"Blake," Andre called from the living room. "Where did you put the star?"
Blake looked up, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "It's in the box with the ornaments. The one marked 'Fragile'."
"I am looking in the box marked 'Fragile'," Andre said, his voice carrying a note of exasperation. "There are three glass baubles, a wooden nutcracker that looks like it wants to murder me in my sleep, and a tangle of lights. No star."
Blake chuckled, abandoning the bread and walking into the living room.
The room was dominated by a massive, eight-foot Nordmann fir that they had dragged up the stairs together the day before. It was currently half-decorated, a chaotic mix of elegant glass ornaments Andre had carefully selected and garish, sentimental baubles Blake had insisted on keeping.
Andre was standing by the tree, wearing a dark green sweater that made his eyes look almost black. His hair was getting long again, curling around his ears.
Blake walked over to him. "You're looking in the wrong box," Blake said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Andre's mouth. He reached past him, opening a smaller, unmarked cardboard box sitting on the floor. He pulled out a delicate, intricate silver star. "Here."
Andre took the star, examining it carefully. "It is beautiful. But it is also very heavy. Are you sure the tree can support it?"
"It's a strong tree," Blake said confidently. "Go on. Put it up."
Andre looked at the top of the tree, which was easily two feet above his head. He looked back at Blake, raising an eyebrow.
"I am an artist, Blake. Not a giant. You do it."
"I'm making the garlic bread," Blake protested, though he was already reaching for the star.
"And I am making the roast," Andre countered, crossing his arms over his chest. "Which requires far more skill than slicing a baguette and spreading butter on it."
Blake laughed, a deep sound that filled the room. He took the star, stepped up to the tree, and easily reached the top branch, securing the silver ornament in place. He stepped back, slipping his arm around Andre's hip and pulling him close.
"Perfect," Blake said.
"It is leaning slightly to the left," Andre pointed out, as he leaned back against Blake's chest.
"It gives it character," Blake said.
They stood there for a moment, watching the lights twinkle against the dark green needles. The flat was quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the grate and the distant sound of traffic on the snowy streets below.
It had been a long year. A year of rebuilding, of learning how to navigate the world together again. There had been difficult days, moments when the ghosts of the past had threatened to pull them under. But they had fought for each other. They had communicated, they had compromised,and they had loved each other with a fierce, uncompromising dedication.
The buzzer on the intercom sounded, a jarring noise that broke the quiet.
"That will be them," Andre said, stepping out of Blake's arms and walking toward the door.
Blake followed him, a familiar, warm anticipation settling in his chest.
Andre pressed the button to unlock the street door, and a minute later, there was a loud knock. Blake pulled the door open.
Jasper and Phoebe Winters were standing in the hallway, covered in snow, their arms full of shopping bags and brightly wrapped presents.
"We brought wine," Jasper announced, stepping into the flat and brushing the snow from the shoulders of his linen overcoat. "A Barolo that Phoebe has been saving for a special occasion."
"And cheese from that place on Jermyn Street," Phoebe added, unwinding a dark green scarf from her neck and stepping inside. Her dark bob was dusted with snowflakes, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She held up a small, beautifully wrapped package. "And something for the tree. From the gallery." She looked at Andre, her eyes bright. "Hello, darling."
Andre smiled, stepping forward to kiss her on both cheeks. "Phoebe. You didn't need to bring anything."
"I always need to bring something." She squeezed his arm. "The flat smells extraordinary."
He turned to Jasper, pulling him into a brief, warm embrace. "Jasper. You are tracking snow all over my clean floor."
"It's Christmas," Jasper said, grinning, his gray hair damp at the temples. "A little snow never hurt anyone."
