Archive of Our Own

“How does my ass look?”

Hilda, dressed up like a slutty Christmas elf , was bent over a giant candy cane in the middle of her apartment. The place had been decked out to look like Santa had a violent hangover and puked all over it. Glittering lights assaulted Claude’s eyes from every corner, and he was certain that he would never get all of the gold and red glitter out of his hair.

He wasn’t a huge fan of Christmas. It just wasn’t something his family celebrated growing up. In fact, he kind of resented Christmas, especially when he was younger, because it sucked watching all the other kids getting presents and doing fun Christmas-y stuff while he sat around and got beat up by his siblings all winter break.

The most exciting thing he’d ever done for the holidays was tag along with his aunts to local Christmas markets, where they set up stalls and sold handmade (and overpriced) tchotchkes to tourists. They hawked their goods as traditional Almyran Christmas fare.

“Ameh,” Claude would say, tilting his big eyes up at his aunties, “I thought Almyrans didn’t celebrate Christmas.”

His auntie would laugh and wink at him. “That doesn’t mean we can’t profit off of it, moosh.”

Present-day Claude tilted his head and squinted into his camera. “Pop it out just a liiiitle more…perfect!”

He adjusted the focus of his camera and pressed on the shutter button. It was an older model, but it still worked. It had been gifted to him by his parents when he graduated from journalism school. He could still recall when he first pulled the camera from its box—shiny and new and perfect— feeling like it was all he needed to one day change the world.

If only he knew that years later he’d be using it to take holiday-themed thirst trap photos for his best friend.

Hilda leaned over his shoulder and peered intently at the display on his camera. “Oooh, these are coming out so good! I told you you should start doing more photoshoots. You could make bank.”

“I capture authentic moments, Hilds,” said Claude. “That’s way different from taking photos for a Christmas party invite.”

“Well, you can capture how authentically great my tits look in this dress,” Hilda responded, waving her hands in front of her barely contained chest.

“You’re coming to the party, right?” she asked, flopping onto her couch and pulling a giant gingerbread-man shaped blanket over her.

“Uh,” he responded, avoiding eye contact by fiddling with his camera, “when is it again?”

She groaned and threw her hands up. “I told you the date like a month ago, Claude! It’s on the 12th. That’s why it’s 12 days of Christmas themed.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “You know how my schedule is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replied, burrowing deeper into her blanket. “You’re just gonna flake again.”

Claude pressed a hand against his chest in mock-offense. “Ouch. You really think so little of me?”

“You’ve literally missed my Christmas party every single year.”

“Hey, there was that one time! Remember? I wore the “jingle my balls” sweater? It was a huge hit.”

Hilda looked at him, her gaze sharp and accusatory. “You showed up two hours late and left after 20 minutes.”

“I was there for the toast! That’s what matters, right?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Hildaaa,” Claude began, “I’m really, genuinely sorry. I’ll try my best to make it this year.”

She sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “I get it, I do. You’re working hard to change the world like always. It’s just…it kinda sucks to feel like you’re constantly fighting for a tiny sliver of your best friend’s time.”

Claude frowned. She was right, of course. With his work schedule, it was almost impossible to squeeze in hang out time. The most they usually got was the occasional meme sent over text–and that was when Claude wasn’t too exhausted by work to think about anything else.

It was unfair to Hilda, who was ever loyal and supportive. Every rough breakup, every flat tire, every tiny, barely-attended photo exhibition—she was there.

“Listen,” Claude began, “I—”

His phone vibrated.

Hilda sighed. “Take it,” she said.

Claude peeked at his phone. It was his boss. He hesitated a moment before mouthing “thank you” to her and running off into the hallway to take the call.

“I need a new best friend,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

________________________

As a matter of fact, the call was from Claude’s boss. She sounded stressed. Well, she was never not stressed, but it seemed like it was more intense than her typical, everyday stress.

He liked to piss her off just the right amount when she was in a good mood, but Claude knew it was best not to piss her off when she was stressed stressed. So when she asked him to take on a story about a small town in the nearby mountains, he grit his teeth and agreed.

“It’s a slow time for hard-hitting news, kid,” she said over the phone. Claude could almost hear her clenching her teeth and rubbing her temples. “It won’t take long. Just pop over there for a couple hours, snap some pictures, and head home by the time the sun goes down.”

Oh, sure, he thought to himself, It sounds easy when you’re not the one driving by yourself for hours through the snowy mountain pass.

She was right, though. The holidays were slow times for news. If all she could give him was a fluffy, human interest piece about local holiday traditions, then so be it.

Within an hour after his boss called, he packed up his camera and set off for the mountains.

Skyscrapers became towering pines. The road widened, then narrowed, then twisted and precariously turned.

Claude held the steering wheel tight. He didn’t have experience driving in the snow. He tried his best to focus on the road, but on such a long, lonely road, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander.

When he was in school, he had dreams of winning a Pulitzer. He still wanted it, of course, but with each passing day it seemed like his dream moved further and further out of reach. He definitely wasn’t winning any awards with what was essentially going to be a PR puff piece for this small village.

He had tried to pitch harder stories to his editor when he first began. But, according to her, they weren’t the kinds of pieces that would drive clicks. The paper was bleeding subscribers and they needed the ad revenue.

Shit, it was getting cold. And he was exhausted. His head was drooping, eyes bleary, and the only think keeping him awake was the fact that he was shivering so much. He didn’t get much sleep the night before, and in the morning he got up early to quadruple check his gear. Lens, lens cap, camera strap, extra batteries (all fully charged), extra SD cards. It was a short trip, but he couldn’t risk being without a single piece of his kit. He spent so much time checking over his gear that by the time he finished, he realized he was running late and rushed out the door.

Claude fiddled with the AC, which only worked about half the time. The vents blew cold air at him. Like they were mocking him.

“Oh, come on,” Claude muttered under his breath. He gave the top of the dashboard a few whacks with his fist. That usually helped kick things back into gear.

Outside, the piles of snow on the roadside steadily grew taller and taller. He knew there would be snow, but he didn’t expect quite this much. The roads were mostly cleared, but ice had formed on them overnight.

A sharp turn emerged before him. He took it a smidge too fast, and suddenly, the car began sliding towards the curb.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was it you were supposed to do when your car starts sliding? Slam the breaks and steer in the opposite direction?

The car spun around in a circle, the trees and snow around him blurring into one, and then thumped into the snow.

His palms were sweaty and his heart beat like a hummingbird. Blessedly, he didn’t piss himself in fear.

He sighed in relief, then realized. The camera!

His head whipped around the car, and he found his camera bag had flown off the passenger seat and onto the floor. He seized and unzipped it as soon as he spotted it.

The lens was fine. The camera was fine. He hugged the bag to his chest and thanked every god he could think of.

Then—a knock on the window. Claude nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up and saw a man peering at him through the frosted glass. Or at least he appeared to be a man under his beanie and chunky scarf.
Huh. Wasn’t this how horror movies started?

The man raised his gloved hand and knocked again. Claude lowered the window just an inch.

“Hi,” he said tentatively, camera bag still clutched tight in his arms. “How can I help you?”

“Um,” the man said, his voice muffled behind the blue crochet scarf. “I think I am the one who should be helping you. Are you alright?”

Claude looked down at himself, touched his head to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. “Physically? I’m fine. Emotionally? A little shaken, to be honest.”

The man looked over Claude, then at the car. “The damage to your car doesn’t seem to be substantial. If we get it out of the snow, you should be able to continue your journey. Where are your snow chains?”

“Oh,” Claude began, “they should be in the–”

Realization struck like a bullet. The snow chains were sitting on his counter, safe and warm in his apartment. He was in such a rush, and he spent so much time fussing over his camera gear, that he completely forgot to grab them.

“Shit.”

The man scratched his head. “Well,” he offered,” you aren’t too far from town. Let me give you a ride in and then I can tow your car.”

Claude appreciated that the man didn’t comment on the fact that he forgot what was perhaps the single most important thing he’d needed for this journey.

Briefly, Claude weighed the risk of getting in this stranger’s beat-up looking truck. Sure, he could be murdered, but on the bright side, he could finally get warm.

He hopped into the man’s truck, which was fitted appropriately with snow chains, and buckled himself in.

“You a mechanic or something?” Claude asked, having seen the various tools loaded up in the truck bed.

“Something of the sort.”

The truck rumbled to life. Claude was able to examine his rescuer more clearly now that he wasn’t freezing. The man had pulled off his beanie, letting long blond hair fall to his shoulders. He removed his scarf and set it between them. His eye—the one that wasn’t obscured by an eyepatch—was a striking shade of blue.

Oh, no, Claude thought to himself as he examined the man’s strong nose and sharp jaw. He’s hot. He’s hot and he saw me make a fool of myself.

“Oh!” the man suddenly exclaimed. “I’m terribly sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Dimitri.”

“You’re Dimitri?” Claude asked, sitting up. “You’re the mayor?”

Claude sat up. Before he left, he had corresponded with the town’s mayor via email. He couldn’t find much more than basic information on the mayor online—he didn’t seem to have much of a social media presence, and the town itself didn’t have its own paper.

Dimitri nodded.

“You’re not exactly what I expected,” he said, appreciating the striking profile Dimitri cast against the pine trees whizzing by. Dimitri was much younger—and much better looking—than he anticipated.

He added, “I’m Claude, by the way. The photographer from The Daily Deer. I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, but under these circumstances…”

Dimitri shook his head. “I’m, um, sure it’s hard for someone from the city to remember their tire chains. The weather is much milder over there.”

“Wait,” Claude said, “you’re the mayor and a mechanic?”

“Our town is so small so I try to help out with anything that requires some sort of handyman.”

Claude whistled, impressed. “A jack-of-all-trades, huh?”

Dimitri’s ears turned pink. “And a master of none, really.”

Hot, polite, and humble. He was sure to make an interesting character for the story.

The trees gave way to a set of short, aged buildings. It was nothing like the city. If Claude had to describe the town of Fhirdiad in one word, it would be…small. Dimitri drove a main street lined with old brick buildings that had seen better days. There was a plaza with a Christmas tree set up in the center of the town, and it seemed to be the most exciting thing about this place.

Claude knew he had his work cut out for him. He asked idle questions of Dimitri—what’s the population, when was the the town founded, when did he become the mayor. He knew all of the answers already, of course. He did his research beforehand. But Dimitri seemed eager to discuss his tiny town, and Claude was happy to oblige him.

“Can you tell me more about the tree in the plaza?” he asked as they pulled to a stop.

Dimitri nodded. “It’s a tradition for us to go out and select a tree, set it up, and decorate it together. As a community. It used to draw a crowd. But as people left here for the city and the years went on, I guess everyone just…lost interest.”

“That’s a shame,” Claude said, and he meant it. It was a stately, towering pine that cast shadows on the buildings around it. “It’s a beautiful tree. And I bet it’s even better at night.”

They hopped out and Claude took a few shots of the tree. Dimitri stood off to the side, hands shoved into his pockets. He looked shocked when Claude turned around and asked if he could get a few pictures with Dimitri in them.

“Oh, um…I suppose I can…”

Dimitri stood in front of the tree and smiled at the camera like Claude was holding a dagger to his throat.

“Geez,” Claude joked, reviewing his shots, “the camera’s not gonna bite you, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri said. “I’m…not good at photos.”

“Hey, you don’t have to be,” Claude replied with a wink. “Stand over here and tell me where your favorite place to eat here is.”

He pressed down on the shutter button, and Dimitri visibly relaxed as he answered more of Claude’s questions.

Now this–this was Claude’s talent. Back at the paper, before funds were cut, they had another photographer, Ignatz. The editors loved Ignatz’s shots because aesthetically, well, they were stunning. Ignatz was also a painter, from what Claude recalled from their quick chats in the newsroom between assignments.

Claude didn’t have Ignatz’s artistic sense, no. Iggy could walk into any room and find a thousand beautiful ways to frame his shot, the best angles to capture the light.

But what Claude did have was this: the power to gain his subjects’ trust. And trust, in this business, was perhaps second only to light. He knew how to set his subjects’ nerves at ease, to get them to relax and be their authentic selves even with his lens poking into their bubbles. He could make them laugh, make them smile, draw out their personal histories, as he faded behind the lens to let them shine.

It was all going just as he expected, with Dimitri finally being himself for the camera, when suddenly, he turned his one-eyed gaze toward Claude.

“How long have you been a photographer?” he asked, and through the viewfinder, Dimitri came into focus, gazing at him intently through the lens.

“Going on four years now,” he said. He was used to chatting with his subjects. It was all part of the process. He asked questions for the story, they asked a few back just to be polite, then they get back to business.

“Do you like it?” Dimitri asked, and Claude lifted his head from behind the viewfinder. Dimitri came into sharp focus, his expression open.

He took a moment to think of a response. “Most days,” he answered, snapping away. “But I think it’s normal to not like your job every single day. I’m sure there are days when you don’t exactly love being mayor.”

Dimitri chuckled. “Yes, well. When you really believe what you’re doing is important, that doesn’t matter.”

Dimitri was already an attractive man by anyone’s standards, but Claude was captivated by the way his expression softened when he talked about his town. Normally, he was more of an intimidating kind of attractive. He had this unapproachable, unattainable air one would expect of royalty. But now, as he talked about his hopes and dreams for his constituents, his fervent desire to make life better for all of them, to make the world see just how wonderful the town was, he seemed gentler, kinder, happier.

When Claude felt satisfied with his work, he stopped taking photos and gestured for Dimitri to come over. He opened the gallery and scrolled through the photos, pausing longer in the shots that he felt were noteworthy.

“Those are beautiful,” Dimitri said with sincere admiration in voice. “You’re very talented.”

“Yeah, well, my job’s easy when I have a good-looking subject. Then I’m just here to press a button,” Claude responded. Dimitri’s ears again took on a pink tinge.

Damn, he was cute, but Claude knew there was nothing he could do about that, at least not while he was working on the story. The movies make it seem like sleeping with your subjects is the norm, but in reality, it would get you fired.

Well, a little harmless flirting was probably okay. He did it all the time for other stories. A flash of a smile or a well-timed wink could open doors or get his subjects talking. Plus, it wasn’t like he would be in town long, anyway.

They spent some time walking along the main street, popping into the various buildings along the way. Dimitri knew every single person inside by nameand of course, the townsfolk knew him in turn. To Claude’s surprise, almost all of them had gifts ready for Dimitri upon his arrival.

At the cafe, the reticent, intimidating looking owner greeted Dimitri and immediately handed him his coffee, free of charge.

The man—Dedue, according to his nametag—also offered Claude a fresh cup.

“You’re Dimitri’s guest,” he said. “So it’s on the house.”

The library staff—an upbeat redhead and an eager young man with silvery hair— were effusive, offering them more snacks and excitedly discussing the building’s history. The redhead even stood on her tippy toes to wrap a newly handmade scarf around Dimitri’s neck.

“Your old one is getting so ratty,” she exclaimed, “so I made you a brand new one!”

As they turned to leave, the redhead shouted for their attention. She dug through a basket behind the counter and withdrew a tawny hat from the scramble of yarn.

“I have a few extra, so this one’s for you,” she said, gesturing to Claude. “You look cold.”

He was, in fact, fucking freezing. He accepted the gift gratefully.

At the doctor’s office, a gently smiling blonde gave them a box of the best pastries Claude ever had in his life.

Claude struggled to balance the coffee, a few books recommended to him by one of the library staff, and the box of pastries, as they walked back to the truck.

Dimitri eyed him struggling. “Let me,” he said, as he took the box and books from his hands, and opened the car door for Claude in one swift motion.

It was hard not to swoon.

“Saying you’re beloved is kind of an understatement,” Claude stated once they were buckled into their seats and he had grabbed another pastry from the box.

Dimitri shook his head, embarrassed. “Everyone here is just…exceedingly kind. I’m lucky to have them.”

He turned the radio on, and Claude took that as a signal that this line of conversation was over. For now, at least.

The voice on the radio crackled to life. “...and a winter storm watch has been issued for the Fhirdiad mountains. Anyone driving through the pass is advised to seek shelter as soon as possible.”

“Hm,” Claude said, munching on his snack, “that doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it does not,” Dimitri agreed with a frown. “To be honest, Claude, I don’t feel good about going to tow your car and sending you home just yet.”

Well, shit. His editor would be pissed. But there was nothing to be done.

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of driving out in the snow and to my doom.”

“You are welcome to stay at my place for the night.”

He said it so simply, so easily. Claude almost choked on his danish, but he quickly recovered.

“Are we at that point already? At least buy me dinner, first.”

Dimitri blushed and sputtered. “I-I didn’t mean—I’m sorry if, I don’t want to make you feel like—”

Claude laughed. “I’m just teasing you, Mr. Mayor. I appreciate the offer.”

Dimitri’s shoulders relaxed, but the blush on his cheeks remained. “Oh. Well…even still, if you don’t feel comfortable staying with me, there is an inn in town.”

“An inn sounds great.”

As the sky began to darken, Dimitri drove Claude up to a victorian-style building up on a hill some ways away from the center of town. A wooden, hand-painted sign outside declared the name of the place as “The Blue Lion Inn.”

The rustic building, as well as everything inside, seemed very…old. Claude thought as he took in the space, very much appreciating the warmth of the indoors. Knickknacks adorned the walls and the fireplace. In the corner sat a lit up Christmas tree. Claude could tell from the sharp, pine-y smell that it was real. The decor seemed a little out of date, but nothing was dusty and the paint wasn’t peeling.

The inn was aged, but clearly lovingly maintained, just like everything he had seen in the town so far.

Dimitri rang the bell atop the dusty counter. A tall redheaded man emerged from the back office.

“Dima!” he exclaimed, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello, Sylvain. My friend here needs a place to stay the night, to wait out the storm.”

“Well,” Sylvain said, opening up a thick binder. It was the only thing in the inn that had dust on it. He blew the dust off, paged through its contents. “Let’s check our availability here…we’ve got…approximately every single room available for the next three months.”

Dimitri’s eye widened. “We have a booking?”

Sylvain sighed. “It’s just Mercedes and Annette. For their annual bestie staycation.”

And so Claude found himself sinking into a too-soft bed, under sheets his grandmother would have loved, staring at his laptop as he sorted through his photos.

At least the room was comfortable. He tried his best to get more work done, but the wifi (which he was shocked they even had) was spotty at best. He couldn’t really post on his personal blog, or update his Instagram with new shots, so he decided to start selecting his best shots from the day.

Outside, the whistling wind rattled the building.

Well, it was just one night, right?

________________________

In the morning, there was a fresh blanket of thick snow sparkling outside Claude’s window. It enveloped the nearby trees up to their bare branches.

Okay, so. It might be more than one night.

Claude scrambled to get dressed and head to the front desk. He found Sylvain there, chatting with a woman with cropped blonde hair.

Sylvain raised a hand in greeting and chirped, “Morning!”

“Look,” Claude said, “you guys have been great. Really. But when do you think I can get out of here?”

Sylvain and the woman, whose name was Ingrid according to her nametag, exchanged glances. Claude knew the answer before they even spoke.

“It might be a while before the pass clears up…” Ingrid offered, playing with her hands.

“Could be a day or two. Or three. Or more,” Sylvain added with a shrug. “Worst case scenario, it could be over a week.”

Claude groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, turning away from the pair and rubbing at his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on.

“You should eat something,” Ingrid offered. “That always makes me feel better!”

He accepted Ingrid’s offer for breakfast, and then spent some time taking photos of the inn’s staff. Sylvain at the front desk, pen tucked behind his ear. Ingrid wiping down the restaurant tables. Felix, the grumpy chef in the kitchen, who seemed very unhappy to be on camera, but his reaction to being perceived was too funny for Claude to pass up.

He decided to return to his room tp start editing his shots and writing his captions. He wondered vaguely what Dimitri was up to today. He had only known the man for a few hours but he figured he was probably out shoveling everyone’s driveways or saving cats stuck in trees.

For a few hours, Claude worked without incident.

He looked up from his laptop and out the window. The sun had fallen behind the mountains and the sky was pitch black. He could see every star like a hole of light poked into the fabric of the night. It was impossible to see the stars like this in the city.

When he was a kid, Claude’s family took regular trips to visit his granddad, who lived in the countryside. Each night, Granddad set out his brass telescope on the porch and sat with Claude for hours, telling stories about the constellations.

Claude used to love stargazing. It reminded him of his granddad and those warm summer nights. He loved looking up and feeling humbled by the vast expanse of the universe. As he stared out his window, he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he looked at the stars like this. Probably not since his granddad died.

Claude had just started this job right around the time of his granddad’s passing. His mom was pissed that he couldn’t make the funeral. He told her it was because of an assignment, which was partly true. He just didn’t think he could bear to see the old man being lowered into the ground when he belonged to the sky.

So he worked and worked and worked until the grief quieted itself. By then he had nearly forgotten the constellations’ stories and fell out of contact with his family. Hilda, his best friend since college, had been the only one to weather his bullshit.

At every monthly coffee meetup, she would say, “You’re scaring me, you know. You need to get out more. Maybe go on a date or something. ”

It wasn’t like he didn’t try. He did go out. But nothing ever stuck. The people who made it past the talking stage called him cold, and what could Claude do but shrug and agree? There was work to do, and what was the point of letting someone know you enough to hurt you?

The stars were bringing up painful memories. He shook his head and tore his eyes away from the window to force them back towards his laptop screen.

He was in the middle of typing when the room went dark.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said under his breath. His laptop battery was getting dangerously low. He felt around the table for his phone and turned his flashlight on. If worse came to worst, he could use his phone to finish up his work…but the battery on his phone was getting low, too.

Well, fuck. He got up and carefully made his way to the front desk, guided by the light of his phone, only stubbing his toe once.

The entire inn was darkened. “Helloooo?” he called into the blackness behind the front desk. Where the hell was Sylvain?

Silence. Okay…this was getting creepy. Claude swung his light around, searching for life.

Then, suddenly, his light landed on a ghastly pale, angry form emerging from the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing?” Felix growled.

“Oh, shit!” Claude cried, stumbling backwards in surprise. His foot caught on a rug and he tumbled onto the floor, taking an end table with him.

“Claude!” another, much friendlier voice called. “Are you alright?”

Someone pointed a flashlight into Claude’s face, and Dimitri’s face came into focus. “I’ve been better,” Claude said with a smile, as he hoped the darkness made it so Dimitri couldn’t have seen his tumble.

“What’s going on?” he asked, sitting upright. Dimitri placed a hand on his back, supporting him, and the touch sent shivers shooting up his spine.

“Power’s out,” Sylvain said from somewhere down the hallway.

“No shit,” Felix added.

“We were out back, trying to see if it was something we could fix,” Dimitri said. “But the power’s out for the whole block, maybe more. We’ll have to wait it out.”

Great. Claude looked at his phone. Five percent.

Then, the fireplace was lit and the room took on a soft, golden glow. Ingrid was crouched beside it. She had a poker in her hand and used it to adjust the logs.

“Don’t worry,” she said, mostly to Claude. “It’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”

“I’ll get the snacks!” Sylvain called. “You know where the games are, right, Fe?”

“Of course,” Felix snorted as he shuffled through the front desk drawers.

Dimitri offered Claude his hand. It was rough and calloused against Claude’s palm. When he was standing, he pointed at his phone and asked, “So…there’s absolutely no chance I could get a charge right now?”

Dimitri frowned. “Unfortunately not. I’m sorry. I hope this doesn’t put you behind by much.”

Claude shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.” At least, he hoped he would. First, he got stuck in this tiny po-dunk town, and now he didn’t even have power?

Well, he thought to himself, maybe I could light a candle or something and get some reading in. He turned to go back up the stairs. “See you guys in the morning, yeah?”

“You’re going back to your room?” Dimitri asked, his brows raised. “You should join us. We’re going to have s’mores.”

“And we’ve got drinks,” Sylvain added, his hands full with mugs piled high with whipped cream. “You’ve gotta try my hot cocoa. I add in a special ingredient,” he said with a wink.

“It’s just peppermint schnapps,” Felix said, rolling his eyes as he received one of the mugs.

“Well…” Claude considered, scratching at the back of his neck. It was tempting…

“I understand if you’ve got work to do,” Dimitri began, “but we’d love to have you, if you can spare the time.”

Dimitri smiled at him gently, like he was offering a hand to a scared animal. His good eye peered right into Claude’s own with something almost like hope in his gaze. He sounded so much like he wanted Claude to join. And, well. Claude just fucking loved board games.

“...A round of Monopoly won’t hurt.”

The smile that bloomed on Dimitris’ face warmed Claude more than any hearth ever could.

So Claude found himself bundled in a chunky crocheted blanket (Annette’s work, according to Ingrid), ceramic mug of spiked cocoa in hand, sitting on a cushion by the fire.

They played one quick round of Monopoly and Claude won by a landslide (but not without Sylvain putting up a decent fight). The group decided to switch to Uno afterwards, as they figured it would give the others a more even playing field. One round of Uno became two, and then Claude lost count because Sylvain’s special cocoa, combined with Dimitri sitting so close, had his mind pleasantly swimming.

By the time the clock chimed midnight, his belly was full of s’mores, hot cocoa and whipped cream.

The blanket was so soft, and the fire was so cozy, that soon Claude found himself fighting to keep his head upright.

Eventually, he lost the fight.

When he awoke the next morning, he was back in his room, tucked beneath the blankets, the crochet throw laying across the duvet. He sat up and stretched his arms and realized that for once, he awoke well-rested. The clock on the wall chimed for noon.

Holy shit. Noon!?

Claude shot out of bed and hurried to get ready for the day.

It wasn’t until much later until he realized he had no memory of how he got back to his room.

________________________

This far from the town, all Claude could hear was the crunch of snow under his boots and his own labored breathing.

Just ahead was Dimitri’s cabin. It was a quaint thing on the edge of the forest, a short drive away from the rest of the town, but far enough to feel isolated.

Claude had convinced his boss that he could do a longer photo story on the town as a whole. He might as well, since he would be stuck there for who knows how long.

He told Dimitri that a few shots at his home would help tie the story together. And maybe, he just wanted to spend a little more alone time with Dimitri. He was so wrapped up in the townsfolk that it was hard for Claude to get a piece for himself.

Dimitri’s cabin was surprisingly sparse. Claude took a few wide shots, a few close-ups. Dimitri had become much more comfortable in front of the camera over the past few days.

They sat in front of the fireplace, Claude snapping away, while Dimitri told him about his first years as mayor.

“It wasn’t easy,” he started, twiddling his thumbs. “I really didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew I wanted to help my community.”

He shifted uneasily and played with his hands. “I felt a personal responsibility to everyone because, well…”

Dimitri sighed and looked sideways at Claude. Claude nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“The previous mayor was my uncle, Rufus. He did a fine job for several years. Until we found out he’d been embezzling the town’s funds to fulfill his own selfish desires.”

His jaw worked as the flames of the fireplace reflected in his eyes.

“I was devastated when I found out. My own blood, destroying our home, our community. I knew I had to do fix it. So I ran for mayor, and I won.”

“I think I put too much of myself into it. No…I know I did. I barely slept. When I did, I slept in my office. Everyone worried about me, but I told them I was fine. One night, when I didn’t sleep much at all, I got a call about a car stuck on the other side of town. It was dark, but I believed I could make it.”

He paused and sighed, staring deeply into the fire. “I didn’t. I slid off the road. The damage was bad.” He flicked his gaze back to Claude and tapped his eyepatch. “That’s how I got this.”

“When I woke up, I was in Mercedes’ clinic. She gave me the scolding of a lifetime. And if that wasn’t enough, almost everyone else came in and gave me a piece of their mind, as well. Dedue, Annette, Ashe…everyone. I finally realized I was working myself too hard.” He paused, giving Claude a heavy look. “You know a thing or two about that, don’t you, Claude?”

Claude chuckled. “Yeah, you got me.”

“I hope you don’t have to learn your lesson by having a near-death experience.”

“Well,” Claude said with a smile, “as long as you’re around to save me, I think I’ll be fine.”

A pause, then, Claude continued, “thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

Dimitri smiled shyly. “How are those pictures coming out?”

“Perfect,” Claude replied, sorting through the pictures on his camera display. “Except, this hair in your face is kind of bothering me…”

Dimitri fiddled with his fringe to no avail. The offending hair remained in place.

“Here,” Claude said softly, scooting closer and lifting a hand to move the hair out of Dimitri’s face. Dimitri inhaled sharply, but kept still. “That’s better.”

They were so close Claude could see Dimitri’s pale lashes, the twitch of his lips. His lips…they were chapped and rosy from the cold outside, but they still looked soft. Dimitri’s lashes fluttered, then he learned closer…

Just then, Dimitri’s phone chimed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, clearing his throat as he picked up his phone. There was a text from Sylvain.

“Ah….Sylvain needs help with a frozen pipe back at the inn.”

“That’s, um,” Claude said, pulling back. “That sounds bad.”

“We should head back,” Dimitri said, standing. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Claude agreed, nodding. “Probably a good idea.”

He knew it wasn’t. Fucking Sylvain.

________________________

Time passed slowly, and Claude felt antsy through it all. There were fleeting moments when his mind wasn’t occupied with work. Sometimes, he thought of his books from the library, or of what Mercedes would bake next, and of course, he thought about Dimitri.

He did his best to get work done when he could, and he only got four passive aggressive emails from his boss.

He’d have to use his PTO for this, she told him. That wasn’t ideal, but it was okay for now. He had a lot built up.

But he was still anxious about all the work he’d have to do when he got home. The stories he would have to catch up on. The editing, the meetings, the personal projects. That all melted away whenever Dimitri smiled at him.

This…thing between them, which Claude didn’t quite know what to call, seemed fragile. He didn’t want to risk breaking it. Dimitri seemed like he wanted more, to push the boundaries, but Claude knew it wasn’t a good idea. It wouldn’t be long until he had to go.

“Can I ask you something?” Dimitri asked over lunch at the inn one day.

“Mmhmm,” Claude hummed, sipping on his hot tea.

“May I see your camera?”

Claude sputtered on his tea. His camera was old, but shit. It was expensive. It was his livelihood. He never let anyone else touch it. Hilda tried once, and Claude almost passed out seeing how rough she was with the buttons. He couldn’t snatch it out of her hands fast enough.

“What’s got you so interested in it all of a sudden?”

Dimitri shrugged. “I’m simply curious. I apologize if I overstepped.”

“No, no. You’re fine,” Claude said, shaking his head. “It’s just…if anything happens to it, I’m kinda screwed.”

“Ah,” replied Dimitri, “I see. Again, I’m sorry.”

Dimitri looked down at his food, looking a little disappointed. It tugged at something in Claude’s chest.

“...Are you gonna promise to be gentle with her?”

Dimitri glanced up, eyes wide. He laughed a little. “Her? Your camera’s a she, now?”

“She’s my baby!” Claude said, mock pouting as he cradled her to his chest. “So you have to be extra careful with her. She’s sensitive. And expensive. Like, the most expensive thing I own.”

Dimitri eyed the camera, placed his right hand over his heart, and looked Claude straight in the eye. “I will treat her with the utmost care and consideration. I swear my life on it.”

He was being dead serious, Claude knew. He hesitated, then pushed the camera over to Dimitri’s side of the table.

His eyes trailed Dimitri’s every movement as the camera was lifted into his hands. Dimitri turned it over, examining it carefully, as Claude’s heart jumped into his throat.

There was silence, then, “Um…there are a lot more buttons than I expected.”

Claude couldn’t help but smile at that, the tension in his body melting just a bit. “I’ll show you the basics.”

He gave Dimitri a tour of the camera’s basic parts and functions. Together, they walked through the lens and how to adjust the focus, the various ways to change the exposure. Claude wasn’t sure if Dimitri was quite following him, but he was certainly trying. His brow was scrunched in concentration, and he asked frequent follow-up questions.

Before long, Claude started going off about lighting and composition. About his favorite photos and the worst photos he’d ever taken. The difference between taking posed photos and capturing authentic moments. How important it was to bear witness to history, whether he was sitting in a tedious city council meeting or fighting for the best shots at a protest. The power of an image to tell a story at a single glance.

Dimitri sat and listened quietly, nodding along. Claude didn’t realize how long he had been rattling on until Felix came out of the kitchen and gruffly took their plates off the table.

“Sorry,” Claude said, sitting back. “I get really excited about this stuff.”

Dimitri smiled. “I admire your passion for your work. It is certainly reflected in every photo you take.”

Claude felt his cheeks get hot. He knew he was good at his job, but to hear it from Dimitri—well, that was different.

“Here,” Claude continued, reaching out to adjust Dimitri’s fingers on the camera. Dimitri’s hands were rough and warm. “Press down on this one to take a picture.”

“And be gentle!” he added, letting his hands linger on Dimitri’s for a moment too long.

He expected Dimitri to point the camera out the window, to the idyllic snowscape, or to Felix wiping down a table nearby, or at the Christmas tree in the corner.

Instead, he found himself looking through the lens. He realized distantly that he had rarely been on this end of a camera. It was…a vulnerable position to be in. He didn’t exactly enjoy it. But he stayed still.

The shutter clicked.

“How is this?” Dimitri asked, turning the screen towards him.

Claude burst out laughing. The image of him was fuzzy and at least two stops overexposed. His expression—or what could be seen of it—resembled that of a deer in the headlights. He looked like a cryptid caught on camera.

“Oh,” Dimitri said, examining his work closer. He couldn’t help but laugh at it, too.

“I think I’ll leave the photography to the professionals,” he added.

Later that night, back in his room, as Claude sorted through his photos for the day, he came across the image Dimitri took. It looked even goofier on the larger display of his laptop screen.

His professors would have failed him if he dared to submit anything like it. His boss would laugh him out of the newsroom.

In the dark, Claude smiled to himself and saved the photo to his personal drive.

________________________

Claude’s PTO was running out, and it seemed like the pass was going to be cleared soon. But as more time went on, Claude found he cared less and less about returning to the city.

He spent most of his time with Dimitri. He was the central figure of the story, after all. Claude returned to the inn each night after dark, smiling like a fool, and each time Sylvain looked up at him from his harlequin novels with a raised brow and knowing quirk of his lips.

It was only a matter of time until Sylvain said something.

“Yo,” he said with a wave one night. “You were out late again.”

He shot Claude a knowing look over the rims of his glasses.

Claude took off his coat and deflected. “Just before sunset is the best time for photos. That’s why it’s called the golden hour.”

Sylvain hummed. “Golden hour, huh? Sounds romantic.”

Sylvain had him pinned, but dammit if Claude wasn’t going to try to wriggle his way out.

“Ehhhhh, not really,” Claude replied. “Most of the time you spend the hour rushing to get shots. You thinking it might be a good time to take a girl out?”

Sylvain tongued at his cheek, shook his head. “I—well, maybe. But that’s besides the point. You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mr. Mayor, haven’t you?”

Claude shrugged. “I mean, he’s kinda the central focus of my story.” Then, he stretched and yawned. “I’m exhausted. I’ll catch you later, yeah? Night!”

Home free, he headed towards the stairs.

“Wait,” Sylvain called, refusing to let him escape. Claude stopped. “Look,” Sylvain continued, setting his book down. “I’m gonna be real with you. Because I know you’re a smart guy. I see what’s going on with you and Dimitri.”

Escape: failed. Claude shifted his weight, shoved his hands into his pockets, mentally bracing himself for the interrogation. Sylvain was smart, and Claude could only dodge and deflect so much.

“You mean my story?”

“You know what I mean. He likes you. Really likes you. There’s no way you haven’t noticed.”

Claude just looked at him. Sylvain stared back, unflinching, hands folded beneath his chin. Clever bastard. If things were different, they probably could have been good friends.

Claude broke first. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the guy’s one of my best friends. I don’t want him getting hurt.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” Claude said, shaking his head and waving Sylvain off. “I’m not gonna be here long enough to hurt anyone.”

“I don’t think you realize just how much hope Dimitri has riding on you. Look around, dude. You’re our only guest. Our last booking before you was in the summer.”

Sylvain sighed. “He wasn’t gonna tell you, because I think he’s embarrassed. But after Christmas, he’s gonna file for bankruptcy.”

Claude went silent, his blood cold.

“What?” Claude finally gasped. “The whole town!?”

“He told you about his uncle, didn’t he? What he did to us? Dimitri did his best, but we’re pretty much screwed. Who knows if there’ll even be a Fhirdiad next Christmas.”

Claude swallowed. He had no idea the situation was so dire.

Sylvain went on. “I just want to be sure you’re not using him. Poor guy’s already been through so much.”

“I’m not. I swear,” Claude said, running a hand through his hair. “Our relationship is purely professional.”

“Right,” Sylvain replied, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair, “and I’m the goddamn queen of Faerghus.”

So, Dimitri really needed him. He–and the entire town—needed this story.

That was a ton of pressure. It also made it harder for Claude to ever be involved with Dimitri—to an outside observer, it oculd look like the mayor was shacking up with some small-time journalist to ensure positive coverage. Fhirdiad didn’t need that on top their history of shady politicians.

Claude didn’t want that for Dimitri, or for the town as a whole. He wanted the world to know how wonderful Fhirdiad was. The strength of its community. The kindness and capability of its young mayor. He couldn’t afford to let any of that get overshadowed by a scandal.

Alone in his room, he typed away at his laptop until his eyes burned. He sent his work to his editor and hoped for the best.

________________________

Claude awoke the next morning and looked out his frosted-over window, Sylvain’s words still rattling around his head.

Dimitri had feelings for him, and all Claude could do was feel terrified. It couldn’t work between them, not like this. A politician and a journalist—that alone sounded like a PR mess.

And yet, in the back of his mind, a tiny voice wondered if he was just making excuses. His feelings for Dimitri were real, and they were strong. It had been a long time–if ever–since he opened himself up to another person the way he wanted with Dimitri.

But none of it mattered. His feelings didn’t matter. This was all business, right?

His phone pinged. A text from his boss.

“Pass is clear. Get back here ASAP.”

He stared at the text for a moment. He knew what he had to do. It would be better this way.

When he stumbled down the stairs, backpack in tow, he was grateful to see the front desk unoccupied. He left a note, addressed to Dimitri, and hurried out the door.

The note was simple. It expressed his gratitude for Dimitri’s time, the town’s hospitality. He apologized for not being able to say goodbye.

And that was it. He hopped into his now-functioning car and headed for the city.

He glanced Dimitri’s truck on the town’s main drag, and his chest tightened. He sighed and drove on. If this were a corny holiday movie, there would be an airport scene, and he would be about to board his flight, when he suddenly is struck by the realization that he can’t live without Dimitri. Then the orchestra would swell as he turned his back on a stunned gate agent, leaping over luggage and shoving aside people innocently waiting for their flights, until he made it back to Fhirdiad and swung the door to Dimitri’s cabin wide open.

“Claude,” Dimitri would exclaim, breathless, as his eye opened wide.

“I came back for you, babe,” Claude would say. Then he’d stride over, take Dimitri in his arms, and give him the kiss of a lifetime—

But that was fantasy. This was real life, and things didn’t work that way.

Claude didn’t turn back.

After hours over very, very careful driving, he made it back to the city, and back to his apartment, and sat on his sagging couch nursing a glass of cheap wine, binging an old sitcom he couldn’t remember the name of.

It was cold. Not as cold as Fhirdiad, for sure, but there was no homemade soup, no handmade blankets. No crackling fireplace or spiked hot cocoa.

He slurped up his instant noodles and tugged his pill-ridden blanket tighter around his shoulders.

________________________

The next morning, he stumbled out of his apartment and headed to work. He didn’t sleep well and his neck ached.

He had time to stop by the coffee shop on the corner, figuring he deserved a treat after…well, everything. The morning crowd nearly pushed the line out the door, and the bored barista took his order with the enthusiasm of a corpse.

While he waited, he grabbed a copy of the paper.

He scanned it quickly, looking for his story on Fhirdiad. Nothing on the front page, which wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t exactly above-the-fold material even if the story meant the world to him. He flipped through the pages until he spotted it – a short blurb, shoved beneath a used car dealership ad, and only one picture of Dimitri, standing by the tree in the central square.

That was it. The editors had cut out everything else. There was no mention of the town’s struggles, or Dimitri’s valiant efforts to save it. No photos of the vibrant townsfolk. Weeks of work abbreviated into a hundred words.

Dimitri smiled absently at him from the page. He deserved better than this.

Claude set the paper down, grabbed his coffee. Made his way to work, one face in the extraordinary waves of people.

Sitting amongst the clicking of keyboards and the hum of printers in the office, he kept thinking about how he gave, and he gave, and he gave, even when he had nothing left. The 16 hour days, the shitty pay. The doors slammed in his face, the ones he bled to open.

His computer monitor fell asleep. Claude looked at his reflection in the screen and thought himself, never again.

“What?” was all his boss said as he walked into her office, not even looking up from the papers spread all over her desk.

He planted his feet firmly on the linoleum, and breathed deeply.

“I quit.”

________________________

Shit, shit, shit. He paced frantically around his apartment. He did it. He really quit his job without a backup plan, nothing to catch him.

His heart pounded. In the moment, adrenaline flooded his system, and everything after he spoke with his boss had melted into a blur. He remembered her raised brows and open jaw. He remembered gathering his things from his desk and walking out. Then, he was home. That was it.

Questions sprinted through his mind. What was he going to do now? Could he find another paper to hire him? Would they treat him and his work the same?

He only knew one thing: he didn’t regret it.

He flopped onto the couch, then stood up, then sat back down. He wasn’t used to having nothing to do. Restless, he scrolled through his socials and came upon a post from Hilda.

It was one of the holiday photos he had taken for her, emblazoned with huge gold text.

TONIGHT! Hilda’s Holiday Bash! Festive dress encouraged.

Hm, Claude thought to himself, her tits really did look great in her dress. Then, Shit! That’s tonight!

Well, his schedule was freed up for the foreseeable future. Fuck it. He had time to party.

________________________

Claude threw on his one and only Christmas sweater, made sure he had Hilda’s gift tucked under his arm, and departed for the party.

Her apartment had somehow gotten even more Christmas-y since he was last there. And it was now packed with enough people that he couldn’t take a step without bumping into someone.

When he finally found Hilda, she squealed and threw her arms around him. She seemed to be a couple drinks in.

“You’re here!! I’m so happy. We started bets on whether you’d make it. I just lost, but that’s okay because you’re here!”

Damn. He couldn’t even be mad about that. Instead, he took a shot with her and let himself enjoy the night.

He woke up the next morning by the foot of Hilda’s bed, mouth dry, back aching, and hair inexplicably covered in glitter.

From the bed, Hilda yawned and stretched. “Some party, huh?”

“You’re telling me. I had no idea Leonie could sing like that.”

Hilda snickered. “Right? Who knew she’d like that karaoke mic I’d gifted her that much!”

“Wait!” he said, realizing. He sat up and looked around. “Where’s the gift I got for you?”

“Awwww!” she cooed. “You got me a gift? You shouldn’t have.”

Claude searched around and found the box shoved under Hilda’s bed. He tossed it up to her, and she seized the package and tore right into it, throwing the wrapping paper onto the floor. She opened the box and pulled the gift from the tissue paper inside.

It was a custom crochet crop top, made from the finest Faerghan wool, courtesy of Annette. Claude had seen Hilda post similar designs on Pinterest, and when he showed Annette some of the pictures for inspiration, she whipped out her own version like it was nothing.

Just looking at the top brought back memories of warm, flaky pastries and fresh coffee, the scent of old books, and long conversations with Ashe about books in the library.

Hilda gasped. “Claaaaude! This is super cute!”

She took the fabric between her fingers, appraising the quality of the fibers and stitching. “Holy shit,” she continued. “This is actually really nice. Where did you get this? Etsy?”

Claude shook his head. “Nah. It’s from the town I was staying in. Had it custom made by one of the locals, just for you.”

She smiled and held the top to her chest. “Thank you. This is actually, like, so sweet of you.”

“Don’t ever say I don’t pay attention.”

Hilda continued to admire the craftsmanship and ran her fingers over the stitches.

“It’s incredible work. Nice and even,” she said. “And the wool feels super soft. I’d pay good money for something like this.”

“Annie’d be happy to hear that,” Claude said with an absent-minded smile. He could almost hear Annette sing-counting to herself as she worked.

“Wait,” he sputtered, jolting upright. “What did you say?”

“Um,” Hilda replied, eyebrow raised, “that I’d pay good money for this…?”

“Holy shit,” he said, scrambling to stand. “I just had an idea.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Do you have any spare jewelry lying around?”

“I guess I have a few pieces…but why?”

“Go grab them,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “We’ve got a Christmas to save.”

________________________

“We’ve got a Christmas to save!” Hilda sneered in a squeaky, sing-songy voice, her tone like acid. She was wrapped in several wooly layers, topped off by a pink puffy coat and earmuffs. She was cold and a little hungover and not up to dealing with Claude’s shit.

Claude ignored her, his focus on the road.

Hilda returned to her normal register. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re really dragging me out to this tiny little town right before Christmas.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Claude muttered, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He was still scarred by his last venture out on the icy roads. At least he had chains this time.

“All because you’re in love with the hot pirate mayor.”

Claude’s eyes widened, and the car swerved over a small patch of ice. Hilda squealed and gripped onto the car handle with white knuckles.

“Watch the fucking road!”

Claude maneuvered the car back into place. He whipped his head around to her. “How did you–”

“Oh, please,” she sighed with a wave of her hand. “You act like I don’t know you.”

Claude glared at her.

“...Plus I looked through your camera when you weren’t looking. You have a lot of pictures of him. Like, a lot.”

“They’re for the story!”

“Is the story about the town or the hot mayor?”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

She punched his shoulder playfully. “I can’t believe you. You didn’t tell me a single thing about this guy.”

Claude rubbed his shoulder and turned away from her, trying to conceal the flush on his face. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s adorable. What’s he like? Please tell me he’s nice. You deserve a nice guy after all the assholes you’ve dated.”

How could he even begin to describe Dimitri? He was kind. He was generous. He was self-conscious and down on himself and a little broken, but he pulled through for the people he cared about.

“He’s…nice. I promise. You’ll see when you meet him.”

“I’ll beat his ass if he isn’t.”

As they pulled into the town, Claude immediately spotted Dimitri, shoveling snow off the sidewalk. Claude honked his horn and when Dimitri looked up, his eye widened. He was a little sweaty and his face was ruddy from labor, and he looked tired. Still, he was absolutely radiant. Hard work looked good on him.

“Hi,” Claude said as he rolled down the window.

“H-hi,” Dimitri said back. He opened and closed his mouth, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t think of what to say.

Then, silence as they looked at each other in disbelief. Claude wanted nothing more than to jump out of the car and throw his arms around Dimitri.

It was too much for Hilda to bear. “Hiiiii,” she chirped, leaning over Claude. “I’m Hilda! It’s so nice to meet you. If you guys don’t mind, I would love to get inside, preferably somewhere warm, like, as soon as possible, sooooo….”

“Sorry about her,” Claude said, pushing her off his lap. “If you get in, I’ll explain what’s going on.”

Dimitri could do nothing but nod and clamber into the car.

________________________

As Claude explained his plan back at the inn, Dimitri nodded along in silence. He was silent for quite some time, and it was starting to make Claude feel uneasy.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he started.

“It does,” Dimitri replied, breaking his silence at last. “But…I trust you.”

Claude felt the tension melt from his muscles.

“I have to ask,” Dimitri added, leaning forward. “Why did you come back? What about your job?”

Claude looked at the ground. “I quit.”

“What!?” Dimitri said, eye wide. “You gave that job everything!”

Claude glanced up and looked at him through the shadow of his lashes. “I did. But someone taught me that there are more important things.”

Dimitri smiled, then nodded slowly, staring at nothing in particular, letting everything sink in. He stood. “I will arrange a meeting with the others. It might take some convincing, but I think they will come around.”

He turned to leave. Suddenly, at the door, he stopped and turned around. “And…Claude? Welcome back.”

________________________

The first annual Fhirdiad Christmas Market fell into place like a fresh morning snow. There were snags, of course. But with the help of Hilda’s massive social media following, Claude’s connections, and the hard work of the townsfolk, the market came together piece by piece. Claude rekindled contact with reporters from other local papers and radio stations to get coverage. He even reached out to Ignatz, who excitedly agreed to come and sell some of his paintings. Soon the main street filled up with stalls, decorated like oversized gift boxes, and the buildings decked out with twinkling lights.

Claude managed to reach out to an old friend from college who had gone into broadcast. Lorenz, who was now a beloved anchor in their area, brought the local news channel out to do a promotional segment on the market.

Lorenz flashed his signature veneer-white grin at Dimitri. “So, what are you most excited for everyone to see when they visit the Christmas market?”

Dimitri, dapper as ever in a starched blue flannel and his hair tied in a half-updo, flicked his gaze just behind the camera. His eyes met Claude’s, and Claude gave him an encouraging nod. Dimitri inhaled, then returned Lorenz’s smile. “I am eager for our visitors to experience Fhridiad’s sense of community first-hand.” He turned his head slightly to look directly into the camera. “Our hospitality is sure to bring everyone back throughout the year—not just for the holidays.”

Perfect, Claude thought to himself, practically bouncing on his heels. It was hard to believe mere moments ago Dimitri was wringing his hands with worry, afraid he would embarrass himself, and more importantly, the town, on live TV.

They didn’t have much time alone together since Claude had returned to Fhirdiad. Setting up a Christmas market on such short notice demanded all of their time and attention. There were permits to file, schedules to coordinate, vendors to contact.

There were many late nights spent in Dimitri’s office working. Sometimes, Claude would hand over another stack of papers for Dimitri to sign, and the brush of their hands would send sparks flying down Claude’s spine. But there was always something to interrupt the moment. Dedue often stopped by to drop off snacks. Sometimes Sylvain would call with yet another urgent matter they needed to attend to. And Hilda was usually with them, sprawled out on the floor, frantically trying to piece together more jewelry, working harder than she probably ever had in her entire life.

“Can you guys please just fuck already,” she begged every night as she and Claude returned to the inn. “The tension is literally suffocating me.”

It wasn’t like Claude didn’t want anything to happen with Dimitri. In fact, he wanted it so badly he could hardly focus whenever they were in the same room.

But the market came first. When the sun set on the first day and the lights filled the sky, he felt like he could finally breathe.

Everyone worried that no one would come. That all their work would be for naught, and the stalls and the streets would be empty.

They were wrong. Crowds filled the street and laughter and music enveloped them. The scent of Mercedes’ baked goods wafted through the air, and Ashe and Igrid’s cries could be heard down the street as they attempted to keep the throngs of people moving.

Once Claude was satisfied with the shots he was able to get of vendors and their customers, he navigated through the crowds in search of Dimitri.

Finally, he spotted Dimitri, standing a head above everyone else, passing out piping hot cups of hot cocoa to the vendors.

Claude stepped toward him, when a voice rose above the din.

“Dimitri!” cried an elegant-looking woman, probably around their age, with straight and silvery waist-length hair. She emerged from the crowd, flanked by two tall men—one with black hair and a stern expression, the other a much sunnier looking redhead.

Dimitri’s eye widened at the sight of her. “El! You made it!”

The woman hugged Dimitri tightly, which he returned with his free arm. Something in Claude’s chest went cold, and he realized he was jealous. Maybe, just maybe, he had read all of this wrong. He turned away as Dimitri spotted him.

“Claude!” Dimitri called out, “over here!”

Claude straightened and strode over, calm as a frozen lake, trying his best to look cool despite his reindeer headband and jingle-my-balls sweater.

Dimitri gestured toward the woman. “Meet my stepsister, Edelgard. El, this is Claude.”

Oh. Claude felt the ice in his chest shatter, then melt. He felt foolish all of a sudden, and he fought not to show it on his face. Dimitri seemed to not notice anything, but the woman–Edelgard–appraised him with a raised brow.

“Stepsister, huh? Nice to meet you,” Claude said. He extended a hand. She gave him a surprisingly strong handshake. Was Dimitri sure they weren’t blood related…?

“You as well,” she responded. “Dee’s told me a lot about you.”

“Has he now?” Claude said, turning a playful smile towards Dimitri. “I hope it’s all been good.”

“He said the market wouldn’t have happened without you. And that you’re a talented photographer.”

Claude could feel himself flushing. “Really, I just helped. Everything here is Dimitri’s work.”

“You know,” she continued, “he’s been single for a while now, so I’m glad–”

“Alright!” Dimitri cut in. The tips of his ears were bright pink. “Is that Felix calling us? I think I hear Felix. I’ll call you later, El!”

Claude found himself being pulled away, Dimitri’s hand on his wrist. “Great meeting you!” he yelled as he was dragged behind one of the shops.

“She seems nice,” Claude said with a smile when they finally came to a stop.

“She’s embarrassing,” Dimitri huffed, his face still tomato red.

The noise from the streets was muffled, and for the first time in hours Claude could move without bumping into someone. He realized suddenly that, at last, it was just them and the stars.

He didn’t know when they would get another moment like this.

“The market’s going well. Better than either of us imagined, I think.”

Dimitri shook his head. “I really couldn’t have done it without you. I mean, It was your idea in the first place.”

“Hey,” Claude said, stepping closer. “Give yourself some credit for once, will you?”

“Fine,” Dimitri huffed, though he smiled. “We made this happen together.”

“Good enough,” Claude murmured before leaning in.

Days and nights he’d spent wondering what it would be like to kiss this silly, broken, kind, wonderful man. It seemed Dimitri wondered the same, because he leaned down eagerly to meet Claude’s lips and envelop Claude in his embrace. Dimitri was broad and strong and solid, all muscle, just like Claude had imagined.

Dimitri kissed him gently at first, then clumsily, eagerly, his lips soft and pliant and warm. Claude vaguely wondered why he waited so long for this in the first place. All this time—they could have been doing this all this time.

They pulled apart, keeping their arms around each other.

Distantly, Claude could hear Felix asking, “Has anyone seen Claude? Or Dimitri?”

He giggled into Dimitri’s chest. “We should get back soon,” He mumbled.

Dimitri hummed. “I think they can wait just a moment more.”

Claude agreed, and he pressed his lips against Dimitri’s again just because he could.

Dimitri brushed the hair from Claude’s face. “You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Claude leaned his head against Dimitri’s chest. Faintly, beneath the crochet sweater, he could hear Dimitri’s heart pounding just as fast as his own. “Nah. I’ve got nothing to run to, anyway. Since I don’t have my job at the paper anymore.”

“You know,” Dimitri started, “we don’t have a paper. Here in town, I mean. I’ve always thought we should have one.”

Claude snapped his head up, his eyes sparkling. “Well,” he said, the smile creeping back onto his face, “I think I know a guy who could help with that.”

________________________

Later that night, when the crowds dispersed and the streets quieted, the townsfolk made their way for celebratory drinks at the inn.

Edelgard and her two friends joined them, as did Ignatz and even Lorenz and his cameraman, Raphael. Beside the crackling fire, they raised a toast.

“To us!” Dimitri said, beaming. “To Fhirdiad.”

“And to Dimitri,” Claude added.

“And to you, Claude!” Annette cried, and the rest cheered in agreement.

Claude met Dimitri’s gaze over their clinking glasses. A warmth came over him, and he was sure it wasn’t from the alcohol.

After several more drinks, Claude dizzily found a seat on the worn couch by the fire. Hilda plopped down beside him and let her head loll onto his shoulder. He looked around the restaurant, at everyone there—his friends—and he realized that the world looked a little brighter. No—that was too simple. It was like he had turned the saturation up, adjusted the contrast, and life took on a richness that he didn’t know it could; or, perhaps it had been that way all along, and it was now easier to see it.

Dimitri, engaged in a discussion with Edelgard and her friends across the room, smiled at him. He looked a little tired, his hair was disheveled, but he was positively glowing in the firelight.

Maybe, Claude thought to himself, maybe there is something to this Christmas thing after all.