“Your hot chocolate.”
Arlo frowned. “Huh?”
“You got the recipe from my mom, right?” Dimitri asked.
“How did you know that?”
“She’s been making it for me every winter since I was indiapers. I recognized the recipe on the counter.” He reached past Arlo and handed him the white mug brimming with whipped cream. “Here.”
Arlo stared at him for another thirty seconds before bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip. The rich taste of chocolate exploded on his tongue making him moan. “Oh, my God. That’s so good. How are you so good at this?”
Dimitri snorted, poking Arlo in the ribs softly. “I’m a barista. Webothare. The question is, how are you so bad at it?”
Arlo took another delicate sip, giving him a haughty look. “It’s a lot harder to make a symbiote than hot chocolate.”
“But not nearly as festive,” Dimitri countered.
“I don’t know, I could have drawn a Santa hat on him too or something. I’m great at latte art.”
“You really are,” Dimitri agreed, then pressed play.
Arlo took another couple of sips then returned the cup to the table to nestle deeper into Dimitri’s arms, tucking his head under his chin. They were five minutes in when Arlo said, “Babe…this isn’t the right movie.”
Dimitri paused, pointing the remote at the television. “But-those two are super gay.”
“They’re gay, but they’re not the right gays. It’s a different Christmas movie.”
Dimitri snorted, giving him a satisfied smirk. “See. I told you all Christmas movies are a little gay.”
Arlo flicked his forehead, then dropped a kiss on it. “It’s fine. We can just watch both.”
Arlo swore he heard the cat and dog join in on Dimitri’s groan.
The family room was deceptively cozy, tucked within the sprawl of their penthouse apartment. Christmas decorations were everywhere—lights strung over every surface, glittering ornaments reflecting the flicker of the fireplace. The tree stood tall in the corner, its white and gold theme elegant but somehow still managing to feel warm. Felix, naturally, had insisted on perfection. Zane, of course, had wanted it to feel like home. Together, they’d made it perfect.
Asa sat cross-legged with Oscar and West inside the oversized prison yard they called a playpen, their tiny faces glowing with excitement. They sat in their matching Christmas pajamas, both clutching blocks in their chubby baby fists, ready to wreak havoc on Asa’s latest architectural feat.
He studied his creation carefully, then adjusted the corner piece of the brightly colored towering structure, his fingers deftly setting a long piece atop the precariousarrangement. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he stared at the two babies who were practically vibrating with unrestrained excitement.
They’d finally reached an age where they were beginning to show their own mini personalities. West was quiet, shy, a snuggle bug that needed to be held almost around the clock. He wasn’t discriminating either. He would cozy up to almost anyone, which was both endearing and terrifying, two emotions Asa had always believed himself incapable of experiencing.
Oscar was a menace. He was pure chaotic energy, somehow carefully cunning like Felix but also a giant ball of exuberance like Avi. He was always calculating just what he needed to do to get exactly what he wanted from someone. But he was the first to laugh, the first to blow kisses, the first to curl into his baby brother at night when they went to sleep in the same crib.
It was fascinating.
“Now, boys,” he began, his deep voice low and instructive. “The key to a good structure is the support beams. If the beams aren’t strong, if they’re not exactly where they need to be, everything—” He made a dramatic pause, gesturing to the base of the tower. “—collapses. And when that happens…” He tipped the top piece slightly for effect. “Tens of thousands of lives, gone. Just like that.”
West, his head tilted with toddler curiosity, reached out and gave the tower an experimental nudge. It wobbled precariously. Asa barely had time to blink before Oscar lunged forward with both hands, knocking the blocks down in a glorious cascade of noise and chaos.
Both boys erupted into squeals of laughter, and Asa couldn’t help but chuckle along. “Good job,” he murmured approvingly, gathering the blocks to start anew. “Never let ‘em know your next move, boys.”
“Stop teaching my children to be psychopaths,” Felix said, his lips tugging up at the corners in a barely there smile.
“Who has to teach them?” Avi asked. “It’s in their DNA. It's their birthright.”
“You don’t share DNA with them, baby,” Felix reminded him gently.
“But I’m their dad,” Avi said, his tone so proud that Asa snickered.
