One Wish For Christmas.

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Every year, Mark asked for one simple Christmas' present - to hold Gun's hand.

He didn't want anything else; not clothes, or phones, or new video games; not to spend the day with company -apart from Gun's, that was -, not for his parents to call, not to be invited to any party;

Not for anyone to give a fuck.

Mark had his head set straight. There was one thing he had figured out made him happy without having to ask for much. The joy, and thrill that bursted in his body whenever he held his hand had been a total unpredictable discovery, one that had taken place a few years back, when he had just found out he was head-over-heels for the boy.

Every year, the two brothers, Gun and Kris, invited Mark to spend the day with their family, as his own was always away - travelling for work to a whole lot of different countries. They had been doing it since Mark could remember, and they had promised to keep doing it for many years more.

That first Christmas, in which Mark had been unable to tear his longing, crazy-in-love gaze away from him, Gun had been in charge of the party's preparation. He had been running around their house, flying from one room to another in barely seconds, carrying trays, and pans, and bowls full of food, and then running right back from where he had come from, with arms stacked with christmas lights, and candles, and a whole bunch of other decorations - all festive, as it was expected.

Mark remembered the moment it had happened quite vividly, as if it had been yesterday.

Gun had forcefully pulled their attic door open, only to climb right into it to retrieve an old ladder that had always been kept there. He, then, had carried it all the way to the living room, and had placed it in front of the tree. As the boy had been going up, Mark had had a bad feeling, as Gun was not known for being the most graceful human, so he had made it his task to remain close enough to step in in case it had been needed.

As predicted, Gun had managed to slip, and had flown backwards, right into Mark's awaiting arms. Gun had seemed embarrassed, his cheeks flailing red, but had still thanked the boy profusely, shaking his hand up and down as a sign of gratitude.

Until today, Mark didn't have the slightest clue as to what had come out of Gun's mouth at that moment, because all that he had been able to do was stare at their intertwined hands.

Never again he had been able to feel the same excitement, and had made it a promise to keep it as his Christmas' wish, even if nobody else knew about it.

Mark didn't want presents; he didn't want anything else.

He wished it in his head, and fulfilled it on his own, because it was the only way he thought it possible.

No, Mark didn't want anything.

But to hold Gun's hand.

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