A/N: This one is dedicated to all of you that have read "Hello Again" and have sent me so many wonderful messages about it, and the characters in it.  Thank you.

"Holy fuck, it's Christmas!" Santos exclaims, stomping wildly through the falling snow. The streets of New York are covered in a blanket of perfectly white snow. At least for a few wonderful moments. The air is crisp and clean-- the sort that hurts when you breathe too deep. The sky is a milky gray, heavy with snow. I watch him, holding back a giggle as his dark hair is speckled with white snowflakes.

"Indeed, it is," Tom chuckles next to me, his arm intertwined with mine as we slide clumsily together on the patches of ice on the sidewalks. It's so good to have him here, with me. It'd been almost two months apart, with him working on a set in Australia and me based at home in London. Then, when Santos had called with a bit of an emergency, it had been some sort of divine intervention that'd we'd both been able to hop on planes and make it to the east coast. The past few nights had been spent holed up in a swanky hotel room (courtesy of Tom), drinking champagne, eating room service, and catching up on lost time. Santos had to threaten to call in a bomb threat in order to get us to leave and come out to see him.

"I haven't seen a white out like this since LL Bean on a Black Friday!" He twirls, almost slips and falls on a patch of black ice. He curses loud enough that I'm pretty sure half of New York hears, his voice echoing off the snow covered streets and tall buildings. I snort back a laugh, and steady myself as Tom slides forward on his boots.

"Like you've ever been to an LL Bean." I roll my eyes, as Santos twists around and shoots me a wink and two finger guns.

"You caught me in a lie, Gracie girl." He twists back around, and begins gingerly making his way through the slush. "Do people really still buy off the rack?" He shoots over his shoulder, and I laugh and shake my head.

"Yes. Normal people." I call out, and Santos looks at me like I've just told him Santa doesn't exist.

"How is Cillian?" I ask, changing the subject. Tom runs forward, sliding on the ice and slamming playfully into Santo's side, which sends Santos careening toward a parked car. Their laughter rings through the streets.

"He's stressed out. He couldn't even leave goddamn Chicago with the blizzard going on. It's like the Abominable snowman splooged all over the Windy city!" Santos groans and Tom laughs loudly, while I scowl at both of them. Get these two together, and all hell breaks loose. Tom thinks Santos is hilarious and Santos...thinks Santos is hilarious as well. It's just a continuous loop of ridiculous comments and grade school laughter.

"That's graphic." I shake my head, and then run forward, sliding and looping my arms around Tom's middle. He grins at me, and leans down, brushing snow from my hair. I never get tired of his smile. His warm, caring eyes.

God, he's fantastic. It's been a year since we both realized we were being monumental idiots. Since he finally asked me out, and I ugly cried in his mother's house on Christmas before happily accepting his offer. It'd been a long time coming. Three long years of watching him fall for other (very ridiculous) girls. And trying to convince myself that he was just a dude I could casually sleep with. Again, did I say we were idiots? Because we were.

"Are you two sure you want to come with me tomorrow? Wouldn't you rather go back to your hotel and shag all weekend? Or are your naughty bits already rubbed raw?" Santos cackles, and starts packing snow into a snow ball. Tom smiles, holding me a bit closer as he leans down and kisses me gently.

"She hasn't said pineapple yet, so all systems are go." Tom murmurs to me, and I can't help but smile. A reminder from our days when we were each other's back up plans, when we really wanted to be each other's only plans.

"Jesus, it's both adorable and repulsive." Santos rolls his eyes, but he has a smile on his face. I know he's sad Cillian can't be here.

"That's what we specialize in. Adorable and repulsive." I quip.

"You can say that again." Santos throws the snow ball at Tom, and it hits him perfectly square in the middle of his back.

"Really?!" He yells good naturedly, then springs into action.

"Oy, here we go." I laugh, as I run forward as well, grabbing snow off the ground as I chase after both of them.

"I thought we were drinking?! Why are we running?!" I laugh as a snowball whizzes past my head.

"Drinks are on the loser!" Santos shrieks, as I throw my haphazardly made snowball and just miss his ass. He's wearing bright red joggers and green furry snow boots so he should be hard to miss.

"It's on!" Tom yells, turns and pelts me in the shoulder with a snowball. All bets are off in love and snowball war.

****

"I'm worried, guys. I'm really worried. And I shouldn't be, because screw my father. All he's ever been to me is a money dispenser." Santos sits back in the seat, as Tom drives us out of the city. Santos' father lives in a McMansion not far out of the city. Mr. Romero has a new wife, and two teenage daughters- both of whom he ships off to an expensive boarding school during the year. They should be home for the holidays though. I know Santos has only met them a handful of times, and they've been completely dismissive and unremarkable every time.

"Did you two ever have a good relationship?" Tom asks, glancing in the rearview mirror at Santos. Santos has worn a more subdued outfit today. A wheat colored cashmere sweater over dark pants, whiskey brown boots and his wool coat. His hair is pushed back and combed. I know he's nervous. I know that no matter how many times he says he doesn't care about his father's opinion, or that he doesn't need his family, it still hurts him that his father is unsupportive and oftentimes downright offensive to Santos.

"Maybe when I was a kid? Before the divorce. Definitely before I came out." Santos looks out the car window, and I can only imagine what he's thinking. He'd come out to his family when he was a teenager, and though his mother hadn't really had much of a reaction, his father had. Mr. Romero had gone as far as cutting Santos off financially and physically for two years. Things slowly pieced themselves jaggedly back together but I know Santos has never forgiven him for that, and I don't blame him.

We met junior year of high school, during the worst parts of Santos' exile from his already estranged family. It's what brought us together though-- our mutual understanding that parents could often completely and totally suck. My mother was drugged out of her mind and my dad was totally m.i.a. Santos and I were a perfect pair of discarded youths.

"We're with you. It'll be okay." I reach back, squeezing Santos' knee. He covers my hand briefly with his.

"Can't we just go to Sandbanks? Dotty can make us hot toddies and I can wear my tinsel pajamas." Santos grins, reaching forward and knocking Tom on the shoulder.

"Mom's on the cruise with Emily and Mark. We were not invited." Tom says good naturedly. We were, of course, but his work schedule made it impossible to plan something like that. I get a ping of homesickness for Sandbanks during the holidays.

"So? Fuck it, you've got keys! Don't you, Tommy boy?" Santos sighs as we pull into a long, curved driveway that surrounds a huge stone house. I wish we were in the cozy beach side house in Sandbanks as well, but being here for Santos was more important than a calm, wonderfully lazy holiday. Right?

"We're here, I think." Tom looks up at the large house, Christmas lights and wreaths hanging across the front.

"Looks like it's straight outta goddamn Home Alone." Santos grumbles and I laugh.

We climb out of the car, stretching our legs as we do. It definitely feels like Christmas. The air is crisp and cool. The smell of woodsmoke is in the air. The whole neighborhood glows with tastefully decorated lights, and fresh pine wreaths. Stepford Christmas. But it sure is pretty.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends...." Santos winks at us and then slings an arm around Tom's shoulders. "Learned that from you. Fell asleep for the rest of the show, but that speech was great." He laughs and Tom gives him a squeeze as we walk up to the huge stone porch.

Santos takes a deep breath, and I feel myself tensing up as well. I've met Mr. Romero before. He's not totally unpleasant, but the tension between him and his son makes for a very awkward encounter about 99% of the time. I'm thankful Tom didn't mind coming with us, but I'm worried adding another person to the mix is going to cause the whole house to just collapse in on itself.

Santos knocks and we all stand silently, like some sort of frozen, stressed out statues. Tom has a weird fake grin plastered on his handsome face, and Santos is grimacing and staring straight ahead. I adjust my dress, and take a deep breath.

The door swings open.

Mr. Romero is wearing a suit. Of course. Because everyone wears three piece suits to family dinners.

"Santos." His voice is deep, already disapproving, as if he had no say in the naming of his son and therefore always regretted having to say his name.

"Father." Santos shoots back, in a somewhat mocking tone. Good, Santos. Off to a great start. I want to nudge him in the back, but it would be too obvious. Tom shifts, already sensing a disturbance in the force.

Mr. Romero's eyes drift over to me. I shift, wishing I'd worn something nicer. I didn't know it was black tie.

"Grace. Nice to see you." He leans forward, and I awkwardly go to hug him. He hasn't invited us in yet, so this is all taking place on the front porch. Santos steps to the side, and it hasn't gone unnoticed that Mr. Romero didn't bother to hug his own son.

I pull away quickly and then turn to Tom. Santos steps forward to introduce them.

"Dad, this is my friend, Tom--"

"Oh my god." Mr. Romero is looking at Tom as if he's got three heads. I blink and turn to Tom, wondering if he's suddenly started doing something offensive. Nope. Same normal Tom. Dark blue sweater. Nice trousers. Shoes that he's nearly worn the soles out of, but they still look nice. Same fake smile plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

"Tom Hiddleston. I'm a huge fan!" Mr. Romero steps off the stoop, and comes rushing at Tom, who looks flabbergasted. I look at Santos, behind his father's back and give him a 'What the Fuck?!' eyebrow lift. Santos returns it, shaking his head back and forth slowly.

"Oh, that's lovely. Thank you!" Tom is totally caught off guard, and he shakes Mr. Romero's hand as Mr. Romero stares at Tom with wide eyes. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) Tom's pretty used to being caught off guard by people's strange and forward declarations of love.

"Please, call me Sergio. Welcome to my home, Tom. Welcome!" Mr. Romero beckons Tom toward the door.

"Sergio?!" Santos mouths at me, his eyes bulging and I shrug, speechless. I didn't even know Mr. Romero had a first name.

I suppose we all sometimes forget the expanse of Tom's celebrity. When we're in London, he can mostly get around completely undisturbed. New York can be hit or miss. For the most part though, he lives pretty normally. And so, these sort of things rarely happen. People are cool for majority of the time. But the truth of the matter is, Tom's a huge star. He won a Golden Globe six months ago. He's been in back to back blockbusters, and quite a few critically acclaimed films and mini series. We pretend like he's just a normal dude, but in reality, he's anything but.

Santos and I follow Tom and his new best friend, Sergio, into the house. Once again, we're the discarded youths. Santos looks as if he's going to lose his mind, as he watches his father show Tom around the house and basically kiss his ass.

"This is bloody bananas." Santos hisses into my ear, as we shrug off our coats and give them to the Romero's maid (yes, they have a maid).

"Who knew your dad was such a cinephile." I say sarcastically through clenched teeth. Tom glances back at us, his eyes on full "save me" mode, and Santos and I just shrug helplessly.

"Come on, let's get some drinks. We just threw your boyfriend to the wolves." Santos grabs my hand, and we go barrelling through the house toward the kitchen.

****

Two hours later, we're sitting around the dinner table. We're in course four of five, though I feel the the three of us have barely eaten. My leg is asleep and Santos is pretty toasted.

Mr. Romero has placed Tom to his right. The other side is reserved for his perfectly bland and opinionless wife, Nina. Their two teenage daughters, Erica and Jessi sit next to Nina. Santos sits next to Tom, and then I'm next to Santos. The dinner has been dominated by Mr. Romero, surprise surprise! He won't stop schmoozing Tom, and while Tom has been patient and tolerant about the whole thing, I can tell it's wearing on him. He hadn't expected a family dinner to turn into a Times Talk.

"Well you're quite a physical person. You must do all your own stunts." Mr. Romero grins at Tom, who is desperately trying to eat something in between all the questions and talking. I'm too nervous to eat. Santos is too annoyed and tipsy to care.

"Jesus, Dad, is this a job interview or are you just trying to get in Tom's pants?" Santos says, tossing back another scotch and motioning to the maid to bring him another.

"Santos, I'm just interested in Tom's job. It's fascinating! And you could really learn a thing or two from him. He's a real sort of man's man. He works hard. He's well respected by his peers." Mr. Romero says, his voice straightforward and calm. He doesn't even know how condescending and hurtful he's being. It's just something he believes.

"Santos is one of the top young architects in New York--" Tom tries to interject, but Mr. Romero isn't listening. I've been watching the same scene unfold for the past ninety minutes. Mr. Romero asks Tom rapid fire questions. Tom patiently answers. Nina stares at Tom likes a piece of meat. The older daughter, Erica, texts and low key tries to take snapchat photos of Tom, while I shoot daggers at her. The younger daughter, Jessi, simply stares at him, not unlike her mother.

"So did you do your own stunts on the last film? The one scene when you jump from that plane was fantastic! I'd love to try that someday." Mr. Romero laughs. Santos sighs and I chew on my lip.

"I do, sometimes. I never would have pegged you for a skydiver, Mr. Romero." Tom glances at me, and I give him a sympathetic look.

"Well, son, don't judge a book by it's cover!" Mr. Romero guffaws, his voice loud and obnoxious. Santos' eyes bulge, and I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.

"You must have so many women all over you. My son could learn a thing or two." The room is so uncomfortable. There's been no opportunity to tell Mr. Romero that Tom is my boyfriend. Not that he seems to care. It's the third or fourth time he's tried to pry details from Tom about his sex life. And Mr. Romero's constant denial of Santos' sexuality is just excruciating and infuriating.

I look over at Santos and he's forming the letters "O M G" with the peas on his plate.

"Um." Tom's laugh is so nervous, it's painful.

"Dad, I like to screw men. I've told you this before." Santos tosses this into the conversation casually, and I actually do start to choke on my wine when he does. Tom bursts into a loud, incredulous laughter that he cuts short after getting glares from Nina, and her two robot daughters.

"Jesus Christ, Santos." Mr. Romero says angrily, throwing his napkin on the table. I brace myself. Santos stands up, shoving his chair backwards.

"Are you kidding me?!" Santos is eerily calm. "I came all the way here so you could have your family dinner, father." The word 'father' is said with pure contempt. "And you've barely said one word to me, beside making sure to insult me at every chance you get. I bring Tom and Gracie, and you ignore Gracie and you attach yourself to Tom like some sort of white collar parasite. Merry Christmas, Dad! Merry Christmas, I'm super gay, and I don't give a flying Peter fuckin' Pan what you think!" Santos throws his napkin on the table, a gesture that is eerily similar to Mr. Romero's a moment ago.

"You are so out of line, Santos. All I asked was for you to be a good son and a good person--" Mr. Romero is shaking his head, and I can collectly feel the blood pressure rise in the room. Mine, Santos' and Tom's. Tom's face is getting red, and he's shaking his head slowly, his eyes staring unseeing at the table.

"A good person?! What in Channing Tatum's name does that mean?!" Santos yells.

"Maybe you should be more like your friend, Tom, here. A gentleman. Someone contributing to society--"

"Straight?" Tom interrupts. His voice quiet, calm. I hold my breath.

"What?" Mr. Romero looks shocked for a split second. "Well, yes, sure. Straight. Heterosexual. It makes it all so much better--"

With that, Tom stands up. There is so much force to his movement that it knocks the chair back and to the ground behind him. I'm frozen to the spot. I've never seen Tom so angry before, so upset.

Things move so fast, I can barely register it all. And then, everything slows down.

Tom pushes his chair out of the way with a shove of his foot. Mrs. Romero gasps, her manicured hands going to her thin, surprised mouth.

Tom grabs Santos, throwing him backward. He catches him in his arms as Santos yelps softly, surprised by Tom's actions. And then. Tom kisses Santos. A full on, messy, romantic, tongues and teeth and lips, kiss.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit it was both shocking and...sexy as hell.

Mr. Romero is sitting a foot away, his jaw on the floor. His eyes so wide I can see the whites. A gasping, sputtering, shocked shell of a man.

Tom and Santos make out for everyone to see. I am holding back a thrilled, thankful laugh that is bubbling up from deep in my chest.

A moment later, Tom pulls away, a huge smile on his face. Santos' face is unreadable. I've never seen my best friend speechless before, but this would count.

"Guess you can't judge a book by it's cover, eh Mr. Romero? Or can I still call you Sergio?" Tom grins. He reaches forward and grabs Mr. Romero's hand, shaking it hard.

"I'm Tom, nice to meet you. And I'm so bloody gay, it's ridiculous. And I'm in love with your wonderful, smart, brilliant son. Happy Holidays, sir." He turns to me, and then to Santos.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, shall we, darlings?"

Silence.

We don't need to be asked twice. The three of us practically run from the house. We grab our things so quickly, that we all rush out, coats in arms into the freezing night. It hits us in the face and chest, and I can't remember the last time I felt so wonderful. So thrilled.

The adrenaline is pumping through my veins. The giddiness of it all. We get into Tom's Jag, no one saying anything, and Tom starts to drive, squealing out of the driveway, sure to leave marks on the perfect pavement.

We only make it a few streets away before Santos starts yelling.

"Pull over! Pull over!" He yells, his voice crazed and hectic. Tom pulls over onto the quiet side of the street. The night is dark, and we are the only ones on the road. It's Christmas Eve. Everyone is inside their homes with their own families.

Santos gets out of the car, and I glance at Tom. He looks worried. Without a word, he gets out of the car, following Santos, who meets him on the driver's side. I follow, but am stopped in my tracks when Santos grabs Tom, pulling him into a bear hug.

It takes me a moment to realize Santos is crying.

I take a few hesitant steps toward them, watching them hug. Santos has his face buried in Tom's shoulder, and Tom is hugging Santos fiercely.

"Thank you. Thank you." Santos whispers this softly to Tom but I catch it.

"Anything, brother. He's a total waste. I'm sorry it has to be like that." Tom replies, both voices hushed in the quiet night. I look away, my eyes stinging.

They hug for another moment, before Santos pulls away, and reaches over, grabbing me into the hug. I laugh softly, and hold them both, my hands hurting from squeezing so tight.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your boyfriend. I promise it won't happen again. Unless we're all really, really shitfaced drunk." Santos says, his forehead pressed near mine. I laugh and lean over and kiss him on the cheek.

"I love you, Santos." I whisper.

"Love you too, Gracie girl." He replies.

"Did you see the look on his fucking face though?!" Santos breaks out a moment later, dissolving into laughter. We all start laughing then, and we can't stop. Our laughter breaks the silent night. It continues until our sides hurt and there are tears streaming from our eyes. Until I'm hugging Tom and kissing his face, so thankful that he is mine and that he stood up so selflessly for my best friend.

"Merry Christmas, guys. I'm glad I'm with my family tonight." Santos says after a beat, after we've wiped happy tears from our faces.