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Frost. It was all Connor could see when he looked out from the high-rise apartment… no, penthouse of Haytham Kenway, the man he’d fallen in love with a year and a half ago. He had met Haytham on the worst day of the older man's life, bleeding out from three gunshot wounds after a robbery gone wrong. Then again, two weeks later, a pulmonary embolism nearly stole him away for good. Connor had watched him survive both storms, watched him claw his way back to the world.
Maybe that was why the holidays felt especially heavy now, because survival had a way of sharpening everything, especially grief.
Christmas had always been awkward after losing his mother in a house fire as a child, and even though he could usually spend the holidays with Kanen, being with someone he was in love with? That was a completely different ballgame.
His fingers tightened around the lapel of the holiday sports coat, red with silver sequins, as anxiety overwhelmed him. The glittering fabric blurred at the edges of his vision as the room tilted a fraction too fast. The world spun, threatening to drag him under the current of emotions that crashed over him every time he tried to gasp for air.
Dull red and green lights shone in the distance, distorted by the ice on the window. He tried to focus on them, on the hum of voices in the living room as the party continued without him, on the faint Christmas music drifting through the cracks in the bedroom door.
It was a strange juxtaposition.
Have a holly jolly Christmas
It’s the best time of the year…
Meanwhile, Connor was losing his grip on his composure with every passing second.
The bedroom door clicked open, and footsteps approached. He instinctively lifted his hands in defense, but gentle arms wrapped around him instead. Soft lips brushed the underside of his ear, and he shivered.
“Hello, my sweet paramedic. Are you ready? The party awaits,” Haytham murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple before shifting to his side.
Connor blinked at the low wash of red light spilling from the hallway. It flickered across the doorframe in the same terrible color that had lit the walls of his childhood home the night of the fire, and bile rose in his throat.
A warm hand rested against his shoulder, thumb brushing the fabric of his suit, steady, present, here. The crackling memory loosened its grip just enough for him to breathe.
“Y-yeah. Let’s go,” he stammered. Haytham slid his arm around his side, and he tightened his grip.
“Are you alright?”
“I…” His voice cracked.
He turned and buried his face in Haytham’s neck.
“Breathe, Connor. Inhale… exhale.”
Connor huffed a shaky laugh, remembering how he’d coached one of Haytham’s friends through a panic attack. He hadn’t realised Haytham had paid such close attention. He drew in deep, deliberate breaths until the panic eased, enough to unblur the world again.
“I’m okay, really. Let’s go. Thank you, my love,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to Haytham’s lips.
“Of course,” Haytham said gently. “Come now, there are some people I want you to meet.”