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Michael had been mentally preparing himself for this moment all week. Today was the day. The day he would give Dori the gift he had bought her back at the beginning of October.
It was the final day before winter break.
Some students stay at St. Dominic’s all year round, because they don’t want to go home or their parents force them to stay to focus on their studies. Most leave the second the break starts. There’s no use staying around if they can’t gamble. Dori was one of them, meaning he only had this day to give it to her.
Michael gives himself a once over in the mirror, trying to find any imperfections in his outfit. There is a wrinkle on the hem of his favourite hoodie that won’t go away no matter how many times he tries to smooth it out.
He takes his jacket off the hook and pulls it on. He doesn’t have time to change, Dori could be leaving any second and he doesn’t want to miss his chance. The best he could hope for is that she wouldn’t notice it, and if she does, she wouldn’t mind.
Michael exhales, fixing his hair. He grabs the neatly wrapped box on his bed, and makes his way to the front of the school, silently praying that Dori hasn’t left yet.
Other student are wearing their casual clothes, and big winter jackets to protect themselves from the cold. Dori is still dressed in her uniform. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, just St. Dominic’s blazer that she cut to make it cropped.
Michael can feel himself catching a cold just by looking at her. He does not understand how she was not shivering by now. It snowed last night, adding an extra two inches of snow to the ground, and here she dressing like it’s summer.
She is making her way to the car, while her driver is placing the last of her bags in the trunk. Dori’s parents aren’t here, Michael notes. It might be better this way, less pressure.
He hesitates saying her name. “Dori,” he says, raising his voice.
Dori turns to him and crosses her arms over her chest and Michael has to fight the urge not to give her his jacket.
Dori is fine, she’s not shivering, Michael tries to reassure himself. If she was cold she would be wearing a winter jacket and not a blazer.
Michael runs a hand through his hair, trying to come up with the right words.
Dori eyes him up and down, suspiciously. “Is everything alright?” She asks, voice growing concerned.
“Yeah, I just wanted to…” Michael trails off, unsure of how to proceed, “here.” He holds the box outwards to her.
Dori stared at the box Michael was holding. She looked dumbfounded. “Is this for me?" She asked slowly, pointing a finger at herself as she spoke, trying to get her point across.
She is looking at him like he has grown a second head.
Michael nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Dori carefully took the box into her hands, staring down at it like she couldn’t believe his words.
“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.
The box was wrapped in red and white plaid wrapping paper decorated with darker red bow on top. It was the only wrapping paper he could find that wasn’t overly Christmas-y.
There was not a tag in sight, he debated on putting one for a long time, but he couldn’t decide on what to write on it. Love, Michael sounded like too much to put on a simple gift. From, Michael was too insignificant.
“You can open it now, if you want,” he said, trying to sound casual.
Dori was more gentle than Michael thought she could be. He expected her to tear into the wrapping paper like there’s no tomorrow, but instead she’s carefully removing the tape and treating the box like it’s the most fragile thing she’s ever held.
He knows it not because one time he saw Dori running down the hallways with a glass trophy in her hands, smiling and laughing manically as Chad and Runa attempt to chase her.
Michael never bothered asking what they were doing, but now thinking back he should have because he can’t seem to stop himself from thinking about that moment.
Despite her cackling manually as she threatened to smash the trophy into pieces she looked carefree, happy even, like nothing else mattered in that moment.
Michael felt his palms sweat in his gloves the closer she came to unwrapping it. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, it was loud enough to drown out any noise around them.
It is a complete set of handcrafted throwing knives. Dori mentioned that she wanted them after Kira told her that the kitchen knives she always uses aren’t made for throwing at targets.
Over the weeks she complained that she parents weren’t going to buy them for her, because they heard about what she did to her last house pet.
She didn’t open the box just yet. Dori folded the wrapping paper several times, slipping it into the pocket of her blazer and mumbled something under her breathe that he couldn’t make out.
When she finally opens the box, Michael can’t bring himself to look at her reaction, instead he looks down the snow on his boots.
“This is awesome,” Dori says, emphasizing every word more than the last.
He forces himself to meet her eyes.
Dori is grinning, not her usual manic grin before does something insane or questionable, but a soft almost flustered smile.
Michael’s shoulders drop in relief upon seeing it, he could feel the tension leaving his body. His heart doesn’t return to normal, if anything it picks up the pace.
“Thank you, I love it.”
Michael felt his cheeks burning, he prays that it isn’t as noticeable as it feels.
“It’s the knives you said you wanted.” Michael scratches the back of his neck. “The one your parents wouldn’t buy you,” he adds for clarification.
Dori’s eyes soften. “You got me?” She ask, clutching the box close to her chest.
Michael is confused for three seconds, before he realizes what she’s talking about.
The annual Christmas gift exchange the council hosts to boost morale. He always had a hunch that it was rigged, but he on real way of knowing.
“No! No, I just-just thought you might like it,” Michael answers far too quickly. He mentally scolds himself.
Dori nods, satisfied with the answer. She calls over her driver has him place the box in the backseat of the car.
She puts a hand of his arm. “Will you be okay?” She asks, her brows slightly raised.
Michael nods.
Dori has been his rock since his father’s death. She didn’t like leaving him by himself for too long. She was always checking on him, even when she was busy.
“I’m spending winter break with my mother and grandparents. We’re going to Italy. We have a house there.”
If someone asked him why he’s telling her all this Michael wouldn’t be able to form a solid answer. Last year he would have told her to mind her own business, but if he’s realized anything these past few months it’s that he has gotten used to Dori’s presence in his life a lot more than he would ever admit out loud.
“Merry Christmas Mikey.”
Michael doesn’t correct her on the name usage. He had gotten used to the way she says his name.
“Merry Christmas,” Michael pauses, an idea crosses his mind. “Dorothy,” he adds, hesitantly, knowing full well the only people who calls her that are her parents.
Dori laughs like it’s a shared joke between the two of them and maybe it is. “I’ll see you around.” She turns and walks toward the car without another word.
Michael watches as she walks away. He waits until she’s halfway to the car before starts to head inside.
He hears footsteps in the snow behind him, and he turns his head just in time to see Dori running at him with no sign of stopping.
“Michael!” She yells. She throws herself at him, arms wide, with a big wide smile on her face.
Michael closed his eyes and braces for impact.
His arm find their way to her waist automatically, and wrap themselves around her. Dori’s hands are on the back of his head and her face is buried in his neck.
They hit the ground with a small thud. Dori’s hands acting as a cushion for his head.
Students and parents alike turn their heads at the commotion, and give them dirty looks, but he can’t find it in him to care about their opinions in this moment.
All he could focus on is the feeling of her cold breath as she laughs into his neck. They lay on the ground for what feels like a lifetime.
Dori breaks the hug, leans her forehead against his and just stares at him with a look he can’t name.
Michael swallows the spit forming in his mouth, and stares back with what he hopes is the same expression.
Neither of them move.
He holds his breath, waiting for her to say or do something that will break his precious moment.
Dori’s eyes flicker down and back up to his eyes. It happened in a spilt second, if his attention was not on her he would have missed it.
She leans in slowly, and Michael closes his eyes. He tries not to dwell on the disappointment he feels when her lips make contact with his cheek.
“Call me,” she whispers, running the back of her hand down his other cheek.
Michael’s mouth opens and closes. He could only nod, not trusting himself to form words. Dori must find this hilarious because she throws her head back and laughs.
By the time he manages to compose himself Dori is already sprinting back in the direction she came from, not giving him a chance to respond.
Michael rises to his feet. “Dori! Wait!” He yells just as she opens the door to the car. “I don’t have your number!”
Dori grins at him, showing her teeth, and waves at him, hand swinging in the air above her head and closes the door.
He takes a step forward. “Dori!” He shouts, this time louder, more frantic, but it’s no use, the car pulls out of the driveway.
Michael sighs, defeated. Maybe this was her way of inviting him to her house, or perhaps she wanted him to find to find her number himself.
He turns around to walk inside - mentally preparing himself to spend the next four hours, scouring through the student records - but something catches his attention.
Lying in the snow, right next to where Dori jumped on him is a crumpled bright pink sticky note with something attached to it.
Hope rises inside his chest.
Michael leans down and takes the note in his hand. In the centre of the sticky note is Dori’s name and number written in familiar messy handwriting he has come to adore.
The sharpie she used is smudged on the last number, which makes it hard to tell if Dori tried to write a four or a nine.
A Polaroid photo of her is tapped to the back of the sticky note. Dori is smiling wildly at the camera with various lights of blue, and pink surrounding her. She must be in her room.
Michael has only ever been in there once, and flashing lights were enough to give him a headache that lasted for the rest of the day.
He can feel the smile form on his face.
Michael walks back inside, slower this time, his attention is focused entirely on the piece of paper in his hand, already planning what to say to her.
And if later that night, while getting ready for bed, Michael decides to tape the polaroid to the back of his laptop, well, that’s his business.