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Christmas Eve dinner is exactly the boisterous and overcrowded affair Jamie has learned to expect from holidays at his parents' house. Family and fictive kin crowd into Warren and Anika's long dining room. The table is designed to comfortably seat twelve people when all the leaves are in place, but it manages, against all logic and reason, to make room for twenty on a mix-and-match assortment of chairs.
Dinner itself—a convoluted potluck of ham, pot roast, turkey, pasta salad, green beans, shepherd's pie, and six kinds of potatoes—is laid out on a long sideboard at one end of the dining room, for want of space on the table itself. Someone even brought one of those terrifying green Jello 'salads', filled with carrot shavings and garnished with mayonnaise.
Jamie loves his extended family, but not quite enough to partake in that particular tradition.
Then again, his plate is full to bursting after only about a third of the food has been passed around the table. Who's even going to notice what he does or doesn't make room for?
The meal itself is an unhurried affair, and Jamie does his best to stay present and attentive. More than once he can feel the overwhelmed edge of all this energy—too much, too many, too loud—creeping up on his nerves, but he resists the urge to withdraw.
There are people at this table he hasn't seen since last Christmas, and he refuses to squander an opportunity to catch up with his favorite cousins, his Aunt Bindy, his Great Uncle Seth, his godmother and her wife. So many welcome faces, and yes, Jamie would prefer to interact with them one-on-one, but he hasn't exactly made time for that lately. He hasn't done a great job of staying in touch. And so he's grateful to have this, and he's determined to make the most of it.
The only true downside to the night is that Victor isn't sitting anywhere near him. It's probably for the best. Jamie finds the man distracting enough from clear across the room. He can't imagine how he'd fare if Victor were within reach. But Jamie can't decide if the distance is a matter of random circumstance or if Victor has deliberately put himself as far from Jamie as possible.
By the time dinner is finished, even Jamie's best intentions can't shield him from how exhausted and overstimulated he feels. It's a familiar sensation, especially during a holiday, but also an impetus that Jamie can't continue to override.
"I'll clear the table and pack up the leftovers," he announces, before his mom can throw herself at the task. Aunt Bindy and two of Jamie's cousins offer to help. And though the glance Jamie involuntarily casts down the table makes him confident Victor wants to volunteer too, Warren already has a hand on Victor's shoulder, directing him out of the room with a laugh and a shove.
Everybody else files out too, a single uncoordinated exodus into the living room, where plates of cookies and bowls of candy—including the recently remade buckeyes—have been spread invitingly across the coffee table. Jamie knows the krumkake and cannoli will disappear first, possibly so quickly he won't get to taste either of them this year. But even the rest will be gone by the time everyone departs in the small hours of night.
When the sink is piled high with dirty dishes, and all the voluminous leftovers have been divvied up and packed away, Jamie slips outside instead of following the others to rejoin the party.
He needs to be alone for a while. Just a quick recharge, before he's ready to bury himself back in the messy, affectionate hubbub of his entire extended family.
The front porch crunches beneath his booted feet, ice and new-fallen snow in equal measure. Jamie moves to the far corner—the shadowy edge of the house where no windows can see him—and dusts a bump of snow from the railing so he can lean on the wooden banister. All afternoon, heavy snow fell in big, lazy flakes from a gray sky. Now the freshly dusted layer of it glints in the glow of streetlights and decorations all the way down the avenue. The clouds have since dispersed, leaving the sky above to shine clear as crystal. And even though light pollution sneaks up against the horizon on all sides, the view is still spectacular.
It's a beautiful night, festive and picturesque. It's also cold, and Jamie quickly goes from overheated to shivering where he stands. His sweater, thick and soft though it is, can't hope to protect him from the gusty chill.
Jamie straightens up and wraps his arms around himself, wondering if it's worth going back inside for a coat. On the one hand, he's shivering worse by the second, and it won't be long before his teeth start to chatter. On the other hand, if he goes inside, someone's sure to spot him, and his solitude will be forfeit as some well-meaning relative drags him back into the festivities.
His conundrum resolves with the creak and click of the front door behind him—someone's come looking for him after all—and Jamie draws a single, slow breath as he steels himself to turn around. Maybe it will be someone willing to allow him a couple more minutes to himself before dragging him inside for carols or card games or some other form of chaos.
But it's Victor approaching him, footsteps cautious on the slick porch.
And he's carrying Jamie's coat over one arm.
"You forgot your jacket." Victor steps close enough to drape the coat over Jamie's shoulders, then joins him at the edge of the porch. He wears his own thick winter coat, though he hasn't bothered to zip it up, and he slips his hands into the pockets with a wry smile to acknowledge the cold.
"Can't believe you brought my jacket but didn't steal me a cannoli."
"Oh, there's a cannoli in the fridge for you. It's hidden behind the orange juice."
Jamie stares hard at Victor, unable to tell if he's being teased. "You didn't."
"I did. Anika mentioned they're your favorite." Victor meets his stunned expression with a look of mingled apology and curiosity. "Should I not have?"
"Fucking hell, how are you real?" Jamie slips his arms properly into the sleeves of his jacket, then leans once more on the snow-damp banister, making a show of looking out across the brightly decorated neighborhood. He can't look at Victor right now. His heart is already too much of a pulp, over a coat and a stupid dessert. How is he supposed to cope with all that and Victor Leone's earnestly handsome face?
Victor hovers uncertainly for only a moment, before sweeping aside enough snow to mimic Jamie's posture. They stand there in silence for something between a minute and an eternity, amiable and yet caught up in a tension that neither of them dares acknowledge aloud.
"You okay?" Victor finally asks, the low rumble of the question breaking through the silence.
"Yeah. I'm good. I just get a little overwhelmed. It's... a lot going on in there." Jamie admits all this with a careless shrug, trusting Victor to understand. The quiet hum Victor breathes in answer feels like a shared conspiracy, and Jamie finally risks looking at him to ask, "You having fun tonight?"
"Sure," Victor says. Jamie raises his eyebrows at the diffidence in that one word, and Victor huffs a sheepish laugh. "I am having fun. I promise. But I'm not used to being around this many people."
"Not many big parties in Antarctica?"
"Not much of a social life period. Just my colleagues, my research, and way too much time in the on-site gym."
Jamie figured a rigorous fitness routine must factor into Victor's life, considering the man's muscular frame. He's pretty sure he's heard Victor doing pushups or sit-ups or something through the wall in just the short time they've both been here, which is absolutely not imagery he needs to be pondering.
He sounds only a little breathless when he says, "If I ask what kind of research, will you tell me?" It's a clumsy redirect, but he'll take what he can get.
"I could, but it involves a lot of indecipherable acronyms and jargon about ice cores."
"So it's not top secret government stuff?" Jamie nudges, teasing.
"Not top secret. Just intolerably dull." Victor says this with a smile, looking distinctly amused and... What? Charmed? Fond? Pleased? His eyes have crinkled at the corners, and he's watching Jamie with an intensity to match the pulse in Jamie's own chest.
Suddenly the cold doesn't matter. Jamie's whole body feels warm as he meets Victor's smile with one of his own.
This time, the quiet that follows feels dangerous, or at the very least sharp-edged with potential. Jamie's heart gallops in his chest, and he feels impossibly bold as he leans in and bumps his shoulder against Victor's. Stays there. Waits through the twist of butterflies in his stomach, then thrills when Victor leans harder against him.
There is understanding in this wordless exchange. Something is happening here, and Jamie's insides feel feverish with it.
But when Jamie moves to lean even closer—cautious in his approach but unmistakable in his intent—his companion steps abruptly back from the railing.
Victor is still smiling, but there's something pained in the expression now. "I should get back inside," he says, and every word drips with apology and regret and strained self-control.
Jamie hurts, watching him go, and yet he allows it in silence. The door thuds heavily shut, and he stands on the icy, empty porch. Colder than ever now. Alone with his irrational disappointment and his racing heart.
It's not until hours later, back inside, that his mom corners him.
"You've been so quiet since dinner, love," Anika says. "Is everything okay?"
Jamie swallows hard, past a lump of achy emotion and a sudden desire to tell her the truth. There's no way a confession would be anything short of disastrous, unless he somehow extorted a promise from her to not tell Warren. And Anika Phipps is not one for secrets. Neither is Jamie's dad, for that matter. The two have always shared a wide-open honesty that Jamie admires and can't entirely comprehend. Surely no one in his life needs to know every single thought that enters his brain.
But the fact remains: if he tells his mom the truth, he is effectively telling his dad too. And Jamie refuses to throw that kind of wrench into a perfectly pleasant night.
"I'm fine," he says, and it's about two-thirds true. "I've got a lot on my mind, but none of it's bad."
No matter how much it hurts being near Victor Leone without being able to have him, Jamie much prefers this to not knowing Victor at all. If he had a time machine at his fingertips, he wouldn't change a thing about how they met.
"You sure?" Anika peers into his eyes as though trying to suss out all of Jamie's secrets.
"Yeah, Mom." He makes himself smile wryly. "I'm good. I promise." Then he hugs her, quick and fierce, and ensconces himself in the noisiest corner of the living room to avoid further interrogation.
Jamie will get over his heartbreak—hopefully by convincing himself one hookup isn't enough of a connection to be heartbroken over. And maybe, with enough time to repeat the lie, he can make himself believe it.