Logince Oneshots

[24] December Again Au

T.W. Mentions of Alcohol, Drunken Roman, and Throwing Up (As a result of the alcohol.) [Nothing bad, I promise]

Mistletoe. A Christmas tradition in which if you find yourself stood under the plant with another person, you are to share a kiss. *If a couple in love exchanges a kiss under the mistletoe, it is interpreted as a promise to marry, as well as a prediction of happiness and long life. At Christmas time a young lady standing under a ball of mistletoe, brightly trimmed with evergreens, ribbons, and ornaments, cannot refuse to be kissed. Such a kiss could mean deep romance or lasting friendship and goodwill.*

Most know of the tradition, making it something universal, however, some people don't care for such traditions, or if they did, it wouldn't be something they would ever be able to encounter.

Logan was one of those people. Every December, he would walk through the streets of the small town he lived in, hands stuffed in his pockets, hat pulled down over his ears, and his hood atop the hat. His gaze would be focused on the ground, waiting to see the first flake of snow hit the ground. He tried to avoid all the couples, whose breaths met in the air, and swirled upwards, whose laughter filled the air, and whose hands swung by their sides as the snow fell. He'd watch as they shared kisses under the fading light of day, and he'd feel bad that he didn't have that.

December first came around again, bringing the beginning of the Christmas joy, and he smiled at the change in the air. Whenever December started, the stores' atmosphere changed, and it all seemed more welcoming, and festive.

He had his own tradition. He would go to the cafe in his town, and he would order the peppermint latte, with a gingerbread man, and sit in the warmth of the small building, watching as people bustled about outside, beginning their shopping for the season. He would hold the cup close to his face, where it would fog up his glasses, but he didn't mind, he'd just take them off. The figures were blurry, but he was able to see more than when his glasses were fogged.

The gingerbread man would sit on the plate until his latte was almost gone. Then, he'd place his cup back down, and put his glasses back on, where he would sit and look at the detail that had gone into the gingerbread man. It wasn't much, but when he took the time to observe the details, he felt at ease, and it was calming for him. His friend certainly went the extra mile to make all his pastries and cookies to the best of his ability, and he made them with more care than any baker he'd ever seen before.

As he sat with the liquid's heat seeping through the cup onto his hands, warming them up from the bitterness outside, he took a moment to appreciate the people around him. The couple that were awkward, and clearly hadn't been together very long, who kept stumbling over their words, and trying to let the other talk, only to talk over the top of them again. The pair behind the counter, who he was glad to call his friends, who made sure he didn't feel too bad every year, and insisted he was welcome at their house whenever he wanted, but he never wanted to intrude. The few people bustling about outside, who held countless bags, trying to get from one place to another, trying to keep the bitter cold away, they would rush from one building's warmth to another. Then there was the single male by the counter, who didn't seem bothered by the cold, he had a grin lighting up his features, and dare Logan say, he was rather handsome. His red coat stood out from the darkness outside, and the other coats of the people. His eyes seemed to take everything in, yet they seemed to focus on one thing for a while, despite the constant movement. And when Logan realised he'd been staring for too long, a pair of vibrant green eyes met his. A pair of wide eyes, that lit up when someone met his gaze, and they seemed to shine with just about anything.

Logan smiled fondly, and turned back to his latte, the heat from it slowly leaving, and he realised he ought to drink it. So he did. The latte was as good as he remembered it being. The perfect blend of coffee and mint, paired with something else that was too faint to be recognised, but it was enough to know it was there.