You were never really one for Christmas.  Sure, maybe when you were five and you still believed in Santa Claus, and you’re parents could give you tons of gifts for under twenty bucks, when you found enjoyment from the simplest things such as snowball fights, Christmas cookies, and making snow angels.   But not now.  No one gets you presents anymore because no one really cares.  You’re friends are too poor to even buy themselves gifts, let alone you, and really, that doesn’t make you feel bad because Christmas isn’t supposed to be about presents.  Now the snow is too wet and too cold, and you dread the very thought of going outside in it.  And you haven’t had a Christmas cookie in so long, not since you moved out of your house and your mom stopped sending them to you just in time for the holidays.  She’s too old to do much of anything these days.

            But really, it doesn’t bother you.  You were perfectly content to stay inside, sleeping the holiday season away that you hardly had time to think about that fact that a delicious cookie with red and green sprinkles would be the perfect thing to lift your mood.

            And that’s exactly what you were doing.  When you were conscious enough to lift your head from under the comforter that was blocking out the light from your window to look at the clock beside your bed, you saw it was only three, and that gave you plenty of time to get back to sleep before you had to go let our dog in for the night and crawl right back into bed.  Without family and, let’s face it, love, your holiday spirit just wasn’t coming out for the winter.  But then again, it never really had.

            You pulled the covers around you tighter when you heard the doorbell ring some two hours later.  You figured that the person would think you weren’t home, because you never answered the door anyway, and would leave you alone to wallow in your bed of misery and virtual anti-holiday grudge, but they would have none of it.  They alternated between knocking and ringing the bell and you finally got up and stumbled downstairs with the intention of opening the door long enough to punch the person in the nose hard enough to break it.  But that never happened because once you opened the door with your fist raised, you looked up to meet his honey eyes and you could never bring yourself to punch him in the face no matter how annoying he was, and that was saying something, because you were able to punch pretty much anyone in the face for the smallest of reasons.

            The minute you lowered your fist, he looked from it to your eyes before giving you that shit eating grin that sometimes made you rethink your decision to never punch him and at the same time return the grin, even though you really have nothing to grin about these days.

            “Were you going to punch me in the face?” he asked you with mock shock.  You just shrug, standing aside to let him in.

            “Yeah, well, that’s what you get for waking me up this early.”

            “Please,” he says, flopping down on your couch while you shut and lock the door.  “It’s like what?  Five in the afternoon?  You should be up already, since your coming to the Christmas party with me.”

            “What?”  Your eyes grew wide and your mouth opened slightly in surprise.  Every year all of your friends had a big Christmas party at one of their houses and you were always invited, along with a few dozen other random people you didn’t know.  Every year previous that you went, you always had a shitty time, watching the couples walk around slobbering over each other, and watching everyone else generally have a good time because it was the holiday season.  And the icing on the cake was watching him with her. How she would touch him ever so slightly on the arm before laughing in that awkward and nasally way that makes you cringe inwardly, and how he would smile at her before taking her hand in his.

            But this year everything was different.  She moved away a few months ago after becoming pregnant by her best male friend.  And you were surprised that when you were ready to wipe his tears of hurt away there didn’t seem to be any.  In fact, he wasn’t at all upset about it.  He told you later that she had started to become annoying and he knew that she had been cheating on him for awhile, so he had already done his grieving, what little there was of it.  But even so, you decided that this year you weren’t going to go to the Christmas party, because you didn’t want to be around all those happy people milling about drinking cider and eggnog while singing happy fucking Christmas songs.  You weren’t.  No matter what anyone had said. 

            “I’m not going,” you told him as if he hadn’t heard you a few weeks prior when you told them all, and you sulked again, the shock having been replaced by apathy, moving towards the stairs to your warm comforter heaven.  He grabbed your arm before you could make it there, spinning you around and glaring at you.

            “You’re going, so go get showered and dressed.  I’m not leaving without you.”  It didn’t matter that he was trying to be stern and dominating, you still felt the urge to laugh and let out a small giggle at the expression on his face that he hardly ever wore.  He couldn’t keep it up for longer, either, before a smile replaced it, along with giggles of his own.  “Come on,” he said, before taking your arm and leading you upstairs where he pushed you into the bathroom with threats of never letting you out if he didn’t hear the water running soon.

            You didn’t want to, but begrudgingly you turned on the shower and cleaned yourself, knocking on the bathroom door so he could let you out with only a towel draped around your freshly dried body when you finished.  You blushed as you walked past, going into your room and putting your pajamas on before towel drying your hair.  When you finally let him in, he gave you a disapproving look and stormed to your closet, throwing clothes at you that he wanted you to wear, and, considering you only owned t-shirts and jeans, that’s what you got.  You changed slowly, fixing yourself in your mirror so you actually looked presentable.

            When you left the room you found him downstairs waiting for you, holding your coat, and smiling at you.  “Let’s go,” he said after helping you put on your coat and grabbing his things.

            The drive to your friend’s house was silent except for the sounds of Christmas songs from the all Christmas music channel that he had playing.  You spent most of it trying to avoid the urge to vomit because you had heard all of these songs at least 1,560 times before.

            The party was the same as it was every year.  You were greeted warmly at the door, then forgot about once everyone started talking with everyone else about how lovely the snow looked, or how good the food was, or how happy they all were.  You found yourself in a corner in the living room, nursing a cup of cider because eggnog had always made you want to puke, but cider just tasted like bitter water, so it was a lose lose situation.  At least, you told yourself, you didn’t have to watch him make out with her.  You guessed there was a plus side to everything, even though you were having a lousy time.  You supposed that’s why people stayed away from you, because you looked sad and angry, like you would punch someone in the face if they so much as said a “Merry Christmas” in your direction.

            Because you would.

            Just when you thought that no one was looking and you could escape for a moment, your brother comes up to you, his perfect fiancée in his arms, smiling warmly and lovingly up at him and you have to resist the urge for the hundredth time that night to punch her square in her perfect white teeth.  Or even your brother’s teeth for that matter.  But you find you don’t have to fight very hard, because as soon as they’re at your side, he is calling you from the doorway to the kitchen, asking you to come here, so you force a small smile at your brother before making your way through the happy people to where he is standing in the doorway. 

            He smiles at you for a moment, and you thank him, even though he probably doesn’t know what it is exactly you are thanking him for, but he just nods and brushes it off before wrapping his arms around you.  You hold you breath in, taken aback by the action, and feeling uncomfortable because his eyes are still fixed on yours and you want nothing better than to break away from him and run all the way home because he touched you in such an intimate way, because even though you have hugged before, it has never been this intense, and you think that maybe he’s playing with you, just enjoying watching you squirm.  But then he smiles, a bright, genuine smile that makes you melt like ice on hot skin because it’s pure and real with no hidden intent behind it.  He’s just smiling at you to smile at you, or maybe even for you.

            You try not to look so confused, but apparently fail because his grin gets more mischievous and he casts his eyes upward, making yours follow, and you barely have enough time to register the mistletoe before his lips have captured yours in the most heated and passionate yet gentle and unsure kiss you’ve ever experienced.  You can even hear the giggles and sounds of satisfaction from the other people in the room, and you can even hear the smile in your brother’s voice as he says “It’s about time,” but none of that really matters because the moment you have wished for on so many starry nights during the holidays has finally come true and you want to remember it forever incase it never happens again.

            He finally pulls back with another pure grin on his face, looking into your eyes for a few moments before speaking, and when he opens his mouth you hope that everything will become clear with the next thing he says and it will stop the rapid beating of your heart and put the breath back into your lungs.

            “You never asked me what I wanted for Christmas,” he said, running his finger tips lightly over your jaw. 

            You barely have enough breath to whisper, “What do you want for Christmas?”  He smiles and kisses you again.

            “You.”