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“Look, make me this one promise, Smith mate,” Turps says as he hauls a full backpack onto his back. “Will you talk to Ross and Trott?”
“We’ve been over this, no,” Smith grumbles, picking up Turps’ other bag and moving to the front door of their tiny flat. “I’m not going to. Not at Christmas, and not after they’ve just moved into their first flat together. I’m not a total arsehole, shocking though that probably is to you, so shut up and get in the car.”
Turps stays surprisingly quiet on the car journey to the airport, apparently suddenly keenly aware that he’ll be leaving one of his best friends alone on Christmas Eve.
“Ring me when you get chance, yeah?” Smith says when they arrive, piling Turps and his bags out of the car into the terminal. “Try not to get too many STIs.”
“Yeah, I will,” Turps slaps a hand firmly on his shoulder. “I think my flight’s about eight hours so I should’ve landed by tonight. I’ll give you a text or something. And look, Alex-”
Smith looks at him, frowning, digging his hands into his pockets and trying not to look sheepish or upset.
“I’m not going to force you into anything mate, but at least think about talking to them. I don’t want you to be completely miserable while I’m not here.”
Smith sets his jaw in a way that’s almost petulant, and Turps smiles weakly at him.
“Now give me a hug, you prick. I’m not going to see you for months.”
Smith laughs softly, not without affection, and drags Turps into a tight hug.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he mutters into Turps’s shoulder. “And don’t get too drunk.”
“I won’t,” Turps laughs fondly at him, squeezing around his waist. “I’ll miss you, y’know. I won’t miss you leaving your dirty pants all over the fucking flat, but I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Smith laughs, hitting him affectionately in the arm as he releases him from the hug. “You’d better move, you’ll miss your flight.”
“I’ll see you later, Smith,” Turps gives him a last pat on the arm, picks up his bags and turns to the terminal. Smith watches him go with a wave, before he turns to get back in the car.
“Smith!”
He looks up over the roof of his car, spots Turps standing in the doorway to the departures terminal.
“Think about what I said!”
Smith rolls his eyes, shakes his head weakly and gets back in his car. It’s only when he arrives back to their tiny, grey flat -his flat now, he supposes, given that Turps is in Michigan for at least the next six months- to a dark living room half decorated for Christmas that he realises he’s quite alone.
He sighs, turns on the sets of fairy lights Turps had insisted on hanging around the room before he left and drops heavily onto the sofa. It’s starting to snow, he notices through the window. He swallows, flicks his eyes to the picture frame on the cabinet near the window. It’s got an old photograph in it, from when he, Trott and Ross had first met at university years ago. Trott’s drunk and laughing, his head leaning against Smith’s shoulder, and Ross is blushing pink across his cheeks and down his neck towards his collar. Smith smiles fondly, thinking that that’s probably when he first fell in love with them, with Ross’s laugh and Trott’s smile.
He shakes his head, gets to his feet and finally, finally, resolves to do something about it.
He walks over to Trott and Ross’s flat in the snow, wrapped up in a few thick layers of coats and scarf. It’s still snowing, heavier now and it sticks in his hair and the wool of his scarf. He rearranges the cards under his arm, sighs to brace himself and rings their doorbell. He fiddles with his phone in the meantime, setting a playlist of embarrassing Christmas songs playing quietly.
He waits tensely for a moment, tapping his foot on their doorstep, until Trott opens the door with a raised eyebrow.
“Smith, what-”
Smith raises a finger to his own mouth, telling him to be quiet. He shifts the cards so Trott can see them easily. Trott only frowns at him, watching as he turns the first one around.
Get Ross.
“Oi, Ross,” Trott turns and shouts up the stairs to their flat. “Come here for a sec. Smith’s being weird.”
“You mean weirder than usual?” Ross laughs as he moves down the stairs. He’s wearing comfy clothes and wrapped in a blanket, so Smith assumes they must have been watching a movie, and part of him feels as though he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. Ross cocks his head at him when he spots him, confused.
“Smith, what’s up? Fuckin’ weirdo,” Ross laughs at him, sliding a hand around Trott’s waist and pulling him in. Smith swallows tightly.
With any luck, by next year-
“Where are you going with this?” Trott presses, and Smith frowns at him, nodding down at the card again.
“Let him finish,” Ross replies gently, squeezing at his hip.
I’ll be going out with one of these people .
He changes the card, to one covered in pictures of models and actors he’d ripped from magazines he’d found lying around the house. Ross stifles a snort into his blanket and smiles at him, nodding for him to carry on.
Or at least, I hopefully won’t be living with Turps any more.
It’s Trott’s turn to smile at that, biting back a laugh deep in his throat as he watches Smith with more fondness than he’d admit.
But for now let me say–
Ross watches him, eyes sharp, as he puts the next sign down and leans it against the wall.
Without hope or agenda–
“Alex,” Trott says quietly, so soft that even Ross barely hears him. He shushes him with a soft noise of disdain.
Just because it’s Christmas (and at Christmas you tell the truth)
Trott’s frowning again now, eyebrows knitted together and obviously suspicious, and even Ross looks confused, running a free hand through his hair as he watches Smith intently.
Smith swallows hard, knowing there’s absolutely no going back from here. His throat feels tight and uncomfortable, the snowflakes landing in his hair making his curls wet and cold.
He drops the card with a heaving breath.
To me, you are perfect.
He hears rather than sees them breathe in sharply, feels the heat of Trott’s hand as he makes to touch his shoulder. He seems to think better of it, stopping short and jerking his hand back down to his side, fingers absently twisting into his belt. Smith drops the card again, finally bringing himself to look up at the pair of them.
And my wasted heart will love you (both of you)
“ Alex ,” it’s Ross that speaks this time, fingers reaching out to try and catch Smith’s wrist. He misses, Smith pulling back and away from him even though he wants to touch him, wants to feel their warmth and let them take him in.
Until you look like this–
He shows them the next card, a photograph of two skeletons entwined together in death. Trott smiles at him, nudges Ross gently in the hip and looks over to see there’s a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth too.
Merry Christmas.
Smith puts down his last card and gives them both a weak, forced little smile and turns to leave, trudging away down their street. The snow’s falling harder and heavier now, huge flakes falling into his hair.
He’s not paying attention, cursing loudly to himself as he goes, wondering how he could’ve ever been so stupid as to take advice from Turps , of all people, when he hears the crunching of footsteps behind him. Trott grabs his wrist, turns him around and reaches up to pull him by the collar of his coat into a desperate, searing kiss. Smith splutters for a second, fumbling to find his footing as he kisses him back, fingers digging into his hips as he pulls him closer. He must be freezing, Smith thinks idly -he’s not wearing a jumper and probably didn’t even have time to put shoes on.
Smith starts in surprise when he feels Ross’s warmth behind him, a comforting heat pressing at his back through his coat.
“You complete twat ,” Trott says desperately when he finally pulls away, pressing his face into Smith’s scarf. “Christ, I thought- actually, never mind what I thought. Doesn’t matter.”
“I think what Trott’s trying to say is ‘please come inside’,” Ross continues with a quiet laugh, kissing the back of Smith’s head and burying his nose into his hair. Smith laughs, pulling Trott into him and kissing the top of his head.
“Yeah, close enough,” Trott laughs, his voice muffled. “Now can we go inside, it’s fucking cold out here.”
Trott busies himself with the kettle once they’ve settled down in the flat, leaving Ross to help Smith dry off and warm up. When he returns with three mugs of tea balanced precariously in his hands, he finds them curled up together under a thick blanket, exchanging gentle kisses. Trott smiles fondly at the two of them, at how Smith’s damp hair curls and sticks to his forehead, at Ross’s hand on his jaw as he pulls him into kiss after kiss. Smith is smiling into him.
“Adorable as you both are, I made you tea and I’d prefer you drink it before it goes cold,” Trott sets the mugs down on the coffee table and squashes himself onto the sofa on Smith’s other side. When Ross pulls away from him, Smith has an odd, dopey look on his face that almost makes Trott laugh. He’s almost laughing, blushing high across his cheeks as he settles himself into Trott’s side.
“What’s got you so cheery?” Ross asks over his mug, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Apart from the obvious.”
“Nothing, just-” Smith laughs into own drink this time, curiously embarrassed. “You love me. Both of you do.”
He freezes, as if he’s suddenly realised what he said, and looks away from them both, fingers twitching around his mug.
“Yeah, and?” Ross says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Smith relaxes into Trott’s side again, tucking himself under his arm. “Christ, you’re a freak.”
“But he’s our freak,” Trott corrects him with a smile, kissing the side of Smith’s face where the flush of his blush spreads to his cheekbone. “Really, we’re doing the world a favour by taking you off the market, Smith.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Smith scoffs indignantly, setting his mug down and turning to Trott with a pout. Trott wants to kiss it off his face. “I’m a delight and you’re lucky to have me, you ungrateful shit.”
“Yeah, we are,” Ross says earnestly, dropping a kiss to the corner of Smith’s mouth. “Now will you shut up just this once and let us kiss you?”
“That’d be too easy, where’s the fun in that?” Smith grins cheekily, pressing himself even closer to Trott. Ross gives him a despairing look, rolls his eyes, and kisses him quiet before he has chance to say another word.
