Work Text:
Anyone would say winter is magical: bright lights, hot chocolate, carols... happiness wrapped in shiny paper.
But for Kieran, winter was an open wound. A crack that never quite closed.
Ever since his mother died on a freezing day, snowflakes stopped being soft and white; they became echoes, cruel reminders. She used to set up a small pine tree in the mansion, inviting him and Cedric to hang crooked ornaments that never, ever stayed straight. When she was gone, the mansion became a gray place, silent... dead. And Kieran became a little like that too.
For many winters, the vampire locked himself in his room. He didn’t eat, didn’t talk to Marcella. Cedric, desperate, was the only one who managed to drag him out of bed by force, hauling him like a sack of emo potatoes.
But that sadness never left; he just learned to hide it under layers of sarcasm.
When Kieran got together with Mason, the stupidly, aggressively alpha doggy werewolf (an idiot, but his idiot at the end of the day), things changed... a little. It was Mason who first noticed how his partner’s mood plummeted as soon as the air started smelling like snow.
Kieran hated that feeling. Not that Mason noticed, he hated being a burden to him. It hurt to see the wolf suffer because he was suffering. So he tried to push himself... but never enough to go outside in winter. That was forbidden territory.
Until that winter.
That exact winter, Kieran decided to try something new: not running away.
Mason wanted a natural pine tree. “A tradition,” he said.
“An excuse to use an axe... again,” Kieran thought.
And surprisingly, there they were: walking outside the cabin, in the middle of a giant forest, under a white sky. Mason strode happily, axe on his shoulder, glancing back every now and then with a look that said: “If you want to go back, just say the word and I’ll sprint with you in my arms.”
Kieran replied with a shaky smile that also said: “I’m not that weak, but thank you.”
—You know...—
Kieran began, mostly to drown out his own trembling.
—We could just buy an artificial pine.—
—And ruin the experience of chopping down an innocent tree? Never. It’s our first Christmas celebrating in our cabin. It has to be traditional. With the glorious death of a pine!—
The vampire snorted.
—If environmentalists heard you, they’d hang you. And then plant a tree with your corpse.—
—We cut trees all year round for the fireplace, let’s not pretend we have moral high ground now—
The werewolf replied, radiating childlike joy.
Kieran just sighed. He loved him, he hated him. Sometimes both at the same time.
They found a small one, perfect for the cabin. Mason knocked it down with concerning enthusiasm.
Once inside, Kieran rushed to the kitchen. Making hot chocolate was something safe, repetitive... something he could focus on. He couldn’t drink it, of course. And drinking blood with marshmallows would be “too weird even for vampires,” according to Cedric.
While he stirred, the snow outside kept falling, silent, heavy. And his chest... felt the same.
When the trembling in his hand became obvious, he knew his façade was crumbling. He knew it at the same time Mason smelled it; that werewolf had a ridiculous talent for detecting sadness.
Mason came up behind him, wrapped his arms around him, and rested his chin on his shoulder.
—You’re doing good—
He murmured.
Kieran closed his eyes. The wolf’s voice, deep, warm, held him more than the hands guiding his own to set the ladle aside. He ended up leaning against Mason’s chest without fighting it.
—I’m done with the base. Want to help me with the decorations?—
Mason asked, gently, almost like asking permission to exist.
The vampire didn’t speak, but he nodded. Sometimes silence could be an answer too.
Mason took out a box of old ornaments from his family. According to him, Lily had bought new ones because “the colors of the year didn’t match her spiritual aura” or something like that. The werewolf had decided to rescue the old ones before his family burned them in an unnecessary symbolic ritual.
—Well—
He said with a wide smile,
—Let’s get to work!—
Kieran didn’t usually smile much in winter... but this time he did. A little, caught by the warmth.
As Mason installed the lights, he managed to tangle himself in them three times, nearly strangle himself twice, and fall to the floor once.
The vampire laughed. Out loud. And the sound filled the cabin as if it were the first spark of the tree lights.
When they finished, the cabin glowed with warm colors. Kieran served hot chocolate for Mason with small marshmallows; for himself, warm blood in a red mug because he had decided it was “festive.”
They sat together on the couch, the fireplace crackling, the lights shining.
The werewolf wrapped him in a thick blanket. Kieran rested his head on his shoulder, exhaling for the first time without weight.
—It’s not that bad...—
He finally said.
—I wish all winters were like this—
He added softly.
Mason looked at him with that ridiculous, lovesick wolf glow, then kissed his cheek with chocolate and marshmallow taste.
—From now on they will be—
He whispered.
—Always.—
They set their cups aside, cuddled closer, feeling the warmth, the light, the life.
The vampire closed his eyes and, for the first time in many years, winter didn’t hurt.
—Mason...—
He murmured.
—Yes?—
Kieran smiled. Truly, completely.
—I love you.—
The werewolf froze for a second. Then his expression melted, as if his heart had turned to warm syrup in his chest. He leaned in, touched his forehead to Kieran’s, and replied in a warm, firm, certain whisper:
—And I love you. More than you know.—
The vampire closed his eyes, letting those words wrap around him like the blanket, like the firelight.
And winter, that particular winter, stopped being an enemy. Not completely, but it was progress... a noticeable one.