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Sahed can’t stand Christmas.
He restlessly shifts in his seat, watching the flurry of activities bustling around him, wishing he’d decided to go back to sleep rather than coming down for breakfast. That’s how he’d stumbled into all this nonsense to begin with, Julia and her little crew had already been at it when he’d entered the dining hall. How the hell he’d managed to not hear the Christmas music being played from within at the steps, he isn’t certain, because that shit practically makes him break out in a rash, and he’d definitely have turned heel right then.
He side-eyes Trevor, who is presently grating his soul with a rendition of Silent Night, his voice violently out of tune to his beautifully strummed guitar, and then he briefly considers the pros and cons of removing one of his shoes and hurling it at the erstwhile musician. Of course, that wouldn't go over well at all, though it would at least temporarily stop the god-awful singing.
It'd probably put a bit of a damper on everyone's Christmas spirit this morning though. God forbid, he muses with an irritable shrug.
It’s not that he actually dislikes the holiday in and of itself. He has plenty of fond memories of Christmas as a child on the Ah’kon reservation. They’d been sparse, as had been most things there, and ‘love’ would perhaps be too strong of a word for the occasion—after all, there had too many children to care for, and there’s only been so much attention and money to go around. But he’d always awakened Christmas morning excited, knowing his small, knitted bag would be filled with treats and goodies. He’d looked forward to the festivities afterward too, which had included a hearty meal with several members of the camp, plenty of dancing, and games with the other kids.
He simply hates the more popular Kalgratti traditions associated with Christmas. He hates the trees, the ornaments, the lights. He hates all the big presents, wrapped in tacky paper with all the stupid looking curly ribbons. He hates the stockings too, along with all the holly berries and poinsettias and whatever the fuck else Julia had decided she needed to decorate the dining hall with.
He hates how all of it reminds him of the other Christmases, the ones in Aspett, when he’d felt so proud, so smug, of being chosen out of all his friends as he’d helped put up all the holiday decorations and wrapped presents. How jealous they must be, he’d thought with such painful superiority back then, when all the while, unbeknownst to him, they’d been so horrifically mutilated.
He hates how Christmas makes him feel. Selfish. Hollow. Jealous. Stupid. Gutted…
He bites his cheek, eyeing up the exit to his left. If he left his plate out on the table, he could just get up and leave. Julia’s back is turned, and he wouldn’t be entering her field of vision trekking off to the kitchen, she’d never see him leave.
Of course, then she’d be so disappointed. She’s the one in charge of decorating the circus in preparation for the Christmas horror production coming up in the following weeks, and she’d been talking nonstop about her plans for the past several days, excitement slapped all of her face and bubbling over every word out of her mouth. He knows full well she’d expected he’d help.
He can’t blame her for that assumption; ever since she’d started becoming more involved with the behind the scenes aspects of the circus, he’d been following her around like a lap dog, eager to assist when she’d turned those impossible eyes and a mind numbing smile on him.
He watches her. She’s in her element, directing everyone around, in the thick of it right along with them, helping her vision come to life. Her pretty little face is bright with a smile and wide, expressive aquamarine eyes, and she’s honestly the cutest little thing to crash into this stupid circus.
Hottest one, too, he thinks, shifting a bit in his seat as he appreciates the way her deep blue dress hugs her torso and flairs at the hips, and he likes the way her skirt flashes shapely legs in cream colored stockings with her every movement.
He’s just wretchedly in love with her. So much so, that he’s rooted to his seat, not leaving, even though he wants to—
She must’ve caught him in the corner of her eye, because she turns on him with a brilliant smile. “Sahed,” she calls out, enthusiastically waving him over, “there you are, come here!”
And he can’t help himself, not even as little bit, he smiles back, getting up, and his heart’s racing as he makes his way toward her.
“I’m so glad you came out.” She grins up at him, in her full bossy mode, with her wide stance and her hands on her hips. Her ‘Peter Pan stance’, as he always likes to call it. “I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
He can only shrug and pop a brow, because he hadn’t intended to come out, and he’d still like to run off, but he refuses to kill that gorgeous, brain-melting smile of hers.
“Anyway, come on, you’re tall, and I need your help,” she continues, grabbing his arm and tugging him along. “I need someone to put the star on the tree, and none of us can reach it. And then, I need you to hang the snowflakes over the mantle—you can reach, can’t you?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but she doesn’t even take a breath as she continues her excited, rapid-fire yapping as she nigh to drags him along into her Christmas bullshit.
He just snaps his mouth shut and lets her. And if a genuine smile tugs at his mouth as he watches her, follows her bidding, or if he maybe feels a genuine lift in his spirits as he good-naturedly squabbles and banters with her and the others around him as he hedges into the cheery production…
Well, maybe…
Maybe he doesn’t dread Christmas so much in this moment.