The airport was practically bulging at the seams with sleep-deprived travelers trying to beat the rush, but he managed to find a seat by squeezing between a slack-jawed possible-hockey-player and a skinny guy with a Pomeranian tucked under his arm. The skinny guy looked him up and down appraisingly while the Pomeranian licked his lips. Justin managed a half-smile, tried not to whimper, inwardly cursed traveling on December 24th as the stupidest idea in a long line of stupid ideas that he’d come up with, and pulled out his cell phone. Which was dead.

He scowled at his phone, trying to think through the fog thickening his brain cells. He could wait to call Brian. At least until he was confirmed for the next flight.

His eyes drifted to the bank of payphones next to the bathrooms.

Justin groaned, and began the arduous task of squeezing OUT of the tiny blue plastic seat that he’d just managed to settle into. He did his best to ignore the baleful glare of the possible-defenseman-that-could-squish-him-in-one-hammy-fist, getting cautiously to his feet and positioning his carry-on bag carefully on his shoulder. He edged away, only to nearly kill himself when he tripped over the Pomeranian’s travel carrier. The skinny guy tsk-ed as though it was Justin’s fault, and Justin sighed.

The day was hardly an hour old and it was already going to shit.

Justin slipped his key carefully into the lock, then winced as he slid the door open and the pulleys squeaked and groaned. He tiptoed inside, slid the door shut, and began groping for the alarm… and then nearly screamed like a 12-year-old girl when an arm snaked around his waist and slammed him into the door.

Justin expected Brian to be asleep. It was, after all, nearly 5 a.m.

In retrospect, Brian being asleep was a really ridiculous notion.

They hadn’t seen each other in almost two months.

Justin didn’t want to wake up at 8 a.m. But somehow he’d managed to fall asleep with his head under the sofa.

He quietly slithered his way out, mindful of the noise. He found he shouldn’t have worried. Brian was flaked out on his back on the rug, arms spread wide, looking much like a cat who has played too long and too hard and has simply worn itself out. Justin knew Brian only got into that blissed-out state after incredibly fantastic unbelievable sex. Or rather, after incredibly fantastic unbelievable sex… with Justin. Justin let himself smile, smugly even, as he crossed to the kitchen. He planned to fortify himself with orange juice and caramel cake -- a quick peek into the fridge confirmed that Brian had stocked the essentials -- and then fuck Brian’s brains out.

Since he was up.

Justin slipped out of bed at 4 p.m. and slid open his drawer, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and a T-shirt. This time he wasn’t careful about it -- Brian would sleep all day if you let him -- well, sleep and fuck, with a little chatting in between. And nice as that was on any other visit, this was Christmas Eve, and he had shit to do.

His carry-on was still by the door where he’d dropped it while biting his lip and not screaming like a 12-year-old girl. He winced at the memory, and carefully lifted the bag to the counter to inspect its contents. He sighed in relief when nothing was broken.

He was on the third present, wrapping paper strewn everywhere, multi-colored ribbon draped around his neck like a Christmas boa, when Brian finally stumbled from the bedroom. Brian squinted and rubbed his neck before opening the fridge and reaching for the juice. He took a swig from the bottle.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t start.” Justin wagged a handful of ribbon playfully.

“I told you I already picked up--”

“Had Cynthia pick up,” Justin finished.

Brian shrugged. “Lindsay will still squeal like a roasting piglet--”

“That’s a disgusting image.”

“And Gus will still run around like a munchkin on speed, and Deb will still use my forehead as a handy dumping ground for her extra lipstick. Another Kinney Christmas success story. Thank you, Cynthia.” Brian raised his glass in a toast.

“I’m sure they’ll love whatever you picked out,” Justin said, pausing in his wrapping to reach for the tissue paper. “Anyway, these are just something little from me.”

Brian’s eyebrow crept up his brow as he took in the object in Justin’s hand. “That’s…”

“It’s for Lindsay.” He held up the ornament for Brian to see. The frosted glass sparkled in his hand, tiny crystals inside simulating snowfall in the light.

“It’s… exquisite.”

“Thanks. I made it.” Justin beamed, returning his attention to the gift. He wrapped it in several layers of tissue paper -- better safe than sorry, his grandmother had always said. He’d already had several heart attacks just getting the damn things from New York; the last thing he needed was a glass-catastrophe in the middle of Brian’s kitchen. Did Brian even own a broom?

So absorbed in his own thoughts, Justin didn’t notice that Brian had gotten dressed until he heard the tinkle of the car keys. He glanced up. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

Justin studied Brian’s deliberately blank expression, then shrugged. “See you in a bit.”

He studied the grey metal face of the door for a long time after Brian left, but it didn’t have any answers.

After flipping past four different channels showing It’s A Wonderful Life and one showing A Christmas Carol -- the old scratchy black and white version, the one where you can see the microphones in several of the shots -- Justin finally found The Sound of Music. He wasn’t entirely sure why it was shown every Christmas, since it had zero holiday themes, but he’d much rather listen to Julie Andrews sing than Ebenezer Scrooge whine. Also, Christopher Plummer was kind of hot in that old-time parochial school teacher kind of way. Justin snuggled into a pair of sleep pants and an old tank top, definitely not pink, and settled into the sofa with the remains of his Chinese food.

When the loft door slid open at 9 p.m., he glanced up over the back of the sofa in time to see Brian shrugging out of his coat at the kitchen island. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

He bit back anything else he wanted to say. He could say “it’s late”, except it really wasn’t, except that it was Christmas Eve, and he was home for a visit, so it kind of was. But “it’s late” still sounded lame when it was barely nine o’clock. He didn’t want to complain, but he also didn’t want to sit there complacently and not say a word -- he knew where that kind of thing led where he and Brian were concerned.

He hated these kind of dilemmas.

Justin opened his mouth to speak, something stupid like “I saved you some Chinese”, but by then Brian had rounded the sofa and stood looking down at him, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Justin was again reminded of parochial school, this time of Brian as the student confessing to the nun that yes, it was him who had put the Elmer’s Glue in all the jacket pockets in the cloakroom.

“I didn’t know you were taking a class,” Brian said.

Justin blinked.

“I don’t know where you get your coffee in the morning. I don’t know what paper you read. I don’t know how well you’re sleeping, if you’re sleeping. I-- fuck!”

“Brian.” Justin shook his head, rising from the sofa. “This,” Justin spread his arms, “is going to take some getting used to. We have to figure out a whole new way to navigate our relationship. But we’ll do it. And those are all little things.”

Brian lifted a shoulder, and Justin went to him, putting his hands on Brian’s chest. “There’s a Starbucks around the corner from the restaurant. I read The Times. And I’m sleeping… but not as well as when I’m with you.”

Justin felt Brian relax against him. Brian’s hands crept from his pockets to rest lightly on Justin’s waist.

“All of the big things, we have to share. And the little things, well, if you want to know, just ask me. I’ll tell you anything. Everything. I’ll never have any secrets from you, Brian.”

“This is fucking hard.”

Justin smiled. “I don’t think love is supposed to be easy. If it was, we’d just take it for granted.”

“How did you get to be so wise?” Brian smirked.

“I’ve told you before, I learned from the master.” Justin pecked lightly at Brian’s lips, then bent to the table. “As for the glass blowing class, I couldn’t tell you that. I didn’t want you to suspect anything.”

He handed the ornately wrapped box to Brian, pressing it into his hands when Brian’s first reaction was simply a raised eyebrow and a questioning and somewhat wary look. He watched anxiously as Brian carefully undid the ribbon, his heart pounding, and in the back of his mind he wondered why he was so goddamned nervous, but this was their first Christmas since… since everything changed… since he left… since Brian loved him, openly and happily and freely, and he wanted his gift to be perfect. He wanted Brian to think it was…

“Unbelievable”, Brian breathed, turning the small stylized figure over in his hands. The image was subtle, yet graceful and sure -- two lovers entwined -- and Justin smiled when Brian’s eyes went soft and he saw the raw emotion there, the look that Brian never tried to hide anymore.

Carefully he took the figure out of Brian’s hand and set it on the table, then stepped into the circle of Brian’s arms. “Merry Christmas,” he said. Somewhere in the background, Julie Andrews warbled about how ‘she must have done something good‘.

“I love you.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

“Also, you could make a shitload of money if you marketed that stuff.”

“Sell out to the mindless masses?” Justin grinned. “Surely you jest.”

Brian bent to nuzzle Justin’s ear. “Ready for bed?”

“Hmmm,” Justin agreed, letting Brian pull him toward the bedroom. They were halfway up the steps when Justin pulled back a little. “Hey, did you ever put Elmer’s Glue in the kids jacket pockets at school?”

Brian stopped in mid-nuzzle. “How the fuck did you know that?”

Justin’s laughter rang through the loft. His day had turned out to be pretty damned good after all.