Chapter Text
“I swear to God, if you sing another Christmas carol—”
The words aren’t even fully out of Aaron’s mouth before Robert’s grin widens, because of course it does. He’s got that look about him tonight—the one he gets when he’s happy in a way he can’t quite hide, which still feels a bit new, a bit fragile. Like joy is something he’s relearning how to hold.
And apparently, tonight, he’s choosing to hold it through Christmas music.
The living room is warm, the fairy lights blinking lazily around the window, and Aaron is trying —truly trying— to wrap presents without getting tangled in ribbon or losing the tape for the fifth time. Meanwhile, Robert… well. Robert’s in one of his moods.
“I’m just saying,” Aaron mutters, fighting a piece of tape that’s chosen violence, “if you start with that bloody—”
“🎵 It’s beginning to look a lot like—”
“ROBERT.”
Robert laughs, actual full laughter, and leans over the back of the sofa, his lips brushing Aaron’s ear in that way that’s both annoying and nice and very much designed to get him flustered.
“You said one more carol,” Robert says, voice warm and teasing, “but you didn’t specify which verse.”
Aaron glares, but his heart isn’t in it, because Robert’s cheeks are pink from the cold, his sweater is stupidly soft-looking, and he smells like the mulled cider they had in the village earlier. He’s glowing, almost—in that way he gets when he’s comfortable, when he feels safe. A rare state, these days. One Aaron protects like instinct.
And maybe that’s why he lets the corner of his mouth lift. Just a little.
“You’re pushing it,” Aaron warns, pulling the last strip of tape free and smoothing down the wrapping paper like it personally offended him.
“I like the risk,” Robert murmurs, brushing a thumb along the back of Aaron’s neck before circling round the sofa. “Besides, it’s December. I’m allowed to be festive.”
“You’re allowed to be annoying, apparently.”
Robert flops onto the sofa, all dramatic limbs and smug expression. “Oh, come on. It’s our first proper Christmas together again. I’m embracing the spirit.”
“You’re embracing something,” Aaron mutters, but he shifts closer automatically, his knee bumping Robert’s.
It’s strange, this new closeness—familiar but different. Less desperate, more deliberate. As if every moment together is something they’re determined not to waste.
Maybe because they know what missing it feels like.
Maybe because after the threats, the fear, the ghosts of past lives clawing at their door, they’ve both realised how fragile peace is and how fiercely they want it.
Robert nudges him. “You know you like it.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Aaron’s silence speaks volumes.
Robert smirks, victorious. “Admit it.”
“Absolutely not.”
They sit like that for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, the room warm and quiet except for the soft crackle of wood in the fireplace and the occasional rustle of wrapping paper. Outside, the night is cold enough to frost the windows, but inside, they’ve built their own cocoon—lights, warmth, safety, each other.
Robert’s hand finds Aaron’s on the couch cushion—casual but not really. Nothing about their touch ever really is.
“So,” Robert says, too casually, “you ready for the Christmas market tomorrow?”
Aaron rolls his eyes. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“You love the lights, and the food, and the ridiculous jumper contest.”
“I like the food,” Aaron corrects. “Big difference.”
Robert laughs again, soft and affectionate. “Well… I like doing it with you.”
Aaron’s chest goes tight in that way he still hasn’t quite learned to handle, so he clears his throat and puts the scissors down a little too loudly. “Great. Fantastic. Soppiness level: maximum.”
“Mm. You like that too.”
“Shut up.”
Robert leans closer, brushing his nose against Aaron’s temple. “Make me.”
It’s incredibly unfair, the way his voice drops like that—warm, teasing, a bit vulnerable underneath. Like he’s asking for something without saying it.
Aaron swallows. The room feels warmer suddenly.
“You’re a menace,” he mutters, turning his head just enough that their foreheads touch.
Robert hums. “And yet you keep me around.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Tragically.”
Their smiles match now, like soft, private things.
For a moment, neither moves. They just breathe each other in, the quiet thick with unspoken things: I missed you. I’m glad we’re here. I’m terrified of losing this again. I love you more than I know how to say.
Then Robert pulls back an inch, his eyes bright.
“Okay, but genuinely—just one more carol.”
Aaron groans. “Robert—”
Robert sits up straight and belts, with full dramatic flair:
“🎵 FIVE GOL—”
Aaron launches himself forward, clamping a hand over Robert’s mouth so quickly the sofa springs squeak.
“No. Absolutely not. We are not doing the Twelve Days of Christmas in this house. I’d rather eat raw Brussel sprouts.”
Robert’s laugh muffles against Aaron’s palm, and he looks up at him with that infuriatingly soft, melted expression—the one he gets when Aaron does something protective. The one that makes Aaron’s stomach flip like he’s twenty-two again.
He pulls Aaron’s hand away, holding it gently.
“You’re cute when you’re dramatic,” Robert says.
“I’m not cute.”
“So cute.”
Aaron narrows his eyes. “Keep talking and I’m getting the duct tape.”
Robert wiggles his eyebrows. “Some people would pay good money—”
“For God’s sake, stop.”
They’re both laughing now, real and warm, their knees tangled, their hands still half-linked. The kind of easy happiness they used to dream about. The kind they didn’t think they’d get again.
Robert exhales, soft. “I love this,” he admits quietly. “Being here with you. Even when you threaten me over festive classics.”
Aaron’s voice gentles without him meaning to. “Yeah. Me too.”
There’s a pause, the kind that feels like a kiss before the kiss.
Then Robert sings, very softly, very cheekily, right into Aaron’s face:
“🎵 Jin-gle bells, jin-gle bells—”
Aaron tackles him backwards onto the sofa.
The laughter that follows is loud enough to drown out the whole damn carol.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, indeed.