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Wille pulls the paper away and grins at his masterpiece. It wasn’t the most time or effort intensive project he’s ever done, but it’s one of his favourites by far.
It’s a gnome, about a foot tall, holding a flower and sporting a cute little froggy face, complete with a crown crudely painted on its tall, pointy hat.
As he brushes the imaginary dust from its body, he remembers the lore he made up for the little guy. He grew up feeling… wrong. Like a tree frog in a pond. His whole family was one of the biggest and strongest families of frogs in the forest, but he was just an outlier. One evening, after a big feast, in a desperate attempt to feel some sort of belonging, strength, he’d drawn a crown on his hat. His hands had been shaking, but after that—he almost felt like it worked.
Wille walks over to his front door and places him down outside, smiling proudly at his new friend. A muffled Christmas song trickles from the apartment across from his and chest warms with contentment. Everything is, seemingly, perfect.
CRASHHH. It’s only 3 days later when the sound of shattering ceramic snaps Wille from the light doze he’d fallen into on the couch, credits of the movie he’d been watching frozen on the screen. His stomach sinks and he jumps up, running over to the door.
He throws it open and the sight makes his heart drop to his shoes. His frog is in pieces, strewn across the floor and down the stairs, and his neighbour is sprawled beside them. His face is screwed up in pain and he groans as he rolls onto his side—right onto a shard of the gnome’s hat.
Simon is the man that lives across from him. The one with the (clearly handmade) fish themed Christmas wreath, the one with the music always filtering gently through the door at most hours of the day, occasionally accompanied by the angelic sound of his voice. They’ve barely spoken, but there’s something about him…
He shoots up in an instant. He clearly hasn’t noticed the owner of the figure is standing at the top of the stairs as he swears under his breath and scrabbles around for the pieces- ‘shit, shit, oh good god, oh no…’ He mutters.
‘Are you alright?’ Wille finally snaps out of his shock and hurries down the stairs. There’s only 7 of them but it still looks like it would hurt a lot.
The man looks up at him with this deer in headlights expression. ‘Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry.’ He hurries to say, still picking up pieces with fingers that are slightly shaky and not nearly careful enough.
‘No! No, really, it’s alright, I promise- just be careful with that-’
Simon hisses in pain as it slices his thumb. ‘Ow-’
Wille takes his sleeve and starts collecting the shards himself. ‘Or that’ll happen. Yeah.’
‘I’m really sorry about breaking your gnome, Wille.’ Simon replies, apologetically. ‘I’ll buy you a new one—how much did it cost?’
Wille grimaces. ‘I made it, actually.’ He replies, still carefully picking the shattered gnome up chunk by chunk. Simon makes a strangled noise and when Wille looks up, his face has gone pale.
‘It’s really not a big deal-’
Simon bounces to his feet and practically sprints up the stairs, massaging his shoulder as he goes. Wille watches as he disappears into his apartment and sighs in defeat. Well, there goes the warm, festive feeling that was finally beginning to fester in his chest.
He’s pretty much resigned himself to spending the evening carefully glueing the thing back together alone when he hears another thumping noise and Simon’s flying back down the stairs with a battered orange backpack and a bandaid wrapped clumsily around his thumb.
‘Put it in here?’ He requests, holding it out. ‘I’ll get it fixed for you, I promise.’ Wille almost hesitates but there’s something about his voice and that expression on his face that’s so earnest that Wille just does as he says.
As soon as all the pieces, (even the tiny ones) are bundled carefully into the bag, Simon’s carrying it back up the stairs like it’s some sort of precious commodity.
Wille watches as he places it gently down just inside his door before checking for his wallet in his pocket and scooping his keys up from where they landed at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Can I get you a cinnamon bun? Or some coffee?’ He asks, already starting toward the door.
‘Sure, I’ll take a cinnamon bun…’ Wille replies. ‘I’ll pay you back?’
Simon just shakes his head adamantly. ‘No, no no, I broke your gnome, it’s on me.’ He rushes out the door, muttering under his breath; glue, cinnamon bun. Glue, cinnamon bun.
Wille chuckles and shakes his head, before going back inside his apartment and curling up on the couch again.
20 minutes later, he can confirm that apology-cinnamon buns taste delicious. Even when he wakes up at 3 am after falling asleep on the couch again, the paper is still in a crumpled ball on his chest.
As he drags himself to bed, he peeks out his peephole just in time to hear the thump of a shoulder hitting a doorframe and see the door across from him swing open to reveal Simon, still in the same clothes as earlier, holding a now-intact gnome with both hands as he tip-toes across the landing to place him carefully on the ground by Wille’s door.
He steps back to admire his handiwork and nods approvingly, before placing a card on the ground beside it. He slips back inside and Wille finally pulls his eye away from the peephole.
Simon is so… Even as he flops down into his bed and curls up under the sheets, not a word comes to mind to describe him.
The next morning, he opens his door and picks up the card from beside the gnome. It has an orange cat wearing a Santa hat on the front.
Hi, Wille! Sorry Simon tripped on and killed me yesterday, but I’m alive again! And you’ll be getting a gift every day until Christmas to make up for it!
A smile spreads across Wille’s face and he looks up just in time to see the big brown eye that has been peering at him through a crack in the door widen slightly before the slit quickly shuts.
Until Christmas… that’s… 10 days. So 10 gifts from the cute guy next door frog gnome that lives outside his apartment. Alright. He’s alright with that.
When Wille gets back from lunch with Felice later that day, there’s a small wrapped box on his doorstep. He unwraps it and immediately lights up—it’s a box of homebaked cookies with each letter of his name drawn on them in careful purple icing.
He slips the lid under his arm and takes a bite out of the W. He lets out a groan of satisfaction and pretends he doesn’t hear the quiet ‘yess!’ Of celebration from behind the door.
The next day is a frog Christmas tree ornament that he recognizes from the market downtown—he’d almost bought it, before coming to the conclusion that buying himself even more ornaments when his tree is already practically caked in the things would be lame.
As he places it carefully on the tree that evening, front and centre, he’s practically glowing.
The third day is a steaming box of cinnamon buns, warm and delicious and inviting and it takes Wille all his willpower to pick up the note wedged underneath the box before shovelling one into his mouth.
There’s a drawing of a frog in a big purple sweater captioned ‘Christmas jumper’ and underneath it says; ‘You make my days feel ribbiting!’ (You make my days feel riveting)
He laughs out loud and almost forgets about the buns for a moment, eyes stuck tracing the careful lines of the drawing.
The next day, he accidentally steps outside just as Simon is arranging a scene of snowman-carollers made of fruit outside his door. He freezes in place as they make eye contact.
‘Uhhh…’ Simon mumbles dumbly as some sort of motion sensor is activated and a small speaker in the middle of the group starts belting Christmas music at him. Silently, Wille takes a step backward and shuts his door again, a smile lingering on his lips.
He hears a gentle knock on it a few minutes later—and this time, he gives Simon a minute to scurry back into his own apartment before opening the door.
The next day, a small clay frog sporting a crown that looks up at Wille as he opens his door with an expression like Yeah, this neighbour of yours, pretty fucking cute, isn’t he?’
Wille almost tears up as he scoops him up and examines him. He’s clearly been made by hand, possibly by a child or an adult with little to no experience using clay. He can’t help himself when he bends down to his gnome and says to it, just loud enough for someone in a nearby apartment to hear, ‘Thank you, sir. I love him very much,’
The same little cheer of delight seeps through the other door and again, Wille ignores it, saving his smile for his own living room
The day after that, day 5. More snacks—this time a collection of cookies and a few packets of hot chocolate mix along with a dvd of some kids movie called ‘Arthur Christmas’ and a big, cozy, brand-new blanket. He feels his chest glow with warmth and without thinking twice about it, he steps over to the opposite door and knocks on it.
It’s open almost before his knuckles can even impact the wood- and Simon’s face appears behind it, already blushing furiously as he realises he’s just outed himself as someone who waits behind doors for their neighbours to knock.
‘Hi!’ he squeaks. ‘Uh- can I help you?’
Wille grins. ‘I can’t eat all this myself. Would you like to join me?’
Simon’s face lights up and he agrees instantly, nodding eagerly. ‘You’re not allergic to cats, are you?’
Nearly 2 hours later, they’re laying at opposite ends of the couch—mugs empty, cookies reduced to crumbs, Simon’s cat curled up on his chest as he dozes while Wille watches, feeling perfectly cozy and content.
Day 6, Simon knocks on his door at 5 pm. ‘Hi!’ He greets, slightly nervously. ‘Uhm, I’ve been hired to take you ice skating?’
‘Oh yeah?’ Wille suppresses a giggle. The man’s dedication to the bit is honestly endearing.
Simon nods eagerly. ‘Yeah. Come on!’
A few hours later they’re sharing a shy hug goodbye on the landing between their apartments as the frog gnome watches. When Wille looks in the mirror just inside his door, his cheeks are still tinted red. He doesn’t think it’s just the cold.
The 7th day is a brand new scarf, handmade (by someone a lot more crafty judging by the fish wreath taped to Simon’s door and the various decor in his house), that looks like a frog—one end the face, and the other the back.
Wille immediately wraps it around his neck and buries his face in it, blushing slightly as butterflies fill his stomach when he realises it smells just like Simon.
Day 8, Wille trudges up the stairs after meeting Felice for lunch just to see a new beanie laying on his doorstep, right beside his gnome. Who is wearing a smaller matching scarf and beanie. He lets out an undignified squeal of pure giddiness and rushes forward to pull it onto his head.
He immediately throws himself in front of his mirror- and bounces on his heels happily.
Completely disregarding the narrative Simon has been doing his best to uphold this entire time, he pounds on his neighbour’s door. It swings open a minute later and almost instantly Simon’s confused features are swallowed up by Wille yanking him into this massive hug, more secure and comforting than either of them could imagine.
It only takes a split second for Simon to reciprocate and they stand there for nearly a full minute, just wrapped around each other.
‘Thank you.’ Wille whispers, before letting go and sneaking back into his apartment with a wink.
Christmas eve. The day before the grand finale. Simon has been “hired” once again to give him a tour around the city, looking around at the lights as they twinkle magically—snow drifting down around them like a cheesy hallmark rom-com.
And even with the beauty worthy of thousands of movies presented right in front of his eyes, his gaze still lingers on Simon. His face, with those big earnest eyes and that bright grin that makes his heart feel warm.
His new scarf is wrapped around his neck—and it’s almost like arms around him, hugging him, holding him close.
Christmas day. They’d talked about their Christmas plans on their tour the night before, and discovered that they’ll both be alone on the day for various reasons. Simon’s family is off visiting relatives in Venezuela, but Simon himself regretfully couldn’t get enough days off.
Wille’s family were never really a Christmas kind of group—his parents were usually too busy with work and when his brother died, the holiday was never really something they bothered suffering through.
They both call their families in the morning and then in the afternoon Simon barges into Wille’s apartment and pushes him down onto the couch.
‘Here! Movie! You like movies!’ He says, turning on the animated Grinch movie and throwing a blanket over Wille’s body. ‘Stay.’
He surveys the room with narrowed eyes for a moment before rushing out and returning a minute later with his cat, once again letting it curl up on Wille’s chest.
‘It’ll only be a few hours okay? Wirt needs my help with… something.’ He says. (That’s what he named the gnome) ‘If you need me you have my number, don’t get up.’ He points at Wille and narrows his eyes.
Wille just laughs and agrees, already stroking his fingers though the cat’s soft fur.
Nearly 3 hours later a knock on his door makes him pause the movie and sit up. Simon bursts in, more excited than Wille has seen him ever.
‘It’s ready!! Come on.’ He grabs Wille’s wrist and drags him out into the landing.
‘After you.’ He bows and gestures for Wille to enter. The grin on his face drops a moment later as he steps into the dining room—only for there to be a large fire burning aggressively in the middle of the table.
Simon swears and grabs a tea towel from the kitchen to toss over the flames, smothering them before the fire alarm can even trigger.
Wille doesn’t even know how the fire started, all he’s focused on is how Simon’s head has dropped down into his hands and his shoulders are trembling.
‘Simon- It’s okay, I’m sure-’ He begins, turning the other boy to face him. Simon’s laughing. These deep, silent, slightly hysterical laughs that make Wille chuckle awkwardly. ‘What?’
Simon’s forehead hits his collarbone and his laughter dissolves into wet sobs muffled in Wille’s sweater. ‘Why is it that I just can’t do anything right??’ He whines. ‘It’s like every single thing I try to do ends up in a trainwreck.’
Wille cards his fingers through Simon’s curls and brushes over his back with his other hand. ‘Not everything.’ He whispers. Simon doesn’t respond for a moment.
‘Now Wirt doesn’t have anything to give you for Christmas.’ He sniffles. Wille smiles softly.
‘You know what I think he could give me?’ Wille murmurs. Simon pulls his head away and looks up at him, eyes shining. ‘There’s this really cute neighbour I think he’s friends with.’
Simon’s lips part slightly and he continues. ‘I’d quite like to kiss him. Do you think… Wirt could arrange that?’
Simon’s gaze flickers between Wille’s lips and eyes for a moment before he nods, mumbles something about not really needing Wirt’s approval for that before yanking himself away just centimetres from Wille’s lips.
He runs off somewhere, leaving Wille’s arms feeling cold and empty. He’s just beginning to regret saying anything at all when Simon comes running back in with his cheeks a little rosier and the few curls drooping over his forehead slightly damp.
‘I refuse to be a mess for this’ He mutters before slamming back into Wille and desperately pressing their lips together. He tastes like gingerbread; like he was trying the deserts to make sure they were of perfect quality before inviting Wille over to try them.
Wille pulls him closer, tighter against his body and walks him back until the back of his thighs are pressed against the table and he’s being pushed up and onto it. Something clatters behind him and he almost pays no mind to it until Simon yelps in pain and scrambles off the table—the only other candle on the table has tipped over and the flame is spreading across the cloth.
Wille smothers it this time as Simon nurses the spot on the back of his arm where the flame licked at his skin. ‘Ow.’ He grumbles.
‘Want me to kiss it better?’ Wille teases, taking him by the elbows.
‘Maybe let’s move away from the table first’ Simon replies, already tugging him toward the couch. ‘Oh- shit, the food’s gonna get cold. Do we think any of this is salvageable?’
Wille studies the plates spread across the table. ‘Probably, let’s take it over there anyway, I wanna be close to you.’
Wirt doesn’t see either of them until the next morning, when Wille sheepishly slips across the landing to grab his toothbrush and a change of clothes.