The first thing Daniel noticed after he turned off his laptop was the silence. Somehow, the last school day before vacation was always quieter. It was almost as if the final bell allowed for a well-deserved pause to the building itself. After a semester of new kids, Daniel needed the following two weeks to be as slow-paced as possible. First graders were always a handful when they started school, relentless balls of energy, with a vitality that seemed to increase in intensity the closer it got to the holidays.

Now, though, there was this blissful silence. Daniel leaned back in his chair with a stretch that made his spine crack at the release of tension. He loved his job. Adored the children. Enjoyed teaching them and seeing their eyes widen with wonder at the novelty of the world. But just like anyone else, he needed a break once in a while. The winter holidays were thus the perfect opportunity to savor time off, shed the stress, and replenish his forces for the new year.

When he was little, his adoptive parents had delighted in each moment of Christmas as, year after year, more and more traditions honoring his Chinese heritage were included. They had learned them together until the holidays stretched from December to February in a flurry of red, green, and gold. Between chocolate chip cookies and dumplings, from decorating the Christmas trees to Reunion Dinners, their holidays celebrated a blend of cultures. A smile formed on Daniel’s lips at the memory of Mom holding his tiny hand with determination as they learned Chinese together. Then, Dad had helped him learn Swedish because Mom’s grandmother was from there, and she’d been quite attached to that side of her family.

He missed them dearly.

The tree would’ve been up in the living room by now, waiting for ornaments, and the house would already have smelled of gingerbread. There’d been a gentle comfort there, at home—one that Daniel had never found anywhere else after they were gone. None of the following winters had managed to seem anything more than gray and dull.

So these days, all he had to look forward to were his books. Sure, it would’ve been wonderful to come home to someone—to build comfort together instead of reading alone about the happiness of others. He shivered, unabated, before he was able to shake the thoughts away. No point lingering on it. Christmas was in two days, and he wouldn’t get a family delivered to him overnight. Maybe next year, then. With a sigh, he stood and grabbed his bag. Nothing wrong with hoping, but maybe he should actively put himself out there again—see if he could find a kindred spirit to share future winters with. Today was not that day, so he shrugged to himself, preferring to think about the book waiting for him on his nightstand.

★

His steps were louder than usual as he headed for the exit, fastening his coat with care, backpack slung over one shoulder. There were only some lesson plans that he’d need to go over before classes started up again, but that shouldn’t take him too long. It was one of the reasons he’d stayed after hours today, to get as much work done as possible, so he could unwind at home. Which reminded him, his apartment building still had no heating. Daniel grimaced at the thought, hoping with all he had that the landlord had finally fixed the issue. Really, spending the entire break freezing was not—

His thoughts were derailed when he noticed Abby Weber sitting on the bench outside the administration office. The clock on the wall said it was almost half past five; she shouldn’t still have been here.

“Hey, Abby,” he said. “Is your dad late?”

She blinked at him slowly and raised both eyebrows. “Hello, Mr. Wu,” she monotoned. “I’m waiting for you.”

Ever since the end of October, Abby had had a personal icon in Wednesday Addams, whom she was trying to imitate. It was far from perfect—her hair wasn’t as dark, and her face was more used to smiling than frowning.

“Why are you—”

“Ah, Daniel,” said a voice, accompanied by a hurried shuffle of feet as Principal Howards approached from the other side of the half-wall partition, but stopped abruptly in the middle of the workspace separating the hallway from his office. “I almost forgot to hand you the slip.” He turned on his heel to rummage through the contents of a desk and then let out a victorious sound as he flapped a piece of paper through the air. “Here,” he said, handing it over. “And don’t forget to ask Mr. Weber to sign for the pickup, too. Bus won’t get fixed over the break.”

Daniel opened his mouth to request clarification, but Howards had already turned away and was ambling back to his office. So instead, he blinked at the sheet in his hand. “Parent permission,” he mumbled to himself as he read, “transport request, the 23rd— That’s today—”

He stopped and frowned at Abby. She stared back, swinging her legs where she was still sitting on the bench. Outside the glass doors, the day was already turning darker.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Daniel told her. “Let’s get you home.”

She took his extended hand and followed him out, shuffling along by his side. The air was crisp, not much colder than the morning had been, but with a distinct feel of snow coming. Daniel spared a glance at the sky. Heavy clouds had already gathered, thick and angry, still visible even with the fading light. He needed to hurry and drop Abby off if he wanted to make it home before the snow started falling.

★

“So,” Daniel said as he left the main streets behind to drive up the gentle slope of the pine-covered foothills to the mountains stretching beyond. “Why couldn’t your dad pick you up? Is he at another site? Is there someone waiting for you at home?”

“No,” Abby said, shaking her head. “Daddy’s leg is broken; he can’t drive.”

“Oh.”

Well, this was a new turn. Weber had made a sort of reputation for getting stuck at building sites he worked at all over town. Ms. Amber, from the secretarial office, said he was a good—and single, she insisted—parent. Just a little time-impaired ever since he’d opened his own construction business. Weber was a local boy, born and raised here, and everybody trusted him. His company had even replaced the school windows last year.

Daniel got it. In this day and age, having to raise a kid alone was not an easy feat. At least the school could provide assistance. This was not the first time they’d taken care of students beyond their duties, but they were that kind of community. As the middle school sat right across from the elementary, the teachers and administrators sometimes shared responsibilities, and they were all nice. It was why Daniel had moved here permanently.

This town, it was just so… It was small, but not that small. It stretched out along a valley, and the distances should’ve made people feel disconnected. Apart. That wasn’t the case, however. They might not know everyone by name, but they were the most accepting people Daniel had ever met. And he’d lived in plenty of places in his almost four decades of life. He’d never settled, never having felt the need until coming here. This town had called to him, convinced him to stay. He was happy, mostly. Maybe a little lonely, but—gah, not the time to go back to that. Vacation awaited, and Daniel was almost at Weber’s.

Sitting in a pine clearing, the two-story house was a neat place that seemed plucked out of a fairy tale. The road leading up to it was paved, no doubt Weber’s handiwork, so the trip was smooth all the way to the front door.

It was only when he rang the bell, loud in the silence of settling dusk, that he noticed how quiet Abby had been. Maybe she was just hungry. Daniel grimaced at the thought; he’d never meant to make her wait. Howards really needed better communication skills.

A series of concerning noises resounded from beyond the door—a bang, a crash, and what might’ve been something breakable hitting the floor—before a voice yelled: “Come in!”

“Hi, Daddy,” Abby said as she walked in from the entryway.

“Hey, kid.” Weber waved from the floor. “Be careful, okay? Let me clean this up first.”

Glass shards and the remnants of a lampshade surrounded him as he knelt awkwardly on one knee while holding on to the coffee table with both hands. His right leg stretched askew to his side and slightly back, a cast enveloping it from sole to knee. It looked heavy, and the position had to be painful. Weber didn’t seem to be aware of Daniel standing in the doorway as he extended a trembling hand toward a shard, and Daniel had a sudden image in his head of a palm sliced open, blood gushing everywhere—

“Don’t,” he said, and Weber startled so visibly that he floundered, almost falling face-first into the sharp mess.

Daniel was already walking right over the glass, thankful for his thick-soled boots, and grabbed Weber by his underarms. The steadying bit was easy, but then Daniel decided he should get the man to sit on the nearby sofa. He heaved, trying to lift, and almost managed a few inches. All the while, Weber was staring, wide-eyed and mouth agape, entirely unhelpful.

“Come on,” Daniel gritted.

“Oh,” Weber mumbled, “yeah, yeah.”

And then, Daniel had to keep himself from toppling over when Weber held on to his shoulder to stand. He was taller from this close up. A lot more than Daniel remembered from teacher-parent meetings.

Enticing, even, with eyelashes long and—

Gah. Daniel shook himself mentally as he steered Weber to the couch. What the hell was that?

“Mr. Wu?” Abby’s voice came from the side, followed by a poke to his arm. He turned to see her extending a broom with a long handle, while she safely kept to the other side of the glass pieces.

Weber sat heavily. “You don’t have to do that.” He unsuccessfully tried to hide a grimace as he rubbed at the cast over his leg.

Like that would do him any good, Daniel thought, raising an eyebrow. “It’s fine,” he insisted.

“Who makes glass lamps anyway,” Weber muttered, slightly sheepish. “Thanks, by the way, for this and driving Abby home.”

Daniel waved it off. He swept quickly under Abby’s watchful gaze and her directions of “missed one” and “there’s another over here.” Soon, the mess was safely in the trash bin. With that done, Daniel took the time to glance around. The room was spacious and open, kitchen on the left, living room in the middle, and a small office area at the back. There was enough room for more furniture to the far right, as if the space hadn’t found all its inhabitants yet.

The strange thought left Daniel bereft.

Next to him, voices filled the air as Weber asked about Abby’s day, and Abby told him about all the things they’d done at school, specifically how Mr. Wu had worn a St. Nick tie and not a Santa one. Daniel startled at hearing his name and shivered, just then realizing how cold the room was. Abby was still wrapped in her thick coat, while Weber might’ve been wearing two sweaters under that hoodie.

“Why’s it freezing in here?”

“Uh,” Weber started to say, scratching his head, and this time his cheeks reddened. “We ran out of wood, and I couldn’t go to the shed to get more.”

“What about gas?”

“You don’t know? There was a malfunction at one of the supply lines two weeks back, so half the city is without. Might not get fixed until after New Year’s.”

Daniel frowned. That explained why the heating had been off at his place. But then the rest of Weber’s words registered. “And so you’re going to sit here in the cold for two more weeks? How long until the cast comes off?”

Weber shrugged a shoulder, sparing a glance at Abby, who was curled up at the other end of the sofa, already engrossed in one of the books Daniel had given the kids to read during the break. His voice was a lot quieter when he spoke again.

“Look, we’re going to be all right. Just got this yesterday,” he muttered at the cast. “But one of the guys from the crew said he’d drop by today to help me set up.”

“Today is almost over,” Daniel countered, crossing his arms.

“Everybody has a family to take care of.” Weber sighed, and that drove a bitter pang through Daniel.

“Okay,” he said. “Where do you keep it?”

“What?”

“Show me your wood.”

Weber stilled, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth wobbling, and then he snorted so loudly he startled Abby. He tried to hide the chuckles under his palm, but his shoulders were shaking visibly. Daniel bit at the inside of his cheek, which didn’t stop his grin.

Yeah, okay, hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” Abby asked, innocence and curiosity at the fore.

Weber laughed even louder while Daniel covered his face with his hands, cheeks overheated.

★

It soon became obvious why Weber—“please, call me Jeff”—couldn’t get the firewood by himself. Not even log-by-log into a bag while wobbling on his crutches. First off, he had no crutches—and what kind of hospital would let him leave without them? And second, there were too many steps offering opportunities for further injuries at both ends of the short path that connected the house to the woodshed. The ones from the porch did have a railing, but the five stone steps climbing to the shed door didn’t. They weren’t steep, but looked slippery enough to be dangerous.

So, Daniel carried as much as he could from the shed to the covered porch under Weber’s—no, Jeff’s—careful supervision and encouragement. Listening to him, you’d have thought Daniel was competing in the Olympics, though he had to admit it did make him feel good about himself. A snow flurry started forming a few trips in, but it was mild, so Daniel kept on working while Jeff lit his way with a camping lantern from the porch.

A high gust of wind took them by surprise. By then, there was enough firewood stacked on the porch to last a few days. Daniel helped Jeff get the furnace going and the fireplace in the living room as well, and promised to come back after the storm had passed if Jeff couldn’t find anybody else to help.

Abby was still asking about funny wood when Daniel waved goodbye and got in the car to drive off toward the main road.

He drove as carefully as possible, advancing through the looming darkness that seemed somehow thicker when he thought about the trees on either side, even though he couldn't make them out clearly. The headlights only reached so far, and Daniel could barely see beyond the thick flakes flying around the car in a white veil.

He’d only gone a short distance when a low-hanging branch blew against the windshield, startling him, and the car suddenly slid through the slick layer of snow. It happened slowly enough that Daniel had time to swerve away from a large mound, which caused him to slide into the shallow ditch that ran along the side of the road. He was okay, but his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest and it took a while to get his breathing under control.

He pushed open the car door and braved the wind to take a look at the damage. The car seemed fine—except for sitting halfway in the ditch. Yeah, he wasn’t getting it out of there tonight, not in this blizzard and not by himself. With a groan, he grabbed his backpack and trudged back up the road to the house.

He was shivering from a combination of adrenaline as well as cold by the time he reached the door. Before he could even knock, though, Abby opened it. Soon after, there was a blanket and a mug of hot tea and Jeff jumping around on his good leg while Abby carried Daniel’s snow-laden coat to the open mudroom near the entry. The thing was almost as big as her, but she managed to hang it on one of the low hooks.

“So what happened?” Jeff asked as he sat heavily on the sofa next to Daniel.

There was one less sweater on him this time, Daniel noticed—probably because of the fire that crackled brightly, heating the place. Abby ambled over, too, and climbed onto Jeff’s good leg.

“Do you need a doctor?” she asked.

Daniel shook his head. “No. The car slid off the road.”

“Are you hurt?” Jeff asked this time, and again Daniel gave a shake.

“Just cold; car’s still in one piece. Stuck in a ditch.”

“Ah.” Jeff nodded.

Abby relaxed visibly, leaning into Jeff, and he hugged her close with one arm. Daniel wondered, for a brief moment, how that would feel. If he scooted only a little bit toward Jeff, then he’d be plastered against— Wow, the couch was tiny. So small. Daniel forced his gaze onto the surface of the coffee table and his thoughts away from Jeff. What was wrong with him today?

“I guess you’re stuck here tonight,” Jeff said. “What do you want to eat?”

★

Dinner turned out to be a choice between red-sauce pasta and green-sauce pasta. Abby declared she wanted both, so that was settled quickly. Daniel ended up playing impromptu crutch for Jeff who skipped about the kitchen while cooking, although Daniel was pretty sure he shouldn’t be moving around so much. It was domestic and comfortable, and Abby giggled at Jeff’s commentary before she remembered, several times, that she was supposed to frown like Wednesday.

It would’ve been a little too easy to get used to such warmth and companionship—a dire contrast to the cold and silent apartment waiting for Daniel in the morning.

The thought followed him all evening—while he helped Jeff up the stairs, and when he helped tuck Abby in, watching as Jeff loosened her two braids and told a story of Gomez and Wednesday’s adventures during their weekly cemetery picnic.

“I can see now who fuels her passion for the Addams family,” Daniel commented with a smile after Jeff closed her bedroom door.

“It was her mom’s favorite movie,” he said with a shrug.

And Daniel wanted to ask—really needed to know, suddenly—what the story was there. It wasn’t his business, though; he was just a teacher intruding due to unfortunate circumstances. “Abby really likes it,” he said instead.

Jeff gave him a weird look at that. “She likes you, too. Won’t be surprised if she decides to dress like you next Halloween.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, incredulous. “Abby’s an attentive student, but I don’t think school impresses her more than Wednesday.”

The weird look was back, right before Jeff’s large hand landed on his shoulder. “Trust me, she thinks you’re cool.”

With this peculiar conversation playing in his head and the unrelenting sensation of strange familiarity this place brought, Daniel found sleep elusive. The couch was comfortable enough, despite its size. The fire was still smoldering in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room, and Daniel couldn’t stop staring at the empty corner. It was right between two windows. A desk would go against one, with a line of sight to the trees outside, while a padded bench for reading could fit under the other. Maybe one of those tall reading lamps, too. And a footstool for a tray of tea. Low shelves for books and knickknacks would line the walls there; his snow globe collection would be a perfectly colorful fit against the earthy green and wooden tones of the space.

Daniel startled at how he was jumping way ahead of himself with all the wishful thinking, and he pressed his face into the pillow with a sigh. He’d met Jeff before, sure, but didn’t know him, not like this, in his own home. There was world of difference between the stiffness of school grounds and the relaxed nature of this private setting, prone to reveal more of one’s character, and this made Daniel consider Jeff more closely. He wasn’t unusual in any way. Not too handsome, not too tall—although taller than Daniel. He was younger, that much Daniel had gathered, but not by a lot. And he was stubborn enough to stall his healing by not resting properly. Not the most sensible behavior. Daniel might have provided Jeff with some online confirmation as incentive, if it weren’t for the phone tower, and subsequently, his internet connection, going offline. In any case, it wasn’t his place to insist that Jeff sit and let Daniel take care of him.

Which brought him back to this weirdness.

Daniel wasn’t the type to mother-hen people. Sure, he was responsible and cared for his kids, but as far as adults went? They could tend to themselves. So why was he so concerned for Jeff’s well-being?

He groaned and turned to face the backrest, resolutely pushing Jeff and his stupidly endearing home out of his mind.

★

Daniel watched the white scene outside, the flakes upon flakes of heavily falling snow, while Jeff sipped coffee from his mug. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, and Daniel stepped closer. Just to be there in case Jeff fell. No other reason.

With a long exhale, he looked down at his own cup of tea. Jeff had made it for him, and the gesture brought back yesterday's yearning. Once more, he pushed it aside.

“I guess you’re stranded here with us,” Jeff said, voice still heavy with sleep. He looked a little too smug about the whole thing.

“You just want round-the-clock service,” Daniel quipped with half a smirk, which had the intended effect of making Jeff smile. It was a nice smile, small and intimate, like they were sharing a secret. “Really, though,” Daniel added, sobering, “I’ll get my stuff and go—”

“What?” Jeff yelped, straightening. “Do you have a death wish?”

“It’s just snow.”

“Your car’s stuck.”

“I’ll walk.”

“I’m not letting my daughter’s personal hero get himself in the hospital, or worse.”

When the meaning of the words reached Daniel, he took a step back, startled. “Surely, you’re exaggera—”

“You’re not going anywhere until the weather settles,” Jeff interrupted him again, this time with such finality that Daniel snapped his mouth shut.

Movement from behind the kitchen counter drew his attention in time to see Abby grin widely at them. “Daddy, can Mr. Wu get the tree from the attic?”

Jeff glanced back and forth between Daniel and Abby, eyebrows raised. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Mr. Wu—” Abby shuffled closer. “—could you please, pretty please, get the tree down from the attic?”

Daniel’s shoulders slumped. “You can call me Daniel while we’re here,” he said. “And yes.”

She squealed, bouncing on her toes. “Thank you, Mr. Daniel.”

“How about brushing your teeth first,” Jeff said to her, and the instruction was followed by the rhythmic thumping of her feet on the stairs. He turned to Daniel, already extending a hand for support. “Let’s get you something to wear.”

★

The day passed more quickly than expected. Between setting up the tree with its ornaments and Jeff’s continuous commentary from the sofa, Daniel forgot about the outside world. It was dark before he knew it.

The evening found them back on the too-small couch, Daniel almost shoulder to shoulder with Jeff, who was holding a sleeping bundle of Abby and blanket against his other side. The lights were out, except for those on the tree and the crackling fire, which gave the space a gentle glow. Daniel took the last sip of his hot chocolate before setting the mug down.

“The presents are in there,” Jeff said quietly, pointing to one of the cabinets that lined the far wall around his office space.

With a nod, Daniel stood to fetch them. There were three boxes—one large, two small—wrapped in colorful paper. He brought over the big one first, a raised eyebrow directed at Jeff.

“She’s been a good kid,” he whispered with a half shrug.

Well, Abby had been good in school, too, so Daniel gave an agreeing grunt. He was wishing he had something to add under the tree from himself, when another box in the cabinet caught his eye as he pulled out the other two presents. This one was made of clear plastic, full of crafting paper, materials, and assorted tools. He smiled at his sudden idea and returned to bring the supplies to the coffee table.

Thankfully, Jeff didn’t say anything as Daniel worked, curiosity giving way to understanding on his face. Daniel still remembered how to do this, and he made quick work of the paper until a flower bloomed in his palms. Red petals for luck and pink for happiness. The stem was easy to add—a piece of golden wire that allowed him to build a couple of stylized leaves on it as well.

When he held it up to Jeff, he was met with—

Daniel couldn’t name the expression on Jeff’s face, but his gaze made his breath hitch and his heart race. He ducked his head to hide his heated cheeks as he scribbled a For Abby tag to attach to the stem, and then managed to avoid looking at Jeff as he placed the flower on one of the boxes under the tree. Cleanup was over too fast before Daniel had to return to the couch, still feeling awkward about the whole thing. Why didn’t Jeff have any armchairs?

“Thank you,” Jeff said in a rasp that made Daniel clear his own throat.

“It’s nothing.”

Silence settled back between them, Daniel’s breathing loud in his own ears, and he had to say something. Perhaps distract Jeff from how flustered he was.

“Dad and I used to make them for Mom all the time,” he whispered.

“Used to?”

Daniel rubbed his right thumb over the faded scar on his left. The first time they had made one of these flowers, he’d accidentally cut himself. “My parents died when I was twenty-two. Dad had a passion for origami, and Mom used to keep the more intricate pieces on a long shelf in the hallway so all our visitors would see her treasures.” Daniel didn’t usually talk about them, and he couldn’t explain why he was opening up now. Maybe it was the feel of this place, maybe just memories coming up. Maybe he was lonelier than he thought. He hunched his shoulders instinctively as he tucked his thumb against his palm.

Jeff shifted and covered Daniel’s entwined hands with one of his own. “My sister—my twin sister—and I were raised by our grandma. She passed a few years back, but at least she got to see sis get married and got to know Abby. My sister died in childbirth, and my brother-in-law couldn’t deal with it. So it’s just the two of us now.”

That got Daniel to finally look up, just in time to see Jeff smile sadly at the top of Abby’s head. No, Daniel wanted the warm mirth back, so he turned his palm to squeeze Jeff’s fingers.

“You’re doing a great job raising her,” he said.

Jeff blinked, surprised, before a grin brightened his face again.

It was easy, then, to recall the shenanigans of childhood. Jeff listened and added his own, their quiet conversation stretching well into the night. Their heads were bowed closely together, almost touching as they whispered in their slump against the back of the couch. Later, when Daniel leaned his head back, the last thing he saw before his eyes closed was Jeff pulling the blanket closer around Abby. Kissing the top of her head. Daniel wanted one of those for himself so much that he even dreamt of the ghost touch of lips on his temple.

★

On Christmas Day, Daniel and Jeff woke up on the sofa with cricks in their necks and still holding hands. It was less awkward than Daniel would’ve expected, and they shared morning drinks in comfortable silence, mindful of the still sleeping kid on the sofa.

Abby was utterly delighted by her present, and Jeff seemed pleased with the continuing snowfall. Daniel refused to think about what that meant.

The day was over just as quickly as the previous one, in a flurry of singing along to carols, playing cards, and a few of the board games Jeff had stashed around the living room. Another trip to the shed for some wood left Daniel wrapped in Jeff’s thickest sweater. It was softer than it looked, too large for Daniel’s frame, and for a while, Daniel even entertained the idea of keeping it when it came time to leave.

When he fell asleep that evening, this time alone on the sofa, he was surprised at how much he missed Jeff’s closeness.

★

It was still snowing. Less, but snowing, and Daniel was relieved that Jeff didn’t hint at him going back to his own place.

Jeff peeled carrots at the kitchen counter next to where Daniel was showing Abby how to make paper flowers. From time to time, he extended his hand to steady Jeff’s light swaying. It was the least he could do, since they’d already established that Daniel couldn’t even boil water, so it would be safer for everyone if Jeff was in charge of the food. As they worked, a soft tune drifted from the living room, and the aroma of roasting meat wafted from the oven.

Abby placed her scissors down. “Daddy,” she said, giving Jeff a serious look, “I know what I want next year.”

“Already?”

“Yes.” She placed both elbows on the table, steepling her fingers.

“And what is that?”

Abby’s serious face didn’t last, and she eyed Daniel warily before muttering “I’ll tell you later.” She then jumped off the chair and ran upstairs with a shout about bathrooms.

“What was that all about?” Daniel asked.

Jeff had watched her run off with raised eyebrows, and then realization seemed to hit him and he laughed.

“Tell me,” Daniel prodded.

“Nah.” Jeff stuck out his tongue before shoving the bowl of carrots toward Daniel. “Rinse these.”

“Huh?” Daniel peeked inside the bowl. “Wow, this is some messy handiwork,” he teased, but complied easily while Jeff cleaned up the counter.

Jeff was smiling at him when Daniel handed the carrots back over, minus one. He made a good impression of a cartoonish rabbit munching on it, enough to get Jeff to laugh as he squeezed Daniel’s fingers. There it was again, that skip in his heartbeat, and Daniel shoved it away. It didn’t mean anything. Jeff was just friendly.

Friends held hands, right?

“Maybe she wants a bunny,” Jeff said, derailing Daniel’s thoughts.

“Like a pet? Hm, we had a rabbit as a class pet once.” Daniel waved with the carrot. “They’re pretty easy to care for. Want me to see if I can find the shop name later? I could drive you.”

Jeff gave him a look.

“W-what? Is there something on my face?” Daniel self-consciously wiped at his cheek.

The look softened with a tilt of his head. “No, you’re perfect—”

A loud ping startled them, and Jeff turned to the oven with a mutter. Daniel stood there, his heart hammering because he must have heard wrong. He must have.

★

The snow stopped around noon the next day. However, the sky was still overcast, the phones were still down, and there was no way Daniel could trek through the snow on his own. Jeff declared it so, and Daniel hoped his haste to agree went unnoticed.

Abby was exhausted after running around outside for two hours, while Daniel and Jeff watched from the porch, so she was in bed early. Which left the two men back on the couch.

In his corner, Daniel was reading. Jeff had some interesting books on his shelves, if one dug behind the construction manuals and project binders. Next to him, Jeff scribbled calculations in a notebook as he leaned a shoulder against Daniel’s, and this single point of contact was sending tingles through Daniel’s bones. He sighed at the page.

So he liked Jeff. Like liked.

Jeff—the father of his student, a man he barely knew. And he really didn’t want to leave the next day. Maybe the phones wouldn’t work. Maybe it would start snowing again. Ah, but wasn’t that how relationships started, with strangers getting to know each other? Maybe if he didn’t say anything about leaving, Jeff would let it slide. Jeff, who was smart enough to do derivatives in his head, so patient with Abby, and so stubborn with himself that he couldn’t sit the fuck down. And he should get to the hospital for a checkup before New Year’s. Daniel would drive him, and after returning home, maybe they could bake some cookies together.

Home?

Daniel closed his eyes and bit his lip. He needed to leave before he did something stupid. Well, more stupid than developing a crush in four days.

★

The phones were working again, but more firewood needed to be brought in. Then the living room needed cleaning. The kitchen, too. A couple of trips to the basement pantry were in order to get some more food upstairs. Then, Abby could use some help with homework. It was what Daniel kept saying and what Jeff kept accepting without question. But even so, Daniel’s excuses were running out, and by the time the evening of the fifth day rolled in, he knew he couldn’t keep it up the next day as well.

A holiday movie was running on the TV, Abby watching between mouthfuls of popcorn. The story was about a grinchy corporate worker falling for the scruffy small-town guy. In the film, the grumpy guy was actively pursuing the other, who was trying to get away from all the holiday charm. Daniel snuck a glance at Jeff who was dozing off next to him, and then looked down their arms to where his finger was hooked over Jeff’s wrist. The situation here would’ve mirrored the one in the movie if it weren’t for a huge difference.

Jeff was not into Daniel.

He was probably putting up with Daniel because he was helping out. Sudden worry filled him at the thought. No, that couldn’t be; Jeff would’ve said something, right?

“Daddy,” Abby said from her place on the floor, “we forgot to make the cake.”

Jeff blinked, sniffed once. “Oh, yeah. We’ll do it tomorrow after Mr. Daniel leaves. Don’t wanna scare him with it, now, do we?”

Abby giggled, and Daniel’s stomach twisted. He had overstayed his welcome. The realization jolted through him, making him tuck his hands under his armpits, lest his treacherous fingers search for Jeff’s again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jeff frowning at him. Whatever he was going to say, however, was interrupted by Abby.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the screen.

“Mistletoe,” Jeff said.

“Why’s it making people kiss?”

Jeff explained, but Daniel tuned it out, shaken and unfocused. Across the room, the empty space that he’d imagined being his mocked him. This was not his home. Not his family. Not his life.

★

Daniel’s tea tasted bitter as he listened to Jeff arranging for one of his construction buddies to plow the road up to the house and help get Daniel’s car out of the ditch. By noon, his car was safely on the road. Jeff's friend even brought it up to the house for him, despite his protests. Too soon, Daniel was sitting in the driver’s seat clutching at the steering wheel and staring at Jeff and Abby huddled in the doorway.

He didn’t want to go, but Jeff hadn’t tried to stop him, had barely looked at Daniel all morning. He’d even cut Abby off when she’d asked him to stay longer. Jeff was right; he had intruded long enough.

After taking a deep breath, Daniel drove away.

The apartment was so cold that he couldn’t stop shivering.

He tried not to think about it, but every time he turned, the snow globes on his living room shelves caught his attention. A reminder of all the places he’d traveled through, of all those spaces that had never felt right.

Not like Jeff’s home had.

With shaking fingers, Daniel pulled out a box and started piling the globes inside. Maybe if he couldn’t see them anymore, he’d stop yearning for something he’d never have.

★

It was a little past seven when his phone rang.

“Hey, so,” Jeff said, “did you get home all right?”

Daniel bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to voice the first thought that popped into his head. The apartment was not home. Not anymore. “Yeah,” he said instead.

“That’s great. Um, so…”

The pause stretched, on and on, and Daniel even checked to see if the connection had gotten interrupted. “What’s this about?” he asked into the silent line.

“Uh, yeah, uh…we started the cake, but we had no honey, so…”

“You need honey?”

“No, we— There’s sugar.”

“Daddy”—Abby’s voice resounded from nearby—“tell him.”

Daniel frowned, his belly tight with nerves.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeff muttered. “Right. We— Abby misses you.”

“Daddy!” immediately followed in admonishment, and Daniel swallowed against his dry throat.

For a moment, he had thought… Daniel shook himself. “Tell her we’ll see each other when school starts.”

More mumbling came from Jeff, and it sounded a lot like “can’t do this.” Before Daniel could say anything else, though, the line crackled, and Abby’s voice came to the fore.

“Mr. Daniel,” she begged, “please come back.”

“That’s enough, Abby,” Jeff said distantly, followed by a string of jumbled words, before a hurried “sorry” was spoken directly into the microphone.

The call ended.

Daniel blinked at the wall.

All through the night, he stared unfocused at the ceiling, rewinding the conversation in his head. Over and over, until nothing made sense anymore.

★

Abby clutched at his sleeve while Jeff was trying to pull her away by the arm. “Please come back, Mr. Daniel,” she said, voice wobbly and eyes wide. Too bright against the snow, even with the rolling black clouds hanging above.

“That’s enough,” Jeff said. “He doesn’t want to be here, kid. He doesn’t want us, Abby.”

Daniel gasped awake, startled by the sound of a car horn outside.

The tea had gone cold too fast, and Daniel stared at the mug on the kitchen table, still shaking from the nightmare. Must’ve been one. What exactly had Jeff said? His mind was too fuzzy, so he went back over the call, trying to separate dream from reality.

Jeff had said Abby missed him. And had told her “enough,” and then he had said—

Daniel stood up, sending the blanket that had been wrapped around his shoulders to the floor. It couldn’t have all been a dream. Chest tight, Daniel rewound the days in his head: who had held whose hand first; that look; Jeff—“you’re perfect”—always closing the distances between them; a kiss to his temple.

He tripped twice against furniture in his haste to get dressed.

Maybe he was imagining everything, wishful thinking making him foolish. But Daniel needed to know.

Perhaps—perhaps this was it. A chance of home.

★

Daniel secured the grocery bags to the passenger seat. He had bought ingredients for as many types of cakes as he could find on his phone in the middle of the store, and then those necessary for Mom’s chocolate chip cookies. If he was wrong, then he was covered, ready with the excuse of visiting for Abby’s sake.

The trip back to Jeff’s was both too short and too long, and Daniel had half a mind to linger in the driveway, but he didn’t. He took a deep breath and then walked up to the front porch. The door swung open before he could even touch the bell, accompanied by Abby’s delighted shriek.

“You’re back!” She barreled into him with enough force to make him stumble.

He picked her up before stepping inside. And then, the warmth of the home surrounded him, soothing, while across the room, Jeff stood, staring. He was at the kitchen counter, his mug of coffee in midair, hair rumpled by sleep. Daniel smiled.

Jeff frowned, though, and Daniel’s spirits sunk.

“I, uh, brought supplies. Let me get them.”

He almost walked outside with a pajama-clad Abby in his arms, but turned around to set her down. He focused on the task instead of Jeff’s frown, and soon there were three grocery bags inside the door for Abby to rummage through while Jeff hopped closer. Cold air rushed in, and Daniel shut the door behind him, chest tight.

Jeff watched him quietly, his face closed off, making Daniel squirm on the spot, until the moment was interrupted by Jeff almost losing his balance. Daniel steadied him with practiced ease, and the way Jeff still clutched at him even after it was no longer necessary gave Daniel a fresh wave of boldness.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” he offered.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Jeff breathed, leaning against Daniel.

“Daddy, not that word,” Abby said from the side.

Jeff looked properly chastised as he apologized, but he was smiling. Grinning, even, and Daniel couldn’t hold back his own relief either.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Jeff said as they made their way to the kitchen, eying the back of Abby’s head.

Daniel nodded and squeezed his hand.

★

The smell of baking cookies filled the kitchen when Jeff brought the cake out of the fridge. It looked…mangled. Not edible in the least. But it tasted amazing nonetheless, and Daniel shoved two forkfuls into his mouth without chewing. Jeff glanced over to where Abby sat on the sofa listening to an audio fairy tale before turning wide eyes at Daniel.

Daniel swallowed as quickly as possible, butterflies in his belly already, and not even drinking half a glass of water calmed them down.

Jeff twisted a napkin between his fingers, his mouth opening and closing a few times, so Daniel picked up one of his hands. He signaled his intention before pressing his lips to Jeff’s knuckles. His heart skipped a beat at the look on Jeff’s face. That same look.

“So you like me,” Daniel said, and Jeff nodded with a grin. “Me, too.”

It shouldn’t have been possible for Jeff’s face to brighten further, but it did, and it was all Daniel’s doing.

“I’m really bad at this,” Jeff said. “So bad.”

“We both are,” Daniel soothed.

“No, you don’t understand,” Jeff countered, licking his lips. “I’ve had a crush on you since October.”

“Really?”

Jeff went still, seemed to realize what he’d just said, and then whined as he hid his face in the crook of his arm over the countertop. “Yeah,” came back muffled, as his fingers tightened around Daniel’s.

With his free hand, Daniel caressed the top of Jeff’s head. “Look at me,” he said, but Jeff just whined again. “Come on, look at me.”

When Jeff finally lifted his head, his cheeks were red.

“You look good when you’re embarrassed,” Daniel commented with a chuckle, and Jeff flicked playfully at his nose.

Daniel’s heart fluttered in his chest. Since October…and he had never known. It was amazing, entirely too much to process right now, so he decided to stop thinking and just enjoy. Jeff liked him, Abby wanted him here, and Daniel reveled in the knowledge.

★

That evening, they were back on the couch, only this time it didn’t feel small. No, it was just right, the perfect size to fit him, and Jeff, and Abby. They were watching another movie, this one about kids and a puppy and Santa, when Abby gasped from where she was snuggling between them. She jumped up and ran off, causing confused frowns from both of them. Jeff shrugged and shifted closer. He leaned against Daniel, head on his shoulder, and Daniel pressed his cheek to Jeff’s temple. This was good. A kiss would work, too, but Jeff hadn’t tried so far, and Daniel didn’t know how to ask, not yet.

In a thunder of footsteps, Abby ran back down the stairs, a piece of paper fluttering in her hand. She cleared the coffee table before trying to push it toward the sofa.

“What’cha doing?” Jeff asked mildly.

Abby replied with a distracted “you’ll see” as Daniel uncurled from his position to help pull the table for her. Abby shed her slippers and climbed on the wooden surface in her socks. She then held the piece of paper over their heads to reveal an awkwardly drawn branch of mistletoe.

“Now kiss,” she said.

Jeff laughed so loudly and suddenly, seemingly unable to stop, that Daniel poked his side, and Abby uttered a disappointed “Daddy!” at him, her forehead scrunched.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Daniel told her.

He pressed his lips to Jeff’s cheek and sucked a noisy smooch that should have tickled something fierce. Jeff’s laughter turned into giggles and a yelp, and Daniel high-fived a smug Abby. Satisfied, she wiggled her way back between them and curled up tightly enough that Daniel still had a clear view of Jeff over her head.

It took a while for Jeff to calm down. He finally turned toward Daniel, his arm joining Daniel’s to wrap around Abby, and leaned in. Daniel met him halfway. The kiss was small, barely a touch of lips against lips, but it settled everything within Daniel.

This was right.

★

They spent the next morning out back building a snowman. The sky was gray, the light dull somehow, yet all Daniel could feel was the giddiness in his bones. He and Jeff had talked late into the night after Abby had gone to bed. They were going to try this, carefully. Abby was more important than anything, and they both agreed her well-being came first.

It was just that—

Daniel didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to his apartment while they dated. Sure, he wanted to take it slow, too, but from here, not there. He wanted to come home every evening instead of just going to an empty apartment.

Jeff waved at him from where he sat on a chair in the snow, right next to the snowman. Abby shuffled around, fiddling with the carrot nose, and Daniel…

He drew a deep breath, pulled out his phone, and stepped back enough to catch them and the entire house in the frame. From where he was standing, the trees surrounded everything, creating a bubble that kept them safe from the world. Abby skipped over to Jeff and posed with him for the shots Daniel took.

His heart was in his throat as he walked back over to them.

“I don’t want to leave again,” he said.

“We don’t want you to, either,” Jeff told him while Abby nodded.

Daniel swallowed. “I mean, I want to move in. I know it’s—”

“Yeah,” Jeff interrupted. “That’s what I said.”

Abby let out an obviously pleased, very un-Wednesday-like “yesss,” her arms thrown in the air, and Daniel hugged her before leaning over to peck at Jeff’s lips.

As he stood back up, a snowflake fell on his nose, so he turned his face to the sky. There was a slow dance of flakes in the air, drifting softly to the ground, much like— Oh.

Like he was standing in a snow globe, but his very own.

The one for home.