Twenty-Five: Mistletoe.

“Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.”

-Mary Ellen Chase

They've always told us that Christmas is about more than just boxes under a tree, and I think that's very true. Once I started growing up, I realized that gifts didn't matter to me so much, because Christmas was a time when everyone smiled and got along, even if only for a few hours.

Waking up on Christmas morning wasn't as exciting as it used to be, when I was still small enough to get away with screaming loud enough to wake the whole building, but there was still that invisible feeling in the air of everything being magical.

Aunt Sheridan and Uncle Dill and I opened presents around lunchtime, because it was our family tradition to sleep in really late on Christmas. There weren't many gifts with just the three of us, but that didn't matter because I still got to see the glee on my aunt's face as she opened the dictionary-sized cookbook I bought for her.

“Oh God, this will only encourage her,” Uncle Dill muttered, but he was quickly appeased when he opened the Fleetwood Mac coffee mug I'd gotten him.

The two of them got me an old-fashioned Polaroid camera and a giftcard to the bookstore, which surprised me because I guess they knew me better than I thought. Uncle Dill got his wife a gaudy ruby ring that was just her style, and she gave him tickets to the next Ducks game. They even kissed, which doesn't happen very often, but I guess it was special because it was Christmas.

That was the morning—it was just the beginning.

All the parties started at four, when it was just starting to get dark. My aunt and uncle dropped me off in front of your house with your present and a big poinsettia plant for your parents. I wasn't sure what to expect, because I'd never been inside your house and I didn't know your family, but everyone was lovely.

Your mom opened the door and squealed over the plant, hugging me as she ushered me through the door. Your living room, clean and big and elegant, was full of dozens of unfamiliar faces, so many adults and kids and teens that my head began to spin, and I just wanted to turn and bolt out the door.

But then I saw you. You, in a red dress and thick tights, standing by the Christmas tree with an elf hat on your head. When you saw me, you beamed and danced over, twirling into my arms to the beat of the holiday song playing on the radio.

“Hey,” I murmured, breathless at your smile.

“Hey,” you replied. Then, quietly, you said, “I decided.”

I didn't know what you meant at first, and I didn't have time to ask because you moved out of my arms and took my hand.

“Come meet everyone,” you beckoned.

It was a whirlwind of names and faces as you introduced me to your grandmother, Marcia, your aunt Elsie, your five-year-old cousin Ben, and everyone in between. And quickly, I realized what you meant, because to each person you said, “This is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Boyfriend. I decided I liked it.

Your aunts tried to ask me a lot of questions and some of your older cousins looked at me funny, but it really wasn't hard to smile and say hello, and soon I'd met everyone and we were back where we'd started. We stood together by the twinkling red and gold décor of your Christmas tree and watched the swirl of sweaters and wine glasses.

You got shy all of a sudden, started tucking your hair behind your ear and fidgeting. Our hands were still entwined, and I don't think either of us had any intention of letting go. I looked down at you, chewing on my bottom lip.

“You don't mind, do you?” you asked, peering up through your eyelashes.

I shook my head, taking your other hand and saying that I didn't mind at all. In fact, my head was spinning with dizzy happiness because I was still having doubts as to whether or not it was all real. You closed your eyes and sighed, softly, in a relieved kind of way that made me want to kiss you, but I didn't get the chance because your mom called everyone in to get food.

It was a formal dinner in your huge dining room, and we ended up stuck at the kids' table because your cousins claimed the last adult seats. I didn't mind, because kids are much easier to talk to than grown-ups, even though they pulled me in a dozen different directions. You laughed at me as I tried to keep up with all the conversations and I held your hand under the table.

The little ones all wanted to open presents as soon as dinner ended, and we followed behind them and all the stuffed, drunk adults. I told your mom that the food was great (it was), and she just siphoned out a bubbly laugh.

Really, I wasn't expecting you to get me anything for Christmas, and I didn't mind whether you did or not. It'd taken me long enough to decide whether or not it would be weird to get you a gift, but I ended up being glad I did, because the first thing you did when we sat down on the carpet was fish out a box from beneath the tree and toss it at me.

“For you,” you said with a giant grin.

The wrapping paper had reindeer on it. There was a stick-on bow on the top, which I took off and put on top of your head. You laughed, leaning into my shoulder, but didn't take it off.

“Sam, stooop,” you whined. “Open it!”

“I am,” I chuckled, elbowing you lightly. I undid the wrapping paper carefully, lifted the top off the box. Inside was a book, a complete collection of Edgar Allen Poe's poems and short stories, and I was shocked because I certainly didn't expect you to remember that I liked his writing.

I opened my mouth to thank you, but you held out a hand and said, “Not yet. Look inside.”

I pulled open the front cover, and out slipped a thick brown envelope with a few words scrawled across the it in your familiar handwriting.

For Sam. I wrote about us.

It was your notebook. Or one of them, at least, because I'm sure you had several. This one was smaller, and blue, and bulging with extra paper that you'd stuffed into the back. The pages were curling under the weight of the ink, because every page was brimming with words in black, in blue, in purple and green and red. You'd written me a rainbow.

“Ellery,” I murmured, because I was in awe, “what—how—”

You smiled, looking down. “I wrote about us. The adventures we've had, and the ones we'll have later on. I started it the day I first saw you, and I've been writing it ever since. I—I thought it'd be perfect.”

“It is,” I said, running my fingers over the letter-stained pages. “It really is.”

It was. It was so perfect that I was almost afraid to give you the gift I'd gotten you, because I didn't think it was nearly as amazing. But I did anyway, nervously, blushing as I slipped it in your hands.

I'd wrapped it in a map of the world, because you'd once told me that you wanted to travel the globe, and you gasped at the paper alone. You said you didn't want to open it at first, but eventually your curiosity won, and you meticulously pulled apart the wrapping.

A collection of Shakespeare's sonnets. If you could remember my favorite writer, I could remember yours.

A pen; one of the glossy ones. And a new, thick notebook with a note on the very first page.

For all your adventures to come. -Sam

I watched your lips move, reading the words, watched them curl into a smile that shimmered under the Christmas lights. You turned to me and didn't say anything, just threw your arms around me and pressed your face into my shoulder. I held you close, and for a little while all your family disappeared, the party and music and noise faded away, and it was just you and me sitting on your carpet, lost in each others' arms.

There was karaoke. There was dancing. There was a family charades game in which you tried to imitate some character from Mean Girls and everyone thought you were Spiderman. Your family was fun, and I couldn't stop smiling. This was Christmas, I thought. Not food and gifts and carols, but just being around wonderful people and feeling all the glittering emotions of the season.

By nine o'clock, things had slowed down, and we were crammed into a large recliner chair with cups of hot chocolate, watching your parents attempt to sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” You were leaning against me, curled against my side, and I had my arm around you without caring that your entire family was watching.

“They really like you, you know,” you informed me with a yawn.

I smiled down at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A sleepy nod. “And they're not the only ones.”

That made my heart speed up, and you intertwined our hands with gentle grace. Your heavy lids lifted, your gaze focusing above my head—and slowly, your eyes widened.

“Sam,” you breathed. Your green eyes were wonderstruck, and I followed your focused up, up, up, above us.

There was a string hanging from the ceiling, and it was coiled around something green and thin and familiar.

Oh. Oh.

Mistletoe.

I looked down. Our noses were touching. I was progressively nervous, because everyone was here and what would they think and oh god what if your brother killed me?

You put a hand on the side of my face. The mistletoe twirled above our heads. The ribbon bow, still on your head, slipped to the side.

And I kissed you.

It was short and sweet; precarious and drifting. You smiled against my lips, and I drew back just slightly to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” you murmured, your eyes half-closed.

I smiled, because everything was aligned under the twinkling lights. “Merry Christmas, Ellery.”

I decided then that I really liked Christmas.

And mistletoe.

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A/N: i changed the prompt for today. because it's christmas.

it's 4:30 am and it feels weird to be posting this for today, but i am because tomorrow will be filled with presents and partying and food and no time.

so yeah, merry, merry christmas, everyone! i love all of you, and i hope this was cute enough c;