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It was absolutely frigid outside. The air outside his kitchen window was so thick and cold, he could see whenever the breeze picked up. That, paired with how a layer of ice coated the glass and made it blurry and distorted, he figured he might’ve as well lived in a snow globe. A very dreary one.
London was often covered by a blanket of clouds or drizzling with rain, but it was bleaker than he remembered it being in the few years he’d lived here. Ice cycles dramatically hung over the edge of the overhanging roof, while snow settled across the base of the windowsill.
He couldn’t help but scoff, his nose scrunching up—if Kingo had been in the room, he would’ve said that the weather finally matched Druig’s cold heart.
Fortunately for him, his old flatmate was spending the holiday far elsewhere, so he wouldn’t have to hear his input. He didn’t dare admit that the lack of company on Christmas Eve left the flat feeling a bit emptier than usual.
But still, from his place in the kitchen window, he saw how his next-door neighbor decorated their entire flat with colorful lights and Christmas cheer, and he felt the absence left by his old flatmate. Kingo used to decorate like he had all the money in the world, with lights bright enough to make midnight look like it was the middle of the day. It was the leading cause of his headaches, and Kingo couldn’t have cared less.
“Out of the entire year, 90% of the population waits for Christmas. Christmas is also the holiday that brings the most joy! Science says people are happiest during the holiday season, Druig. Why are you so dreadful?” Kingo had tapped his foot, hands on his hips.
“Firstly, you made that up. Secondly, remind me why I should bother?” Druig rolled his eyes. “Nothing special happens, Kingo. Santa doesn’t come, and you still won’t get a leading role in your movie, no matter how much ya wish on a star.”
“Take it back, unbeliever!” Kingo heaved, horrified.
Druig prodded, deadpan. “Which part?”
“All of it!”
Druig’s brow lifted as he scoffed. “Even the common sense about Santa not bein’ real?”
Kingo gasped, “Especially that! You know, I saw him when I was eight years old!”
“At the shoppin’ outlet? Come now.”
“Well, Mr. Depressive Conspiracy Theories, I’ll have you know I did see him.”
“Can ya prove it?”
“I will!” Kingo huffed, turning on his heel and stomping away.
It was two in the morning. He was sitting at his table, laptop in front of him, his manuscript waiting to be finished. The screen read, last edit, made yesterday at 11:55pm. He’d been staring at the screen for two hours.
He folded his arms over the table and rested his head there.
Tea would be motivational.
Reluctantly, he stood and turned on the stove burner. The process forced him to flip on the small light above, only able to adjust his eyes by blinking multiple times. He’d been called a vampire on numerous occasions, and it certainly felt like he was centuries old, but unfortunately, unlike vampires, his exhaustion—several days worth—would eventually cause him to collapse somewhere in the flat. It always did. Still, though, this exhaustion, the never-ending tiredness—it felt bone-deep, settled and eternal. He wondered if he’d ever feel young again, living as he did.
He usually never paid his neighbors any mind. If he left them alone first, they would leave him alone. But then, when he glanced up through his foggy kitchen window, he saw… well, her. The kettle he was filling with water was forgotten in his hands.
Backlit by fairy lights, given a halo worthy of belonging to something holy, dark hair cascading down over her shoulder in braids… He could see his neighbor setting something in the sink in front of her window, pulling her sleeves up to likely turn on the tap. Even through the icy glass, she must’ve felt his eyes on her because she looked up. He didn’t dare hold her stare as he turned, setting the now-filled kettle on the stove.
He knew very little of his neighbors, but he’d seen her , most often through the kitchen window—most often at hours like this. Each time he saw her, the Earth tilted on its axis, and Druig steeled himself to look away before he lost himself entirely. And each time, she caught his stare before he looked away, and held his gaze until he moved past his kitchen window again.
He wasn’t aware that she often wondered what would happen if he didn’t look away.
Before he could dwell on any of it, the lights flickered, and then the flat was swallowed in darkness. A power outage? The weather certainly calls for it, he thinks dryly.
His kitchen light had been dim, to begin with, but his neighbor’s flat had been lit up with Christmas lights, colorful and warm—and it was dark now, too.
From his place in the unilluminated kitchen, he reached for his phone. He’d been well-adjusted to the dark for a long time, but he didn’t want to sit in it. No power, meant no heat unless his backup generator kicked on. With the help of his phone light, he pulled out some dusty candles and a box of matches, appreciating the heat radiating off of them, even if it did fill his senses with cinnamon sugar. The candles must’ve been Kingo’s, then.
When he looked up again, through blurry glass, he could see a small light held by his neighbor, clutching a candle of her own as if she depended on it. She must’ve sensed him again, because her eyes flickered back to his, and stayed there. It, of course, never occurred to him that she may look at him with or without him seeing her first—it would be unthinkable.
Then, she waved. Their flats were no more than a few feet apart at best, yet through windows frosty and all, he could see her hands shake. She’s cold.
He could do nothing but wave back.
A voice that sounded uncomfortably like Kingo’s entered his mind, saying something along the lines of “You can do good, or you can die lonely.” He wanted that voice out of his head immediately. But to his disdain, it wasn’t wrong.
With a sigh, he snatches a piece of paper and a pen. If this goes wrong, I’m going to hunt Kingo down for giving me the idea. Even if he wasn’t physically present at the time, the said idea came to light.
Cautiously, he steeled himself for… what, disappointment? What was he expecting, anyway? Nothing, he supposed. He hadn’t the slightest idea what would come of this. He scribbled on the paper and then held it up to the window, his phone light behind it to make it visible.
His neighbor’s brows scrunched together at the sight but pulled out her phone anyway. A minute later, a ping sounded from his phone, and he pulled it away from the window to check the notifications. Sure enough, the number marked Unknown held a message from his neighbor.
‘hello :) I’m your neighbor, Makkari’
‘I’m Druig, it’s nice to meet you.’
Anticipating her response, he looked up and found her lips tugging upwards slightly at the screen as she typed.
‘A black-out is a nice way to get into the Christmas spirit, right?’
‘I can feel the joy already.’
He watched her smile at that, and his world tilts on its axis at the sight.
‘I didn’t know the joyous season brought glad tidings of frostbite’
‘Welcome to London.’ he typed back. At the reminder, though, he felt the cold creeping in closer, clawing at his skin. ‘I’m about to call the electric company, so we should warm up soon.’
‘On Christmas Eve?’
‘On Christmas Eve, what?’
‘You think the company will answer?’ She amended.
‘No, but it’ll be a more believable reason to be unhappy.’ That seemed to get an amused grin out of her—which stunned him. Again.
‘No family for the holidays?’
He felt the air leave his lungs for a moment, ‘ They’re spending it elsewhere. You?’
After a minute of no response, he looked up to find her still looking at the screen before she started typing again. ‘Couldn’t fly out due to the weather. No flights till after the new year.’
‘Ah. So you had plans then?’
‘Yes, this is the first year I can’t spend it with them.’
‘Do you have a lot of family?’
‘Yeah. I guess that’s why it’s so… different, being alone.’
He shouldn’t start this, but that doesn’t stop him. ‘…’ Then, ‘You don't have to be.’
‘??’ He could see her furrowed brows again.
‘Alone.’ He remedied. ‘You don’t have to be.’
‘You inviting me over, Druig?’
She’s not being serious, he tells himself. It does about as much good as it did whenever he tried to talk Kingo out of unnecessary purchases.
‘It’s an invitation if you want it to be one.’
‘Oh’ Oh, as in he fucked up? Expected. ‘Well, I am freezing. Invitation accepted.’ That was… not expected. But… it was welcome.
‘Just to be clear, you’re not planning on murdering me, right?’ he typed, already moving to unlock the side door that led outside from the kitchen.
‘You can never be too careful :)’ came her reply.
‘Menacing.’ Even as he said it, the door to her flat slid open, and she carefully moved towards his, knocking lightly.
Candle in hand, he opened the door. She smiled and began typing again. ‘I’m deaf.’
‘I can sign, but it might not be the best in the dark.’
‘Texting works :)’
‘Your smiley faces have so much versatility.’ Then, ‘Come on, I have blankets. And a fireplace. I’ll call the company.’
‘:)))’
He gently reached for her wrist to guide her to his connecting living room, phone in hand to provide light for her to see. When she got comfortable on the couch, he walked towards the corner basket, pulling out a handful of heavy blankets to offer her.
Then, after a few minutes, he managed to get a fire started in his fireplace.
When he called the electric company, all he received was an automated response informing him of what to do in case of emergency. He assumed no heat in the dead of winter was good enough to count as a bit of an emergency.
He hoped to God he could get his backup generator on.
Fifteen minutes later, he was fairly sure it was a lost cause. It was also much colder—but Makkari had the fireplace, so she was alright, at least.
But then… the dim kitchen light flickered on. Makkari startled, making a small noise of surprise. Thankfully, that was the only light he’d had on at the time, or else he might’ve blinded the both of them.
‘You got it back!!’
She looked over, then, to her own flat, still enshrouded in darkness. ‘Guess it was your backup, then?’
‘Yeah. Sorry, it wasn’t the company’s doing.’
‘Don’t be sorry. :) Besides, now we can make cookies!’
‘…’ Then, ‘Cookies?’
‘Christmas cookies. I’m going to raid your kitchen.’ Makkari stood, and stretched, pulling her red sweater close with a mischievous spark in her eyes.
‘ Have at it.’
‘And you’re going to help me.'
‘Am I?’ He raised his brows at her, and she grinned. It absolutely floored him.
‘Yep.’ She moved over to him, and it was her turn to take his wrist, tugging him towards his kitchen like a rag doll.
Like a whirlwind, Makkari pulled out ingredients, rummaging through his neatly organized cabinets, some things he couldn’t remember ever having before.
In the low kitchen light, Makkari smiled up at him—it was too innocent. Then, as she pulled out the flour, her eyes sparkled with that same wicked glint. Oh. No. Before he could move, she had already blown some excess power onto his face, dusting his nose and cheeks with white. His eyes widened slightly as he felt himself have to sneeze, quickly turning away to stop himself.
When he turned back, she was holding back her laughter. At the sight alone, he felt as though he was witnessing something holy, something sacred.
I have a friend, he began to sign, who you would love . He rolled his eyes. I can’t stand him.
She pouted at that, but could hardly hold back her smile as she signed back, Are you saying you can’t stand me?
You’re horrible. He signed, but he was already smiling. It was already love.
Before he knew it, the cookies were in the oven, and Makkari had propped herself up on his kitchen counter, legs dangling over the side.
You know, she started to sign, I always thought you’d be grumpier
He lifted a brow. You thought of me? He signed back.
She grinned. I see you through the kitchen window at all hours of the night. Does that count as thinking of you?
He shrugged. Do I look grumpy to you?
Not now. Must be the Christmas spirit cheering you up.
He turned his head towards the oven, lips tugging upwards at the edges, hands moving smoothly as he signed his reply. Or it’s just you. He paused, side eyeing her pink-dusted cheeks with a victorious chuckle. Besides, I love snacks, and that’s what we’re making, isn’t it?
Time seemed irrelevant, after a while.
When the oven timer beeped, Druig offered her a hand to help her down—she accepted, hopping down gracefully.
We need to decorate them, Makkari signed very seriously.
Is it not enough to just frost them and let them cool? He tilted his head.
They’re Christmas cookies. Christmas. They deserve to be decorated.
He only held his hands up in surrender, but she snatched his hand from the air to give him one of the frosting baggies—he sighed, as though it were some ludicrous task, but he was smiling again. He might’ve been smiling all night.
Makkari decorated the cookies in every cheery, cliché way he could imagine—Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman, the Gingerbread Man, ornaments, et cetera. He was stuck with smearing green frosting over the top and dotting them with other available colors to represent Christmas trees.
Druig , she signed, how is it that when cooking, you’re so… particular. But you won’t even try to make a snowman?
How do you know I’m particular when cooking?
She lifted her hands and dropped them again—thinking. She brought them up again, almost looking away as she did, I told you, I see you at all hours of the night. Sometimes you’ll just be making tea… At others, you’re cooking… you usually seem stressed, but then you cook a few five-course meals, and you’re alright.
That earned a surprised chuckle out of him.
I’m not even sure my old flatmate knew about that—he thought food just appeared. How long have you…? He didn’t finish signing and didn't have to. She knew what he meant.
I may see you often, but I don’t keep track of how long it’s been, she grinned. But it might’ve started around the time I moved in, and first saw you through the kitchen window.
Oh.
Ohhh.
So… he started to sign. I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad about staring through the window, then. She only pressed her lips together and shook her head, the pink still dusting her cheeks.
Somewhere out the kitchen window, the sun was beginning to rise. The snow glittered and glistened, and the London fog settled over the ground, but the sun was rising. He was somewhat convinced, however, that what he felt seemed more like the sun was already in the room, be it in his chest, or standing in front of him, smiling.
Hey, Makkari signed, looking outside. It’s Christmas. I guess I was saying Christmas Eve all night, but we were past that…
Her head was turned, so she couldn’t see his hands, or his lips when they moved—as the sun settled across her features, light kissing the bridge of her nose, her jaw. Her loose braids fell over her shoulder again, wispy and soft, and as the light washed through the room, bathing them in warmth, all he could think to murmur was, “Beautiful Makkari.”