

Clown smiled, “It’s okay,” he reassured the man, “you just pull at this cylindrical thingy,” the water started flowing, “and turn it counterclockwise for warmer water, and clockwise for colder respectively. Try yourself”

He watched the man wash his hands, standing to his left and when the man finished, Clown pointed at a towel that hung on the wall under the drawer behind the tap, and when the hands were dried off he turned to Clown with the entirety of his body and froze just like on the street.

Clown kept simply smiling while the man before him studied his face to its full extent, the parts that were previously concealed by the scarf, the other’s eyelashes batting, his gaze running all around Clown’s features, a few times stopping at his lips, but never quite staying on them.

“You’re really beautiful,” the man blurted out, his cheeks still red from the coldness of the street and became even redder as he instantly started to stammer and stutter, flailing his hands, clearly nervous, at some point stopping himself, “whatever, I mean it anyway.”

Clown’s usual smile shifted to a shy one, and he didn’t even try hiding his blush, his cheeks red from the walk too, and he blinked once, twice, and then answered quietly, “thank you. You’re gorgeous yourself.”

The man blushed even more if it was even possible, the flushed tips of his ears standing out amongst his snow-white hair, and his grey eyes unwaveringly stared into Clown’s hazel ones, and Clown felt as if these eyes reached deeper, took his soul and cradled it, carefully showering in the silver of its own, kissed it and treated like fine porcelain, never wanting to let go.

And he stared back.

After a few moments, the man’s hand flew up, and he neared it to Clown’s cheek, and the owner asked, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” was Clown’s answer and he thought he’d melt into a puddle when a cold palm touched his lukewarm cheek, and he leaned it, and it paid off as the hand caressed it, and they just kept staring at each other.

The man took a small step forward, and the side of his head fell on Clown’s chest, the hand travelled to the back of his head and tangled its fingers in his black curls, the other hand finding its place on his back, and Clown’s chin rested up on the man’s head, and Clown himself mirrored the torso position, one hand holding the man closely by his back, other hand getting lost in the white hair, and he couldn’t help but relish in how soft it was, gently untying a few knots his roaming hand stumbled upon, and somewhere in the moment of it he caught a whiff of lavender shampoo combined with the remaining freshness from the street, and Clown buried his nose in the hair, settling on staying in this position and not wanting to ever pull away.

The other man moved his hand up his hair, too, hesitantly at first, then more confidently, twirling and untangling each of Clown’s curls individually.

And for over ten minutes, or maybe even longer, no one was counting, neither of them made any moves to part, only occasionally shifting to make the position more comfortable, from time to time starting to run the hands on each other’s backs in circles.

Oddly enough, Clown was enjoying it very much. Usually, the hug would get awkward after a minute or so with most people, but this man certainly wasn’t most people. And Clown, having only hugged a few relatives on Christmas during probably the entirety of fall and December, wanted to drown in the feeling and never be found.

Unfortunately, eventually, the moment to pull apart came, and the other’s face, specifically the side that was against Clown's chest, looked like he had just woken up after a nap.

“Sorry,” the man mumbled guiltily, “I just haven’t had any normal human touch in a long time, and you look very huggable, like a teddy bear.”

Clown chuckled, this man is frankly adorable, “I get that a lot. No worries, though, I’m a bit touch-starved, too. Sssooo,” Clown drawled, “how about that cocoa?”

“That would be nice,” the man smiled, sitting down on one of the chairs at the table that still had some meals on it, and oohed, “Did you cook all that by yourself?”

Clown, who was now taking the ingredients for cocoa out, looked over his shoulder at the table, “Oh, that. Yes, why?”

“It looks very fancy, but there’s not a lot and it looks like it hasn't even been touched,” the man averted his gaze from the food to Clown, who just finished taking out the requirements and leaned on the counter near the stove with his back against it.

“Everything’s right. I like cooking, so I decided to make my favourite New Year Eve’s meals, most of them are my mum’s recipes,” he pointed at the burger-like meal, “Pull-apart meatball sliders,” his finger shifted to the left, long bread sticks, “Cheese Straws,” to the right, something nuggets alike, “Popcorn Shrimp,” the only plate remained, the biggest one, “my absolute favourite, Homemade Crisps. I often make them just like snacks, but shhh,” he pressed his index finger to his lips, “tell no one.”

The man giggled, copying the movement and tapping the finger a few times on his own lips, voice lowering to a whisper, “I won’t.”

“Well,” Clown continued, “I knew I would be spending New Year alone, so I tried not to go wild, only cooking a few to avoid dying of hunger, but I didn’t,” he winced, “didn’t really want to eat, kind of lost my appetite.”

“You must be hungry then!” the man exclaimed, and Clown noted as a warm feeling bloomed in his chest, with worry in his voice.

“Nah, I’m okay,” Clown reassured, and until this moment, he really hasn't been thinking about food much, “Anyways, which type of chocolate do you like more?”

The man thought for a bit, now tapping on his chin “Milk, probably. Why?”

“Need it for the cocoa,” Clown explained, opening one milk chocolate bar, not very big, but big enough to make the drink for two people, “and would you like it more liquidy or thick?”

“I usually drink liquids, not food,” the man answered jokingly, “so the first one.”

With that, Clown took everything he needed and placed it on the table, hovering over it. He could’ve done the cooking on the counter, but they still only knew each other for a few hours, and even knowing the man wouldn’t suspect him of anything, he still wanted to assure him he wasn’t adding anything to the drink.

He took one of his wooden chopping boards and with a sharp knife shredded the chocolate bar into uneven big and small chunks as it didn’t really matter what size they were. He swooped them into a saucepan, and into the same saucepan went a cinnamon stick, some brown sugar, four or five cardamom pods and it was topped off with regular cow’s milk.

Turning off the stove and adjusting the heat to low, he left the mix to steep.

The man was watching him the whole time silently, seemingly enjoying the process, and when Clown leaned on the side of the counter again, he hesitated a bit before speaking up, “Hey, uhm…” Clown tilted his head, showing that he was listening, “I, uh, when I tried to wash my hands I actually wanted to call for you and just ask without you coming closer how to do it, but I realised,” he bashfully looked Clown in the eyes, his own had been darting all around the room, not quite landing on Clown until this moment, “I realised I never got your name?”

Seeing as the man shyly tilted his head, his fingers twirling and twisting against each other, Clown couldn’t hold back and burst laughing wholeheartedly.

The man looked at him, confused, but started smiling slightly himself. Finally, Clown answered, “Sorry, I just…” he giggled again, “You seem so nervous like I know your name,” the man blinked at him, bewildered, “we never introduced ourselves,” Clown elaborated.

“Oh…” the man’s shoulders untensed, “well, I was scared I just forgot! I’m not always good with names.”

The other smiled understandingly, “Clown,” he extended his hand for the man to shake.

The man stood up from his seat and neared him, eyeing the hand, then returning his gaze to Clown again. “I’m Branzy,” he said, quieter than usual, and almost brought up his hand for the handshake, before dashing into Clown and lacing his hands around his torso again, “It’s nice to meet you, Clown. Really, really nice,” was mumbled against Clon’s collarbones.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Branzy.” Clown answered, a bit surprised, but pleased nonetheless, and he draped his hands over Branzy’s shoulders, returning the hug.

This hug wasn’t as lasting as the other since they parted after a minute or two, but it still made Clown’s heart twist and his hands itch for more physical contact.

When the needed ten minutes passed, the two men not doing anything in particular while the time went, Clown took the milk yet again, grabbing a spoon along the way, pouring the liquid and stirring it with the brewed beverage.

He turned off the stove and took out two big mugs, one made to look like a reindeer, the other like Santa and poured the drink into them.

“I’m assuming you want the one with Santa?” He offered it to Branzy, who took it.

“I don’t really care, they’re both cool,” he smiled in response.

“What do you think about moving to the couch in the living room? It would have much more of this warm New Year atmosphere, or I don’t know… I just think it would be more comfortable,” Clown suggested.

“Yeah, why not,” Branzy shrugged, and they exited the kitchen that shifted into a corridor, passed two doors - Clown’s bedroom and office - and entered the living room that had even more free space than the kitchen - Clown hated when it was cramped so you could barely walk among all the furniture.

And, obviously, the living room was once again beautifully decorated. In the corner stood his own Christmas tree, mostly red and black toys hanging off of it, and a yellow garland that complemented the dark colours. Here and there in the room could be seen fake candles, before the TV, on the coffee table, and on it also stood a bowl of cones, cinnamon sticks and dried oranges. On the shelf there was a small white house, glowing from the inside of it could be seen, and cute little deers made from garlands too.

Branzy sat down on the couch, tucking his legs halfway under himself, looking around in awe, and Clown took a wool blanket from the back of the couch, sitting down as well. He unfolded it and covered both pairs of their legs, undoubtedly giving Branzy more of it.

Branzy, seeing this, frowned slightly, “You’re like a whole meter away from me!”

“I didn’t want to invade your personal space!” Clown retaliated back, telling the truth.

Branzy let out a “tsk”, looking at him with exasperated puppy eyes and making a grabby hand with the one that wasn’t busy holding the mug, “I’m glad that you’re considerate, but I think to make the atmosphere fully New Yearish, it would require some cuddles or at least being at each other’s side.”

At that, Clown scoffed, pink dusting his cheeks, but moved closer nonetheless. Their laps touched, just like their arms, and that seemed to satisfy Branzy enough, who sipped some of his hot cocoa from the mug and let out a surprised sound.

“Woah, you and your dad are truly wizards, did you know that?” he turned his head to look at Clown, who just smiled shyly in response, sipping some of his own drink.

They just sat there in silence, drinking and enjoying, and at some point, Branzy leaned his head on Clown’s shoulder, and the other went rigid for a moment, relaxing on the next, and then hooking his hand around Branzy, landing on his upper arm. The other just shifted closer and kept drinking.

The moment was truly charming, if Clown was being honest. With Christmas lights all around them, the warmth from the blanket and the cocoa, it seemed that the last touch was Branzy himself as this exact warmth filled his body from the inside, getting everywhere, not missing a spot.

And it seemed so stupid he had kept himself away from similar warmth all year, always working from home and practically never showing up to his friends’ gatherings. He scoffed.

“What?” Branzy looked up at him, mirth in his voice.

“Nothing, nothing…” he lowered his gaze, “I’m just thinking what a fool I’ve been.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Branzy raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I just kind of fell out of life when my girlfriend broke up with me,” he scrunched his nose, “I really loved her and when your loved one tells you everything she had said to me that night… It broke me so much more than I would’ve thought.”

“What did she say?” Branzy asked carefully, and when Clown didn’t answer straight away, he added, “If you’re okay telling, of course.”

“I won’t go into details,” Clown winced further, staring into nothingness, eyes unfocused, “but basically that I was a fucking loser, in, well, everything. Dumb for believing someone like her would ever love me, followed by a very nice description of why I was such a failure, and thus why I didn’t deserve anything I had,” Clown sighed.

Branzy placed his hand on Clown’s bicep and squeezed it lightly, looking at him, sympathy in his eyes.

“Not only was she a cheater, but a bloody liar too!” Branzy spat out, desperate, fury peeking in his voice.

“And also manipulative and abusive, I just never noticed. I sometimes caught onto some red flags, but, y’know, no one’s perfect, I never had a person like that in my close circle, and she always made me feel like I was worse than her, so how could I not let it slide? I am obviously blind too, she said she’s been cheating for more than like, seven months or something, and the whole time I was so naïve to think I was just imagining things…” he ran a hand across his face and dug it into his hair, tugging on it and letting go.

“And I’m just thinking now,” he chuckled meekly, “what a clown I’ve been all this year. I didn’t talk to anyone about it, didn’t go out with my friends and family, because the thought about “no one caring” and “not deserving it” always nagged somewhere deep in me, where I couldn’t reach and take it out myself.”

He cast a bitter smile Branzy’s way and saw his pitiful eyes again, and the man said, “It’s not your fault, Clown. Some people are just assholes, and it's good she at least threw herself out like the piece of trash she is. Who knows for how long it would’ve kept going on otherwise.”

Clown just nodded at that, casting his gaze away, and when after a moment he returned it to Branzy, a lot of unmistakable fondness appeared in it, and he looked the man directly in the eyes with this warmth before saying, “You know, Branzy, I think you make me feel like I deserve everything I had before again.”

His forehead fell against Branzy’s shoulder, and the man threaded his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly, “That’s how it should be. I’m glad to admit that you, in return, make me feel like I can finally move on.” And Branzy bowed his head and left a small kiss on Clown’s neck, and Clown felt like his whole body just turned to jelly.

After a minute or two Clown shifted and thought for a second, then laying his head on Branzy’s lap, looking up at him and extending his legs so they rested on the couch’s arm.

“Is this okay?” he asked and Branzy nodded, letting his hand tangle in Clown’s hair again, continuing where he left off.

“Yea,” the other breathed out, looking down at him and obviously enjoying what was going on.

“Do you mind if I put on some music? I’m curious about your taste,” Clown asked again, and Branzy shook his head.

“Not at all, go on, it’ll be fun,” so Clown took out his phone and opened his winter holidays playlist, connecting to one of the speakers near the TV. There weren’t necessarily all Christmas songs, some of them sure were, others being just ones Clown enjoyed doing household chores to.

They listened to the songs, chattered, and Branzy seemed to like Clown’s taste, occasionally making remarks about some tracks, commenting about others he liked that shared the same style, genre or artist.

At some point, a song started playing. Not just any song, but Carol of the Bells - the one Clown performed his first show in a figure skating competition, which he won, and since it held a special place in his heart.

“That’s my favourite melody!” he exclaimed.

In no time, he jumped up to his feet, and held out his hand for Branzy to take, “Let’s dance!”

“I can’t dance!” Branzy exclaimed in response over the music, the volume of which Clown upped a bit, but even with said words already standing up and taking the hand.

“Just follow my lead!” Clown answered, leading Branzy to the empty space of the room, his hand landing on Branzy’s waist, the man gripping his shoulder, and they locked their free hands.

By the time the first violin part came in, they had already fallen into a pattern.

Starting with small steps back and forth, it evolved into waltz movements. Soon, they were dancing in circles, each action fluid, flowing into the other’s motions as they manoeuvred around each other, leaning in and out, Clown twirling Branzy, sometimes even effortlessly lifting him up in the air and spinning around like he weighed nothing.

And despite claiming otherwise, Branzy was a surprisingly good dancing partner.

As the last notes rang out, Clown flushed Branzy halfway against his chest and dipped him, and the other gasped, startled, and giggled as Clown held him arched back for a few seconds, then straightening him upright, his hair messed up.

The next song emerged from the speakers, and they slowed down a bit, still holding their initial dancing position, now just waltzing around.

And when Clown heard the lyrics, he couldn't not repeat them quietly.

“I know they're thinking, “You're too mean, I don't like you, fuck you, anyway, you make me wanna scream at the top of my lungs, it hurts but, I won't fight you, you suck, anyway,” you make me want to die, right when I, when I wake up, I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place,” was murmured along with the song, and he didn’t notice anything around, even Branzy’s compassionate gaze, “When I wake up, I'm afraid, somebody else might end up being me.”

“Being me can only mean feeling scared to breathe,” Clown only recognised it when at the last bridge he focused his eyes on Branzy’s, and as the song said, he did too, “And if you leave me, then I'll be afraid of everything.”

“I never will,” Branzy answered, even quieter, almost inaudible, but Clown caught on, a careful smile appearing on his face.

The smile remained as careful, too, when the next song started playing, and Clown mouthed the intro to it, looking Branzy directly in the eyes, “I think I, I think I finally,” his breath hitched, “Found a way to forgive myself, for the mistakes I made in my past, I think that's the first step, right? You agree?”

Branzy just nodded, a smile painting his face just like Clown’s, and for the rest of the track they just stayed silent, dancing and looking at each other.

But when the next song kicked in, it appeared to be Branzy’s turn.

“Where have you been? Do you know when you're coming back? 'Cause since you've been gone I've got along but I've been sad,” he mumbled, staring somewhere behind Clown’s shoulder like he was talking to someone who stood there, and it seemed like he was after all, most likely remembering his husband, “I tried to put it out for you to get, could've, should've but you never did… But it's a chore for you to give”

And it was Clown’s turn to look at him pitifully, because in no world could he imagine what would he feel if he lost someone so close, so dear to him this way, to see them dead, without a hint of the lifeful eyes he loved so much.

“We were too close to the stars, I never knew somebody like you,” Branzy continued, but now his stare shifted to Clown, “Until I met you today, Clown. Maybe it's a blessing in disguise…”

Clown could only smile and bring Branzy a little closer by his waist.

“I know you're sick, hoping you fix whatever's broken, ignorant bliss and a few sips might be the potion,” was whispered into the music-filled air and Clown didn’t even want to imagine Branzy in the state he was implying he was in.

Branzy’s eyes unfocused again as he mumbled the last bridge, reversed to what happened when Clown was singing, “So close, so close, yet so far away, I don't know how to be solo, so don't go, oh, no, just stay,” they focused for a moment on these words on Clown again, going to their previous state after, “you and I were bright, shooting through the sky daily.”

The last chorus and the outro played, the next song filled the air yet again, and the guitar intro of it was so soft as if it sensed their mood, and they slowed down even more.

“You’re so much more than gorgeous,” the singer addressed to someone they will never know, and they simultaneously addressed it to each other, hoping they’ll know the person before them like themselves one day.

“Right now I know that I'm not really worth it, if you give me time, I could work on it,” Clown continued guiltily.

“I would’ve given you all the time in the world, but you do already worth it,” Branzy answered, ignoring the rest of the lyrics that were now sounding out, instead opting to hook both his hands around Clown’s neck as the other had to give his hand that fell when Branzy let go of it a place on the other side of Branzy’s waist, opposite from the one he was already holding.

That brought them even closer as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes, fondness evident in both their gazes, and each of them found something they’d been missing for a long time in this moment.

The next song enveloped the surroundings, and there couldn’t have been a better choice even if they picked it manually.

“And if it's right, I don't care how long it takes, as long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face,” they hummed along, and Clown bumped his forehead against Branzy’s, “Save your tears, it'll be okay, all I know is you're here with me.”

For the rest of the song they just swayed together, softly and slowly. And their faces were so close to each other that Clown could see Branzy’s barely visible freckles, and Clown’s long lashes could almost reach Branzy’s, and their lips could almost touch as their breaths mangled in one.

Ironically, the next song that turned on was “Sway”, so they did, recreating their first dance, the same moves, but the movement wasn’t as energetic, tender instead, but it still took their breaths away, only for a bit.

As the epic ending rang out, Clown twirled and dipped Branzy for the last time, before falling onto the couch from its back, rolling down and tugging Branzy with him, and he was even a bit surprised none of the three fell over, including the couch.

They lay for a moment, then sitting up apart from each other.

“Phew,” Branzy exhaled, “that was honestly amazing!”

“Yeah, and,” Clown raised his finger as if pointing at something, “I’m even more surprised they aligned the way they did.”

“True! Considering that you listen to a lot of rock and metal, that is a miracle of some kind for sure,” Branzy wiped the almost nonexistent sweat from his forehead, “after all that dancing I’m feeling kinda…” Branzy shook his head and got up, “uh, no, never mind.”

“What? No, go on, what’s up? You know you can tell me if you want,” Clown caught his hand and lightly tugged Branzy towards himself.

“Uhm, well,” Branzy hesitated, plumping back on the couch after a moment, “I was gonna tell I started feeling a bit hungry, but… Wouldn’t it be quite rude? You took me to your house, made me the best cocoa I’ve ever drank in my life, warmed me up with it and your kindness in addition, and now I’m asking to eat your food? I feel like I overstayed my welcome.”

Clown answered by reaching his hand and rubbing Branzy’s back with slight motions, “I think you’ll always be welcomed in this place, so you can’t overuse something infinite, am I right?” he chuckled, “and if you want to, you can try anything you’d like. I won’t eat all of it myself anyway, so why not give some to you? Plus, you can make a review on it and I’ll know what flaws I should work on,” he finished with a flourish, the Italian three fingers gesture.

“I’m confident it doesn't have any,” Branzy smiled, seemingly considering the opportunity, “are you sure, though? I wouldn’t want to be burdening you”

“Even if you will be burdening me, that will be with how considerate, nice and pretty you are,” Clown giggled, and Branzy’s face was covered in blush in no time, “but I’m sure that this will be a pleasure,” Clown concluded, meaning both the burdening and having a meal with Branzy.

“Oh, o-okay,” Branzy fumbled with words, and Clown added, not wanting to pressure him into anything, getting nervous himself, “but, uhm, sorry, I mean, if you just want to go home that’s totally fine too, I just… I assumed you only told me the main problems that were bothering you, but maybe you want to just get some rest by yourself, so…”

“Clown,” Branzy interrupted, “I will be more than happy to stay. My bed has been so cold ever since my husband died,” he swallowed, “and I won’t bear coming back there after such a warm night.”

Clown took his hand and squeezed it, answering almost in a whisper, “Yeah, I feel you. I don’t want to be alone tonight either,” he cleared his throat and pushed himself to his feet, “Let’s go, then.”

And just like that, hand in hand they went to the kitchen and sat down, until Clown jumped from his seat again, “Oh, but I completely forgot, they’re cold, I need to reheat them or something.”

He did so, quickly putting the meals on a tray in the oven he didn’t take out after making them, and they waited for a few minutes before he returned them to the plates, messier than they were before, but still as appealing.

Branzy’s hand hovered a moment above the food before he took the burger-like meatball slider. He took a bite out of it and his eyes lit up.

“This is so good!” he exclaimed, “You’re genuinely a good cook!”

“Stop,” Clown drawled, still amused, “I’m glad you like it,” he added in a more serious, fond tone.

Branzy just chuckled and kept eating, and when he got to the cheese straws, after having a first taste of them, he exclaimed again, “These are just like the ones my husband made! He was a very good cook, too,” he started rambling excitedly, and Clown’s heart twitched, but the man was so happy talking he couldn’t ruin his smile, so he smiled himself, ”he made the best Cracked chocolate marble cookies, when I tried them on the first Christmas we spent as a couple I almost begged him to make more, you should honestly make them, I’m sure they’ll come out delicious!”

“I’m always up for a new recipe,” Clown answered, and his tone softened when he added, “Anything you want, sunshine.”

Branzy looked at him, and it seemed like something melted in his eyes at the nickname, and Clown thought the smile in them could melt all the snow outside. After a moment Branzy got to consuming cheese straws again, and Clown couldn’t help but admire.

After a few of the sticks and a bit of Clown’s hesitation, he asked sheepishly, his voice small, careful even, as if he didn’t want to scare off a wild animal, “Do I remind you of him?”

“What?” Branzy sharply turned his head towards him, and Clown received a confused glance.

“Do I remind you of your husband?” Clown repeated, even more embarrassed with his question.

“Well,” Branzy thought for a bit, “I mean, of course you do!” Clown’s heart tugged him somewhere deep, like trying to drown him, “You’re both nice, kind, gentle, sensitive and sensible, professionals at what you do, good cooks, good at your other hobbies - yeah, I can tell from the dancing,” he cast a smile Clown’s way, “and lastly… I enjoy your company as much as I enjoyed his.”

That wasn’t the answer Clown was expecting to get, “oh, wow…” he mumbled and averted his gaze.

“I’m sorry, I’m terribly sorry I asked in the first place,” Clown apologised guiltily after a moment of silence, his voice wavering, “I just, I can tell you’re still in love with him and I don’t want to rush you because I understand that accepting the death of a life-long friend is an extremely difficult and time-consuming process, and I don’t want to be the one irritating your wound, don’t want to pour salt on it, and I…” he buried his face in his hands, “I feel wrong wanting to receive any affection from you and I feel so selfish for it, and I just…” his voice cut off and he felt like tears started welling up on his eyes, and he desperately tried to stop them.

He heard clothes rustling, but didn’t dare to peek through the fingers that covered his eyes until he felt a careful hand land on one of his, and it took it away from his face, fingers intertwining as the hands settled on the table.

“Clown, could you please look at me for a moment?” the soft voice beside him asked, and after a second of hesitation he obliged, and was met with probably the most sympathetic gaze in his life, and it took him an ungodly amount of effort not to start sobbing.

“I just want you to know that you deserve every piece of affection I have left in me,” Branzy started, “but I’m one hundred percent will be sometimes bringing up my husband in conversations, because, as you said,” he chuckled, “he has been a friend of mine for a long, long time. But I’m not in love with him,” Clown blinked at him, confused, “because I’m in love with the memories I made with him, dummy,” Branzy explained, admiration in his voice.

“But I don’t like the gnawing feeling of them flooding my every single day, because it hurts even more,” his breath hitched and the man almost started crying himself, but still continued, “And as I’ve said, you’re the one to help me move on, and I haven’t been this happy for over two years. And you’re not there just to allow me to let go, but, as I’ve also said, you’re winning over his place and doing this easier than I could’ve ever expected someone to. And it’s also for the reason that while I can notice many similarities, you’re also different in many ways, and I can already see it.”

Branzy took a break to breathe in and out before continuing his speech, “And while we can wonder what would have happened if he didn’t die, or if your girlfriend didn’t break up with you, or any other possibilities that could’ve occurred in the place of ones that did occur, we have to live in the present, Clown, and I am so content to be living out this moment with you and no one else.”

One tear did spill from Clown’s eye and he quickly wiped it, moving his stare to their holding hands, “I’m sorry,” was the only thing he could choke out.

Branzy pulled him into a hug, a bit awkward one as they still sat in the chairs beside each other, but it was a hug nonetheless, and Clown leaned into it, “It’s okay, Clown, I promise.”

They parted and Clown nodded, “Thank you, Branzy. I really can’t put into words what that means to me,” he let out a breath he didn’t know was holding, “and I just hope I will be able to brighten up your day and make it as unforgettable as I can. I am really content to be spending this moment with you, too.”

“I would’ve been even more content if you would eat something!” he heard a teasing, yet soft voice and his eyes darted back to Branzy, blinking and staring guiltily from under his eyelashes, “don’t think I didn’t notice!”

“I told you I lost my appetite!” Clown shot back, his cheerlessness quickly going away.

“Well, you should’ve gained it back after all this dancing around,” Branzy got up from his chair, “I’m gonna get us some forks so we can try your incredible snack potato,” he stopped in his tracks when he realised he didn’t know where to get them, turned his head to Clown and blinked at him sheepishly.

Clown could only laugh teasingly in return, “Top drawer to the left from the stove,” he pointed, and Branzy immediately got them two forks, trotting to his seat.

Clown looked at him, amused, and Branzy breathed out, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Clown retaliated, while Branzy shoved a fork in his hands.

“Eat or I will leave,” Branzy threatened jokingly.

“You won’t, you like me too much,” Clown shot back.

“Then I’ll call the police and tell them I’m being held hostage…” Branzy came up with a new plan, but then blinked, “Oh, well, you’re right, I do…”

“See, the same problem,” Clown’s smile remained on his face as he flicked Branzy’s nose.

“You might also know, I know a lot about law…” Branzy waggled his finger jokingly, scolding, “More than a decade of my husband’s rambling didn’t go to waste, you understand.”

“So what does that mean? You’re going to get me imprisoned if I’m bad and misbehaved?” Clown joked back.

“No,” Branzy answered lightly, “but that does mean that you won’t get away without serving your life-mattering duty and finally eating.”

“I feel like I’m the one being held hostage in this case…” Clown let out, but impaled one baked potato nonetheless.

Branzy just smiled at that, and at last, both did eat.

After consuming more than ten crisps each, Branzy mumbled, “I’m really glad we had that talk, because I knew that sooner or later you’d ask the question. But I couldn’t imagine that you blame yourself for just wanting simple affection.”

“Well, I just feel like it’s not that important,” Clown confessed, “There’s you, mourning over your husband, who’s been your best friend all your life, and there’s me, rambling about some measly complaints and uncertainties,” he sighed, “and I understand that friendships and relationships are all about communication, but, as I said, that feels so selfish regardless. Because I feel like you have to be the one telling me how bad you feel, not the other way round.”

“Selfish? How much?”, Branzy giggled, “Sorry, my jokes are awful.”

Clown just smiled, “No, I like them, it’s okay.”

“So, what I wanted to say is… Please talk to me if you’re concerned about something, even if it’s not regarding me, and ask me about anything you want to know. Never underestimate your problems and don’t compare them to what other people are dealing with,” Branzy said, tone serious now, “I have been working with a therapist for a month and a half, I think, but that’s what helped me get my thoughts in order,” a shameful smile appeared on his face, “and I don’t fall into a babbling and sobbing mess as often.”

This time Clown didn't have to even think about restraining himself from pulling the man into a hug, Branzy’s chin landed on his shoulder, and Clown felt his grip on his sweater, and it was so strong it seemed like for Branzy it was the only tether to this world, so he held onto it as tight as he could.

“I just wish we met earlier,” Clown murmured, “because not having anyone in these moments is the worst.”

Branzy nodded slightly, and Clown more felt it than saw it, “Yes,” he breathed out, “can I come to you when I’m feeling down?” he asked the question almost silently, as if not wanting Clown to hear it, and Clown’s heart tugged when he did.

“Please do,” Clown answered, “seeing you upset hurts me, but it’ll hurt even more knowing that you’re out there in sorrow with no one here to console you.”

With these words, Clown pressed a kiss to Branzy’s temple and Branzy hummed, his hands clutching Clown’s sweater one last time before he pulled away.

And after moments like these, it was always hard to change the flow of the conversation into a more casual or cheerful one, but Clown just leaned his head on his hand, elbow on the table propping it up and stared at Branzy for a second before asking, “So, are you full yet?”

“Sure am!” Branzy caught the flow quickly, “but are you, mister?” he asked teasingly.

“Well, uhm, I wasn’t planning…” Clown stammered in response, searching for words.

“I made my point,” Branzy tapped his fingers on the table a few times, “either you eat one pull-apart meatball slider or I’m not moving.”

“Not even for a hug?” Clown pouted.

“Not even for a hug. You ain’t bribin’ me,” Branzy said, intertwining his fingers as if he were a CEO at a company meeting, fixing his gaze on Clown.

“You’re rude,” Clown said with fake offence, cracking a smile and trying to conceal it by taking one burger and sinking his teeth into it.

While Clown ate, it was Branzy’s turn to look at him with an amused expression, his head tilted to the side.

“Done. Are you satisfied now?” Clown asked when he finished his meal, exasperation in his voice, but the smile still on his face, and Branzy nodded before Clown proposed, “Uhm, would you maybe want to watch a movie?”

“Wouldn’t be against this idea!” Branzy jumped to his feet excitedly and Clown’s smile only grew as he stood up too, “I’ll take the cheese straws though, if that’s okay? They’re amazing!”

“They’re a good snack, too, so if you want, sure,” Clown shrugged, “what’s your opinion on Home Alone? Which one from the franchise is your favourite?”

“Oooh, love it!” Branzy exclaimed as they made their way to the living room again, “I really like the third one, the parents don’t just forget their kid at home, but don’t believe him for a reason and all.”

“That’s my favourite too!” Clown said, plopping down on the couch, Branzy taking a seat beside him and placing the plate on the coffee table where two empty mugs from before sat.

“So we’re watching that one, it was decided by fate,” Branzy giggled and Clown quickly logged onto his Netflix account and put the film on.

As it started playing, Clown put the blanket on their legs again and hooked his hand around Branzy to let it dig into his hair, the recipient of the gesture just sighed contently. It wasn’t long before Branzy leaned his head on Clown’s shoulder, but the latter didn’t complain, instead landing his cheek on the side of Branzy’s head.

After a small while, Branzy stretched his legs onto the couch, slipping them away from the blanket and shifting so the back of his head was against Clown’s chest.

And at first, Clown didn’t have a problem with it, but when Branzy had to return his head to its place because it started sliding down for the fourth time, he asked, his voice soft and quiet, “You want to lie down? Yeah?” Branzy silently nodded, looking up at him.

So they weren’t even halfway into the movie when they shifted, Clown’s head on a cushion propped up by the left couch’s arm, Branzy laying on him, his head on Clown’s chest, his hands squeezing Clown in a half-hug as he couldn’t really push them further under him, their legs tangled, Clown’s arms wrapped around Branzy’s torso under the blanket, that now covered Branzy’s body almost fully, but only reaching Clown’s waist, tucked all around them.

“Sorry, I have a bad neck, it gets tired quickly,” Branzy winced, popping the bones in it by turning his head left and right.

“It’s okay, do you want a massage or something?” Clown asked and Branzy shook his head a bit more intense.

“No, it’s fine, it just needs some rest I think,” he answered.

Clown hummed in confirmation, and they simply lay there almost until the end, watching the movie and laughing here and there.

When in the film the police came to arrest the two robbers stuck in the ice-cold pool and yelled ‘Freeze!’, Clown snorted, “That’s my sister’s favourite joke from it, and I kind of agree with her.”

“Yeah, the pun is well-delivered,” Branzy agreed, “just like the police well-delivered itself… whatever,” he chuckled, almost awkwardly.

Clown snorted and just ruffled Branzy’s hair affectionately.

When the film ended, he exited the full-screen mode, the time showing something around six in the morning, but they didn’t even notice.

“Up to watch the first part and rage at their irresponsibility?” Clown asked, yawning quietly.

“Always am,” Branzy shrugged, and before Clown could turn it on, he added, tired, but happy, “Thank you, Clown. Thank you for everything. I’m so glad I came up to that stranger near the Christmas tree on the town’s square.”

“I’m glad you did, too,” Clown pressed a kiss to Branzy’s forehead, “thank you, Branzy, for spending these amazing hours with me.”

Branzy just hummed joyfully and Clown put on the first Home Alone, a smile not slipping away from his lips.

After fifteen or so minutes into the movie he wanted to make a comment on it, so he looked down and noticed Branzy’s closed eyes, and after hearing his quiet steady breath he realised the man had fallen asleep.

“Well then,” he mumbled quietly, and, not wanting to wake the man up, just shifted so he was laying more comfortably and turned the TV off.

Honestly, the right thing to do would be to carry Branzy to Clown’s bed for a more comfortable sleep, but Clown was a weak man. Not literally, of course, picking Branzy up wouldn’t be a hard task, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure if Branzy would be okay with them sleeping in one bed, and he desperately didn’t want to let go of the warmth the man brought.

Besides, what if it stirs him awake? In no way did Clown want to disturb this peaceful and relaxed expression on Branzy’s face, a small, comfortable smile too.

So he just cuddled him closer, tucked the blanket even if it wasn’t needed, and relished in the feeling of being held, of someone so attractive, funny, beautiful, nice and just breathtakingly fascinating sleeping on his chest, and it warmed him not only literally, but metaphorically too.

And knowing the next day he was going to wake up with this exact person by his side, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, the smile never wiping from his face.