ACHES

19. festive

"I'm celebrating," I giggled, skipping into the kitchen. He trailed behind me, the circles under his eyes telling me a migraine was looming.

"Are you?" He gave me a crooked smile, his teeth bright in the dim evening. I opened the cabinet, reaching for the top shelf. He grabbed the bottle he knew I wanted, laughing as I tried to slap his hand away and grab it myself.

"Celebrating you finally coming home," I grinned, letting him grunt and twist as he opened the bottle. "And staying home."

"And staying home," he repeated with a short nod, the cork popping off into his hand. A froth of champagne landed at his feet, and he sighed, setting the bottle on the counter. I poured two glasses for us, dragging him to the couch. I had decorated a fake tree, setting it up in the corner of the living room. I liked the way the lights reflected against his irises. I tucked into him, throwing my legs over his lap and nestling into his shoulder.

"You like the tree?" I whispered. "Feels quite festive in here, I think."

"It's perfect," he absently scratched my scalp, staring at the tree. "I was wondering, though..."

"Don't ruin the moment," I groaned, finishing my glass.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he laughed. "I was just wondering where you were going for the holidays."

"Oh," I shrugged. "I usually just stay here."

"Not to see family?" He twirled a strand of my hair between his fingers. I rocked with each of his inhales.

"No," I said quietly, hoping to end the conversation there.

"What about your parents?"

I shook my head.

"Come on, don't they miss you?" He set our glasses on the coffee table.

"No," I shrugged. He prodded me with an elbow. "They can't." The words barely passed through my lips.

"Oh, God," he brushed a hand down my shoulder.

I shook my head, "It's alright. I just don't want to talk about it."

"It's just," he pressed his fingertips into my wrist, "When we were at the hotel, you talked about your parents as if they were still here."

"I think I was pretty drunk, wasn't I?" I laughed, trying to ease the boiling discomfort crawling up my throat.

"Right," he nodded. He held my hand carefully, turning it over and over. Tracing my knuckles, then circling a finger into my palm. Love You Love You Love You.

"Are you visiting your family?" I asked, my voice splitting through the silence.

"Yeah," he kissed the back of my hand. "Would you come with me?"

"Fly out there?" I shook my head. "No, that's okay. You should just spend some time with your family."

"But I want you there," he urged. "I want you to meet them all."

"It's alright," I squeezed his hand. "You should relax, enjoy their company."

He sighed, "I want you there."

"I can't," I said, standing and bringing the glasses to the kitchen. He leaned back into the couch.

"You can't?"

"I can't," I repeated, filling our glasses again. The champagne hissed in front of me. He rubbed at his jaw.

"Are you afraid of flying?" He asked, confusion washing over his face. I shrugged. "Does it have to do with your parents?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," I muttered, and downed my glass. He crossed his legs.

"Alright."

I left the glasses on the counter, and walked to the bedroom, hiding under the covers as my head swirled. I fell into a rolling sleep, waking up in the middle of the night. I shuffled to the living room, finding him asleep on the couch. I covered him with a blanket, and sat in the armchair in the corner, facing him. I watched the lights from the tree glow against his skin, illuminating him in a holy light. He was perfect, still, and honest, lips parted as he dreamt.

I fell asleep counting his breaths.