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Finney was stuck in the kitchen, listening to Gwen chatter about her plans for Christmas. She was practically glowing with excitement– he didn’t understand it.
She told him she’d be spending the next few days at Suzie’s house, staying over until Christmas. Suzie’s mum was taking them shopping, maybe even to an amusement park. Gwen went on and on about it, voice bright and hands waving. Finney tried to smile, tried to act like he was happy for her. He really did.
But Gwen knew him too well. She could see right through the forced nods and half-hearted replies. She hated leaving him in this house– she really did. But she was tired of feeling stuck. Tired of being trapped in the same four walls that never held anything soft.
Eventually Finney excused himself, muttering something about needing a walk. Gwen looked concerned. it was the middle of winter, after all. But she didn’t stop him.
He tugged on his dark hoodie and matching sneakers, not bothering with his walk-man. He wanted to hear the world for once. The crunch of the frost beneath his feet, the wind whistling down empty streets. Something real.
As he walked. He heard laughter echoing from across the road. He turned his head.
A family stood in their driveway, loud, chaotic and alive. Kids chased each other in circles, shrieking with joy. The adults struggled to untie a Christmas tree from the roof of their car, but they were laughing too– smiling wide like it didn't matter how hard it was. The whole scene glowed.
Finney looked at them for a moment too long. Then forced his eyes away. He walked faster.
He didn’t want to think about it. About how that kind of joy had always felt just out of reach.
He wished he had something like that– something warm. Something that felt like love.
Christmas, for Finney, had always been the opposite. Quiet. Cold. Almost forgettable.
He envied the people who got to love it.
But he forced those thoughts away. Pushing them back down where they always went.
Instead, he let the chill bite at his cheeks and focused on the world around him – the crunch of the frost beneath his shoes, the whisper of bare trees swaying in the wind. He walked slower now, letting the silence keep him company as he started to make his way home.
———
Finney and Robin wandered aimlessly through the park. Their footsteps sinking softly into the damp winter grass. The world was quiet around them, the air crisp, sky pale. Finney was staring off at nothing in particular when something light smacked him in the face.
He blinked, startled, as a leaf fell to the ground at his feet.
He turned with a glare, already knowing who the culprit was.
Robin was pretending to look around innocently, lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh.
“You’re so dead,” Finney muttered, lunging forward.
Robin barely had a second to react before Finney tackled him, both of them tumbling into the grass. Laughter burst out between them, tangled and breathless, as they wrestled half-heartedly, limbs flailing and sneakers picking up bits of dirt.
Eventually, the fight died down. They collapsed side by side on the ground, catching their breath, the cool air nipping at their flushed cheeks. Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.
Robin was the one to speak up first. “My cousins are coming over soon,” he said, eyes squinting up at the sky. “It’s gonna be chaos. My mum’s already prepping like we’ve got a hundred people coming. There’ll be food everywhere. Music. Screaming kids.” He paused, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re insane. But… It's kind of great.”
Finney stayed quiet for a moment. “Sounds… Loud.”
Robin turned his head slightly toward him. “It is.”
Finney shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I don’t really get the hype. Christmas is just… another day.” He glanced away. “I usually spend it alone. Gwen’s off with friends and my dads just, doing whatever. I just… stay home.”
Robin didn’t say anything at first. His expression shifted, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, without missing a beat, he said, “You’re coming over.”
Finney blinked. “What?”
“You’re coming over.” Robin repeated, like it was nothing.
Finney looked at him, hesitant. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” Robin smiled. “You think I'm gonna let you sit around alone while I've got more food than I can eat and five cousins to distract?”
Finney smiled a little, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He let the silence stretch again before whispering, “You don’t have to do that..”
Robin didn't look away. “I want to.”
And somehow, that was even harder for Finney to wrap his head around.
They lay there a while longer, quiet again. The cold didn’t seem to matter.
—---
Finney walked to Robin’s house with his hands stuffed deep into his hoodie pocket, the wind biting at his cheeks. Every step felt heavier than the last, dragging down by doubt. What if he said the wrong thing? What if it was too loud? Too many people? What if they pitied him– or worse, asked about his family?
His thoughts spun until he didn’t even realise he’d made it to Robin’s front porch.
He hesitated for a long moment, fingers hovering over the doorbell. He pressed it once– then nearly turned to leave, heart pounding in his ears. But something stopped him. He rang it again, more firmly this time.
The door swung open moment later, revealing robin with a bed head and the biggest grin Finney had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that scattered every anxious thought he’d been clinging to.
“You made it!” Robin said, already reaching out to pull him inside.
The moment Finney stepped over the threshold, he was hit by warmth, the smell of cinnamon and bacon wafted from the kitchen, music played faintly in the background, and Robin’s mother was humming along to it while setting plates on the counter.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was alive. It was full of love.
Robin’s mom greeted him at once, her face lighting up when she saw him. “There you are!” she said warmly, handing both boys small plates piled with breakfast treats. Then, without hesitation, she wrapped Finney in a gentle hug. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart.”
Finney swallowed the lump in his throat and managed a small smile.
They made their way to the living room, where a handful of Robin’s cousins were already gathered. As they entered, one of the littlest cousins ran over and wrapped themselves around Finney’s legs in a clumsy half-hug, their arms only reaching his knees. Finney blinked, stunned, but before he could say anything, the kid was already scampering back to their spot like nothing happened.
Robin snorted. “They’ve claimed you. No going back now.”
They all settled down as wrapping paper began to fly. Between the noise and laughter, Finney forgot to feel nervous. Robin handed him a small, carefully wrapped box, and Finney passed one back in return.
Robin opened his first.
Inside was a handmade bracelet, simple and heartfelt. A small silver plate hung from the thread, engraved with the letter F. Robin looked up, eyes wide.
Finney lifted his sleeve slightly to reveal the matching bracelet on his wrist– his own marked with a tiny R.
Robin immediately slid his on, grinning. “Now if you get lost,” he said with a playful smirk, “I can just say you’re mine.”
The silence that followed was sharp and golden. Both boys turned red at the same time.
“Shut up.” Finney muttered, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
He opened Robin’s gift next– a cassette tape, hand-labeled, and tucked beneath it was a small polaroid photo of the two of them from earlier that year. On the back, in Robin’s messy handwriting, were the words; “figured you should have one good memory of Christmas.”
Finney blinked a few times, holding the photo gently like it might disappear.
For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. So he didn't say anything at all.
He didn’t need to.
—---
After all the chaos, the house began to quiet.
The cousins trickled out one by one, bundled into coats and ushered out the door with sleepy goodbyes. The lights in the living room dimmed, the scent of food lingering faintly in the air. Laughter still echoes faintly from the kitchen, but it was softer now– background noise to a night that was slowly winding down.
Robin offered him a change of clothes– an old hoodie and a pair of flannel pajama pants that were far too big but impossibly comfortable– and they curled up together in Robin’s bed. The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft flicker of a classic Christmas movie playing on the small TV at the foot of the bed.
Finney shifted under the blankets, letting out a quiet sigh. “Thanks for letting me stay..” he murmured, barely above a whisper.
Robin didn’t hesitate. “You can stay every year.”
A silence fell over them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full. Heavy with warmth and something unspoken between them.
As the movie played on, their eyelids began to grow heavier. Finney slowly laid his head on Robin’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his ear. Robin’s arm came up automatically, wrapping around Finney’s shoulders and pulling him a little closer.
“I almost didn’t come.” Finney admitted into the hush of the room.
Robin didn’t open his eyes. “But you did.” he said softly, voice thick with sleep. “That’s what matters.”
There was another pause. Then, Robin added, “One day… we’ll have our own Christmas. Just the two of us. No chaos. Just quiet.”
Finney let out a quiet scoff, but a small smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t say anything– but he held that dream close, tucked it away like a secret he wanted to keep forever.
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. Inside, they fell asleep like that– wrapped in warmth and blankets and something that felt a lot like love, the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background as the world faded into quiet.