At Their Very Best

Part 5

The North American leg of the tour is over, the last show ending victoriously in Pennsylvania, and the band has all piled into the back of the bus for one final night. Home Alone plays on the small television, and you're sure each of you could quote it by heart at this point, though nobody is paying it any attention over the presents in front of them. There are Christmas cracker ends littering every surface, colored paper crowns atop everyone's heads as the room laughs raucously over the terrible jokes inside.

"Guys, no - listen! Why was the snowman looking through the carrots?! He was picking his nose!"

The group all booed in amusement, throwing their thumbs down as they waited for the next joke to be read aloud. You were seated cross-legged next to Matty in your velvet Christmas hat, the bauble on the end of it bouncing every time you moved. Organizing Secret Santa at the beginning of the tour felt like pulling teeth out. Everyone waved you off, not interested in it, but you knew they'd come around eventually. And that they did.

They cheered each time a new Santa was announced and hollered when gifts were unwrapped. You'd pulled Adam's name and gifted him a mug you'd had made with the word "DILF" in large block letters printed along the side. You filled his card with printed photos Carly had taken of his baby that he'd not seen yet, saving them especially for this occasion. Tears brimmed the bottom of his eyes as he flicked through the photographs before wrapping his arms around you in gratitude.

George grabbed the mug from his friend's hand, filled it with some of the Brandy passed around the room, and called out for the next Secret Santa to reveal themselves. The cheers in the room started brewing, beginning as a murmur until they built into riotous applause when Matty launched from his seat, revealing himself.

The cheers build slowly again and he makes a show of picking his person by slowly running his hands around the room before pointing at you, and they all roar. Grabbing one of the gift bags from the coffee table, he sits down again, passing it to you gently. Inside, you see an expensive bottle of champagne, one that you'd never buy for yourself, and a framed photo of you that Jordan took from your night on stage.

You know you shouldn't, but you still feel slightly disappointed that the gift wasn't more personal. Passing the photo to Polly so she can see, you lean back to Matty, place your hand along his stubbled jawline, and press your lips to his cheek. Reaching back into the gift bag, you grab the bottle of fizz and unwrap the foil around its top. Everybody ducks out of the way when the cork flies across the room as it pops open, you and Polly screaming with laughter. Bubbles erupt, and you rush to bring your glass underneath, the liquid sliding down your arms.

After a few hours, the group dwindles. A mix of alcohol and excitement sends everyone to bed earlier than usual. Perhaps it's the anticipation for the flight back to London the following day, but you're still awake. Tucked into what has become your usual place at Matty's side when nobody else is around, his heavy arm slung around your shoulders, and your legs curled against his lap. A warm buzz floats through you as you finish the last of his present.

Love Actually plays on the television now and you softly sing along as Hugh Grant dances through Downing Street. Suddenly, Matty sits upright, his departing arm jostling you backward in your seat, and reaches behind him. He pulls out a small, wrapped box with a red bow slapped hastily on top of it and hands it to you.

You eye him curiously as you open it. He's definitely "wrapped" this himself since there's a corner completely exposed and what feels like a whole roll of tape holding it together. Lifting the lid, you see a set of tour guitar picks in their standard tour colours. Frowning in confusion, you turn some over in your hands. They look the same as the ones he uses on stage every night except where Matty's name should be yours is in its place.