Archive of Our Own ^beta

The dorm common room is normally a chattering, heaving mass of humanity, filled with students either frantically gulping coffee during all-night cram sessions or indulging in the time honoured college tradition of beer fuelled parties, or all of the above. Now, however, the rooms and halls are almost deserted as students depart in steady waves for the winter break, leaving scattered popcorn kernels and Christmas chocolate wrappers in their wake.

The overhead light is off when Jess enters the common room after her evening workout. Instead, the only source of light is the standing lamp in the far corner, illuminating a figure curled into the sofa, pyjama-clad knees folded up to her chest.

“Jules?” Jess stops by the sink to pour herself a glass of water, but she keeps an eye on her friend. “You okay?”

Jules has her Santa Clara hoodie pulled down over her hands as she hugs her knees tight. The solemn grey clashes with her mint green pyjama bottoms patterned with cartoon kittens eating sushi. One of their football teammates had bought Jess and Jules a pair of flannel pyjamas each on their birthdays, claiming cutesy patterns were a college dorm must-have. Jules runs her hand through her ash blonde hair, gazing at the rerun of Friends on the TV with the volume turned down low. “It’s fine,” she mumbles.

“Come off it. It’s not fine. You weren’t at the gym and since when do you watch Friends without me?”

Jules gives her a rueful smile. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

It’s a generous statement, in Jess’s estimation. She has missed a lot of things. She missed the real reason for her father’s initial reluctance to let her play football. She missed the way her silly crush on Joe had nearly destroyed her friendship with Jules. “Don’t know about that,” she says. “But I know you.”

Jules tips her head back against the sofa cushion. “This is stupid, but I’m homesick.”

“It’s not stupid,” Jess replies automatically. She has seen this coming for days, ever since Jules hung up the phone in the common room last week after an extended talk with her parents.

Jules huffs, causing a stray lock of hair to fly up from her face. “It was my idea to fly after Christmas. Gave Mum and Dad the whole run down of how much money we’d be saving. I don’t even like Christmas, usually.” She glares grumpily down at the cherry red mug clutched in her hand. “Plus, my hot chocolate went cold.”

“Now that is a tragedy,” Jess says, more as a way to prompt Jules rather than anything else.

“I shouldn’t be sad, really.” Jules lifts the mug to her lips and then lowers it with a wince. “Christmas at our house is usually my Auntie Brenda getting drunk while Mum frets in the kitchen over the turkey and tells me to wear a dress.”

Jess presses her lips together. It always surprises her; how Jules could expect to blow off a family gathering simply because of annoying relatives. “Pass your mug and shove over. I’m getting more hot chocolate.”

Jules hands over the mug with a grateful sigh, drawing her legs tighter under her chin. Jess rattles about in the communal kitchenette, drawing some milk out of the fridge which is barely within its use-by date, reaching up to grab the powdered chocolate from its prominent place in the cabinet. Usually the chocolate powder runs out within days, but with most students already gone for the holidays, the tin is still half full. Jess takes advantage and spills a few extra large spoonfulls into their mugs. Might as well reap the benefits.

The Friends credits are rolling by the time Jess plonks herself on the sofa with mugs in hand. “What’s on the telly?”

Jules grabs the remote and starts flicking through channels. “Americans have a thing for Christmas movies, apparently.” She sets the remote down on the table with a groan. “You in the mood for ambitious career women moving back to their small towns so they can learn the true meaning of Christmas?”

Jess passes over a mug and takes a deep sip of her own, letting the creamy sweetness linger on her tastebuds. Hot chocolate in winter is the best. “Guess it will have to do.”

They drift into a companionable silence, watching the cheerful credits dance across the screen over a montage of a woman rushing through New York on various errands, talking loudly on her mobile phone. This seems to be film language for ‘single woman with ambitions,’ though it reminds Jess more of her mother organising a family dinner. Funny how it took moving to California for Jess to appreciate just how much work her mother does every day.

The film ends predictably; with the career woman settling down with a local carpenter in the Midwest after dumping her well-paid New York job and the New York boyfriend whose only crime seems to be a lack of Christmas themed whimsy. Jules makes some comments about the differences between American holiday traditions and British ones, but some of the life creeps back into her smile.

“My parents usually work at Heathrow on Christmas Day,” Jess says, “so my sister and I would go over to my cousins’ place and watch old videos of Doctor Who. Kept us entertained while all the shops were closed.”

“Does it get annoying, seeing Christmas stuff everywhere?”

Jess shrugs off the question. “Nah. Means all the chocolate’s on sale afterwards.”

She focuses on her hot chocolate, even though she can sense Jules watching her closely. Eventually Jules starts surfing the TV channels again, finally settling on an old episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The pleasant silence returns, and Jess drifts into a lazy doze, lulled by the sweetness of hot chocolate and the soft, soapy scent of Jules’ shampoo.

When her eyes flutter open, Buffy Summers is slaying demons in a cemetery and Jules is curled in towards her, their heads gently resting together. Outside the evening gloom has given way to a night time rain pattering against the windows. Mariah Carey’s Christmas hit drifts in from the dorm rooms down the hall.

Slowly, Jules threads her fingers through Jess’s own, meeting her gaze with a sleepy grin. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Jess.”

Jess squeezes back, allowing her head to slip down onto Jules’ shoulder. “Me too.”