Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Damn, I’m beat, man,” Dylan whined as he toed off his shoes and made a beeline for the couch, plopping down instantly. He was carrying roughly two layers of ugly Christmas sweaters from Jacob and a gag shirt from Kaitlyn on his back, which apparently did not bode well with a fire consistently running throughout the two hour long reunion-slash-Christmas party.

Ryan shuffled inside after him, dumping the bag of wrapping paper he insisted on recycling next to their shoes. He shouldered off his coat, wiping the remnants of snow off of his cheek. “Fire and a movie, then?”

“You know me so well.” Dylan flashed a cheeky smile before rising to his feet with a groan. He popped his back with a grimace. “I gotta shed, like, ten pounds of clothes, then I’ll join you.”

Ryan snorted at that from where he stood in the kitchen, rummaging through their cabinets. “You didn’t have to wear both of them.” Dylan faked a gasp at that.

“But think of Jacob - his poor, poor feelings would’ve been crushed if I didn’t wear his gifts!”

“Yeah, he sure seemed crushed…” Ryan drawled, shooting Dylan a pointed look. He could tell what they were both remembering - Jacob getting so wasted, he did the macarena for thirty minutes straight before falling dick-first into a pile of discarded Jenga blocks. And yet, it wouldn’t have been Christmas without him.

“Aw, c’mon, he was bringing us the holiday cheer. Like himbo Santa.”

“Jesus, we live in a sitcom.” Ryan slid over Dylan’s favorite mug, hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and the sprinkles that Ryan always refused because they were too sweet… whatever that meant. “Hurry and change. We need, like, twenty minutes to argue over the movie, minimum.” 

Dylan scoffed, beginning to yank the sweaters off as he made his way to their bedroom. “Uh, you mean twenty minutes of you fighting my brilliant suggestions until you give in because I’m perfect and amazing and sweet and the best boyfriend ever?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it, sure.”

Dylan snorted at that, pushing open the door and tossing the clothes haphazardly across his side of the bed…if his side and Ryan’s side blended together, nobody could say for sure. They would crash on the couch anyways. Hopefully. 

He snatched one of Ryan’s old painting shirts, tugging it over his head quickly. For animation school, Ryan had been required to take general art classes and he had spent a ton of time painting. And complaining about painting, but mostly painting. The shirts, covered in splatters and smudges, were strewn around the house as extras.

He returned, feeling giddier than he had all night. Dylan was always a sucker for Christmas, but it had been a game changer to be able to celebrate with Ryan as his boyfriend. It was like every Hallmark movie squished into one, minus all the sucky parts. Which was most of the Hallmark charm, but it summed up the fluttering feeling in Dylan’s stomach anyways.

He grabbed his mug, the warmth cutting through the numbness that had begun to spread up his arms from their trek in the snow. The fire Ryan had started also looked particularly appealing, considering he was still sporting his damp socks. Ryan had reminded him to wear gloves, but he shrugged it off. It definitely bit him in the ass, but he wasn’t gonna say it.

He squeezed down next to Ryan, nudging Schrödinger off the cushion and onto his lap. He set down his mug beside Ryan’s, turning to flash him a grin. “Let’s watch Elf.”

“Hell, no.” Ryan scrunched up his nose. “I ate, like, all the coffee cake at Emma’s. If I have to watch that spaghetti scene, I will vom on you.”

“Sooo not sexy, ew,” Dylan groaned. “Fine. Something solid, but whimsical…like Rudolph!” 

“That movie is sad as hell, man. Rudolph was bullied by all the reindeer!”

“Ugh. Home Alone? You can’t say no to that, the kid’s a badass.”

Ryan seemed to consider for a moment before relenting, “Fine. Gimme the remote.”

Dylan handed it over eagerly, leaning himself against Ryan. “Didn’t even take two minutes this time, Ry-guy. Maybe the Christmas spirit makes you soft?”

“Something like that,” Ryan mumbled. Dylan glanced up just in time to catch his small grin. Schrödinger stretched herself across the two of them as they settled into the couch and when Ryan’s hand found Dylan’s, the little squeeze said more than words ever could.

The movie had barely reached the midway point before both of them had started to snore softly, the light of the TV and gentle glow of the fire only fueling the drowsy atmosphere. 

Ryan hung up the sweaters himself in the morning as Dylan and Schrödinger remained sprawled on the couch, drooling.