Brogan and Pasha shared a glance before Brogan poured food into Pasha’s bowl, and Archie placed food in Molly’s pink kitty bowl. They ate side by side. Brogan and Archie took time to make sure each had fresh water.
They left the house again, bundled up and still laughing, heading to the store for lights and ornaments. Brogan insisted on picking out the most absurd ones—tiny disco balls, a surfing Santa, a glittery cat and dog wearing a scarf.
Archie held up a plain silver bulb. “This one’s nice.”
Brogan leaned in, kissed his cheek. “You’re nice.”
Archie flushed, pretending to be very interested in the price tag.
Back home, Brogan had gone full holiday mode, splashing peppermint schnapps into his hot chocolate like he was auditioning for a Christmas commercial.Archie stirred his, watching the whipped cream melt into lazy swirls. He didn’t bother with anything fancy—just piled it high like his mom used to. She had a way of making it feel like a celebration, even on the dullest winter days. Whipped cream stacked like a snowdrift; a cherry plopped right on top. He used to think that cherry was magic. Now, every time he had hot chocolate, it tugged atsomething soft in his chest. Not sad exactly. Just...warm. Like she was still around in the steam rising off the mug.
Brogan chuckled from across the kitchen. “Archie, you sure do love to pile on the whipped cream.”
Archie smiled. “It brings me back to when my mom used to make me hot chocolate every night before bed,” he said. “I like to recreate it—it brings a part of her to me. You know, so I never forget.”
Brogan stopped mid-stir, the bottle of schnapps still in his hand. He crossed the room without a word, set the bottle down, and wrapped his arms around Archie from behind. Archie let himself lean back into the warmth, the steady heartbeat, the quiet strength.
Brogan pressed a kiss to the side of his head, soft and sure. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “She sounds like she made things feel safe. You deserve to hold onto that.”
Archie closed his eyes for a second, letting the moment settle. Then they carried their drinks into the living room. It glowed with a soft light, the scent of pine and cocoa curling around them. Something sweet hung in the air—maybe the memory, maybe Brogan’s cologne, maybe both. Whatever it was, it made Archie feel like he could breathe a little easier.
They decorated slowly, with music playing low in the background. Brogan kept brushing against Archie, kissing his shoulder, his neck, the corner of his mouth. Archie didn’t mind. He leaned into it, letting himself be adored. It was new, but it felt good. Safe.
“You’re really into this,” Archie said, hanging a snowflake ornament near the top.
Brogan wrapped his arms around Archie from behind. “I’m into you.”
Archie laughed, heart thudding. “That’s cheesy.”
“Like the weird smoky cheese you pretend to hate.”
“I don’t pretend,” Archie said, turning in Brogan’s arms. “It’s objectively suspicious.”
Brogan kissed him then, slow and warm, the kind of kiss that made Archie forget what he was saying. They stood there for a while, tangled up in each other, the tree glowing beside them.
Later, they sat on the couch with their mugs, legs draped over each other, watching the lights blink on and off.
Archie looked around the room—at the crooked tree, the mismatched ornaments, Brogan’s sock half hanging off his foot, and felt something settle deep in his chest.
This was home.
And he was in love.
The sound of Brogan’s phone pierced the silence. After an apologetic glance he hurried to the kitchen making Archie wonder who had called and why would he move into another room to take it?
“That was Andrew,” Brogan said as soon as he walked back into the living room.
“That was Andrew.”
“Why did he call you and not me?”
“I don’t know. He wanted to know what time we were going to his parents’ home for Christmas.”
“He still thinks we’re invited?”
“I told him what his father said to you today.”
“What did he say?”
