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Sampo’s car keys dangle from his finger, precariously held onto while he juggles two small containers of homemade cookies, a jug of eggnog, and a bag of tiny gifts for Bronya and Seele. He almost drops one attempting to shut his beater’s door, grimacing at the rattle of his window in it. He’s not ashamed to admit his car needs some work, but it gets him where he needs to go, and he certainly doesn’t need an opulent display of wealth. Although, he considers, glancing at Bronya’s Porsche, something that looked like that would be a considerable upgrade.
He crosses to the front door. Not many others are here yet—he’s quite early, as opposed to his usual ten minutes late. He thinks he sees Luka’s truck parked close, along with another car he doesn’t recognize, but it’s really too dark to know for sure. He debates on ringing the doorbell with his knee, almost drops the eggnog, swears, and by that time, Seele’s swinging the door open. She grins at his plight and pulls him in by the collar of his sweater, certainly mussing it.
Seele and Bronya have been together since their junior year of high school, and Sampo can practically smell the wedding approaching, despite it hardly being their first year of college. As infuriating as she can be (and Sampo knows he can have his moments, too), Seele is like a sister to him, and he wouldn’t trade their easy banter for the world. So it’s no wonder that she tries to trip him, and almost succeeds, too, if it hadn’t been for Bronya gracefully stepping in, taking him by the shoulders, and stabilizing his load.
“Thanks,” Sampo laughs, finally getting into the warmth of their house. The heater in his car doesn’t work. He’s glad their heater does. Unceremoniously, he dumps the goods down onto the kitchen counter to stick with the others. He retrieves the gift and extends it to them both. “For you lovely ladies—even if that’s a stretch for one.” Seele glares at him, but it hardly holds any heat to it.
Luka’s red head pokes up from the adjacent dining room. “Sampo! Glad you could make it!”
He grins and pulls Luka into a hug. He doesn’t get to see the kid much anymore, especially because he’s a year younger than their little group. “It’s good to see you, old pal.” Out of the corner of his eye, there’s a flash of movement from a second person in the room. It’s not Bronya. It’s not Seele.
The figure is distinctly male, tall, blond. Luka must feel Sampo tense up against him, because he levels a look of concern at him, something Sampo doesn’t see.
Someone opens a door, or something, because a flash of light falls on the man long enough for Sampo’s heart to leap into his throat.
Gepard Landau.
He must be thinking the same thing, because Gepard’s eyes are fixed on Sampo, the shape of his face, his light blue sweater that he’s really beginning to regret wearing, and there’s nothing but painful recognition.
Sampo turns around and walks away.
A deep longing has settled in his chest, but the pain of missing Gepard has settled for the most part. There’s something about his expression that set off irrational anger in him, and Sampo knows exactly why that is.
Last Christmas, Gepard held his heart in his hands and crushed it beneath his fingertips. They were the best of friends since middle school, until senior year, when Sampo had made the mistake of a lifetime. He thought Gepard might have the barest chance of loving him back—ridiculous, really, considering his response—and Gepard had easily entertained his feelings before the day after, when he caught him—
Sampo winces. It’s best not to dwell on the past, even if it’s affecting him so easily now. He can just… have a good time with his friends, have a merry Christmas, and be on his jolly way. He doesn’t have to entertain Gepard. He doesn’t need to talk to him.
He turns around long enough to see Gepard standing behind him, beautiful as ever in a collared, dark red shirt that almost perfectly matches Sampo’s red jacket he usually carries on him. Something must show on his face—and Gepard takes it as an invitation. His mouth opens, closes, like he’s trying to think of something to say.
Sampo could drown in the things he wants to say, but stays quiet.
“Sampo,” Gepard finally manages, a sheepish flush coating his face. Sampo’s stomach turns—whether it’s from nerves or disgust, he doesn’t know, but strongly suspects it’s the former—and he finally meets Gepard’s eyes. Gepard’s staring steadily at him, earnest and genuine, and—
Sampo can’t do this.
“Don’t,” he mutters. Hurt flashes over Gepard’s face, the same kind that he saw when Sampo stopped talking to him a year ago. “Gepard, just… save us both the trouble.”
It’s Gepard’s turn to walk away.
Even though they’re in the same house, breathing the same air, Gepard feels further away than he’s ever been. Sampo immediately regrets it, wants to reach out, get on his knees and beg, please, Gepard, I’m sorry, don’t go, but he stays silent until Gepard disappears into the other room.
“Is it that hard to say sorry?” Bronya asks, placing a hand on his upper arm. “You two used to be so close. Can’t you talk about it?”
Sampo shuts his eyes. He doesn’t know Bronya as well—she’s more of Gepard’s friend than Sampo’s—but she does know what happened. Exactly what happened.
“I don’t think he wants to talk about it,” Sampo says, and he knows it’s a lie the second it leaves his mouth. “That was the most humiliating moment of my life, and you think I should apologize when he doesn’t even—”
He cuts off. He misses his careless persona, how flippant he could be, but then again, Gepard has always had a way of seeing through the humor and the mask. Sampo feels like he might cry. He hasn’t even had anything to warrant being a crybaby.
“Look, Sampo, I understand,” she says softly, and Sampo blinks rapidly. “There’s always two sides to every story, though. I’ve heard it from both of you, but have you heard it from each other?”
When he doesn’t respond, she continues. “I know you don’t want to talk to him, but try. It’s not the same now that you two never talk.”
“Can’t you just tell me what he said?” Sampo asks fruitlessly.
“You have to figure this out for yourself.”
Sampo shuts his eyes and thinks back to last Christmas.
Well, really, it was the Tuesday before their break started, but they only had Wednesday left before they could all skip their semester tests and Bronya was indisposed that day, preparing to pack to go on a family trip. So, automatically, the party had to be on Tuesday.
Gepard went home with Sampo that day, not intending to return to his place before at least eleven at night, but hoping he could at least be a little longer. Sampo didn’t complain, not one bit.
Gepard was his closest friend. And, either fortunately or unfortunately, the one person Sampo had held a candle for since, well, practically the day they met. Whenever Sampo glanced over at him, sitting prim and proper in the passenger seat, he could imagine a life with Gepard, forever being able to glance over and see him in the seat next to Sampo. But they were only in high school, soon to graduate, and Sampo hardly knew which major he was going to pursue, much less where he’d be in the next year.
For the immediate future, though, he could look over and be peaceful, content, with his best friend riding with him, window cracked just enough to let the atypical weather—warm and breezy—come through.
They’d been hanging out with Bronya and Seele for years. Bronya was more than a little loaded—fortunate for her friend group, because she could hold get-togethers at her very own house.
Gepard stayed by his side for the duration of almost the whole party. They laughed and cracked jokes, exchanging warm, charged glances when the other wasn’t looking, up until they paused for a moment and Sampo glanced up.
His heart pounded in his chest. “Look, Gepard, mistletoe,” Sampo said teasingly, ruffling Gepard’s hair.
“I guess you know the tradition,” Gepard said abashedly, almost as pink in the face as he was when Sampo recorded a clip of him singing in the shower and showed it to him after. Sampo wished he could film this, too, forever have Gepard’s flushed face and neck as a vision he could privately enjoy.
They weren’t alone. Seele’s eyebrow was raised as she looked at Sampo, a silent demand for action. Natasha had her phone out, ready to snap a picture.
Sampo’s eyes flicked down to Gepard’s lips. It’s not as if he hadn't thought of kissing him before, but the air between them suddenly felt charged, and against his better judgment, against his firm belief that Gepard would never feel the same, he thought Gepard might like to kiss him too.
Gepard bit at his lower lip, worrying it red and puffy. God. Sampo wanted to kiss him till it bruised.
“Maybe I don’t know what this tradition is,” Sampo ventured. His heart pounded in his chest. You should show me was implied.
He was fortunate enough to end up with a couple inches on Gepard in height, just enough to be able to press his lips to the top of Gepard’s cheek. Not that he had, of course, done that before, but he’d thought of it too many times to count. He’d also thought of what it’d be like to lean down, close the gap between their faces, and finally kiss him.
Sampo thought about kissing Gepard more than he probably should have.
Gepard gently bumped their shoulders together. Sampo ached from the contact. “You definitely know what that tradition is, silly.” Gepard smiled, just enough to show his braces-straight teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkled. It felt like Sampo was a still pond and Gepard was a rock dropped into him, spreading his good spirits in the form of ripples across Sampo’s surface.
Sampo smiled back.
It only served as a reminder that Gepard was the one constant he wanted in his life; he was the only one Sampo could imagine.
He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he couldn’t at least work up the courage to do something about it before life inevitably dragged them apart.
Gepard turned to walk back in the direction of the kitchen. In desperation, Sampo knew he couldn’t let Gepard break that moment. He took hold of Gepard’s hand.
Gepard whirled back around, words on his tongue that if Sampo had to guess, were some phrasing of “What are you doing?” but they never got a chance to escape.
Under the mistletoe, Sampo had a brief moment to admire Gepard’s face when he gently cupped it with his free hand. His pretty blue eyes shut with the contact. His face was shaped into an expression of unrestrained want. Sampo didn’t catch much more after that—his eyes shut too, and then he kissed Gepard.
Sampo had kissed people before. He’d enjoyed it. But nothing came close to the electric feeling he got kissing Gepard for the first time, feeling Gepard gasp quietly against his mouth and squeeze his hand tightly. First kisses were never perfect, but this one was.
Sampo briefly pulled away, only to catch his air, but Gepard slid a hand into his hair and pulled him right back down for a kiss. Someone gasped in the background. Sampo couldn’t have possibly cared less.
When they finally broke apart, what felt like hours later but couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes, Gepard looked pleasantly hazy. Sampo knew he must have looked the same. He glanced down, debating on if it would be worth it to kiss Gepard’s mouth even redder. Gepard appeared as if he were considering doing the same.
“Get a room,” Seele said affectionately.
Sampo’s heart swelled in his chest.
The next day was when he realized what a fool he’d been.
He watched Gepard open up a note, glance up unsurely, only to see a girl in front of him.
Misplaced jealousy burned in his gut as he watched the scene.
The school hallways, packed as they were, weren’t enough to hide the sight of the girl leaning in to kiss Gepard. Sampo felt the sight like a gut punch. After what they’d shared yesterday, he went and did that?
Sampo turned away. He wasn’t worth it anymore.
He didn’t see Gepard push the girl away, wipe his mouth, and stare hopelessly in Sampo’s direction. Maybe if he had, everything would have changed.
With anguish, Sampo thinks, I haven’t talked to him since that day, and puts his head in his hands.
He’s terrified to let Gepard back in. Call him once bitten, twice shy, but that’s not even the root of his trust issues, and also not a topic he wants to delve into.
For what seems like hours, he talks to his friends, casts long, unsteady glances at Gepard from across the room, and tries to enjoy himself.
His former friend has grown up. Maybe once, he was a scrawny teenager, but Gepard’s filled out really nicely. Even the muscle in his arms is defined nicely through his shirt when he grins and scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, a habit he’d never broken. Sampo catches himself before he looks further, ashamed of his stealthy glances.
But he knows very well Gepard is doing the same—occasionally, he feels Gepard’s gaze on him, searching, looking, and meets his eyes as if to say, I know what you’re doing. Gepard always looks away. He’d never broken the habit of blushing under scrutiny, either—when Sampo looks at him, Gepard’s cheeks are brushed with pink, making his fading freckles stand out.
Maybe it’s worth it.
Sampo doesn’t dare to let himself dream. He knows it isn’t worth it.
Seele nudges him with her elbow. “You know, you’re going to bore a hole in him if you keep staring like that.” Sampo jolts, opens his mouth to respond, but Seele shushes him. “He’s going to do the same for you. Only you two could be this unsubtle and still not do something about it.”
“What are you implying?” Sampo manages, shame weighing his feet to the floor.
“He wants to talk to you. Everyone can see it. Except for your idiot ass, apparently—Sampo, you’re making it more than a little uncomfortable in here. You want to talk to him, too, so what’s the issue?”
Sampo grits his teeth. Seele sighs, tucking her purple hair behind her ear. “Did I ever tell you how Bronya and I got together?”
“I think so—”
“We talked about our feelings,” Seele hisses, all sense of pretense gone. “Life could be so good for you if you only let it, but no, you’re so determined to make it hard on yourself.”
“Seele—”
“Sampo Koski, if I have to drag you into a closet and lock you in there so you can get over your damn self and talk to him, so be it.”
Sampo feels suitably cowed. He picks at the sleeve of his sweater, tugs the hem down to cover the strip of stomach neither it nor his jeans cover. “What do I say?”
She sighs, visibly relieved that she seems to be making some kind of progress, before she takes him by the hand and drags him outside, leaving him to shiver in the cool air on the porch. “You’ll figure it out. Stay here.” Seele disappears back inside, presumably to, well, he doesn’t know? But with her wicked schemes, he knows it’ll be nothing but brutal.
Sampo leans on the railing, stares up at the stars, and pretends not to hear the door open and close, much less the footsteps that sound closer and closer with every step.
Gepard settles next to him, arms folded on the railing, craning his head to stare up at the same constellations Sampo’s looking at. “The stars are beautiful out here,” Gepard says quietly, privately, meant for just the two of them. It’s a terrible opening into a conversation, but it’s better than anything Sampo could have come up with—without any liquid courage to open him up, at least.
Sampo’s heart twists at the proximity, Gepard’s achingly familiar pattern of breath, and the inches of empty space between their arms that feel like miles.
“They are,” he quietly agrees, his voice sounding pathetically not smooth in the silence that surrounds them. It’s the first time they’ve talked in a year. It feels like Sampo’s heart is being crushed again, just like it was last Christmas.
Gepard’s silent for a long moment, but somehow, the space between them feels infinitely warmer and more welcoming than it did five minutes ago.
“I missed you,” Sampo finally gets out. His face burns. He can feel Gepard’s scrutiny on him now, but he charges ahead, looking anywhere but at Gepard. “It hasn’t been right without you.”
“Isn’t that your own damn fault?” Gepard fires back, and Sampo whips his head around to glare at Gepard. Fine. If he wants to do it that way, they can do it that way. “You stopped talking to me. You refused to listen to my side of the story. What else was I supposed to think, that you actually did miss me?”
“You kissed that girl,” Sampo snaps, “right after I thought—Damn it, Gepard, I thought you knew.”
“She kissed me,” Gepard says, indignant. “Should have known you’d take that the wrong way.”
“How did I take someone else kissing you the wrong way?” Sampo asks. He’s still raw from last year where Gepard ripped him open. “Tell me, Gepard, how does that make a difference?”
“I didn’t want it.”
“It looked like you wanted it.”
“Stop throwing petty comebacks and just listen for a moment,” Gepard snaps, stepping closer, clearly frustrated. “She liked me. I didn’t like her back. For god’s sake, Sampo, I thought I made it clear I don’t like women. I was processing her note when she came to me and kissed me.”
“You don’t like women?” Sampo exclaims, but Gepard’s not done quite yet.
“I was in the process of pushing her away when I saw you leave. I should have known you wouldn’t see sense.”
Somehow, Gepard’s accusation hits him harder than anything else possibly could have. He sees clearly now how broken their friendship is, how broken they are, and how dearly he wants to apologize but can’t find the guts to.
“I’ve never seen sense when it comes to you,” Sampo mutters, half an admittance, half an apology. Gepard’s lashes flutter in surprise. “I’m… You know, I thought that meant more to you than it must have.” It’s the first time either of them have broached the topic of their kiss under the mistletoe. Sampo almost feels sorry for not saying it sooner.
“I didn’t think it meant anything to you,” Gepard says quietly.
Sampo stares at him for a long moment. He takes in Gepard’s quivering lower lip, the sheen of wetness in his eyes. He’s going to cry. Shit.
“It meant everything to me,” Gepard quickly amends, “that you kissed me, that you didn’t pull away.” His voice is breaking. Wisely, Sampo chooses not to comment. “I thought you were just doing it for the bit, but I wanted to live in that moment as long as I can.”
Sampo remembers every second of it, how Gepard had pulled him closer, clutched onto his hand like he would fly away if he let go, and the puzzle pieces start to click together.
“You’ve always been the constant in my life,” Sampo admits, and it aches to hear out loud. “No matter what, I wanted you by my side. I was stupid to force you away.” Even his eyes are stinging now. He looks away from Gepard’s face, unable to take much more of the welling tears he can see Gepard forming. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.
Gepard’s body hits his like a battering ram, and it takes a second to realize that Gepard isn’t trying to fight him, but he’s hugging Sampo like a lifeline. He rests his chin on soft blond hair, wraps his arms around Gepard as tightly as he can, and pretends to not feel the sobs that wrack Gepard’s frame, mainly for Gepard’s own dignity.
“It was cruel of me to not take what you felt into consideration,” Gepard whispers. Sampo just barely hears it. “I missed you too.”
Their disagreement was very apparently childish, now that Sampo takes the time to realize it; he feels silly to have not seen it earlier. They wasted their time, apart from each other, for a year? Over a squabble about barely anything?
Sampo takes a blind leap of faith.
“I’ve loved you for years,” he says, and it feels like coming home. “I love you.”
Gepard’s head snaps up into Sampo’s jaw. Involuntarily, his teeth snap into his tongue, and he winces. “You what?”
“I love you,” Sampo says again.
Gepard’s eyes shine. “You’re an idiot, Sampo Koski. Because I love you too. I have since the day we met.”
Sampo grins like the idiot he is. Gently, he bumps their foreheads together, reveling in the smile on Gepard’s lips that threatens to overtake his entire face.
“Guess we have a lot of time to make up for,” Gepard murmurs.
“A year and three days?” Sampo suggests.
“You were keeping track?”
“Weren’t you?”
Gepard glances away. “Yes.” He looks back at Sampo. “I don’t think that’s relevant, though.”
Sampo laughs, giddy with joy. Like he’s been dreaming about for years, he tilts his head up, finds Gepard’s cheek, and kisses him there softly. “Couldn’t resist my charm?” Suggestively, he waggles his eyebrows.
In that way Sampo loves, Gepard flushes pink, then darker red at Sampo’s insinuation. “Stow it, Koski.” Their teasing is still ginger, afraid to poke any wounds—but it feels like it should. “How long have you wanted to do that?”
The cold air is suddenly very distant, as it feels like all the heat in his body has rushed to his face. “Years.”
Gepard shakes his head in disbelief. “And you couldn’t pull enough courage to do it sooner? I’m ashamed.” It takes Sampo a moment to realize Gepard’s teasing him.
“Hey, shut up,” Sampo hushes him, leaning in close and brushing their lips together.
Gepard stiffens under him. Sampo wants to ask if it’s too soon, wants to apologize, but Gepard pulls him down the couple of inches that separate them and kisses him for real that time. It ends sweetly, promising more for later that they can make up in plenty of time.
Sampo smiles and knows, without a doubt, that things are right again.