Christmas Miracle
The warmth of the sun against my skin is the first thing I notice, the second is that I’m no longer in the cabin, and by the looks of the familiar room—I’m back in the office.
My office.
Everything feels cozy, not the choking kind that clings to your lungs, but the gentle kind that smells like cinnamon and cedar with a hint of plastic. The kind I once loved as a kid until Christmas lost all meaning.
The second thing I notice…
Ishim.
Neno, who sits on the edge of my desk, legs crossed at the ankle, a coffee mug steaming in one hand. He’s dressed in a black turtleneck and grey slacks, the morning light catching his chestnut curls. A laugh escapes his lips as he looks down at his phone—that same low, honey-thick laugh that still crawls beneath my skin after all these years. Using my fingers, I pinchthe bridge of my nose before dragging them through my eyes, all of this feels like a dream.
How?
My eyes scan the room, everything looks the same but different at the same time. The only difference that stands out right now, is that there’s no boxes. No charts. No workers dragging the joy out of themselves just to fill quotas. There’s color here. There’s cheer.
Plants, and not the artificial kind, but real thriving poinsettias and holly. The cheer and warmth of Christmas can be felt as something palpable instead of the corporate bleakness that once adorned it. Family photos, alongside a framed prototype of the Harmony Bear, version one—the seams are uneven, one eye crooked, but still smiling. I blink, my head pounds with a headache, the throbbing pulse in my temple makes it hard for me to focus.
“Neno?” My voice comes out low and even breaks a little. He looks up, his pouty lips parting into a grin so bright it hurts. “You're late, Toy King, again?”
Late?
He slides off the desk, crossing the space between us in three lazy, deliberate steps. I take in a deep breath and somehow manage to hold it, every cell in my body comes to life. The urge to flee tries to override my need, still I don’t back away.
I just can’t.
“You forgot,” he teases as his delicate soft hands reach for my tie, and he fixes it in silence as if he’s done it a thousand times before. Maybe he has. Maybe we really did build the life we said we would, maybe I imagined it all.
“What did I—” I stammer out, my voice breaking. “I forget?”
Maybe I drank too much booze and somehow conjured up a life without him. Neno hums a Christmas jingle under his breath, before looking up at me through his curly lashes.
“What is this?” I whisper.
Neno hums. “The future we almost had.”
I open my mouth to ask more, but his lips crash against mine, his tongue sliding against the seams of my lips, demanding access. I groan into his mouth, as his tongue glides against mine. The kiss is slow and tender, yet not lacking passion. He bites down on my bottom lip, tugging it gently. My hands rest on his hips, my fingers dipping into his flesh.
“Fuck,” I groan just as he goes back in for seconds, the slow passionate kiss turns into molten heat. The way our tongues dance with one another feels familiar, like muscle memory. It goes from tender to desperate. A macabre dance of flesh, my hand leaves his hips and snakes up his chest.
Mapping.
Memorizing.
Until I stop at the base of his neck, gripping it and pulling him closer until the desk hits the back of my thighs. He pushes me down onto it, papers scattering to the floor alongside everything else. Neno tastes like mint and coffee, like something that could have saved me. And when his fingers slide beneath my shirt, I nearly see stars from the contact.
His soft, long fingers trace over my skin like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. And maybe I will. Maybe I already have. For once, I let myself forget the factory, Porter Toys, my grief, and all the stress I’ve carried all these years.
And I lose myself in him.
“See,” Neno murmurs against my lips. “You could’ve had this. No ghosts. Just me.”
He presses one soft kiss against my swollen lips before his mouth moves lower, trailing heat down my neck into my chest.The office fades around us, the sound of wind returning like static under glass. I try to focus on him, the weight of his body as his fingers dip between us. The room begins to flicker, I shake my head hating this feeling...
This moment is fading between my fingers like sand. Neno's hand works to quickly undo my pants, pulling down with little to no effort, and of course, with a little help. The room blurs in a kaleidoscope of light.
Green.
