Mistletoe

By Walter De La Mare

Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen—and kissed me there.

Shane lingered in the Shell station on the outskirts of Boston, his eyes darting nervously between his teammates who were grabbing snacks, water, and energy drinks, and the shirt on the rack in front of him.

It was hideous.  And perfect.  A cartoon bear with Ilya's face on it attacking a Christmas tree.  It made no sense.  It was garish and poorly made.  And Shane wanted, more than anything, to buy it for Ilya.

The team was on their way to Boston for the last game of the year, and even though Shane hadn't heard a word from Ilya since their hookup after the awards, even though his phone showed another two months of unanswered texts, he wanted to buy Ilya a Christmas gift almost more than he wanted to take his next breath.  

The last few of his teammates were moving toward the exit with their purchases, heading back to the bus, and someone called over their shoulder, "You coming, Hollander?" 

Shane could feel himself flushing guiltily.  "Be right there, just grabbing a drink."

He darted towards the refrigerated sections, grabbed several bottles of water, and tore the shirt from the hanger.  He felt almost dizzy with nerves as he shoved his items to the teenage girl at the counter, who began to scan them sullenly.  "It's for a while elephant party.  The shirt, I mean." Her eyes flicked up towards him with a sigh that conveyed how very much she didn't care what he was doing with anything he bought.  

"Uh, could I have a bag?" With another sigh, this one punctuated by an eye roll for good measure, she grabbed one from under the counter and handed it to him.  He paid and put everything in the bag before jogging towards the bus.  When he got on, he beelined towards his seat and pushed everything into the backpack on the seat next to him.

"You okay there?" Across the aisle, his teammate raised his eyebrows at him.  "If you're buying nudie mags, you know you can find that on your phone now, right?"

Shane huffed a laugh that he hoped conveyed that, although he hadn't been buying pornography, he certainly could have because he definitely loved looking at naked women.

Two hours later, as the bus pulled into downtown Boston, the coach stood up and shouted for their attention.  "Last game, boys.  I know everyone is tired and ready to get home for the holidays, but let's not do that before we beat Boston tomorrow.  And remember, after the game, we have the children's hospital Christmas party." At the grumbling that spread across the bus, he frowned.  "Hey, enough of that.  This is for sick kids, and you are going to go and make nice with the Boston players.  Yes, even Rosanov, and then fly home and not think about any of this for at least a week.  Don't let me down."  

Shane's roommate asked him for probably the tenth time if he was really sure he didn't want to join a bunch of the guys at a bar, but Shane begged off, his thoughts too full of Ilya to pretend to check out women and talk about sex with his teammates.

He picked up his phone once he was alone, and despite the tidal wave of shame that came every time he looked at all the texts he had sent to Ilya with no response, he started writing out another one.

...hey

...are you around?

...do you want to meet up?

...did I do something wrong?

Everything he tried seemed a nauseating combination of humiliating and needy, and he finally put his phone away without sending a message.  He pulled the shirt out of his bag and stared at it for a few minutes before putting it under his pillow and heading out the door.

Outside the hotel, he scanned the block before pulling up his phone.  When he found a drugstore nearby, he jogged in its direction, the cold seeping through his sweatshirt and his breath coming out in misty puffs.  Once in the store, he scanned the aisles before entering the one festooned with Christmas colors.  He pulled out a roll of wrapping paper, a pair of scissors, some tape, and a roll of ribbon.  He exchanged the roll of paper he had chosen, covered with little Santas, with a different one made up with various shades of reds, as if the right paper would make what he was doing somehow less pathetic.

He dropped everything on the counter and was lucky for the second time in the day with the person checking him out, this time by an older woman who showed no signs of recognizing him.

Back in the hotel, he folded the shirt carefully and centered it on the wrapping paper, then measured it before cutting along a straight line.  He creased the paper perfectly, taping the edges down with the minimum amount of tape.  When he was finally done tying a bow he was happy with it, he looked down at the package with something like horror.  The wrapping had managed to elevate the gift into what it actually was, an offering to Ilya that Shane desperately wanted to make, to show him how much he adored him, how much he had been thinking about him.  But if Shane knew one thing for certain, it was that Ilya could never ever know how Shane really felt.

He threw the whole gift into the trash and started to put everything else he had bought into the closet, finding absolutely no humor in the irony of the action.  After a few minutes, he reconsidered, pulled the gift out, and ripped off the wrapping paper.  He folded it, slightly less neatly, and put it in the pocket of the winter coat he would be wearing to the party.  Then he finished cleaning up and getting ready for bed.

Before slipping between the covers, he pulled the shirt out one more time and tied a bow around it, hoping that action was enough to let him sleep.

................................................................................

Shane limped into the locker room at the end of the game, his ankle hurt from a hit he took, and his whole body weighed down by the way he played in the last game of the year.  He had been distracted the entire time, trying to stop himself from looking at Ilya but doing it enough to know that Ilya had not been looking at him even once.  

A few hours later at the party, he stood uncomfortably in his suit, listening while the head of the hospital praised the players for coming and wished them happy holidays.  He still had not seen Ilya but knew he was standing towards the back of the room with his team.

After the speeches ended, both teams did a ceremonial drop off of the presents they had collected for the children in the hospital, as well as handing over a large check.  It was clear they were supposed to stay for another hour or so and mingle with the guests who had paid to talk to the hockey players, and then they would start peeling off to head to the airport to fly home.

Shane stood talking to an older man who was regaling him with his own hockey stories from prep school, as well as his thoughts on how Montreal, in general, and Shane in particular, could improve their offense.  

 As Shane attempted to keep a pleasant smile on his face as he nodded attentively, he caught sight of Ilya across the room, standing alone and looking at Shane as he took a sip from his glass of dark brown liquid.  He offered a sly smile before turning and walking into a hall that Shane knew held the bathrooms and the coat check.  

A minute later, Shane made his excuse to the older man and headed down the hall, trying to look subtly for Ilya, who seemed to have disappeared.  As he passed the entrance to the coat check, he felt a large hand on his arm as he was yanked through the door.  

Ilya immediately shut the door behind Shane, and the two of them faced each other in the small room, dimly lit and filled with racks of winter coats.

"Hollander," he growled quietly.  "Was your Christmas present how badly you played tonight?  Because I forgot to get you anything."

Shane huffed out a laugh, wanting to demand again why Ilya had been ignoring him, but so relieved to be alone with him for a moment that he couldn't manage to access any of his anger at him.

"Fuck off," he murmured back, splaying his fingers against Ilya's stomach.  He leaned forward and captured the other man's mouth, and the two of them did nothing more than kiss for a minute, Shane's hands running around Ilya's body to rest on his back while Ilya tangled his hands in Shane's hair.

They pulled back, both panting raggedly, and Shane looked at Ilya, trying and failing to bite back a smile that he was pretty sure was a little too close to adoring.  "I did get you a present, though."  Seeing Ilya start to open his mouth, Shane barreled forward.  "It's nothing, I just thought it was funny.  Don't worry about it."

Shaking his head at himself, he searched the coats until he found his own and pulled the gift out of his pocket.  He practically shoved it at Ilya, all the while continuing to degrade the present and the thought behind it in a mumbled torrent.

Ilya finally had his fill of Shane's rambling and silenced him with a single "Hollander," before painstakingly untying the bow.  He put the ribbon in his pocket before unfurling the shirt, his gorgeous smile spreading across his face once he saw the front.

"Hollander," he said again, his tone delighted this time.  "It is perfect!  I am the evil Christmas bear, no?"  He tossed the shirt over one shoulder and made what Shane assumed was supposed to be a growl before grabbing Shane's face and kissing him soundly.  "I already know it will be my favorite present," he said, looking satisfied.  He paused and grinned slyly.  "Are you in town tonight?  Perhaps I can show you how good I look in it."

Shane sighed.  "No, I fly back to my parents tonight."  He thought he saw a look of disappointment flash across Ilyas's face before it was schooled back into his more usual cocky grin.  

"No matter," he said, "have a good boring Christmas."  The two of them moved to the door before Ilya stopped, pointing at the ceiling.  "Isn't that, I don't know the word in English.  омела.  The plant for kissing."

Shane looked up, and indeed a sprig of mistletoe was stuck haphazardly to the ceiling.  He laughed softly just as Ilya hauled him close, leaning towards Shane.  "Merry Christmas, Hollander," he said, "and thanks for missing all those goals."

His lips touched Shane's and kissed him softly, then he slipped through the door into the hall.  Shane waited in silence before following a few minutes later.  

.....................................................

On Christmas morning, Shane received a text from Ilya with a selfie of the other man leaning back on the bed, wearing the shirt Shane had given him.  

Merry Christmas, Hollander.  See you next year.