Chapter Text
Buddy's eyes peered open to stare up at a ceiling he was beginning to familiarize himself with. The afternoon sun leaked through the lace-trimmed curtains, casting tiny mountains of shadows over the dandelion-esque shape embossed in the ceiling—placed sporadically by vibes, he had to assume. There were taller peaks here and there, and brief pauses of slightly hilly plains between loose rows of colorless stars. Buddy's head fell to the side to see a wide desk piled with storage boxes and bookshelves crammed full of sewing notions and crafts. While the air had a crisp quality to it, the cotton sheets and heavier wool blanket with satin trimming kept him bundled and warm through the night and well past morning if the angle of the sun implied the time of day Buddy assumed.
He sat up with a stretch, sucked in a deep breath, and sighed it out. His suitcase sat to his left on the floor, open and messy inside. Thankfully, the fold-out couch he slept on was comfy enough to actually fall unconscious on. Trying to fall asleep with a metal pole lodged into his back and waking up as a fire-breathing bear wasn't on his list of good guest manners. Buddy huffed out a modicum of amusement at the thought before kicking off the blankets and preparing himself for the day.
By the time Buddy made it through most of his morning routine, the sunlight had leaned further, ensuring that he'd missed both breakfast and lunch. He dragged a brush through his hair to dispel his bedhead and decided that his basic foundation, eye liner, and slightly tinted lip balm were enough to be presentable on a vacation. He ducked from the bathroom into the craft room and pulled on a dark sweatshirt over the shirt he had slept in. He tugged on a pair of warm socks, double checked that his dark jeans were buttoned and zipped, pocketed his phone, and then headed out into the living room.
The TV was set to some Hallmark-equivalent channel and was muted. If Buddy cared enough to read the captions, he was sure they'd evoke trite plots and overused characters. He rolled his eyes and followed the clattering of metal trays and boisterous laughter from the kitchen. Buddy stood in the doorway to see that the kitchen table was divided into two lands: one for gift-wrapping and the other for a makeshift cookie bakery.
Myra's chuckle was warm as she sipped hot tea from her mug. "Wow," she hummed, her voice rejuvenated, "hard to believe that someone would say they're doing a kind thing and then complain about it."
"And post it on the internet!" Chase added, flabbergasted and shrugging. "Like, geez! No one told this woman to do one of those trees, and, like, the kid did everything but hold this woman's hand and lead her to the toy she wanted." He scoffed as he tugged wrapping paper around a book Buddy didn't catch the title of. "Poor kid's gonna unwrap some cheap toy that's nothing close to what she asked for."
"The angel tree thing?"
Chase lifted his attention to see Buddy, and his pissed glare broke into a bright smile. "Hey, Sleeping Be—" His eyes widened, and he turned away to cough. "Sleeping. Um. Sleeperson." He rested a hand on his hip. "Hey, Sleeping Sleeperson. Save some sleep for the rest of us." He forced out a laugh.
Buddy's eyebrows drew together, skeptical.
"Finally." Grandpa Ralph walked over to the table, oven-mitted up, and scooped up a tray of evenly placed and shaped cookie dough. "Thought you'd never get up. Chase would've eaten all of the mistake cookies on his own."
"Good afternoon." He looked to Grandpa Ralph and then to Myra. "Um. Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep in for so long."
Myra waved a hand to dismiss the apology. "You're fine, Buddy. Some of us are late-risers. Have some mistake cookies." She pointed to the crinkled non-stick foil which held various oddly-shaped and broken cookies.
Buddy's heart lifted. Cookies for breakfast? He nodded quickly and sat down in front of the mistake cookies non-stick foil. He chose a chocolate chip cookie and went right to work eating it, unable to find a flaw in it at all. "So the angel tree thing?"
Chase, having successfully composed himself, folded the edges of his wrapping paper and struggled with holding them in place while breaking off a section of tape. "Oh, yeah. I saw that some people were getting together to actually send the stuff the kid actually asked for, so it's getting taken care of, but I can't believe someone could be so mean about something important, y'know?"
"I'm a little mean," Buddy admitted.
"Pssh." Chase rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess, but that's like saying that…." He paused, trying to gather his thoughts for a comparison. "That you took an extra piece of gum compared to someone who stole all the money from the dance club treasury. You're mean at books. This woman was mean mean, and if no one did anything about it, then a kid would've been let down, and she posted her video. Like." Chase shook his head. "It's not the same."
"Mm." Buddy shoveled another two cookies into his mouth. "Want to do something for charity?"
Chase pressed the final piece of tape on the present he had just finished wrapping. "…Yeah. We'll look into it after Christmas."
"Mhm." Buddy picked up another cookie and turned it over. It seemed that Grandpa Ralph's expectations were quite high. He shoved the cookie into his mouth. Ah, well. If he continued to benefit like this, Buddy supported whatever expectations Grandpa Ralph had. "Today is baking day, then?"
"You bet," Grandpa Ralph gruffed and switched another set of trays. "Today is Cookie Day. I finished the fussy macarons earlier. They're chilling in the fridge. Got a whole slew of mistake cookies there for ya when you're done with those ones."
Buddy perked up, and his smile was small and unobtrusive. "If you insist, I'll fall on the sword."
Chase dropped the wrapped gift into a Xerox box sitting on the floor beside him before pulling out a book from the same box. With a finesse Buddy wasn't expecting, Chase unfurled a section of wrapping paper, measured it precisely for the book, and slid a pair of scissors down the wrapping paper roll. He set the roll aside and picked up the book.
"What's that?" Buddy asked.
Chase paused and spun the book's cover to face Buddy.
Buddy squinted and read the title out loud, "'51 Plants to Build Your Self-Sustaining Compound On'. What?"
"S'for Pru." Chase set the book down on the wrapping paper. "She's into outdoorsy stuff, so one of her gifts is a book about plant stuff. Foraging? Farming? She lives across the street at the storybook-slash-fairytale bed-and-breakfast, and I gotta hurry up and finish wrapping her stuff b'cause she and her mom are stopping by today." As he spoke, Chase's arms and hands were on auto-pilot, twisting the paper into folds and pinning it all in place before struggling to rip off a piece of tape one-handed.
"Oh." Buddy looked down at his sweatshirt. "Uh. Is this okay? Should I—?" He stood, ready to pivot back to the craft room to put on more presentable clothing.
"Pssh." Chase rolled his eyes with a smile. "You're good. You're gonna need that for the cookie deliveries."
"The cookie deliveries?" Buddy sat back down in his chair and picked up another cookie mistake to devour.
"Yup! I help Grandpa deliver all the cookies to our neighbors and friends in town, and I think you're gonna wanna come with me." Chase set the now-fully-wrapped book in the Xerox box before picking up a brand new flashlight. "Hm." He went right to work measuring the flashlight against another section of wrapping paper. "We say hi, 'happy holidays', give a special box of cookies, and then come home after they're all delivered."
Buddy hummed, affirming his understanding.
A rapid, but rhythm-conscious knock tapped at the front door.
Chase sucked in a gasp. "Crap, that'll be Mrs. G and Pru. Uh." He looked down at the bag he was constructing out of wrapping paper. "Um. Mom, could you stall 'em?"
Myra chuckled and then peered over at the oven clock. "I think I could buy you…five minutes." She set her mug down on the counter. "Buddy, could you help me greet Agatha and Prunella?"
"Yes," he answered automatically. Buddy tensed and met Myra's gentle gaze. The task he agreed to caught up in his understanding. Meeting strangers, yes, he could do that. He could do that better than anyone! After a brief pause, he grabbed a napkin and furiously swiped at the pads of his fingers to banish any cookie crumbs that stuck around. "Right, yes." Quickly, he stood, hurried out of the kitchen, and then stood at the front door, partly frozen.
"It's okay. You can open it."
Buddy looked back to see Myra approaching the door from the kitchen. He stood to the side—out of Myra's way—gripped the door knob and twisted it before opening the front door.
"Myra!" A jovial voice sang from outside.
"Agatha, hi," Myra chirped. She stood aside. "Come in, come in."
A woman, Agatha G., clad head to toe in emerald velvet and ivory lace and positively brimming with holiday spirit, entered the home and swept Myra up in an all-encompassing embrace. Her amber hair was tied up in a bun with holly clips tucking loose strands into place. Stout ringlets seemed to spring at the edge of her hairline, as if her joy manifested in a halo. "It's good to see you," she chimed with a voice akin to church bells. "I do hope you're staying warm with all this frost." A British accent seasoned her greetings.
A young girl, Prunella (Pru?), stepped into the house after her mother's skirt and closed the door behind herself, slipping the door knob right out of Buddy's grasp. Her long, amber hair was tucked into a braid with a solitary green ribbon dashing between her strands of hair and tying at the base of her braid. A thick, sensible, brown coat kept her warm against the day's chill and shielded her down to her knees against the wind. Her black leggings tucked into her boots and a single holly clip kept her bangs from falling into her face. Her precocious, blue eyes locked with Buddy's gaze.
"As warm as ever," Myra's voice guided Buddy back to the present. "I've been knitting a few surprises, and they've certainly kept my lap warm."
"Oh, I know just how that is," Agatha waved her free hand, seemingly recalling her previous fiber-arts-related memories. "I remember how toasty I could get back when I was crocheting Prunella's baby blankets. I had to take breaks. Oh, but it's worth it, so worth it. Fiber arts can look so enchanting, and I'm sure that yours are bound to be stunning!"
"I don't know about all that." Myra laughed softly as she dodged the compliment. Her head tilted ever so slightly as she caught better sight of Prunella. "It's good to see you, Prunella. How're you doing?"
Prunella finally tore her attention away from Buddy to meet Myra. "Hi, Mrs. Hollow. I'm doing good." She then set her sights back on Buddy again. "Who's he?"
"Good, good. Yes, Agatha, Prunella, I want you two to meet a new friend of Chase's." Myra reached a hand out to Buddy as if to entice a stray cat closer.
A brief jolt shook Buddy into greeting mode. He stood beside Myra and offered a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Aga—" He froze. What was her surname? "Mrs. G—" Wait, was using her first name proper if Chase used 'Mrs. G'? "M-my name is Bud—" Well, not really. "You can call me Buddy. Uh, Buddy D-Delaune," he muttered his last name as if he was kicking it under a rug. "I'm Chase's—," he sucked in a breath, hoping it would mask his pause, "—roommate. We're roommates. And coworkers. We work together. And are friends."
Agatha's sunny smile grew with delight, and she accepted Buddy's hand with her own before giving it a gentle shake. "Wonderful to meet you, Buddy. My name is Agatha Gruenenfelder." She released his hand and stepped aside to make room for the young girl. "And this is Prunella, my daughter."
Prunella gripped Buddy's hand, gave it one firm shake, and then released it. "Charmed," she deadpanned.
"Chase used to babysit Prunella when she was younger," Agatha clarified. "Oh, it was such a help whenever I would need to be all hands on deck for the events I put on. She'd run all over with Chase and Deacon, but now that she's older, she can help out very well. Myra, you'll have to visit for one of the Frost Fairy luncheons I'll be hosting between Christmas and New Years. Mr. Gruenenfelder will be back by then, and we'll have a roaring fire going with all sorts of warm hearth decor around the dining room. It'll be a gentle goodbye to this year and a welcoming in with the new."
"That sounds delightful. I'd love to go, and I'm sure Chase will too." Myra held out a hand. "Can I help you with your bag?"
Agatha shook her head. "I wouldn't dream of it, dear. It's quite heavy. If you have some space in the baking factory I smell, I can place it down in there."
Buddy reached out a hand. "I can carry it for you, Ma'am."
"How gentlemanly," Agatha chimed and offered up the hefty tote bag.
Buddy grasped the handles and tensed up as the weight of the bag all but yanked him to the floor. His grasp tightened, and he managed to keep himself steady. "What's in here?" he asked, gobsmacked.
Agatha giggled. "I brought some of my homemade fruit cake."
"Fruit cake?" Buddy gaped.
"And a hot jug of spiced apple cider," Prunella added.
"Ah." Buddy forced a polite smile. "I see." No wonder he felt the need to learn how to deadlift in order to carry a dessert.
"That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you, Agatha. It's going to taste even better with all of us here to share it." Myra patted Buddy's back twice—just between his shoulder blades—with the same gentleness a ladybug uses to land on flower petals. "Could you take that into the kitchen, please, Buddy? I'd love to show Agatha and Prunella how the tree came out."
Buddy gave Myra a solitary nod before hauling the tote bag into the kitchen. "Chase—," Buddy gritted, "—I need a spot on the table. Fruitcake-and-jug-of-cider-sized."
Grandpa Ralph jabbed a thumb at the small open spot beside the kitchen sink. "Counter."
"Oh—" Buddy shuffled over to the open spot and lifted the tote bag onto the counter. He caught his breath and made a mental note to join Chase at the gym for one of his morning workouts. He stood still, leaning back whenever Grandpa Ralph moved near him in his precision-based cookie-baking. "Chase, how's your wrapping going?"
"Great." Chase folded the edges of the final gift's paper. "Uh. Buddy, can you grab me some tape?"
Grateful for the task, Buddy all but teleported to Chase's side, pulled a piece of tape, and ripped it from the dispenser. "Right there?" He waited for Chase's nod before stretching out the tape and carefully placing it. "Crap," he muttered. "There's a fold in it."
"S'fine." Chase dropped the gift in the Xerox box and took a seat, finally relaxing.
"But it's not neat. There's a fold in the tape." Buddy's eyebrows drew together in confusion.
Chase planted an elbow against the table and snagged one of the mistake cookies. "So? It's not like the kid is gonna gimme a failing grade in Gift-Wrapping 101. She's just gonna be happy for the gift behind the paper."
Buddy nodded softly and fell silent.
"Hey, have you ever had a cookie sandwich?" Chase asked as he grabbed two misshapen cookies.
Buddy lifted an eyebrow. "A cookie sandwich? Like…an Oreo?"
"Uh-uh." Chase then grabbed a butter knife and uncovered the bowl of homemade buttercream frosting. He then narrated his process. "Like, you grab a cookie, you put on frosting, and then you put another cookie on top." He set the butter knife aside and presented Buddy with his finished creation.
Buddy accepted the messy homemade cookie sandwich. "No, I haven't had one, but conceptually, it's the same as an Oreo."
"Sure, yeah, but they're different," Chase insisted and prepared another one for himself. "Cookies are a frosting delivery system, and you can control how much frosting you deliver if you do it like this."
Buddy released an amused huff before biting into the sandwich. Frosting bloomed out the sides, and Buddy would've assumed it was some sort of prank to see how gullible he was when it came to homemade desserts and kid treats if not for Chase doing the exact same action seconds later with similar messy results.
Chase's tongue reached out and scooped up the smear of frosting from the corner of his mouth. "Great, right?" He grinned.
Buddy nodded. Despite the untidy method of eating, Buddy found himself scarfing down the rest of his cookie sandwich and licking the frosting from his fingers.
Myra entered the kitchen with Agatha following shortly after. "Are you ready for a cider break?" Myra asked as she opened the cupboard and started pulling down mugs.
Gruffly, Grandpa Ralph agreed. "I'll need to switch sheets in eight minutes, so that's all I've got for a cider break."
Agatha giggled. "You can take a cookie-baking break, then. From the looks of the kitchen, you've been at it all day." She stood by Myra and began to fill mugs with the apple cider. "Besides, you could spend the next eight minutes telling me all about how you put together that gorgeous wreath hanging on your front door."
As Ralph began explaining his wreath-making process, Agatha passed a mug off to Buddy and then two to Chase. "Could you take this second one in to Prunella? I believe she's quite caught by the television."
"Sure, Mrs. G." Chase accepted the second mug. His attention then switched to Buddy. "Grab some cookie sandwiches. We can bring one to Pru."
"Right," Buddy mumbled and set his mug down on the table. Quick as he could, he put together another few cookie sandwiches and arranged them on a paper napkin. He then met Chase in the living room where the stop-motion Christmas special worked with the Christmas tree to bathe the furniture and walls in a festive multi-color glow.
Now without her coat and boots, Prunella sat cross-legged in the direct center of the couch, her eyes glued to the screen. She spoke a 'thank you' for the mug and the cookie sandwich presented to her while her gaze remained on the stilted animation.
Buddy held up the paper napkin, offering Chase one of the two cookie sandwiches remaining.
Chase murmured a thanks as he took one.
They each turned their attention to the screen, mesmerized. Buddy rested the edge of his mug to his lips and sipped the hot cider. His eyes fell closed as he savored the warmth traveling down to his stomach. It slowly seeped out to the most superficial layers of his skin, wrapping him in some sort of toasty hug. Entranced by the holiday special, Buddy stared as he lifted his cookie sandwich to his mouth and took a bite of it.
A moment later, Chase snickered, drawing Buddy's attention. "Hey, you got a lil something right there." Chase tapped an index finger against the corner of his own mouth.
Buddy ran a finger along the corner of his mouth. "Did I get it?"
Chase released an amused huff, "Nah." He took a step toward Buddy and leaned close before freezing in place. A splash of realization shot through his body before a heat bloomed in his cheeks.
"Chase," Buddy tested. "Did I get it?"
"U-uh. Um. Nope. Hold on." Chase stepped back. "I'll grab you a napkin."
"But I've got—"
"I'll grab you a napkin!" Chase repeated as he hurried back to the kitchen while TV static shot between his heart and his head.
Buddy's eyebrows drew together as he watched Chase flee.
"That was weird."
Buddy's attention shot over to Prunella who stared up at him with her inquisitive eyes. "…Maybe?"
Prunella sipped from her mug and then sighed. "Those cooties never get any easier, huh?"
Buddy's gaze drifted back to the kitchen entrance. "…Maybe not."
After an evening of delivering cookies and merry wishes to the Sugar Springs neighbors, the Hollows and solitary Delaune settled back at the farmhouse with plans no more complicated than relaxing as the hours slowly ticked through Christmas Eve. Holiday classics were queued up on the one of the two black-and-white channels on the TV, and Grandpa Ralph and Myra were settled beneath warm quilts from holidays past.
Chase and Buddy stood in the dimly-lit kitchen. The light above the sink was the only one on, bathing the empty sink in a warm yellow glow. Transatlantic accents and the hum of strings and sleigh bells drifted from the living room, but were ultimately unheard over Buddy's 'thank you' to Chase as Chase poured the final contents of a batch of hot chocolate into a mug Buddy was rapidly adopting into his identity.
Buddy unwrapped the peppermint stick he'd taken from the kitchen table and tossed the trash before setting it into his mug and using it to stir the piping hot drink.
Chase flicked on the tap and rinsed out the hot cocoa pot. Like clockwork, he dripped dish soap into the pot and scrubbed it, his muscle memory tracing all of the paths he usually used to properly wash the pot out. He glanced over to see Buddy stirring his cocoa with the peppermint stick. "Oh, hey," Chase hummed, "you do that, too?"
Buddy paused before releasing the stick. "I saw Myra do it," he whispered. "Seemed like a good idea. Better than using a spoon, and it adds to the flavor. We'll see if I like it too."
"Yeah, she's always done that." Chase gave the pot a final rinse and set it aside on the dish rack upside down. He washed the soap off his hands and tugged the decorative towel from the oven door's handle as he caught sight of Buddy staring out the window above the sink and idly stirring his cocoa with the peppermint stick again. Chase's lips tugged into a smile as he dried off his hands. "Gives your hands something to do, too, hm?"
Buddy's movements slowed as his thoughts briefly spun through the connections between Chase's voice and his own actions. "Mhm." He began stirring again and watched as circles disappeared as soon as he drew them in the liquid.
Chase picked up his own mug of hot cocoa. "Wanna go watch Scrooge get dunked on?"
Buddy released an amused huff and picked up his mug. "Sounds like a nice time." His gaze drifted out the window.
"C'mon, then." Chase nudged an elbow into Buddy's side and headed into the hall. He glanced between seats before pausing and looking back to see Buddy passing the living room and heading to the front door. His eyebrows drew together, and he followed Buddy out the front door. "What'cha doing out here?"
Buddy sat down on the porch swing, and wrapped his fingers around his hot mug. He breathed in the chilling, bracing air, and sighed it out. "Watching snow."
Chase stared out at the night, at the line of trees fencing the farm, at the foot prints they'd made earlier gradually disappear, and at the thousands of delicate flecks of snow cascading down around them. Wordlessly, Chase double-checked that he pulled the door completely closed, and then he sat down beside Buddy on the porch swing. "S'quiet."
"It is," Buddy agreed.
"Way different than rain."
Buddy nodded. "There's not much like it. It absorbs sound, so we're just left with the cold and the visual of so many snowflakes falling, building up into mounds and softening all the edges of the outside landscape."
"Oh, a 'blanket' of snow," Chase hummed. "I see it."
The two sat and sipped at their cocoa, warming themselves from the inside out.
Chase's gaze wandered around the porch until it rested on the handmade wreath hanging on the front door. "Hey," he murmured. "Do you see the mistletoe?"
"Hm?" Buddy leaned forward to see the wreath. "Is there mistletoe on there? I don't think I see any."
Chase's foot tapped against the porch boards, and his thumb brushed back and forth against the warm ceramic in his hands. "What if there was mistletoe? What then?"
"Then I'd see it."
Chase's laughter was startled and sudden. "Yeah, I guess you would." He stared out at the snow, eased his mug up to his lips for a sip, and swallowed the bracing heat. He spoke again in a voice much quieter than his laughter, "Hey. What does mistletoe mean?"
Buddy lifted an eyebrow. "You can't be serious. You don't know?"
Chase shrugged and glanced between Buddy and the snow, not quite sure where to rest his gaze. "You like symbols and stuff. What does mistletoe mean to you?"
"Oh." That was different. A little different. Buddy traced the rim of his mug with his eyes. "Well, I've never thought much of it. Of course, there's its standard meaning. If you stand below it with someone, you kiss them. Or. It's expected that you two will kiss. It's not required by law. …But to me? I've never done anything about it. I've never partaken in the tradition." He paused as a slightly sour and quizzical look appeared on his face. "Participated. I've never participated in the mistletoe kiss." Buddy stirred his hot cocoa with the dwindling peppermint stick before sipping from his mug.
"Do you want there to be mistletoe?"
Buddy glanced at Chase over his mug and lowered it. His tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth to swipe up any wayward hot cocoa. His voice stalled as he phased Chase's words through layers of analysis and weighed them against the potential for assumption and possible humiliation. "If there were mistletoe, …I'd be interested in having its tradition mean something to me."
Chase nodded, taking in Buddy's words. He scooted closer to Buddy and leaned until his shoulder bumped against Buddy's upper arm.
A chuckle bubbled in Buddy's chest. "What're you doing? Are you cold?"
"Kinda." Chase gazed up at Buddy through half-lidded eyes. "Hey, if you want there to be mistletoe, and I want there to be mistletoe, why don't we pretend?"
Buddy's eyes widened ever so slightly as the mirth on his face faded into surprise. When Chase didn't add any 'just kidding' onto his question, Buddy's surprise softened. "I…think I see some. Some mistletoe." He repositioned himself to face Chase.
"I think I see some too. Pretty leafy." Chase's attention fell from Buddy's eyes down to his lips. "…And pink," he murmured, barely audible.
"Pfft, pink leaves?" Buddy whispered as his eyelids slid lower.
"Like the berries 'n stuff."
"Isn't that holly?" Buddy asked with a lilt of amusement in his voice. "And aren't they red?"
"Oh my god shut up," Chase huffed. He suppressed a laugh which threatened to further break the mood between them. "You wanna kiss or not?"
"With such a dashing request, who could resist?" Buddy hummed and leaned down ever so slightly.
With a tilt of his head, Chase caught Buddy's lips in a sudden, clumsy kiss, powered by the desire to shut Buddy up and the desire to chase after whatever soft mood was rapidly slipping away from them. Predictably, the hissing cold of Buddy's snake bites and fresh angel bites startled Chase into a flinch, and the sudden contact shot a petrification through Buddy from the tips of his ears down to the soles of his feet. It was a miracle their teeth hadn't clacked together in Chase's hurry. Their audible grunts of discomfort disconnected their lips, leaving them to stare off in whatever direction didn't lead to the other's eyes.
After a moment of silence, Buddy cleared his throat. "…Was that…a mistletoe kiss?"
Chase's cheeks burned in embarrassment. "I mean. I guess, but like." He huffed out a frustrated sigh. "They're supposed to be, like, special and nice and glowy. Like the Hallmark movies."
Buddy pursed his lips in thought. His past kisses with Chase that were special and nice and "glowy" happened as they were backlit with the indirect flares of city lights and as muffled people all around them in other rooms partied, watched TV, and slept. He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. "Special and nice and glowy," he echoed.
"Yeah." Chase leaned back against the porch swing.
Buddy dragged a finger down the side of his mug. "You want to."
"Yeah?"
"And…." Buddy's finger slid up his mug. "I want to."
Chase sat up. "Yeah?"
Buddy's eyelids lowered as he dared to meet Chase's gaze. "So let's play Hallmark."
Chase's eyebrows drew together. "You want to pretend that much? To be different people, not ourselves?"
Buddy's eyes widened. "I—it's just. We seem nervous. I thought it'd help get us over the threshold. The potential awkwardness, you know?" At Chase's pause, Buddy added, "I know we can kiss. We've done it before."
Chase bristled and eyed the near-invisible chain-link fence between them. It was an improvement, really. When they first met, it was a solid concrete wall, probably two feet thick. The more his feelings twisted and turned around and around like snowflakes whipping through winter wind, the more Chase wanted to see them melt together, forgotten, like cocoa powder in steaming milk. As his numerous thoughts fell and clumped together into a blanket of mental fog, only one thing seemed clear.
"Chase?"
Chase met Buddy's gaze. Despite the mental collage of emotions, the through-line was clear, tugging his heart closer to those pearlescent blue eyes. The unsure bob of Buddy's Adam's apple had Chase tucking his tongue between his molars. The inconsistent rise and fall of Buddy's chest from beneath his sweatshirt reminded Chase of the present glimmering between the waves of his somewhat-clarity. Chase rested a warm hand on Buddy's jean-clad thigh, noting that he wanted to nap on them forever.
The muscles beneath Chase's hands cautiously slackened, and Buddy's eyelids drooped closed as Chase hooked his lips with Buddy's. They slid into place as puzzle pieces did, as if their beings were laser-cut to fit side by side, hand in hand.
While the snow froze their toes, their fingers, and their ears, their chests bloomed with warmth as they shared the peppermint-tinted kiss beneath the invisible mistletoe.
Chase swung his car door closed. He set his gaze on the intimidating Delaune residence as he swiped a few fingers along the edge of his lapel, making sure it was neat and tidy. When he heard the passenger's door swing shut, he whistled a low note. "Geez. Big place."
"Mhm." Buddy's voice sat in the back of his throat with a heavy helping of dread. Memories of making a run for freedom resurfaced, and he took a few measured breaths to ease his increasing heart rate. This time would be different. He was the cool, unbothered DiamondDiva, not the depressed, rage-filled Nox Delaune. "The word 'ostentatious' comes to mind," he snipped.
Chase snickered. "Yeah." He leaned on the roof of his car to seize Buddy's attention. "But this'll go great."
"Great?"
"Yeah," Chase chimed, "b'cause you told 'em what's what last time we saw 'em. So long as you give them a heads up when we say hello, we can walk out whenever you want."
Buddy nodded softly as a corner of his lips tugged into a small smile. "Right." He skirted the front of the car to meet Chase on the other side. "Additionally, I have the golden retriever to my cheetah, don't I?"
Chase stared for a moment as his brain stuttered. "Hnh?"
"I'll tell you about it later." Buddy set his eyes on the walkway up to the front door. "Shall we?" He offered an arm to Chase and a suave smile that'd be right at home in a DiamondDiva video.
Chase hooked a hand onto Buddy's arm and walked with him along the manicured path to the Gates of High Expectations. They came to a stop at the dark wood door. The iron detailing curved and hooked around decorative frosted glass panels embedded in the door. Sparks of numerous off-white lights glittered behind the glass as Chase leaned to and fro.
Buddy rang the doorbell, and it echoed on the other side of the door.
Two figures appeared, blotting out the glitter of fairy lights behind them. The front door swung open to reveal the same two people who were frosty company during Buddy's birthday dinner. Mr. Delaune's dark suit served as the backdrop for Mrs. Delaune's gold-accented, crimson dress.
"Nox," Mrs. Delaune's smile pulled taut, and her tone of voice dulled ever so slightly, "and Chase." Her icy gaze fell down to see Chase's hands resting on Buddy's proffered arm. Her true feelings slipped back behind a tight, but polite smile, and she stood aside. "Do come in."
Buddy steeled his resolve and stepped past the threshold, guiding Chase inside with him as he went.
Chase followed by him, narrowly avoiding the door as it swung closed behind him. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the holiday decor expertly staged all around them. Past the staircase and in the great room, the—what must've been—twelve-foot tall tree mimicked Times Square with all of its fairy lights and gold ornaments. His eyebrows drew together ever so slightly. With all that foresty green real estate, it's a wonder there was only gold and ivory represented.
"We're absolutely delighted that you both were able to come to Christmas dinner," Mrs. Delaune's sincerity matched the depth of the tree's lights and color palette—or lack thereof.
Chase directed his attention to Mr. Delaune's reserved and slightly sour expression and gave him a nod in greeting. "Thanks for inviting us."
"We'd be remiss not to invite our son and his—" Mrs. Delaune's gaze flicked between Buddy and Chase's arms, "—friend." Her attention lifted to meet Chase's eyes, and Chase couldn't shake the feeling of his soul being nailed to the floor. She stood by Buddy with a renewed charm. "It's especially wonderful to see you, again, Nox. Twice in one year? I promise not to let it spoil me." Her hand lifted to rest against the back of Buddy's head.
Buddy's arm lowered, breaking his and Chase's connection, and he gently grasped Mrs. Delaune's hand before guiding it away from his head. "I don't appreciate the guilt-tripping, Mother."
"Guilt-tripping?" Mrs. Delaune scoffed, her disbelief cracking her previously polite expression.
"Yes," Buddy stated. "Anything meant to make me feel guilty for sticking up for myself."
Mrs. Delaune sucked in a breath, prepared to release her venom.
"Evelyn." Mr. Delaune rested a hand against her lower back, surprising her into silence. He met Buddy's gaze. "Am I correct that you're ready to leave just as you did during your birthday dinner if you feel like it?"
Buddy answered with a nod. "If I feel like I'm not being heard or if I feel like I'm being needled even after I ask you, Mother, or Grandfather to stop, then I'm taking Chase and leaving. I don't care about lasting out the evening. I'd like to…, but not at the expense of my comfort."
"Very well. Understood."
Mrs. Delaune shot Mr. Delaune a prickly glare.
"Why don't you show Chase around since it's his first time here?" Mr. Delaune offered. "When you finish, we'll be waiting in the great room. If dinner is ready before you're done, we'll send for you and Chase."
Buddy's gaze narrowed with suspicion. Nevertheless, he and Chase shed their coats and hung them before he took Chase's hand and walked off, guiding him away from the front door and into another room. As they left the front hall, Mrs. Delaune's hissing gradually hushed down from the distance and finally ceased when Buddy closed the door behind them.
"Wow," Chase chanced a chuckle. "I didn't think your dad would be so understanding. Good thing, huh?"
Buddy's eyebrows pulled together, and he shook his head. "I don't believe it, but he's saying what I want to hear, so I'll pretend he means it. Anyway, this is the—…music room?" He walked over to the wall to flick on the lights, but his confusion persisted even as lights swept over the fine furniture. "That's—…." He huffed.
"What's up?" Chase stepped further into the sitting room. "Is it a music room like…. This is where people listen to music on some sorta record player?"
Buddy shook his head. "No." He muttered, "did they get rid of it?"
"Get rid of what?"
Buddy lifted a hand toward one of the windows. "The piano. It used to be here. So petty," he hissed.
Chase frowned as the anger within Buddy settled more and more. He walked over and scooped Buddy's hand into his own. "M'sorry, Bud. You must've really loved it."
Buddy sighed, still bitter. "Whatever. There's other places to see. This was the music room. We can circle around the first and second floors and take a break on the third. There's less miasma there."
"Miasma?" Chase asked as he followed Buddy to the next room.
"Bad vibes," Buddy clarified.
"Ah."
Buddy climbed the polished stairs with Chase following up behind him until they reached the third floor. The area rug splayed across the space between his old bedroom door and the guest room door on the opposite side was spotless and detailed as it always was. The heavy curtains were drawn over the windows as the tasseled curtain holders hung at their velvet side. The Victorian sofa's legs and back looked as if it were designed in cursive with sprays and blooms of flowers clustering randomly among the upholstery. On the opposite side of the room was a leather easy chair that hadn't matched the front sitting room downstairs in well over a decade. Buddy recalled sitting in whatever way he liked in it as he read through books for countless afternoons. There was something about being in the old room that was so familiar yet foreign with his new life by his side.
"Whoa," Chase gaped. "Is that the piano that was downstairs?"
Buddy's attention stumbled from his memories into the here and now to register that the polished black piano that had once been a centerpiece in the music room downstairs had been moved to the center back wall between a pair of windows. The sunflower painting he recalled from months earlier hung perfectly between the two windows, adding a bright backdrop for the piano.
Chase dodged the sofa on his way to the piano. "Wow…. Hey, could I play it?" When he saw Buddy's stoic expression, his smile faltered. "Oh, it's cool if not. I don't have to."
Buddy shook his head in an attempt to shrug off the feeling of all those late mornings with Mrs. Olivia practicing his scales. "It's fine. You can sit and play, but I doubt it's in tune if it was left up here to rot."
Chase's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "To rot?" he echoed.
Buddy flinched. "I mean. If it was moved up here, it didn't fit the image of the house downstairs. My parents may not have used it for a time, so I doubt they've been keeping it tuned. After all, I believe I was the only one who ever played it regularly." The sound of a tapped key rang out, snapping Buddy more into the present.
Chase took a seat on the polished piano bench and tapped another few keys. "Hm. Doesn't sound bad. But I'm no piano expert."
Buddy stared for a moment as a small wave of confusion passed through him. He took a seat beside Chase and gazed down at the ivory keys. The pads of his fingers rested against the off-white keys before selectively pressing down, playing out a chord. Buddy drew in a slow breath, and his eyes fell closed as his fingers gingerly pressed out another set of chords. The clear sound cut through his mental fog. Memories of Mrs. Olivia's calm voice coated with age and expertise draped over him, impossible to uncouple with the sound of piano scales. His lips drew into a soft smile as his eyes opened and as he played a simple scale.
After a moment of silence, Chase spoke up, "How's it sound?"
"Perfect," Buddy murmured. "I wonder…." He hovered his hands over the keys, grasping and then relaxing as he attempted to recall any of the pieces he had practiced as a child. He pressed one key and then another before continuing to play out a simple, structed song Chase had heard dozens of time in many different contexts.
When Buddy finished a mere minute later, Chase perked up. "Oh, uh. That was…. Bach. Beethoven?"
Buddy laughed softly. "Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy'. 'Mastering a simple song to the point where it lives in your muscles is the goal'," he echoed Mrs. Olivia's beliefs. "Let me try another one." He reset his hand positions and began playing out a light tone. It still held the simplicity of tapping out notes in similar intervals, but his left hand maintained longer intervals than his right. He made it forty-five seconds in before pausing. His eyebrows drew together. "I don't remember," he admitted and tapped two or three keys closer to the right side of the piano. "I'll need to practice it again."
"That sounded like the graduation song. Or like a wedding song when the bride walks down the aisle in a rom-com."
Buddy sat up and rested his hands in his lap. "It was 'Canon in D'." His gaze fell to the woven basket on the floor beside the piano and on the stack of instructional piano books inside it. His lips pulled into a tight line. "I may be all played out."
"Pssh," Chase chuckled, "sure, you are." He scooted off the piano bench and took a step away from it. "You look like I'll have to pry you away from the piano." Upon seeing Buddy's blank expression, Chase quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. "Okay, well, if you don't wanna play anymore, you could show me something else?" He turned to face the sunflower painting. "Like this? This is pretty. That's a lotta yellow."
Buddy eased up to stand. His nose scrunched in distaste. "It's nice," he admitted. "Do you want to see my room?"
Chase's attention snapped over to Buddy. "Your childhood room?" He snickered. "Am I gonna see some dorky posters? Or am I finally gonna see your Captain Underpants collection?"
Buddy huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Shut up." He headed over to his old bedroom door and opened it for Chase to wander through.
"No, I'm lookin' forward to it now!" Chase hurried through the doorway. "Excited to see all the hobbies and dorky stuff kid Buddy was…into." His smile fell once he'd entered the dark room. "Um."
Buddy stepped through the doorway and flicked on the lights. The ceiling fan above his bed began to spin as the harsh white light shined from its center.
Chase continued to stare at the desaturated blues, grays, and dark wood around him. "Wow." He walked further in. "Not a lame thing in sight." In fact, there wasn't much personality in sight—nothing remotely what he was familiar with back at their apartment. There were bookshelves, a large, tall bed with a comfy-looking navy blue comforter on it, an abstract area rug containing gray and blue with a pop of black here and there, and a desk Buddy likely had outgrown the moment he graduated high school. Chase stared at the neat stack of manilla folders on the desk before slowly looking to his left to see Buddy leaning against the closed bedroom door. He gave him a tight smile. "It looks comfy?"
Buddy gulped down his frustrations. That look of pity in Chase's eyes was borderline unbearable. 'This is all you were allowed to be, huh?' His imaginary Chase voice asked. 'Oh, weird, your parents were like beige moms?' 'Yikes, no wonder you like purple and glitter so much.' Buddy's hands balled up into fists firmly planted at his side.
"This one?"
All the heat in Nox's eight-year-old body burned in his face as nervousness had his heart speeding at 1,000 miles per hour. He shakily nodded. This one. His hand crinkled the clear plastic on the set of bedroom sheets.
Mrs. Delaune leaned down and sucked in a disgusted gasp as she straightened her posture. "Oh, no. No, Nox. Those are repulsive."
Nox's eyebrows drew together, and he examined the sheets more closely. Soft shades of tan, blue, teal, and yellow wiggled across the ivory sheets in forms of ladybugs, butterflies, worms, beetles, moths, and bees. The colors looked similar to the furniture and fabrics Mrs. Delaune was picking out. What was so repulsive about these? His heart sunk, and his hand fell to his side.
Okay, well…, maybe there's a different set he could choose that would work better.
Nox glanced between the wall of sheets and Mrs. Delaune—who seemed more focused on solid color sheets. His worried stare softened when he saw a new set he was drawn to. Dinosaurs in space suits smiled back at him among a space scape filled with white stars and dinosaur space puns. He rested a hand on the plastic, crinkling it. "Mother?" He looked up to her and then patted the plastic.
Mrs. Delaune leaned down to examine the new set Nox had chosen. She pressed two fingers against the plastic bag, moving the glare from the store lights to get a better look at the sheets pattern. "No." She straightened up.
"Wha—?" Nox's eyes burned, and his throat grew scratchy. "Wh-why?"
"It's juvenile. You'll have these sheets for years to come. Pick something out you won't grow out of so quickly." Mrs. Delaune's focus passed between charcoal gray and ivory. Her voice lowered to a whisper, "There's no need to throw a tantrum. They're just sheets. Compose yourself and pick something you can grow into."
Buddy stared at the navy sheets he ended up choosing after carefully trying to find a balance between the grayscale Mrs. Delaune desired and his own desperation for some level of color. "Thanks," he bit out. His knuckles rapped against his bedroom door once and then twice. "You want to go to IKEA? Or Macy's or Walmart? Whatever's open after this dinner."
"Oh. Uh. Sure? Yeah, if there's a place that's open? But it's Christmas. I don't think—"
"We're going shopping for bed sheets tomorrow, then." Buddy's heartbeat drowned out Chase's sound of confirmation. His bedroom had been a waiting room for his eventual tomb for far too long. He had to keep himself to grown-up choices. Sure. Grown-up choices.
His gaze rested on Chase's lips, and memories of the previous peppermint-flavored kisses from last night kept filling his mind. As angry as the past made him, he could manage to get lost in this present. "Chase."
Chase perked up, at attention. "Yeah?" His hand that hovered over the manilla folder pile drew back.
"Do you see the mistletoe?" Buddy hummed, his voice edging on husky.
Chase blinked blankly before Buddy's words caught up to him. "Mistletoe?" He looked up to the ceiling. "Nope?"
"Hm." Buddy flicked off the lights. "How about now?"
Chase flinched at the sudden darkness. "Buddy?" He reached out a hand toward him and rested it against Buddy's chest.
Buddy's fingers gently wrapped around Chase's hand and guided it up to his waiting lips. "Do you see it?" He turned Chase's hand and traced Chase's lifeline with his tongue before resting his lips against the center of his palm in a kiss, sending a shooting shiver through Chase's sciatic nerve.
Chase's heart thrummed in his chest, and he stepped closer to Buddy. He rested his free hand against the door by Buddy's shoulder. "Yeah," he whispered. "I see it now." He worked to keep his breathing even and failed as his lips brushed against Buddy's neck. "S'cute. Lil bundle of green leaves and stuff. Yeah?"
"Mhm." Buddy nipped at Chase's thumb, earning him a gasp. "Smells like peppermint. Has tinsel?"
"Yeah, sure," Chase spoke breathlessly and found his way to Buddy's lips. The cold snag he expected from Buddy's snake bite piercings was actually a dull prod, and his teeth resisted the urge to catch onto them.
Buddy released Chase's hand in favor of resting his hands on Chase's waist. "Chase," he breathed just shy of a whisper. "The tour—," Chase seized another kiss, interrupting him.
"Y'think I wanna see your grandpa's watch collection?" Chase snickered before dragging his teeth down Buddy's throat, tracing his jugular veins and coaxing Buddy into a groan.
Buddy and Chase sat in assigned seats side by side. The red blooms in their cheeks had faded, but their poised hair and clothes had yet to be as fixed as well as they would've liked them to be. Luckily, the Delaunes would pay any amount not to question the way the two young men had staggered downstairs when dinner was ready.
Chase followed Buddy's movements, including which fork to pick up and when. Part of him was a little surprised that the dinner was celiac safe, but he was ultimately relieved he wouldn't have to fight for his life to turn down any dish. He wasn't sure how close Buddy's parents would fly to the Reddit Am-I-The-Asshole sun. It seems like they wouldn't poison someone while claiming that allergies are fake, thank goodness.
"Nox," Mrs. Delaune broke the silence.
Buddy's grip on his fork tightened, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. "Yes, Mother?"
"How is your independent business faring?" she asked with no additional snark.
Buddy paused, and his grip on his fork relaxed. "…It's going well. I've designed a small line of clothes I plan to launch soon. Chase and I just tried on and took photos of the mock-ups to see if any adjustments needed to be made. There weren't many notes to take." He ate a bite of his food.
"You're looking over every detail with precision?" Despite her gaze remaining on her food, Mrs. Delaune's concerns still rested on carefully nitpicking Buddy's choices and plans.
"Anything worth doing is worth doing well," Buddy parroted words he'd been told for years, and as much as he hated to agree with the Delaunes on anything, he begrudgingly followed these words.
Mr. Delaune nodded silently in agreement.
Grandfather Delaune huffed and peered down from where he sat across from Buddy. "The independent business you chose to align yourself with is fashion?"
Buddy met Grandfather Delaune's gaze. "That's part of it."
He wheezed out a scoff. "Fashion's a fickle field. Built on nothing but nonsense and fads." He jabbed his fork at his food, seemingly personally affronted. "Any family of mine in fashion," he muttered.
Frustration bubbled beneath the surface of Buddy's attempt at a neutral expression. Before he had a chance to tell his grandfather what he truly thought, he was interrupted.
"'That's part of it', Grandfather," Mrs. Delaune echoed Buddy's words with a rose-sweet tone. "He's diversifying his financial earnings. If he sees an advantage in fashion, he can invest in it without pouring all of his assets into one potentially fickle field. Isn't that right, Nox?" Mrs. Delaune's eyes commanded Buddy's immediate attention before her attention fell back down to her meal again.
A brief wave of confusion and surprise smacked Buddy, but he managed to shake it off in the time it took for Grandfather Delaune's snark to soften.
"Diversifying, hm?" Grandfather Delaune mused on the idea and then cleared his throat. "Well. For how frivolous the field is, it's worth it to jump on a sign of profit when you see it, but you jump right out of it at the first sign of fads changing." He waved his fork at Buddy as an extension of his words. "No use dipping a hand into a pond when there's no fish to catch."
Buddy blinked blankly. "Yes, Grandfather," he answered. A nudge at his side drew his attention to Chase and to the tiny thumbs up he gave him. The corner of his mouth involuntarily twitched into something close to a smile, and the usual weight and dread that pooled within his chest diluted ever so slightly.
The biggest surprise of the night for Buddy was that he'd lasted the evening. He found himself standing in the vestibule with Chase, preparing to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Delaune after a regular-length dinner. Grandfather Delaune had retired to his room without a snide remark, Mrs. Delaune managed to not mention moving back, and Mr. Delaune neglected to pick apart any of Chase and Buddy's life plans.
Buddy spoke up when the conversation had drifted into a lull, "I'd like to pick up my passport while I'm here. Is it in the safe?"
Mrs. Delaune's lips drew into a small, tight smile which edged on the verge of a wince. "Your passport," she echoed.
Mr. Delaune nodded toward the decorative storage cabinet lining part of the wall across from the stairs. "It's on the sideboard."
Buddy hummed a sound of acknowledgement and walked past his parents to pick up his passport and—after hesitating—the envelope beneath it. The white envelope had 'Nox and Chase' written in cursive, perfectly centered. His eyebrows drew together. "What is this?"
Mrs. Delaune glanced between Buddy and vaguely elsewhere. Her lips pursed, and she forced out an answer, "Well, we weren't sure what you and Chase would've wanted, so we chose to give you two an experience."
"An experience?" Chase chirped as his curiosity sprouted ideas. Did the Delaunes know that escape rooms exist? Whatever was in the envelopve must've been some museum passes, probably, which could be cool, too, he figured.
Mrs. Delaune nodded. "Perhaps next Christmas, we'll have a better idea of what will appeal to you both."
Buddy pocketed his passport and met Chase by the door. "An experience," he echoed. He then slipped a finger between the glued fold and the envelope body, ripping it open. Buddy held the envelope open for Chase to see, and he stared blankly. "Cruise tickets?" He leafed through the two tickets and the third slip of paper. "And a check?"
"For making your own flight reservations," Mr. Delaune clarified. "We don't know your schedule, so you'll be able to use that money to purchase flights that suit your schedule. Use my name."
Chase's mouth fell open. "Uh. Is." He tore his gaze from the tickets to meet Mr. Delaune's eyes. "Is this okay? I mean, this is a serious amount of money." He carefully tucked away his observation of the family resemblance between Buddy and his parents.
Mrs. Delaune waved a hand as if to dismiss Chase's concern. "Merry Christmas."
Buddy still resembled a stray cat skeptical of a food offering. "Is there something on the horizon you need me to attend? Is that why this gift is so extravagant?"
Mrs. Delaune scoffed. "Nox, it's terrible manners to dissect a gift right in front of the people who gave it to you. Yes, of course, we'd like to see you more often. Yes, there are social events we'd like to attend with you, but that's no reason to spit on your Christmas gift—"
"Think of it as repaying a debt," Mr. Delaune stated. "We haven't given you a birthday gift or Christmas gift in a few years, have we?"
Begrudgingly, Buddy agreed, "You haven't."
Mr. Delaune nodded toward the envelope. "Instead of thinking of it as an extravagance—," he held back the desire to roll his eyes, "—think of it as cumulative for the birthdays and Christmases we've missed."
Buddy mulled through the reasoning. "…Alright. Thank you."
"And Chase?"
Chase tensed, but showed Mr. Delaune a friendly smile regardless. "Mhm?"
"If it makes it easier for you to accept this gift, you can think of it as an investment in you."
Chase's eyebrows furrowed. "An investment?"
"Yes. From what I understand, you may work with brands or companies who pay you to promote their products. They're paying you for your time, your audience, your credibility, and your work. In that sense, you're an asset to them. They're investing time and money in you because they see that you're worth it." Mr. Delaune lifted an eyebrow and settled for a different, hopefully simpler, explanation. "If you're going to be involved in our family, you'll need to get used to receiving 'expensive' gifts."
After a considerable pause, Chase's confusion fell into a polite friendliness. "Okay, thanks! Merry Christmas." Chase gave the Delaunes a respectful nod.
Buddy's shoulders rolled back, and his posture straightened. He gave his parents a brief nod. "Thank you for the gift. Merry Christmas." He hesitantly added, "Thank you for the dinner. I could see it happening again in the future. I'll…be in touch about it."
"Well. We'll very much be looking forward to it," Mrs. Delaune spoke with an attempted air of indifference despite the enthusiasm threatening to seep through the few cracks in her composure. "You'll text us when you make it home?" When she was met with silence, she clarified, "it's terribly dark and snowy out there. And late."
"Sure, Ma'am," Chase assured with a grin. "Have a good night."
A few more 'good night's were shared as Chase and Buddy headed outside and to Chase's car. The two slipped into their seats, buckled up, and immediately blasted the heat. Chase shuddered as the cold took its sweet time leaving him. "Damn, it's cold."
"Mhm," Buddy hummed and curled up.
Chase turned the music on the radio down to a nearly imperceptible volume, and he watched the back of Buddy's head while waiting for the car's motor to warm up. "Hey, Bud, you okay?"
"Mhm."
"Seems like everything worked out way better this time, didn't it?" Chase rested a hand on Buddy's back. "What do you think?"
Buddy shifted in his seat, facing forward before meeting Chase's eyes. He blinked as sleep threatened to claim him. "I don't know what they win from giving me this," he mumbled, "but they're scheming something."
Chase tapped a thumb against the steering wheel as feeling gradually came back in his fingers. "…You don't trust 'em, I guess." Not that he could blame Buddy. From what he'd seen briefly, he could've cut the tension in the air between the Delaunes with a knife.
Buddy's tense expression softened. "I'd like to trust them," he admitted with a sigh.
Chase nodded. "Okay. They're definitely not good. I mean. Based on what you said before and how they were like super manipulative at your b-day dinner, but maybe they might not be as bad as they were? Maybe?"
Buddy scoffed and sent Chase an incredulous look.
"Don't get me wrong." Chase waved a hand to amend his previous thought. "They still suck. No fancy cruise is gonna fix that."
"That's how they've always tried to fix things with me," Buddy huffed. "They just throw money around and buy things they think I should want and spit on everything I actually care about. But I still…." He sighed and rested his head in his hands.
Chase rested his right hand on the gear shift. "Do your folks play the piano?"
Buddy shook his head. "No. I've never seen them play the piano. Ever."
"Hm." Chase adjusted the gear shift and put the car in drive. "Then I wonder why they keep it in tune?"
Buddy's head lifted, and he glanced in Chase's direction as he began the drive home. After a pause, Buddy hummed in acknowledgement and curled up again, allowing himself to drift off.